Читать книгу The Dressmaker’s Daughter - Nancy Carson - Страница 10

By New Year’s Eve, a Tuesday, the weather had become settled. A clear, blue sky afforded bright sunshine during the day, but promised a hard frost that night. Eve and Lizzie visited Joe’s house early to help prepare sandwiches and get everything ready for the party. May lit a fire in the front room and cursed when smoke blew back down the chimney, making her eyes run.

‘I should think Father bloody Christmas is still stuck up the blasted chimney,’ she complained, shoving a strand of hair from her eyes with the back of her coal-blackened hand.

‘I doubt whether it’s ever been swept while the Dowtys lived here,’ Eve commented.

Joe had ordered a firkin of best home-brewed bitter from The Shoulder of Mutton and it was standing chocked up on the scullery table with a pudding basin under the tap to catch the drips. There were four bottles of whisky, a bottle of gin and two bottles of port to offer as well, besides a gallon of lemonade.

Lizzie awaited Ben’s arrival excitedly. She hardly knew him. They’d never had a conversation without somebody else being there. But the way he smiled at her, and the honesty and candour brimming in eyes that sparkled whenever he saw her, churned her stomach with longing.

He duly arrived with Daisy Foster and Jimmy Powell shortly after half past eight. Their faces were glowing from their brisk walk in the bitter cold, but they were dressed warmly in good overcoats, hats and gloves. Lizzie introduced them to Joe and he made them welcome. He took their hats and coats and offered them drinks, which Lizzie was happy to serve in the front room as they settled round the fire. Then she, Daisy, Jimmy and Ben, all sat in a group, squashed up together occupying one half of the sofa and an adjacent armchair.

‘It was nice of you to invite us,’ Daisy said to May and Joe equally. She shuffled to get comfortable on the armchair she was sharing with Jimmy.

‘The more the merrier,’ Joe quipped. ‘Where’ve you had to come from?’

It was Ben who answered. ‘Tividale. It isn’t far, but it’s all uphill. Here, Joe … Do you smoke?’

‘Oh, thanks … How long’s it took you to get here?’

Ben tapped the end of his cigarette on the packet. ‘About twenty minutes. It warms you up a treat, though, on a night like this. There’s a tidy frost.’

Lizzie thought Ben looked wonderful. He wore a dark grey suit with a waistcoat, a maroon and blue necktie, and a white shirt with an immaculate, starched collar. His black hair looked even blacker now it had been greased and sleekly brushed and his eyes danced with the reflected light from the oil lamps and candles. He was clean shaven with a clear complexion and his features were fine and masculine. He was possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen, even more handsome than Stanley Dando, or Jesse Clancey. He was about six feet tall and lean, but with broad shoulders; a picture of vigorous health, and Lizzie couldn’t take her eyes off him. She felt flutters in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of being alone with him. Being in the same room now, but not able to speak or act freely was immensely frustrating. She wanted to manoeuvre herself closer so she could touch him, so he could touch her, either by accident or by design. She wanted to catch the scent of him; see his eyes crease at the corners from close-to when he smiled. And she wondered if he felt the same about her.

He did. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked in the cream dress with the pale green trimmings. He admired everything about her, not just her looks, but the easy way she seemed to have with people; and, best of all, there was no side on her – she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. For ages he’d wanted to ask her out, but with Fern always at his side it had been impossible.

‘Lizzie says it’s your wedding anniversary,’ Daisy was saying to May.

May linked her arm through Joe’s and glanced up at him affectionately. ‘Twelve months tomorrow.’

‘And it only seems like twelve years,’ Joe chipped in and took a playful slap on the arm for his trouble. He drew on his cigarette and smiled impishly. ‘And afore anybody asks – no, there’s ne’er a babby on the way – but it ain’t for the want o’ tryin’.’

May hit him again, while the men guffawed. ‘You’m gettin’ engaged an’ all, aren’t you, Daisy?’ she enquired, desperate to avoid more embarrassing comments.

Daisy nodded and looked at Jimmy admiringly. ‘We’m thinking about it, eh?’

‘Maybe next year,’ Jimmy confirmed.

‘Any plans yet to get married?’

The couple looked at each other again and grinned self-consciously. ‘Not for a couple of years at least. We want to save up and get some money round us.’

‘That’s good sense, Jimmy,’ Joe proclaimed. ‘You can’t argue with that. What d’you do for a living, mate?’

‘I’m a moulder at a foundry in Tividale – Holcrofts.’

‘I know of Holcrofts.’

‘Ben works there as well. He charges the cupola.’

‘The money good?’

‘It’s all right. We got plenty work, an’ all, eh, Ben?’

‘Plenty,’ Ben agreed. ‘But I want to come off charging. I’m keen to be a ladle man. It’s hard, specially in the summer when it’s hot, but the pay’s better. A lot better.’

Ben was enquiring about Joe’s work when they heard a knock at the back door. It was Tom Dando and Sarah. Sarah came in complaining about the cold. Sylvia would be coming soon with Jesse, she said, when she’d spent half an hour with Ezme and Jack.

‘Help yourselves to drink,’ Joe invited.

Five minutes later Eliza and Ned Bradley arrived, May’s mother and father. They made a fuss of Eve and asked how she was.

‘By Christ, it’s cold enough for a walking stick,’ Ned quipped, warming his hands in front of the fire. ‘It’s icy already. I reckon I’ll be sliding round on me arse all the way ’um.’

‘Like a fairy on a gob o’ lard,’ May suggested.

While Eliza and Ned made themselves known to the folk they hadn’t met before and supped their first drinks, Beccy and Albert Crump arrived. Joe asked what they wanted to drink.

‘A glass o’ port for me, please, Joe,’ Beccy said, rubbing her cold hands.

‘Lemonade if you’ve got it,’ Albert requested defiantly.

‘Oh, have a beer, you miserable old sod – God forgive me for me language,’ Beccy said, casting her eyes upwards. ‘It’s New Year, Albert. Yo’ can’t not have a drink.’

‘Give me a shandy, then, Joe. Anything to save me being nagged to death.’

Sylvia and Jesse arrived. They greeted everyone pleasantly and Jesse gave Lizzie a wink that she thought no more of, but which suggested lots to Ben. Lizzie smiled and introduced her friends. By now the house was crowded and buzzing with chatter and not all the guests had arrived yet. Somebody called for Joe to play his new piano – his pride and joy – and he said he would in a minute.

‘Jesse, fetch your mother to come and play this new piano of Joe’s,’ Albert Crump tactlessly called, his half pint of shandy barely touched. ‘We can’t wait forever for him here.’

Ezme and Jack of course had not been invited; Joe knew how much the woman antagonised his mother. Meanwhile, Daisy and Jimmy had got their heads together and Sylvia and Jesse had moved on.

Ben took a close look at the gold cross and chain Lizzie was wearing, fingering it gently. ‘A Christmas present?’

‘Off Joe and May.’

‘I had a pair of cufflinks – off Fern. Here, look, I’m wearing them.’ He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket.

‘Did she give them to you before or after you fell out?’

‘Before, else I wouldn’t have took them, would I? I did offer them back.’

‘What did you fall out about?’ She’d been dying to ask.

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Oh, go on.’ Her eyes flashed with anticipation. ‘Tell me.’

He emptied his glass and threw the end of his cigarette into the fire. ‘It was over you.’

‘Me?’

‘She kept on as I fancied you and accused me of seeing you on our nights off. We had a blazing row and in the finish I said I might as well play the part I’d been cast in.’ He smiled at her expectantly. ‘I’ll get another drink, like Joe said. Shall I get you one, Lizzie?’

‘Please. I’ll come with you, if you like.’

To get out of the smoke-filled room through the middle door into the scullery they had to push past Tom Dando, laughing at Beccy Crump’s irreverent cursing. Eve was in the scullery sitting at the table, as if guarding the beer, still wearing her white apron over her best black frock. She was talking to Sarah, with Sylvia and Jesse standing by.

‘’Scuse me,’ Ben said, sidling into position past him to get to the beer barrel.

‘Oh, Lizzie, I forgot to mention … our Stanley’s coming home in May or June,’ Sylvia said casually, looking Ben up and down with evident approval.

Lizzie considered that Sylvia’s comment was unnecessarily mischievous in the circumstances and she felt her colour rise. ‘Well, give him my best wishes, ’cause I don’t suppose I’ll see him. I think he was avoiding me before he went away.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, Lizzie. He’s got no reason to avoid you. You two were always the best of friends.’

Lizzie was aware of Jesse’s eyes burning into her, which was unsettling. She passed her glass to Ben and he filled it from the large stone bottle of lemonade, and handed it back. ‘Thanks, Ben,’ she said with a smile, then sipped her drink.

Sylvia said, ‘Joe and May must be doing well to get the house in such fine order … And to have so many lovely things about them. Especially the new piano … And they’ve only been married a year, Jesse.’

‘I know,’ Jesse replied with indifference.

Lizzie was certain that the next thing to come from Sylvia’s lips would be her own expectations of life when she married. In anticipation, Lizzie glanced at Jesse and reckoned he was thinking the same.

‘With the pair of ’em workin’ they can do it,’ Aunt Sarah chimed. ‘There’s no reason why you and Jesse shouldn’t do the same when you’m wed.’

‘I’ll wait till I’m asked, Mother,’ Sylvia replied stiffly. ‘And perhaps you shouldn’t presume anything till I have been.’ She flashed a withering look at Jesse.

Jesse coughed, shuffled his feet and ran his hand across his moustache with unease. He avoided Sylvia’s glance, swigging the last drops of beer from his glass. Lizzie sensed the tension between them. This was obviously a sticking point; a matter of contention they’d touched on before, but not yet resolved.

Lizzie had no desire to witness an open argument on the subject when she already knew Jesse’s feelings. Maybe it was time she made herself scarce. The last thing she wanted was to have to take sides. ‘It’s so smoky in here,’ she exclaimed. ‘I think I’ll go outside for some fresh air.’

Ben put his glass of beer on the table, glad of the opportunity to accompany her.

But Jesse sensed his intention. ‘Here, Ben. Fill this glass for me, will you. You’re nearer the barrel than I am.’

Obligingly, Ben took the glass and began to fill it.

It bothered Jesse to witness what he believed was Lizzie’s attempt to entice Ben outside. But his own hands were tied. He could do nothing with Sylvia at his side. He could do nothing without revealing his true desires and, in any case, he had more respect for Sylvia’s feelings than to do so openly. But since there was this unexpected competition he ought to do something to combat Ben’s apparent claim and stake his own at last, because he’d been unable to erase this slip of a girl from his thoughts. It was time to tell her how he felt. Perhaps it was even too late.

‘I could do with using the privy,’ Jesse remarked, in an attempt to slip his leash, and moved to follow Lizzie.

‘It’s the top of the yard, Jesse,’ May said. ‘Past Jack Hardwick’s pig-sty. Take an oil-lamp with you.’

‘It’s all right, May, I’ll find my way.’ He barged past Sylvia, opened the door and went out.

‘Well mind you don’t mistake the pig sty for it and piddle on the pigs. It’ll chap their skins vile this weather.’

He closed the door behind him. He had beaten Ben outside, but he could hear the others chuckling at May’s remark. Why did she have to say anything at all? It only drew attention to him. Now he felt even more conspicuous having left at such a sensitive moment. He hoped his real intentions did not look obvious. But he’d acted on a split second impulse, less inhibited because of the alcohol, driven by this urgent need to tell Lizzie how he felt before his rival established himself; and to hell now with the consequences.

The moon was surrounded by a broad, silver halo of air frost. It shone over the back of the brewhouse, lighting the yard up more brightly than any oil-lamp could. The frost on the roofs of Grove Street beyond reflected it back through a million tiny, shimmering crystals. There was no sign of Lizzie, so he stepped down the entry and into the street. He scanned left and right and saw her slender figure silhouetted against the gas lamp opposite the brass foundry, her hands behind her back, her head down. When she heard his footsteps she turned towards him, smiling radiantly, believing it to be Ben.

‘Lizzie. I’ve got to talk to you.’

‘Jesse!’

From The Sailor’s Return they could already hear singing. They watched a middle-aged man, walking from the opposite direction, open the door to the pub and enter. Jesse turned and looked over his shoulder to ensure neither Sylvia nor Ben had followed.

‘Look, Lizzie, I’ve got to talk to you.’

‘To me? What about?’

‘About Sylvia. I’m not in love with her.’

‘You as good as said so before. Ages ago.’ She turned to see if Ben was seeking her yet.

‘I know I did. Trouble is, I believe she thinks a lot of me.’

‘She does. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll ever find anybody better.’

‘Well that depends, Lizzie. One person’s idea of perfection ain’t necessarily another’s … Here, let’s move away from the lamp. I feel as if the world’s watching.’

They moved a few yards further on to where the terrace was staggered and the recess would conceal them from view. But Lizzie was reluctant in case Ben couldn’t find her. She shivered. The bitterly cold night air seemed to penetrate through to her bones, and the gold studs in her ears were so cold that they made her lobes hurt. She wished she’d thought to put on her coat. At least she would be able to turn the collar up.

‘Well, it isn’t really fair to let her keep thinking I’m in love with her, is it?’

‘I agree. Doesn’t she know yet how you really feel?’

‘Well, yes and no, Lizzie. We’ve talked about marriage, and I’ve told her I’m not ready for it yet. But I did tell her once as I loved her, that’s the trouble. That was in the beginning, and to tell the truth I believed it myself at the time. Not now, though. It was a mistake to say it and I admit it. But how could I tell her after that it was a lie?’

‘But she’ll have to know sooner or later,’ Lizzie said and shivered.

‘I know that, Lizzie … Sooner, I reckon … You see, there’s somebody else.’

‘Oh, Jesse. You mean you’re going with somebody besides Sylvia?’

‘No, no. I mean there’s somebody else I want. Somebody else I’m in love with. I’m not seeing her … yet.’

‘Oh. So are you giving Sylvia up then, for this other girl?’

‘Well that’s my intention. If it all works out.’

‘It’ll break her heart, you know, Jesse.’

Lizzie was surprised at the ease with which she was talking with him. Throughout her life till this minute she’d never spoken more than a dozen words at a time to him. The obvious differences in age and gender, and their mothers’ senseless feud, had always conspired to create this unfortunate forbiddance, in her mind at any rate. But already she was engrossed in his personal life, pleased that he should consider her worldly enough to confess to. Whatever advice he asked for she would give it, impartially, and gladly. He was out of her own emotional reach now, anyway.

The sound of Joe now playing his new piano drifted out, and the accompanying singing drowned the revelry from The Sailor’s Return. Lizzie’s teeth began to chatter.

Jesse sighed with desperation. ‘Lizzie, I can’t go on as I have been – denying myself to spare Sylvia’s feelings. I swear, you’ll never believe just how hard it’s been. I’ve got this … this longing for this girl and it’s driving me mad.’

Lizzie thought how sad and intense his face looked in the half-light. She saw his eyes fill up, and his sincerity moved her. She began to understand the agony he was going through. ‘Does she know, Jesse?’ she asked intently. ‘Does this other girl know you feel like this?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve never had the courage to tell her. I’ve always been afeared she’d turn me down.’

‘Then it’s time you said something. If you don’t, how will you ever know whether you’ve got a chance? … So who is she? If you want to tell me, that is.’

He bent down and picked up a stone, then immediately tossed it back into the horse road as he fought with his indecision. He had to tell Lizzie; he had to confess his love; and it had to be now, or the moment would be lost forever.

‘It’s you, Lizzie,’ he said, turning to look into her eyes for her reaction. ‘It’s you. Nobody else. You’re the one I want.’

Lizzie mentally gasped, not knowing what to say. Strangely she could feel the cold no more; rather, she felt hot. It was very flattering, but this was attention she could have done without. It was attention she had not sought, even though she had secretly desired it. It instantly evoked all sorts of images in her mind, some logical, some outlandish; images she would never have dreamed of two minutes ago; images of Jesse caressing her; of Sylvia heartbroken and fraught with distress; of her own mother chiding her because of the inevitable battle over who would make the best wedding dress; of Aunt Sarah chasing her with a big stick and calling her a scarlet woman.

But what could she say? If things had been different he might even now be courting her, and Ben would never even have entered the frame. But with Sylvia so in love with him it would complicate things too much; her conscience would not allow it. Even though she liked Jesse well enough.

But now there was Ben to consider. She had set her heart on Ben and she was as driven to him as the birds in the trees were driven to build nests and lay eggs. Nobody else would do. Not now.

Jesse seemed to sense her dilemma. ‘Before you say anything, Lizzie, I want you to understand that I realise there’s a big difference in our ages – I know you’re only young. I’ve thought about that – but I don’t think it matters much. If it doesn’t matter to you, it certainly doesn’t matter to me.’

Lizzie gulped. This news had come as a great shock, and Jesse had no idea how much of a shock. Already he was going too fast.

‘I don’t know what to say, Jesse. I’m that flattered. Really I am … to think as you see me like that. But I couldn’t be responsible for breaking our Sylvia’s heart. And surely you couldn’t expect me to? I could never live with myself if I had that on my conscience.’

‘I think I realise that. But at least I’ve come out into the open with it. I had to. It’s been driving me mad.’

‘But I couldn’t be what you want me to be without hurting our Sylvia.’

He turned away and shrugged his shoulders, and she heard his deep, heart-felt sigh. ‘So what d’you reckon I should do, Lizzie? Carry on and marry her? Even though I don’t love her? Should I sacrifice myself for the sake of her feelings? Should I ruin my own life so as not spoil hers?’

The biting cold seized her again. She put her hands to her shoulders, huddling herself to generate some warmth. She ought to go back indoors now – back to Ben, and all the fun; back to where all the laughter was; back to the warmth of the roaring fire. Ben would wonder what had happened to her. Any minute now he was bound to come looking. If he saw her with Jesse he would jump to the wrong conclusion, and that would be the end of that – another romance finished before it even started.

But it was not easy to turn her back on such potent admiration, when she had admired Jesse so much.

‘No, I don’t think you should wed Sylvia just because she expects it, Jesse. That’d be stupid. I think a couple should both want the same, otherwise there’s no point in them marrying. You’ll just have to tell her.’

‘But what about you, Lizzie? Would you consider taking me after I’d given up Sylvia? After a respectable time, I mean. After a month or so. I can wait. Then they could lay no blame on you.’

She avoided his eyes as the magnitude of his design struck her. ‘I hardly know you, Jesse. And even if I said yes, I should still know deep inside as it was me that caused our Sylvia to suffer. And what would her family think of me when they got to know that I’d taken her place?’

‘Maybe you worry too much about what other folk might say, Lizzie. That’s the trouble with everybody these days. It’s always what everybody else might think as dictates what anybody does. Look, Lizzie, I’m in love with you … And I don’t think you dislike me either …’

She didn’t answer. She thought better of encouraging him; of confessing that she’d always held a sneaking desire for him. He was presentable and decent. He was devastatingly handsome, his family were prosperous and his prospects were significantly better than most men’s. Of course she liked him. She had drooled over him. What girl wouldn’t?

He said, ‘D’you want to think about it? I imagine it’s come as a bit of a surprise.’

‘Oh it’s come as a surprise all right, but what’s the point thinking about it? I do like you, Jesse. I’ve always liked you. If only you knew! But Sylvia makes it impossible.’

‘So if I’d asked you to start courting afore I asked Sylvia, would you have said yes?’

‘Yes.’ She shivered again. ‘Of course I would … Gladly.’

He smiled ruefully at the wicked irony of it. ‘And I wouldn’t ask you ’cause I thought you were too young and your mother might not like it.’

‘I suppose she’d have got used to it. But I don’t think yours would have liked it. I don’t think your mother’s particularly fond of me, or my mother … I hear she thinks a lot of Sylvia, though.’

‘What my old lady thinks is neither here nor there. I’ve got my own life to lead.’

‘I’m sorry, Jesse. I am really. But in any case I’ve started seeing Ben now. It wouldn’t be fair on him, would it?’ It was an exaggeration of the truth, but in her desire now to extricate herself honourably, and without hurting his fragile feelings too much, she felt justified in saying it. And Jesse could not prove otherwise.

He shrugged, having to accept what she said. Yet somehow he felt better. The knowledge that he could have had her if he’d asked, and the relief of finally confessing the feelings he’d been bottling up for months, somehow lifted him. There might still be a chance.

Suddenly he reached for her, and his arms embraced her, clutching her to him. At once the heat from his body started to penetrate her own clothes, bringing warm relief from the biting cold, enough to keep her there for a second or two longer. She looked up at him with clear, shining eyes, half admonishing for his audacity, half grateful for those few moments of protective warmth when she needed it. But as soon as he saw her face upturned, his lips were on hers, urgently tasting her, savouring their accommodating softness, fulfilling a longing he’d harboured for so long. She allowed him to linger, not knowing whether to resist or to wring as much enjoyment from it as she could. But the immediate pleasure of his kiss outweighed her inclination to resist. She felt him growing in confidence at her unwitting responsiveness, tensing his grip around her waist with a passionate squeeze. She had often wondered how his lips, his big moustache, would feel if ever he kissed her. Now she knew. It was a rewarding experience. Her own arms went inside his jacket, to his waistcoat and around his waist, as if they had been long time lovers. It felt so warm in there and she was so cold. And his kisses were so gentle, so comfortable, so delectable.

‘Say you’ll be mine, Lizzie. I need you. Say you’ll be mine.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, I would’ve done, Jesse. I would’ve done. But how can I now? It’s just impossible. You know it’s impossible.’

‘Nothing’s impossible if you want it bad enough.’

She paused, looking into his disappointed eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Jesse … I shouldn’t have let you kiss me like that. It was naughty of me.’

‘You seemed to like it.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it,’ she said quietly.

Neither spoke for long seconds. He knew without any doubt in those moments that he had failed to win her. Deep down he had always known he could never win her. She was beyond his reach.

‘If you ever change your mind …’

‘If I ever change my mind you’ll be the first to know.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

He hugged her again and they remained holding each other; the warmth of his body detaining Lizzie longer still – much longer than it ought.

‘Do me a favour, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Don’t breathe a word of this to a soul, for fear of it getting back. I intend to finish with Sylvia, but I want her to hear it from me, no one else.’

‘I won’t breathe a word, Jesse, I promise. I’d better go back in now. I’m froze to death.’

‘Go on, else you’ll catch your death. I’ll be back in a minute. Sylvia thinks I’ve gone up the yard.’

‘Sylvia thought you’d gone up the yard,’ a woman’s voice said.

They both turned. There was no mistaking that tall, willowy frame even in the darkness. Sylvia’s face was in shadow, the street lamp behind her, and they could not see the stony contempt in her eyes. Her tone of voice, however, was cold as frozen marble, and her diction, so prim and correct these days, lent it a colder edge, even frostier than the weather. Lizzie and Jesse instantly, guiltily, let go of each other. They looked at her, then at each other. It was exactly the sort of confrontation neither wanted. They wondered how much she’d heard; but however much, she had seen them embrace, perhaps even witnessed their lingering kiss.

‘So this is what’s been going on behind my back, is it? This is why you only want to see me three nights a week, is it, Jesse Clancey?’

‘Nothing’s been going on behind your back, Sylvia.’

‘It doesn’t seem like it. Well, our Lizzie, you can have him and welcome, and I hope to God as I never see either of you again as long as I live.’ She burst into tears and fished in the pocket of her coat for a handkerchief. ‘I’m disgusted at you, Lizzie, I really am. But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? Not the way I’ve seen you looking at him.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘And to think you’re leading that other poor lad on in there as well. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why, you’re no better than a common harlot … and everybody thinks butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’

Lizzie was annoyed at this slur on her innocence. Until now she’d hung her head in sheer embarrassment at being caught in this compromising situation. But why should she feel guilty? She had nothing to hide. It was all innocent enough from her own point of view. She understood how it must have looked to Sylvia, though, so she tempered her pique.

Sylvia turned to go.

‘Sylvia, no matter what it looked like, we were just standing here talking …’

‘Yes, in each other’s arms. And I heard what you were saying.’ Sylvia turned to face her again with increasing scorn. ‘I heard him tell you to keep it quiet in case I found out.’ Although she tensed with vehement anger and frustration, her emotions were surprisingly well under control.

‘For Christ’s sake, Sylvia,’ Jesse said. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. You’ve got nothing at all to blame Lizzie for. She was trying to protect you.’

‘Protect me? Holding you like that? Protect me from what? Do you think I’m completely stupid?’

‘Lizzie, you’d best get back inside as you were about to. Leave me and Sylvia to sort this out between us. She might as well know the rest of it.’

‘I don’t want to hear anything from either of you,’ Sylvia said, contemptuous of being scolded like a disobedient child. ‘My eyes have never deceived me yet.’

‘Well, whether you want to hear or no, you’re going to listen. You can either listen here, or you can listen while I walk you back home, ’cause there’s no way you’re going back into Joe’s house till I’ve told you the truth.’

Lizzie was about to wish them a happy new year as she walked away, but stopped herself; neither the moment, nor the sentiment were appropriate.

‘Lizzie!’ Sylvia called icily. ‘Be sure that after this I shall get my own back. If it takes the rest of my life I’ll get my revenge. No woman steals my man and gets away with it.’

‘Sylvia, I haven’t stolen your man. I haven’t even tried.’

She turned and hurried away, never more glad to be out of an awkward situation. The noise as she passed by the window drowned out any conversation Jesse and Sylvia were now having. Joe was playing ‘Roll out the Barrel’, and most of the guests were singing along to it. Lizzie realised that Sylvia couldn’t have heard very much of what Jesse had said, from that distance at any rate. But seeing her in his arms was enough.

Back in the house Lizzie shuddered as the warm air enveloped her, displacing the cold. She headed straight for the fire and held her cold hands over it, still reeling from the encounter.

‘Every time that door opens the damned cold wafts in,’ Eve complained to Sarah. ‘We might as well be sittin’ up the yard in the privy as sittin’ here. Me belly’s roasted like a bit o’ brisket, and me back’s like ice. It serves me barbarous.’

As she stood by the fire, thinking, Lizzie didn’t know which experience was having the most profound effect on her: Jesse Clancey’s confession; his scrumptious kisses; or Sylvia’s cold hostility. None should have come as any great surprise. She recalled how Jesse always used to ogle her and smile; and Sylvia had shown signs of resentment then, come to think of it. After her little outburst tonight, though, Lizzie decided she wouldn’t be troubled any more at the thought of going out with Jesse. She resented Sylvia’s accusations to the point where she would welcome the chance to get her own back. If her name was going to be blackened it might as well be justified. Yet she knew she would not do it, not even out of revenge. She couldn’t, for she was not of a vindictive nature; and deep down she understood Sylvia’s possessiveness.

‘Lizzie. You’re back.’ It was Ben, standing at her side. She had not noticed him as she gazed into the fire. ‘I went to look for you.’

She smiled at him absently, politely, as though it were the first time she had ever caught sight of him. Then she strove to shake off the fetters of preoccupation. ‘Hello, Ben,’ she said, her eyes wide, happier now, relieved he hadn’t spotted her with Jesse. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been a while.’

‘Are you all right? Shall I get you a drink?’

‘I should already have one somewhere. You poured me some lemonade before I went out, didn’t you? I think I fancy something stronger now though. Something to warm me up a bit.’

‘I’ll get you a glass of port, eh?’

The piano playing and the singing stopped momentarily, at which point Lizzie heard Joe calling May to fetch the Hardwicks. May acknowledged him and duly disappeared through the back door. Eve and Sarah, still occupying the scullery and their guardianship of the drinks, shivered again and flashed looks of cold discontent at each other. Sarah finally suggested they take up occupation of the front room where there was only the draught under the front door to contend with; surely somebody would be gentleman enough to offer them a seat. So there was a temporary disruption and rustling of long skirts while they shifted. Meanwhile Joe had begun playing the piano again – a tune called ‘I Wouldn’t Leave My Little Wooden Hut for You’. Amidst the laughing and the general chatter they heard a solitary voice rise, singing along to the piano. It was Beccy Crump who, when she’d had a drink or two, was noted for her uninhibited renditions of this and other songs.

Lizzie, warmer now, sat down on the bottom stair next to the grate, and Ben joined her, bearing her a glass of port and his own pint of beer. She took the port and sipped it, savouring its intensity as it slid down her throat. The back door opened and she looked up with apprehension, expecting to see Sylvia and Jesse, but it was May, who had returned with Jack and Maria Hardwick and Jack’s father and mother. May issued them drinks and they, too, disappeared into the front room, with Maria heavily pregnant, laughing, pretending to conduct the music as they went.

‘When you went outside I was intending to come with you,’ Ben commented when they were alone again. He lit a cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘When I couldn’t find you I came back inside.’

‘Sorry,’ Lizzie replied. ‘I wish you had found me in time.’

‘Why? What’s up, Lizzie?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell you later, when I’ve stopped shivering.’

‘Look, I fancy a walk outside myself. When you’ve warmed up a bit shall we go out for five or ten minutes? Then you can tell me what’s up.’

‘It’s bitter cold out there, Ben. I don’t mind, though – as long as I’m wrapped up warm next time.’ The idea of being alone with Ben on this cold night was starting to appeal again, not just to get away from the atmosphere that was bound to prevail if Jesse and Sylvia returned.

Beccy Crump reached the end of her song and predictably commenced singing, ‘When Father Papered the Parlour’. Lizzie turned and smiled at Ben.

‘He fancies you, Lizzie – that Jesse,’ Ben remarked trenchantly and drew on his cigarette.

‘Oh? D’you think so?’ She was hardly thrilled to be reminded of it after the trouble it had caused.

‘Judging by the way he was looking at you earlier, and the way he followed you outside. D’you fancy him?’

‘I suppose I do,’ she said, teasing him with the truth, but absolving herself because she could not lie easily. ‘I always used to, anyway.’

‘Don’t you think he’s a bit old for you?’

‘Not really … Oh, Ben, don’t let’s talk about Jesse.’

‘Why? Has he upset you? Tell me what’s up.’

She looked around. If Jesse and Sylvia walked in now, or even just the one of them, she would want the floor to open up and swallow her.

‘Let’s go for that walk now and I’ll tell you. Not in here where other folks can hear.’

Ben looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It wanted twenty-five minutes to eleven.

‘Don’t forget your hat and coat this time, then,’ he said, reaching his own from the back of the cellar door. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

A group of people entered The Sailor’s Return, all done up in their best clothes, and another group left. Ben could hear Joe playing his piano and it sounded as though everybody in the room was singing their hearts out. He looked up at the north sky, cloudless, clear, and drew on his cigarette. His mind was full of Lizzie. Daisy had assured him Lizzie had no romantic attachment, and whenever he’d seen her out she was never with a lad; but what was happening with this Jesse? Should he back off for fear of upsetting some other arrangement? He would be loath to do so. Before all this he thought he had a chance. Now he was confused.

Ben liked things clear cut. He liked to know where he was going long before he got there. There was no ambiguity in his own mind as to the likely outcome of a liaison with Lizzie; nor in his feelings, once he was on a given course. He was straightforward and everything had to be above board. He was forthright and if he had anything to say he said it. He was not one for skirting round a problem when he could meet it head on. Neither was he one for flannelling; what he said, he meant.

He heard Lizzie’s footsteps in the entry and turned to see her emerge in her pale coloured coat, her collar turned up to keep out the cold. The street lamp thirty yards away picked out her fine features and he thought she looked so beautiful, yet so preoccupied. He remembered the way Jesse had been looking at her; it was hardly surprising; how could he reasonably expect this girl to have no other admirers? They must surely be falling over each other in the rush.

‘Which way should we go?’ he asked.

‘Uphill’s best.’ Lizzie clutched the collar of her coat to her neck.

‘Go on, then. Tell me what’s upset you.’

She made no response at first, searching for an appropriate way to begin.

‘Tell me what it was, Lizzie. I like things out in the open. I’m not one for secrets and bottling things up.’

Another couple walked towards them. They said nothing more till they’d bid them season’s greetings and gone past.

Then she told him the truth, exactly as it happened. She told him precisely what Jesse had said, and her response, almost word for word. She told him how utterly surprised she was to learn how he felt about her, and assured Ben that she’d never ever tried to lure him away from Sylvia. She told him how they fell unpremeditated into each others’ arms. She told him how Sylvia found them thus and totally misjudged the situation, expressing her concern that such a mistake, however it looked to Sylvia, could open up a needless rift between the two families. But she did not tell him Jesse had kissed her, nor how much she’d enjoyed it.

They turned the corner at The Junction public house. A latch squeaked and clattered, then a door banged and a man wearing a cloth cap and white muffler stumbled out onto the footpath, the worse for drink. There was raucous laughter from within, and somebody played the first few bars of ‘Wait till the Sun Shines Nellie’ on an accordion. Singing began as the couple crossed the street towards Percy Collins’s shop on the opposite corner. It seemed that the whole world was partying.

‘Do you believe me, Ben?’ Lizzie asked intently. This evening had promised so much, but so far it had yielded nothing but trouble. She prayed he would believe her.

‘Yes, I believe you, Lizzie.’

‘That’s a blessing. Especially since I told Jesse I was already seeing you regular. That was presuming a bit, I know. Do you forgive me?’

‘Forgive you? I’d like to start seeing you regular anyway, Lizzie. You’re my sort of girl.’

Lizzie smiled, barely able to conceal her elation. ‘I’d like that, Ben,’ she said softly. ‘I barely know you, though. What if we don’t get on?’

‘I’m willing to take a chance if you are. I’m willing to bet as we’d get on like house a-fire.’ As he spoke he felt for her gloved hand at her side. It startled her when he held it. ‘Would I be able to trust you, though, with that Jesse about?’

She smiled. ‘Oh, Ben. If we’re going to start courting, I can promise you that.’

They walked on in silence for a while, hand in hand, enjoying the moment, turning to smile at each other every few seconds, squeezing each other’s fingers. Lizzie felt warm now from the glow within her, and she felt the tension of her previous encounter with Jesse drain away. Neither the bitter cold, nor the frost crunching beneath her frozen feet, could overcome the warmth of this joy and relief.

‘It was five and twenty to eleven when we come out,’ Ben said at last. ‘Perhaps we’d better get back.’

‘No, not yet. Let’s just walk to the top of the hill. We’ll be able to see for miles from there, it’s so clear. It’s not far.’

Presently they reached the top of Hill Street where the road levelled out. They crossed to the other side and found themselves overlooking a steep embankment. Allotments and an array of rotting old sheds lay immediately below, and a little further away the head gear and buildings of the old Springfield Pit. Beyond that was a vast industrial plain sweeping before them to the north and north east; a landscape randomly pock-marked with quarries and slag heaps.

The light from the moon and the stars enabled them to see much more than they might on any other night; even features of the terrain. Lights twinkled as far as the eye could see, and the red glow of furnaces and ironworks in the distance, still toiling on this festive night, bloomed and faded according to their mode of activity. Products of all descriptions, from all sorts of materials, for practically every purpose under the sun, were being manufactured within sight, even tonight, for the use of mankind the world over.

From this vantage point Lizzie and Ben overlooked Tipton, West Bromwich, Oldbury and Smethwick; a massive expanse of factories. Countless red brick chimney stacks bristled up, spewing out endless columns of grey smoke that were visible even now. The dark, skeletal structures of the pit headgear of scores of collieries visible against the frosted landscape were no relief from the tedious acres of dismal pit banks and cheerless slate roofs, shimmering now with frost as the moonlight glinted off them. During the day the wind had cleared the dust and smoke from the atmosphere; now they could see for miles.

‘It’s so still up here,’ Ben remarked. ‘Listen. You can actually hear the sounds from the factories in the distance.’

They listened intently. It was true. Here and there they heard the sibilant clang of metal against metal as a furnace was charged, the thrum, permanently embedded in the air, of a thousand steam engines, the far-off thuds of forging hammers, intermittent and barely discernible; but it was there; all the industrial sounds ever created by man were there, like a distant abstract symphony, in the silence.

Lizzie snuggled up to Ben as if she had known him years, and he put his arms around her. But it was not the same as when Jesse had embraced her. This was easier. There was no guilt. She did not have to consider Sylvia. She did not have to consider Fern. She did not have to consider anybody, except Ben and herself. She could melt into his arms with utter contentment. No one was about to break in on them and mar their comfortable intimacy. There seemed to be such peace between them. It was such luxury.

‘Look at the stars,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never seen so many stars.’

‘Lizzie?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I want to ask you something?’

‘What?’

‘Can I kiss you? I’ve been dying to kiss you.’

‘But Ben … What would you think of me if I let you?’

‘No less than I already do. If we’re gunna see each other regular then we’ll end up kissing sooner or later.’

‘And if I let you kiss me you won’t think I’m cheap?’

‘Cheap? ’Course not. I already know you’re decent and respectable.’

He planted a kiss gently on her cheek, as soft as a butterfly landing on a blossom, lingering for a second. Then his lips slowly brushed across her face, moving inexorably to her mouth. She did not resist; rather she waited excitedly, her lips sensually parted; ready for him. It seemed like an age, but in a few seconds she felt his mouth on hers, soft, searching, hungry for contact. Inevitably she compared it to Jesse’s kiss: it was different because Ben had no moustache, but it was no less pleasant. But with this kiss she could respond whole-heartedly; wring full pleasure from it. She felt her skin running with warmth. It was so pleasant she thought it must be utterly wicked, and broke off, panting a little, feeling guilty after all, her breath hot in the cold, night air.

‘Oh, Ben,’ she sighed. But she wanted to experience him more; much, much more. He made her toes curl; he sent tingles up and down her spine. Kissing him was far too pleasant to avoid.

He drew her closer. When he felt no resistance he searched for her lips again and found them waiting for him as if she was expecting it. For the first time ever he felt her body against him, and he ran his hands down the back of her coat to better appreciate her slenderness, while his lips enjoyed the taste of her.

Lizzie’s pulse raced and her mind raced with it. She sensed an unforeseen reaction deep, deep within her, ruthlessly churning up her emotions, tearing anarchically at her very soul, like nothing she had ever known before. Parts of her seemed to come alive that she never expected could. She was longing to be touched, longing to be caressed, and it was a revelation. Her breathing came faster, because these new, sudden sensations were exhilarating, tearing her breath away; her legs were like jelly; her head seemed to spin.

It was some minutes before she became acclimatised to all this delight. She broke off casually, reluctantly, to get her breath back and muster her thoughts. She rested her head on Ben’s shoulder. Would it always be like this? Could it always be like this? Then, strangely, just for a moment, she noticed the cold again, yet infinitely more intense than before and she shuddered. Was this fleeting sensation that penetrated through to her very bones an omen? He sensed her sudden angst and squeezed her affectionately, protectively, rubbing his cheek against her lush brown hair.

‘I’ve been dying to do that for ages,’ Ben whispered. ‘I’ve often wondered what it’d be like, kissing you.’

She sighed, looked up into his eyes and smiled, for the awful, ominous chill left her as quickly as it had arrived. ‘I’ve wondered the same about you, Ben, but I don’t suppose you’ll believe it.’

‘Oh, Lizzie, I’d like to believe it. I want to believe it.’

‘It’s true … I swear it’s true.’

He held her a while longer, savouring the emotions and this other unworldly atmosphere.

‘Come on,’ he said at last. ‘We’d better get back. They’ll wonder where we’ve got to.’

‘Oh, let ’em wonder. Come on. Let’s carry on with our walk. As long as we’re back before midnight so you can let the new year in for us …’