Mrs. Lake, now, she had an interesting face. And spirit, too, plenty of gumption. He liked that. He’d spoken to her several times since her first visit. He felt she was warming up to him. She’d been a doormat in the marriage, but she’d found plenty of strength when it mattered most. Besides, she’d had the children to think about.
30
They’d had their first chat in May when Betty’s sister, Sarah, came to stay. Rosie and Jamie had gone to visit, not long before Bernhardt left him in the forest. Jamie remembered Lady Audrey had decided to come with them at the last minute, and the sight of her had set Betty in quite a flutter.
Sarah lost a leg in the big December raid in London; the same one Jamie had been caught up in, the horrid blitz business. Poor Sarah, she’d seemed so sad, so breakable, and her low spirits rubbed off onto Jamie.
Jamie had wandered out to the lane and picked at the honeysuckle blossoms, sniffing each one before he flung it to the ground.
“Are you sad, Jamie?” He hadn’t heard Betty approach, Jamie been lost in his memories of Gran and teatimes and stories.
“I’m all right. Bet you’re glad to have your Sarah home.”
“Well, yes and no. Lovely to see her, of course, but you know it’s not just Sarah’s loss. They were my family too. And Frank doesn’t like her. Thinks she looks down on him.” Betty watched her thumbs rub against her fingers as if contemplating a tricky problem. “I think she does. He’s not quite what my mum had in mind, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, now. Are you talking about class? People get funny about that, don’t they?”
“Yes, but that’s not the only thing. Frank gets cross a lot. He hits me sometimes.”
Jamie noticed a bruise on Betty’s arm, just about where her rolled up sleeves ended. “Did he do that?” He laid a gentle finger on it. “Why? You’re so nice.”
“I don’t know how much you understand, Master Jamie. Thing is, we don’t have a baby. It makes him angry. He wants a son.”
“Why’s that your fault?”
“Well, he thinks it is.”
“You can’t make a baby? He can’t either?”
“Oh, Jamie, I’ll tell you all about it one day, when we have lots of time.”
They strolled back to the cottage together to join the others.
He’d only had glimpses of her until about the middle of September when she’d come to his room, ordered by Stanton, to give it a “good clean out,” which seemed to involve all kinds of fuss and mess.
He’d sat on his bed and curled his feet under him, settling in for a good chat.
“How are you, Betty?”
“Same.”
“Have you got another bruise?”
“Yes.” She punished her dusting rag for fingerprints, dust, Frank, and babies.
“You were going to tell me about babies.”
Betty stood and, arms akimbo, looked at him like his old kindergarten schoolteacher used to. “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear this. You’re very young. And …”
“Stupid? Slow isn’t the same as stupid.”
“Didn’t say that, wouldn’t say that.”
“And I’m fifteen, you know. That’s big. Tell me.”
She plopped down on his desk chair, her big curvy legs spread wide. She rested her elbows on her knees and looked up at him. “People get babies the same way animals do. Didn’t you ever see the cows at it? Or the dogs? The sheep?”
“I saw a sheep with horns hurting another sheep. Evans told me it was to get lambs when I asked. That’s not it!”
“Oh, yes it is! And they’re not hurting them, they like it.”
And she’d told him how people did it, mostly, although everyone does it a little different. The main thing is to get this into that. He didn’t believe her, it sounded disgusting. But then he remembered what happened sometimes when he dreamed of Rosie.
He’d had a chance to check up on her story a few days later when he came across a couple of stable boys playing cards in the courtyard. He hung back behind the tack-room door and listened in. One of them was telling the other, in great detail, about this girl he’d taken for a picnic. They’d spread the blanket and eaten their sandwiches and had a bit of a cuddle. And then, well, one thing led to another and it happened. First time for him, he didn’t know about her. His friend was all ears and wanted all the details. And he got them, and so did Jamie. Took him a while to realize that a cock didn’t only mean a boy chicken, it was what the boy called his willy. Even Roy hadn’t used that word, and he’d never talked to other boys when he lived in London. He must talk to Betty about all this. There were still a few things he didn’t understand.
Yesterday was the first chance he’d had to tell her without anyone hearing that he wanted to talk again. “I’ve got some questions,” he said. She whispered she’d try to come up to his room after tea to lay the fire.
A light knock on the door made his heart go fast. She acted as if she was sneaking around. Instead of opening the door flat out, she opened it only half way and slid into his room as best she could, considering she wasn’t all that small. Her breasts slapped the door’s edge, and Jamie’s breath came faster as his eyes came to rest on that big soft pillow of a chest.
“Evening, Master Jamie, just going to lay the fire. These October evenings are drawing in.”
Why was she talking loud like that? Someone listening? Better do the same. “Good evening, Betty. I’m glad you came. Was your husband kind today?” he said loudly.
“No need to shout!”
“Sorry, thought you were worried about people hearing things,” he whispered through cupped hands.
“No, no, it’s all right. No, not kind.” She sighed and lifted her skirt and he saw the red stripes across her legs. “Last night.”
“Still angry about no baby?”
“Yes, still angry. Doctor told me it’s not always the woman, sometimes the man can’t make a baby. I didn’t dare tell Frank till yesterday, and I only told him then because he started badgering me again and I’d had enough. He was that upset. I shouldn’t have told him.”
“You mean he can’t do, er … that thing. You know, what you said. The sex thing.”
“No, not that, he does that most every night. Just sometimes the stuff doesn’t have enough of the little things in it that swim up inside and make the baby.”
Jamie sat back on his bed and thought about this news. So the stuff is supposed to have little things in it to make babies. The stable boys had left that part out. Perhaps his didn’t have any either. And perhaps they swam too slowly to get anywhere important. Or didn’t know how to swim.
He had that feeling down there more often lately, and there it was again with all this sex talk. He pulled the bedspread over his lap to hide it. You need a wife for those kinds of things. Unless you were a stable boy or someone like that. Different rules.
“Why did you rumple that bed, Jamie? Here, let me put it straight.”
“No, no, I’ll do it.”
“What are you hiding under there?” She yanked the bedspread off him and looked. Her eyes widened when she saw the bump and she looked as if she wanted to kiss him, her mouth round and soft and rosy now. Her tongue brushed her lips and she stroked his hand, ragged from all the scrubbing, but its rough touch thrilling just the same. Stroking seemed like a fine thing that could definitely be done all over. He could stroke her all over if she ever wanted him to. He felt his cheeks flush as he got bigger and harder.
“Why, Jamie, did me talking about sex make you want to do it?”
“’Course I do. You said all the fellows want to.”
“With me, Jamie?”
“You look nice and soft. The good kind of squashy. Yes. And, Betty, I heard a stable boy talking about his first time with a girl. He called his willy a cock. Is cock a better word?”
“It’s a more grownup word. Willy is for children.”
“Cock. Sounds strong. Cock!”
“Don’t keep on
saying that, Jamie. Most people don’t say it at all. And don’t you ever say it in front of anyone in this family!”
“Sorry.” He felt ashamed. Perhaps the whole sex thing was shame.
“You know, you could help me, Jamie.” She looked at him, her head a little to one side, as if wondering which chicken was plumper. “We could make a baby. Only no one must know. That way, Frank would stop hitting me because we’d have a baby.”
She brought her big round face down so their noses were almost touching. Her breath smelled of cheese and pickled onions, like real women who did real work should probably smell.
“Only people like you aren’t supposed to make babies. They might send you away, so it would have to be a big secret.” She whispered now and her breath warmed his cheek.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispered, “Let’s make a baby. I want to do that now!” His fingernails scratched at the sheets in anticipation.
“Not now, Jamie. We mustn’t get caught.” She stood up and folded her hands across her tummy. She looked quite cross with her lips all scrunched up.
“Why are you cross? I didn’t say the wrong thing, did I?” It wasn’t so hard now, but it felt terribly uncomfortable.
“I’m just a bit, you know, anxious. It’s a big step. I’ve got to think how we can get away where no one will find us out.”
“Well, who knows you’re here now? Now would be nice.” The thought was a tingly one.
“Cook knows.” She paused and looked down at him, hands on hips, her strong arms pushing her blouse tight. “But your first time wouldn’t take long, you’re too excited. But you know, it has to happen often to make sure, so we’ll still have to find a place.”
“Will you take your clothes off?”
“There’s no time, just my knickers. Get your things off.”
“In front of you? Oh my goodness.” He wasn’t sure any more. She might laugh.
“Yes, in front of me! Come on, I’ll help you.”
Jamie sat against the pillow, his legs spread out in front and let her undo the buttons and pull his trousers off. He felt silly, and scared now, too. He didn’t know what it would be like. Maybe he wouldn’t like it after all. Maybe it would be a nasty sort of thing to do.
His white pants gaped at the front and out it popped for all to see. He kept his head down but peered up at Betty under his eyebrows to see if she was going to make fun of him. Her face was half serious, half happy. Not laughing.
“Ooh, now, Master Jamie, very nice. Very nice.”
“Is it?” He took a good look at that piece of him he’d always thought of as not clean, not to be touched, not to be discussed, certainly not nice. “What’s nice about it?”
“It’s a good strong big one and it’s going to feel nice inside me, Jamie. Women like sex too, not just menfolk. It feels lovely. Sex makes people have babies because they like to do it. Nature’s way, you see.” She slipped his underpants off. “Only sometimes, like with Frank and me, it doesn’t work out. So we need help.”
She took her knickers off and pulled up her skirt as she sat on him. He caught a faint whiff of fish. He didn’t like fish much, but coming off her it seemed exciting for some reason.
“Will you kiss me, like a man-woman kiss? I’ve seen them outside a pub, and I saw it in a film once.”
“All right, Jamie, you’ve got a pretty mouth, I’ll say that.” Her lips closed over his and seemed to suck them in. Her tongue touched his and he remembered an electric shock he got from a wrong wire once, only this was a good shock, traveled all the way down, just right.
Betty lifted herself onto his cock and it went deep inside a warm, soft space, slippery with whatever women have there to make it slide. She moved up and down so it felt sort of happy painful, not quite easy, but ready to be set free quite soon. He felt dreamy, not really in his room anymore, or anywhere he knew. But in a funny way, his mind had cleared, too; he felt clever.
She moved faster and started making funny little sounds, almost like a whining child. She’d said the stuff should come out inside her and he knew it would, very soon. He wanted to explode, felt it in a different way from when he was alone. A hand wasn’t as good as Betty’s insides, soft and warm and lovely as she was. Her neck had a gentle farm smell: horses and hay and butter and milk. A faint sweat stink from her armpits rose as she moved and he felt drunk like when Roy would give him beer for a laugh. This felt so much better, and probably wouldn’t give him a headache, either.
Wonderful and wide, her bottom spread over his legs, and she opened her blouse so her breasts nuzzled his face, their nipples dark and hard looking. Her arms had muscles like a man’s and when she pinned him down by his shoulders, he saw only swinging flesh, and plenty of it.
He floated up, almost to the sky, and he pushed himself further into her as the great gush came. They both panted and clutched each other for a few minutes, him still inside although he could feel it slipping down.
Suddenly, there she was on her feet again, pulling on her knickers as if she had a bus to catch.
“Get your things on, Master Jamie. I’ve been gone a good ten minutes and I’ll be missed.”
She didn’t seem so loving anymore, like she’d finished one job and gone onto the next. Jamie pulled on his pants and trousers, feeling more comfortable now, but disappointed too. A cuddle afterwards would have been nice, and perhaps what people ought to do after nice close times like that. But she was right, they mustn’t get caught.
She finished laying his fire, working quickly. “Remember, Jamie, big secret. I’ll think about our next time. Do you still want to help?”
“Oh yes! I like helping people. At any time.”
“Bye, bye, then,” and she blew him a little kiss before rushing out.
Jamie finished buttoning his slacks and lay back, blowing a little air out of his lips as he cupped his hands behind his head. So, he might make a baby for Betty and she wouldn’t get hit anymore. Soon, perhaps. Not too soon, that would mean not having to do the making part anymore. He liked the making part.
He’d be a father, a thought that made him sit up, startled out of happy thoughts. No, not really. It was his stuff that made it, but it wouldn’t be in his home, he wouldn’t be bringing it up or loving it. So he wouldn’t be a real father. He wasn’t old enough, anyhow. He might be able to see it sometimes and be nice to it. He might love it anyway, though, even if he wasn’t its real father and he wouldn’t see it very often. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to help loving it. He was good at loving, it came easy.
Then, a horrid thought. Suppose it wasn’t right, got born slow like he had. Would Frank start hitting Betty again and the baby too? Frank wasn’t the sort to love anyone slow. Oh, God, just supposing. Jamie stuck the heels of his hands into his eyes, pulled his knees up and rocked. Oh, God, oh, God, a slow baby that wasn’t loved. Fiddle-faddle, fiddle-faddle. But Betty wasn’t slow. Jamie’s parents? Gran never said.
Gran almost never talked about his mother and father. She’d said a long time ago they were trouble, always trouble, and they’d had to go away for a long time, might never be back. She told him later that wasn’t true, they’d been killed in a train crash; she’d wanted to spare his feelings. Jamie didn’t know how being trouble and having to go away forever was better than being killed in a train crash, but he looked at her teary eyes and kept quiet. Jamie’s father was her son, so she was allowed to be sad, was supposed to be, even if he was trouble.
She’d said something he hadn’t understood to Roy a long time ago, he thought it was just after the Christmas before last when he was still only fourteen. The memory nagged, what was it? The picture opened up like a slow dream: Jamie hunched on the floor in a corner, crying, and Roy and Gran sitting at the table. He remembered the breadboard still out with half a loaf, a lump of butter, and a small wedge of cheddar. Gran was telling Roy off for being unkind. He’d kept calling Jamie that word. “Idiot.” Horrid, mean word.
“Tell me, Gran, what you think made Jamie a
n idiot? In the family is it?”
“Don’t call him that! You see how you’ve made him cry? His name is Jamie. He’s a little slow, that’s all.”
“All right, all right, it’s not as though he knows the meaning of the word. But anyway, didn’t you ask the doc? Didn’t he say nothing?”
“Said he thought it was the drink, he’s seen it before, especially round these parts. Mother drinks too much when she’s expecting the baby and it damages them.” Gran sighed and looked old all of a sudden. “She drank from morning till night, Jamie’s mum did. Well, God knows drink’s bedeviled this family, so you watch yourself!”
Roy hadn’t answered, just shrugged his bony shoulders and laughed. Jamie didn’t miss that laugh. Not much like a person laugh, more like a fierce animal of a sort Jamie hadn’t ever seen, one that would eat you bit by bit, cackling while he did it.
He hadn’t understood at the time. People drink all the time, he’d thought then. Water, orangeade if they’re lucky. Tea. Funny if that made babies slow. Now, since coming to the Manor, he realized that when people talk about drink, they often mean something that could get you drunk. So his mother got drunk all the time. And that had made Jamie slow while he was still inside her tummy.
Babies coming out of a mother’s tummy was another thing he hadn’t understood then, not until Betty told him. Jamie hated drunk people. Roy used to hurt him more when he was drunk—if Gran was out, that is. Sometimes he did disgusting things that hurt a lot. Nothing that felt nice, and nothing he’d tell about, not ever. And Betty said Frank was usually drunk when he beat her.
He’d ask Betty about the drinking. He would ask her not to drink. He didn’t think she did, but still.
Jamie had a dim memory of another thing Gran said not long ago, something about not knowing where her son was. She’d said gone away first, then dead in a train crash, and then he could have sworn she said in the forest she wanted Jamie to find her son. He couldn’t quite remember. Another dream, he supposed.
Would Rosie do sex after she was married? He didn’t think so. Rosie was more like a pretty pink flower, like her name. Betty was more like … well, he wasn’t sure what she was more like. More from the earth, perhaps, more part of a farm than a Manor. He liked both kinds of ladies, but in different ways. Like tea at Gran’s and tea at the Manor. Gran’s teas filled you up fast, Manor teas satisfied you in another way—you had to pay attention to the more special tastes.
The Blitz Business Page 24