by Annie Murray
‘God, Joe, you made me jump!’ Kitty stood up straighter, startled. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Sylvia shrank back, curious to see what was going on.
The man leaned one hand against the wall, facing Kitty, as if wanting to trap her. He was a big, solid man and, even in the poor light, Sylvia could see there was something taut and intense about him. Was he threatening Kitty?
‘What d’you think I’m doing here?’ he said.
An engine came along the tracks then, whoomp-whoomping loudly behind them, and its whistle squealed. Sylvia couldn’t hear a thing and, though curious, didn’t feel she could hang about eavesdropping any longer. She wondered if Kitty was in any danger. The man looked so big and forceful. But Kitty hadn’t mentioned any trouble, and Sylvia told herself it was really none of her business. She slipped back across to the shed to collect her barrow. But she kept wondering about it all evening.
Kitty did not notice Joe Whelan in the yard until he was almost beside her. The sudden sight of him set her blood thundering with panic. Joe was a big man and he seemed angry. It was alarming, him turning up suddenly like that, and the way he came right up close, staring into her eyes. But she tried to play it cool.
‘I’ve got to see you,’ he said, under cover of a train pounding along in the railyard.
‘You’ve taken a chance coming here, haven’t you?’ Kitty said. She felt very vulnerable with him standing over her like that. She could feel the intensity of the man, the way he was holding himself, as if he was sufficiently pent up to explode.
‘I knew I’d find you,’ he said. There was whiskey on his breath, but he was in control of himself, just.
‘How?’ she giggled, uncomfortable with the way things were going. She had been caught on the back foot by him turning up suddenly. But she was excited by it too. He had come all the way here, for her!
‘Look, Kitty.’ He spoke fast, just above a whisper. ‘I’m a married man. I’ve six children at home and a wife. I’ve been a good husband to Ann, a good Catholic husband.’ He stepped back from the wall for a moment and wiped his hand across his forehead confusedly. Then he advanced on her again. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me. I’ve never . . . You see a pretty girl now and again – it gives a man thoughts. But you can overcome it, you have to.’ He bunched his hand into a fist. ‘But you—’
‘Joe . . .’ She tried to interrupt, though to say what, she wasn’t sure.
‘You come along and I’m – sure, I’m mad suddenly. Like a madman. I can’t sleep, can’t think of anything but you. I see your face every mortal place I look.’ He moved up close again. ‘Either meet me and satisfy me, or damn me: send me away without a hope. For God’s sake stop taunting me, and say you’ll do one or the other.’
She looked up at him, big-eyed. ‘Joe,’ she whispered. ‘I’m eighteen. I’m a virgin.’
‘Dear God,’ he muttered, closing his eyes. ‘I’ve one at home older than you.’ Bitterly he added. ‘You don’t behave like an innocent.’
She reached for his arm and clung to it. ‘I just wanted you to know, that’s all. But how could we meet? Where?’
He looked up again. He seemed frantic. ‘Would you? You’d meet me?’
Slowly she nodded. God help me, she thought.
‘I know a place. Are you off at ten? Come to Tyseley.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes, tonight. Please, Kitty. Get on the train when you’re finished here and wait for me on the platform at Tyseley. I’ll be there.’
Once he had seen her nod, he left abruptly, disappearing along the yard into the darkness and the gathering night fog.
Sixteen
Back in the dimly lit office, Kitty calculated rapidly. It was a good night to be out. By the time she got in after a late shift, the old man was usually asleep or too far gone to notice whether she was home or not. She could always plead busyness at the yard, if by any chance he was still conscious when she got in. The war always gave that excuse. After that, for the remainder of the shift, she blocked out thoughts of what was going to happen. She sat over her comptometer, trying to warm her icy feet by rubbing them against her legs, and concentrated hard. She had always found that it was best to push from your mind things that are difficult to think about.
Only once the shift ended, and she was sitting in the dim blue light of the passenger train, did she face what she was doing. Her heart pounded faster. With trembling hands she lit a cigarette to try and calm herself. She avoided the eyes of other passengers close to her, some of whom she knew worked in the invoice offices at the yard.
Her mind drummed at her: What are you doing? How could you have got yourself into this? But she was helpless, compelled by something stronger than her own will.
When she got off at Tyseley passenger station it was very dark. Adjacent to the station was the railyard and the main GWR engine shed, where the engines were cleaned and maintained. A train was shunting slowly along the yard.
The other passengers who got off walked rapidly away, leaving her standing in the dark as the train’s sound died away, towards Acocks Green. The air was thick with smoke and fog. She felt foolish, then scared. Sweat prickled under her arms and her hands were clammy, even in the cold night.
‘Kitty?’ It was a hoarse whisper to her right.
‘I’m . . .’ She had to clear her throat. ‘Joe? I’m over here.’
‘Come towards me,’ his voice came to her. ‘Here, walk close by the fence. Don’t make a noise – there’re people not far off.’ The sheds at Tyseley worked all night, like everyone else now.
Kitty felt her way along with cautious steps, as Joe kept whispering to her. Suddenly she walked into his arm, which was held out in front of her, and she started.
‘It’s okay.’ He pulled her to him, embracing her with the low fence still between them. ‘It’s okay, little girl. Oh, you came, sweetheart. You came to me.’ His lips pressed against her cheeks. She felt the strength of him, the scratch of his stubble. ‘Oh God, I was afraid you wouldn’t . . . Come on down.’ He leaned round and she found herself lifted in his bear-like arms, over the fence. When he set her down, the ground felt crunchy and uneven, as if she was walking on a pile of coal.
‘Steady. Quiet now. I know where we can go.’
Joe led her by the hand, with Kitty following blindly in the dark, foggy yard. She had to put herself entirely in his hands. The air was dank and bitter with smoke and she could hear faint bangs and clangs from the sheds at the far end.
She realized they were walking alongside the tracks. Kitty stumbled, though Joe seemed more able to see. Their footsteps on the cindery ground sounded terribly loud. She began to make out that there were dark, silent carriages beside them and, after a moment, Joe pressed her arm to stop her.
‘We can go in here.’ She heard him unfasten a carriage door. ‘Up you go.’ He half-lifted her onto the step, then followed her up and shut the door behind them. It was black as pitch and smelled musty.
‘No one’ll be bothering with this one till daylight,’ he said. She heard rather than saw him go round the van, making sure the blinds were fastened down and, when he was satisfied, he switched on a torch, which made shadows heave up the walls. Kitty realized that they were in another guard’s van, though there was nothing inside except an empty wooden crate and a pile of sacks in the corner. Joe put the torch down on the stove at the end, pointing it away towards the side wall.
‘Joe,’ Kitty found she was trembling. This was not how she had imagined things. She had dreamed of being in control, not of feeling tense and scared and in this cold place. ‘Are you sure no one will come?’
‘Well, if they do, they’ll be up to the same thing,’ he said, with a low chuckle.
‘Could we light the stove? It’s so cold.’
Joe considered. ‘Better not. Someone might notice that.’ But she could see he couldn’t be bothered, did not want any delay. He came towards her. ‘Oh now – you’re here. I can’t believe it, really I c
an’t.’
Taking her in his arms, he immediately began to kiss her, immersing himself in his own desire. She let him for a moment, before pulling back. This was not her plan, to feel small and passive. She wanted to command him.
‘Joe?’ She looked into his eyes, asserting herself. Trying to forget the cold, she began to unbutton her cardigan, then her blouse. He watched, entranced. She was wearing a pretty camisole and, as she pulled away the sides of her blouse, Joe sighed with pleasure.
‘Oh, you little darling,’ he said in a sentimental voice. ‘I want to see you. I’ve dreamed of seeing you. It’s all I can think about.’
‘What about your wife?’ Kitty said in an arch voice. ‘Don’t you see her?’
Joe looked down for a moment. ‘We’re not free with each other,’ he said, with an air of shame. I’ve never seen her naked. She’ll only undress in the dark. She’s not like you, Kitty – it’s the way we were brought up. And childbearing – it takes it out of a woman. Ann’s brought nine into the world and buried three. It’s not been an easy life. But I’ve never played away. Not till now – till you. You’ve done something to me, Kitty. I can’t even understand it. I can’t seem to think straight about anything; all I can see is you.’
The sorrowful way he spoke brought out a tenderness in her. ‘Joe, you know I’m not experienced. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m—’
‘Ah no, I don’t mean you any harm, girl. Just let me see you, for God’s sake. I’m that hungry for you.’
He began to caress her breasts through her clothes, but she drew back a little, pulling her camisole over her head and reaching round to unfasten her brassiere, peeling it away slowly. Despite her slim frame, her breasts were generous and heavy.
‘Oh,’ Joe said humbly. ‘You’re a taste of heaven, that’s what you are.’
Kitty drew her shoulders back and he came to her, very excited, to lift and caress her, sucking and kissing, giving little grunts of pleasure. He pulled her close, pressing himself to her, his hands sliding down under her clothes to her buttocks.
‘Take the rest of your clothes off,’ he said. ‘Just do it – for me.’
As she unfastened her skirt and took off her panties and stockings, so that she was standing barefoot on the gritty floor of the van, she could see Joe fumbling with his own clothes. Once she stood naked in front of him, he reached out for her, his eyes rolling in his head as he pressed himself against her body, thrusting with excitement.
‘I’ll not give you a child,’ he said, with an effort. ‘Just let me, woman . . . Let me come close to you.’
Kitty held him as he thrashed and pushed against her. She sensed that he was struggling.
‘Get down,’ he panted eventually. He led her to the pile of sacks, spreading them for her to lie on. They were coarse and smelled of dust. But she lay on the hard floor so that he could press himself against her belly, so close to coming that, after a few quick movements, it was over.
‘Oh!’ he cried, close to her ear. ‘Oh God. God in heaven.’ His voice held both ecstasy and despair. Then he was silent for a long time, so much so that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. She could feel her feet growing so cold that they were painful, and she shifted underneath him.
Joe moved and got up. He produced a rag from his pocket and wiped Kitty’s stomach and then himself. They dressed again without speaking. She was shivering, her teeth chattering.
‘I’ll see you away,’ he said. But he held her again, against his warm chest and belly, rocking her gently. ‘God, girl,’ he kept saying. ‘God!’ Kitty closed her eyes, snuggling close to him, comforted by the big warmth of the man.
Eventually Joe said, ‘How will you be getting home?’
She had scarcely thought. ‘I don’t know. I live in Handsworth Wood. I don’t even know when the buses stop running.’
Joe sighed, obviously thinking. ‘Best thing is if we stay here. We’ll have to do the best we can with these sacks. You can have my coat. And we’ll have to skedaddle early tomorrow, heaven help us.’
‘What about your wife?’
‘I’ll tell her there was a job on,’ Joe said, rather testily now. It was as if the reality of his wife and family was pressing back on him. He was laying out sacks on the floor. ‘Come on, lie down next to me. I’ll fold us one for a pillow – there’s sacks and coats. I’ll keep you warm, girl.’
Kitty looked round the bare, dusty van. What choice was there? And she was not afraid of him, at least. She lay down, shivering. Joe switched the torch off and lay behind her, covering them with his coat and some sacks. He put his arm protectively around her and some of his warmth seeped into her. In the musty darkness, Kitty thought about the other carriages stretching into the night. She prayed that her father had fallen asleep and had not missed her. But there was nothing she could do about it now.
‘Goodnight, Kitty,’ Joe said. After a second he added. ‘Holy Mother – what a girl!’
And Kitty felt a moment of panic. What had she done? What did he want from her? She knew nothing, could decide nothing. Exhaustion overcame her. She fell asleep and slept surprisingly well.
Seventeen
Kitty began to come to Sylvia’s for tea quite regularly. Sometimes their time off from the yard coincided on weekdays and Sylvia would ask Kitty over, knowing Ian would be at work and she was not missing time with him. Sometimes it was at weekends, when Ian was off and they were all together. Kitty seemed to crave company and said she didn’t mind the inconvenience of the journey at all.
‘It’s just so lovely to come and be with a family,’ she said. She seemed entranced with them all. And she never came without a gift: flowers from the garden or a cake she had baked.
‘There’s only the two of us at home,’ she said one day, when she brought with her a fruit loaf with a thin scattering of raisins in it. ‘And my father’s not interested in this sort of thing.’
Sylvia was gratified to see that everyone had taken to Kitty. She had Jack’s immediate attention whenever there was food about.
‘Well, hell-o,’ Jack enthused, peering greedily at the cake. He turned to Kitty, pretending he was smoking a pipe. He covered his shyness by joking about. ‘I say, young woman, you can come round again. How about a chocolate one next time?’
‘Jack!’ His mother cuffed his head with a tea towel. ‘Kitty may be a good cook, but she’s not a magician.’
Kitty looked very pleased. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said to Jack, who looked adoringly at her. He did adore Kitty, but the cake was definitely a bonus. ‘I might be able to dredge up a bit of cocoa from somewhere.’
They had some happy afternoons, whoever was in, round the fire, chatting and playing games. Sylvia’s mother often looked after Paul Gould several times a week, to give Marjorie a break, and they played games with him and with Jack when he got home from school. Kitty was a lively presence. She was good with Paul and laughed her light, infectious laugh, which lifted everyone’s spirits. The sound of her laughing would set Paul off on his own chortling. Sylvia saw that the whole family had taken a shine to her, even Dad.
‘Nice girl, isn’t she?’ Mom said, after Kitty had left, the first day Ted met her.
‘Seems all right,’ Ted Whitehouse said, head down, hungrily eating his stew.
‘Just all right?’ Sylvia asked, though she knew this was high praise from Dad.
‘She’s heavenly,’ Jack said dreamily, though as ever there was an edge of self-mockery.
‘Oi, you,’ his mother said. ‘You’re much too young to be having thoughts about a young lady like Kitty.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t bet on it,’ Ted said lugubriously through a mouthful of stringy beef.
‘Ted!’ His wife erupted. ‘What a thing to say! He’s only just thirteen.’
‘Thirteen and a smouldering heap of masculinity.’
‘Dad!’ Jack was covered in blushes.
Sylvia laughed. ‘Dad, you’re embarrassing him.’
‘Sylv, you’
re laughing like Kitty,’ Jack said.
‘Am I?’ Sylvia said. She hadn’t realized it, but she had been trying to sound like Kitty.
Ted was chewing thoughtfully. ‘Pauline, what exactly is the matter with this stew?’
‘It’s got no onions in it, that’s what,’ his wife said. ‘I couldn’t find any, for love, money or anything else I might’ve tried.’
‘Have we got none of our own left?’
‘We finished them weeks ago. You know we did.’
‘But you liked Kitty?’ Sylvia kept on. She liked to hear nice things about her friend.
‘Kitty,’ Ted pronounced, ‘is a fine specimen of English – I might even say British – womanhood.’
‘Well,’ his wife said, ‘I s’pose you can’t say fairer than that. There’s a bit more spud, Ted, if you want some.’
One precious afternoon off, Sylvia and Kitty went out for a walk in Kings Heath Park. It was a bright spring day, but cold, so they wrapped up warm.
‘I’m so tired,’ Sylvia said. ‘I need some fresh air to get me going.’
‘I know,’ Kitty agreed. ‘If I stop for a minute, I fall asleep this week!’
Two nights ago there’d been another bad air raid and Sylvia and the family had been out in the shelter all night. It had been freezing cold, she’d had very little sleep and had to be at the yard by six the next morning.
They set off bundled up in coats, scarves and hats. Sylvia was very glad of her warm boots. The bright afternoon sun lit up the windows on one side of the street as they walked down to the park, and she felt suddenly uplifted and happy, despite her tiredness.
‘It makes you appreciate every day, doesn’t it?’ she said to Kitty. ‘All the awful things that have happened. Sometimes I lie awake and think about things. But the war’s so terrible, my mind just sort of skips over it. I can’t bear to think about it.’
Kitty shivered. ‘It’s true – it just drags you down.’
‘Yes, come on, let’s be cheerful,’ Sylvia said as they reached the park gates. ‘I don’t s’pose that’s what Hitler wants, so the more we do it, the better!’