He couldn’t do it. She clung to him like a limpet, smiling for no reason. When he accused her of being drunk, she laughed.
‘No, silly,’ she said fondly. ‘The doctor’s put me on tablets for my nerves.’
‘What kind of tablets?’
She pulled a bottle from her bag. ‘I don’t know but they’re making me better. I’ve stopped fretting about things so much.’
Norman read the label. ‘What the heck are “sedatives”, Else?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said again. ‘But I’m quite well now. We can get married whenever you like.’
‘That’s not—’
‘We’ll talk about it when I come down at the end of the month,’ she said happily. ‘It’s all planned. I’ve already written to Mr and Mrs Cosham to book a room. We’ll have such fun, pet.’
‘But—’ He stopped.
‘But what, pet?’
‘It’ll be cold,’ he said lamely.
Norman told Bessie it was his father who was coming to stay. ‘He wants to see for himself how the farm’s going,’ he lied. ‘I owe it to him, Bess. He gave me the money to get started.’
‘So why don’t you want me to meet him?’
‘I do . . . just not yet. I’ve told him I’m working every hour God gave to get the business off the ground.’
‘Are you ashamed of me, Norman?’
‘Course not. But what’s he going to think if he sees you here? He’ll know I can’t keep my hands off you.’
Bessie rolled on to her side to look at him. ‘That’s true. You’re worse than Satan.’
Norman grinned. ‘Except Satan does it with all the hens . . . and I only do it with one.’
She touched a finger to his lips. ‘You’d better not be lying, Norman. I’ll leave you if I ever find you with someone else.’
‘You won’t,’ he said. ‘You’re the only girl for me, Bessie.’ He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. But over her shoulder he stared unhappily at the curtain hiding his clothes.
Elsie had stitched it for him the first time she came to the farm.
He cleaned the hut to remove all trace of Bessie. Strands of blonde hair. The smell of her perfume. One of her combs. He rescued the dirty sheets from the nesting box, then had to wash them to remove the smell of chickens. They ended up a uniform grey but gave no other clues that they’d been off the bed for seven weeks.
The tidiness of the shack was the first thing Elsie noticed. ‘Did you do this for me?’ she asked. She looked pleased.
‘I wanted it to look nice for you, Else. It was a bit mucky the last time you came.’
‘It didn’t matter. I know how hard you have to work, lovey. I’ll keep it spick and span when I’m living here all the time.’
He changed the subject abruptly. ‘How are your parents?’
‘The same.’ She frowned. ‘Mrs Cosham said she was surprised to see me. That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? I booked the room ages ago.’
Norman turned away to put the kettle on the stove.
‘She asked me if we were still engaged. Why would she say that, pet?’
He gave an attempt at a shrug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s wondering why you haven’t been down so much this year.’
‘Did you tell her about my nerves? Does she know I’m on tablets?’
‘No.’
She sank on to the bed. ‘That’s good. I’m not going to take them any more. I hate feeling drowsy all the time.’
‘But if they’re making you better—’
‘It’s you that makes me better, Norman. Do you remember last summer? It was all so perfect. Just you and me in our own little house.’
‘That was the year before,’ he told her. ‘Last year was when you got the sack . . . and your brother and sister were married.’
‘We made love all the time, pet. You can’t have forgotten.’
‘It was only kissing and cuddling. It’s not as if we had sex.’
She stared at him. ‘We did have sex, Norman. You nearly got me pregnant.’
Norman frowned at her. ‘A bloke can’t nearly get a girl pregnant, Else. Either he does or he doesn’t. In any case, we never came close to making babies. You refused to do it until after the wedding.’
‘That’s not true.’
He shrugged. ‘You thought if I wanted sex that badly I’d marry you just to get it.’
She looked confused suddenly. ‘You’re lying.’
‘You know I’m not,’ he told her. ‘I don’t say I wouldn’t have liked it, but—’ Another shrug as he moved towards the door. ‘The best summer was before we were engaged. You were pretty happy then. Do you want to make the tea? I’ve things to do outside.’
Elsie took all the wrong messages from Norman’s efforts to keep her out of sight. She thought it was eagerness that made him collect her from the Coshams before the sun came up. And passion that kept her in the shack until well after dark. Even his sudden use of ‘pet’, ‘lovey’ and ‘sweetheart’ didn’t rouse her suspicions.
‘We can’t go into town today, pet . . .’ ‘Stay inside, lovey. I can’t bear to think of you getting your hands dirty . . .’ ‘It’s a real holiday having you cook for me, sweetheart . . .’
Norman knew he was being cruel but he blamed Elsie for it. If she’d been halfway normal, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with her. She should have taken his hints and left long ago. How was a chap supposed to behave when he’d made a promise that he didn’t want to keep?
With any other girl he could have said: ‘It hasn’t worked . . . No hard feelings . . . Let’s go our separate ways . . .’
With Elsie it would turn into the world’s greatest drama. ‘You’ve broken my heart . . . I’m going to kill myself . . . I want to die . . .’
The idea had formed in his mind that the easiest way to be shot of Elsie was to marry Bessie. Once he was wed, Elsie would have to leave him alone. His plan was to write her a letter the day after the wedding.
Dear Elsie,
Yesterday I married a girl called Bessie Coldicott. She is now Mrs Thorne. I’m sorry to break it to you like this but I knew you’d create a scene if I told you before.
Yours, Norman
It was the coward’s way out, but it was also the safest. If the letter made her unhappy, then her parents could jolly her out of it. And if they failed, then Norman would rather she killed herself in London than in Blackness Road.
‘You do love me, don’t you, pet?’ Elsie pleaded on her last day at the farm.
‘Of course.’
‘Then show me.’
Norman watched with loathing as she undid her dress and let it slip from her shoulders. She was so thin that every rib stood out beneath her skin. In a pathetic attempt to make herself more appealing she took off her glasses and peered at him from eyes that couldn’t see.
‘Touch my breasts, pet.’ She used her hands to push her flat chest into a cleavage. ‘Are they pretty? Do you like them?’ She dropped her right hand to her crotch. ‘Do you like this, Norman? Is this nice?’
Oh, God!
Tears wet Elsie’s lashes. ‘Love me, pet. Please. I can’t live without you. I’m so . . . lonely.’
With a sense of shame, Norman pulled her to him. But all he could think of was Bessie . . .
86 Clifford Gardens
Kensal Rise
London
November 16th, 1924
My dearest beloved,
The most wonderful thing! Your little Elsie is pregnant. I missed a bleed this month and the doctor says I’m expecting. It must have been when you made love to me on my last day in the shack.
I know you didn’t want a baby, pet, but I promise we can manage. It means we’ll have to get married as soon as possible. Dad wants it to be before Christmas. He’d rather not walk me up the aisle if I’m showing.
Oh, my darling, I am so happy. Please say you’re happy too and let me know how quickly you can arrange our wedding.
Yo
ur own loving wife,
Blackness Road
Crowborough
Sussex
November 18th, 1924
Dear Elsie,
Your letter shocked me. How can you be pregnant when we’ve never had sex? There was no love-making at the shack. I hugged you when you said you were lonely, but I never took my clothes off. You can’t be expecting a baby. The doctor’s wrong.
Tell your dad you’ve invented this story to make me marry you. If you really are pregnant then it must be some other man’s baby.
Yours,
86 Clifford Gardens
Kensal Rise
London
November 20th, 1924
My own darling Norman,
I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry to bring this trouble on you. But it’s no good putting your head in the sand. The doctor says a girl can get pregnant from heavy petting, and you know we’ve done that many times. We must make the best of this, lovey, and not get cross with each other.
Dad wants us to meet so that I can prove I’m not fibbing. He says it should be in a public place so that you won’t be able to shout at me. Do you remember the tea shop at Groombridge? I shall wait for you there at 3 o’clock next Monday (24th). If you don’t come, Dad says he will talk to your father in the evening. The baby is making me feel sick every morning, pet, and my condition will soon be obvious to everybody. I hope you love your little Elsie enough to do the right thing by her.
Your sweetheart,
Groombridge – Monday, November 24th, 1924
THE TEA SHOP WAS A gloomy place. Thick lace curtains hung at the windows and dark panels lined the walls. Norman had taken Elsie there during the first summer at the farm. He’d perched her on his bicycle crosspiece and ridden the five miles to Groombridge. They’d snatched kisses as they rode through the Sussex countryside. Elsie had loved it even though her bottom had hurt for days afterwards.
Norman arrived early for the meeting but Elsie was already there. He spotted her immediately. She sat at a table in the corner, biting her nails and looking nervous. He wondered how long she’d been waiting. Hours probably. He guessed she’d been practising what to say since she wrote her letter.
She gave a little wave when she saw him. Then dropped her hand when he scowled at her. What was the point of talking to her? Did she really think he was stupid enough to accept a baby that didn’t – couldn’t – exist?
‘I knew you’d come,’ she said as he pulled out the chair opposite her.
‘You didn’t give me much choice. I don’t want my father dragged into your lies.’
‘I’m not lying.’ She put a protective hand on her belly. ‘I’m carrying your son, Norman.’
Despite himself, his eyes were drawn to what she was guarding. ‘You’re making it up, Elsie.’
‘That’s not what the doctor says.’
‘How can he know? You were barely two weeks gone when you saw him. Assuming you ever went near a doctor. I don’t believe that any more than this story you’ve made up about a baby.’
Elsie smiled brightly as a waitress approached the table. ‘We’d like a pot of tea and some scones. My husband says I must eat for two now.’
The woman laughed. ‘I’m pleased for you,’ she told Norman. ‘When’s it due?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, staring at Elsie. ‘When’s it due, Else?’
‘Next summer of course. You can’t have forgotten already.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to say ‘Men!’
‘Enjoy yourselves while you can is my advice,’ the waitress said, writing their order on her pad. ‘Life’s never the same afterwards.’ She moved away to another table.
‘You’re off your rocker if you think I’m going to marry you without proof,’ said Norman in a low voice. ‘What do you think I’m going to do when this baby never arrives? Laugh? I’ll be flaming mad.’
Elsie kept the false, bright smile on her face. ‘Of course the baby’s going to arrive. Mum says it’s a boy because he’s giving me awful morning sickness. She had the same trouble with my brother.’
She tried to take one of Norman’s hands but he pulled away from her.
‘You might comfort me,’ she said. ‘It’s frightening to find yourself pregnant when you don’t have a husband.’
‘You’re not pregnant, Elsie.’
A glint of temper showed in her eyes. ‘Don’t keep saying that.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she hissed. ‘The truth is you did something you wish you hadn’t . . . but it’s too late, Norman. Now you have to marry me whether you like it or not.’ She rubbed her belly. ‘Unless you want your son to be born a bastard.’
He didn’t. He wanted a son he could be proud of. With Bessie. But he hesitated in the face of Elsie’s anger. ‘I don’t see how you can be in the family way,’ he said lamely. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How did it happen?’
This was the question she’d been waiting for. She launched into a hushed torrent of words, urging him to believe her. The doctor had told her that petting was far more dangerous than anyone realized. More babies were made by accident than were ever planned. A girl just had to touch a man and his sperm could find its way into her.
Norman shook his head in disbelief. ‘How?’
‘If she puts her hand on herself afterwards. Here—’ She pointed towards her crotch.
Was that true?
‘I undid your buttons,’ she said. ‘That’s when it must have happened.’ She lowered her voice to a sly whisper. ‘I was naked, remember.’
Norman clenched his fists between his knees and stared at the table. Despite the sex he’d had with Bessie, his only real knowledge of the birth process was egg-hatching. ‘It can’t be that easy, Else. Satan has to do the full thing.’
‘He’s a chicken, pet. Humans are different.’
Were they?
He wished he could ask Bessie. Even his father. As the waitress brought their tea and scones, he listened to Elsie prattle on about how they’d be a proper family by next summer. But her tone had a fake jollity, as if she was more intent on convincing strangers than convincing Norman.
Later, when he walked her to the station, she ordered him to arrange the wedding as soon as possible. ‘I’ll tell Mum and Dad it’ll happen before Christmas.’
He refused her offer of a kiss. ‘You’re taking a lot for granted, Elsie.’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she said with a tremor of fear in her voice. ‘It’s your baby, Norman. You have to marry me.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll kill myself,’ she sobbed tearfully. ‘And you’ll be to blame.’
*
When Bessie came to the shack that evening Norman asked her if a girl could get pregnant by touching a man’s ‘thing’ when he had his clothes on. She giggled. ‘You mean like this?’ she asked, feeling his penis through his trousers.
‘No. Putting her hand through his fly . . . then touching her fanny afterwards.’
‘Like this?’ She undid his buttons and fluttered her fingers around his foreskin before reaching under her skirt.
He grabbed her round the waist and nuzzled her neck. ‘I met a bloke this morning who said that’s how his sister got pregnant.’
‘He’s lying,’ said Bessie with another giggle. ‘The silly cow’s been at it hammer and tongs and doesn’t want her parents to know.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘So who is this bloke?’
‘No one you know,’ he said, lowering her on to the bed. ‘And I wouldn’t tell you anyway. If the girl wants to lie that’s her business.’
‘Except you’d have to be daft as a brush to believe rubbish like that. If touching was all it took . . . every girl in the world would be pregnant.’
Blackness Road
Crowborough
Sussex
November 25th, 1924
Dear Elsie,
I have thought long and hard about what y
ou said yesterday and I’m afraid I do not believe you’re pregnant. For this reason, I shall not be arranging our wedding this week. There are one or two things I haven’t told you. Life has been difficult this last year. The farm is in debt, and someone else has been helping me through my problems. I am between two fires at the moment and need time to decide what is best to do.
Yours,
86 Clifford Gardens
Kensal Rise
London
November 26th, 1924
My own darling Norman,
I don’t understand. Of course I’m pregnant. Why won’t you believe me? And who is this someone else? I really do think you owe me an explanation.
Your loving,
Blackness Road
Crowborough
Sussex
November 27th, 1924
Dear Elsie,
What I haven’t told you is that a girl comes here late at night. It started when you gave in to your nerves again and felt that life wasn’t worth living. I lost hope that we could ever be happy together. This other girl is different. She makes me laugh and keeps me going through the bad patches. I have strong feelings for her or I wouldn’t have done what I’ve done.
I’m sorry to upset you.
Yours,
Blackness Road
Crowborough
Sussex
November 27th, 1924
Dear Dad,
I could do with some advice. I’ve run into some problems with the farm and with Elsie. Is there any chance you could visit in the next few days?
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