Poppy Day

by Annie Murray

‘I’ll hide behind a wall ’til yer done! Anyroad – they don’t know me, do they? We could be married.’

  Jess twisted round in his arms. ‘We should be married, Ned. We’re married in our hearts, whatever else.’

  Ned watched her face, the force of her feelings plain in it. Desire rose in him. What would she be like as a lover, this fierce, passionate girl? Mary was sweet and obliging. Didn’t refuse him. But her response was nothing more than dutiful, friendly. Obedient even. But Jess – he could feel the taut arousal in her even when they kissed. The instinctive way she moved against him. She made the same sounds of need, of frustration as he did. Yet she was scared. And he knew how wrong it was even to be thinking of making love to another woman. But he hardly seemed to be able to think of anything else these days. His need of her was total, consuming him.

  She was intent on the view from the window, hungry for old, familiar sights. The city had faded away behind them.

  ‘Oh look, Ned!’ she cried. ‘Look at the fields, the colours of everything. It’s so beautiful. I want to get out – now!’

  ‘I think yer’d better wait ’til the train stops in a station!’ He laughed, ran his hand slowly down her back, feeling the warmth of her.

  At last they stepped out on to the platform at Budderston. Jess immediately thought of her aunt, waving in this spot all those years ago, and told Ned.

  ‘She looked like a fish out of water in the country. And as for Polly!’

  ‘Well . . .’ Ned was looking round. ‘It’s a bit quiet, ain’t it?’

  ‘It’s Sunday – what d’yer expect!’

  It was already well on in the morning and the sun was hot. Jess took off her cardigan and carried it over her arm. To her relief, no one was about. Only the station master’s black dog snoozed in the shade at the front of the station.

  ‘So – where’re we off to then?’ Ned asked, suddenly gruff. He was thrown a bit by the unfamiliar surroundings.

  ‘I thought,’ Jess turned, uncertain. ‘Maybe we should go up to the Forge and get it over – see my dad.’

  He saw how vulnerable she was, coming back, not knowing if she’d be wanted.

  ‘It’ll be awright,’ he said, taking her arm.

  ‘We’ll go the back way. I don’t want people staring and gossiping.’

  Arm in arm, they walked along the back lane, across the brook. Jess saw that the wood which made a bridge over it had been replaced. The pale, unfamiliar planks now laid there enforced her sense of separation. She’d known almost every grain in the old ones: they formed part of her memories.

  ‘This is my favourite place,’ she said, stopping, breathing in deeply. She could smell the long grass, the wheat ripening in the field behind, shifting in the breeze, flecked with red.

  Ned put his arm round her shoulders. Gnawing at him constantly was the need to touch her. ‘It’s very nice. Lovely place to grow up. And you look right ’ere, Jess.’

  ‘I used to play out ’ere for hours on end – and help with the haymaking and that. Our ’ouse is just down there.’

  She stopped at the back gate. They looked over, seeing the orchard trees, the path to the house, startlingly familiar when she felt so changed. There was no one about, but a loud snuffling came from their right.

  ‘That’ll be Sylvia – the pig!’ Jess found she was whispering. ‘Oh Ned – d’yer think I should just stay away? Would that be the best thing? I feel sick at the thought of going in.’ She laid her hand on her chest as if to slow her heart.

  ‘Yer might as well – now yer ’ere. Yer might not get the chance again in a long while.’

  She took several deep breaths, then nodded. ‘Awright. With you.’

  The first person she saw was little Liza, sitting on the cottage step shelling peas into a basin. The girl looked up. Without smiling, she stared for a moment, then called out,

  ‘Mom. Jess’s ’ere.’

  In a second, Sarah appeared disbelievingly in the doorway. Jess saw she’d grown a little stouter. She stepped out, stared, seeming neither pleased nor hostile, only wary.

  ‘I’m sorry I cut the dress,’ Jess said, eventually. ‘I couldn’t marry Philip.’

  Sarah swallowed. Nodded. She seemed unable to think of a word to say. Eventually she asked, ‘Who’s yer friend?’

  ‘This is my . . .’ she wanted to say ‘husband’. Wanted to show she could choose for herself. But it was such a big lie. Bigger than all the others and she couldn’t bring out the words. ‘This is Ned.’

  Sarah nodded at him, then looked back at Jess. ‘Yer father’s in the forge if yer want to see ’im.’

  ‘Is Philip there?’

  ‘No. Not today.’

  As they went closer she could hear William pumping up the fire with the huge bellows, the crackle and spit of the flames. They stepped in, just able to feel the heat on their faces, eyes adjusting to the smoky gloom. She didn’t say anything, just waited for him to see her.

  When he did turn, he jumped, startled. He peered at her, eyes watering from the smoke.

  ‘Louisa?’ It was a whisper of hope, defying time.

  ‘It’s Jess. I’ve come back to see yer.’

  ‘Jess.’ The moment of wonder passed and his expression became more guarded. He came towards her, wiping his hands on his apron, beard tucked between the buttons of his shirt. His eyes, always childlike, seemed paler, his skin a little slacker. Jess was moved. Could it have been the shock of her going which had aged him in just a few months?

  But then, with obvious disquiet, he said, ‘Not come back for good, ’ave yer?’

  ‘No!’ Hurt and anger burned in her again. Why had she let herself think he might have missed her? ‘Not likely. I just thought you might be pleased to see yer daughter once every blue moon, that’s all. But I can see I got it wrong!’

  ‘I am pleased to see yer. I just didn’t expect yer.’

  ‘Why didn’t you answer Olive back when she writ yer? That wouldn’t ’ve cost yer much, would it?’ Ned could sense the anguish behind the aggression in her voice.

  William shrugged. ‘She said you was awright. Come to no harm. You wanted to go, and yer went.’

  Jess turned away. What was the point? Nothing had changed. She’d got out of their way and that suited both of them.

  She looked back at her father. ‘To think I came back wanting forgiveness from you! It’s you who should be on yer knees begging me for it. Come on, Ned – I’m not wanted ’ere. Never was.’

  Sarah met them on their way back across the garden.

  ‘We won’t stop to get in yer way,’ Jess said. ‘I’ve done quite enough of that in my time already.’

  ‘Yer upset ’im, going like that, yer know. Took ’im an age to get over it.’

  ‘Well ’e seems to be over it now.’

  Jess stood by the vegetable patch, arms tightly crossed. She was infuriated to find herself fighting back tears.

  ‘Yer can come in and have a bite to eat if yer want,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘No,’ Jess retorted. ‘Maybe yer don’t. But I do. I’m never sitting at a table again where I’m not welcome.’

  Sarah took a step away, as if there was work she needed to get back to. ‘Give us a bit of warning next time yer decide to come.’

  ‘Oh – there won’t be a next time. Goodbye, Sarah.’

  They went down to the lane and shut the gate. Jess stopped, leaned against the back wall and put her hands over her face.

  ‘Oh I wish my mom’d never died! God knows, all I wanted was to feel ’e might be pleased to see me.’

  Ned’s arms came round her, warm and comforting as the sobs broke from her. She had had no idea that coming back here would make her feel quite so desolate. She had done wrong running away, she knew, but could they not see the wrong they’d done her by trying to marry her off to Philip? She had still hoped deep down, that beneath her father’s reserved ways he really loved her, that one day he’d be able to show her. But now she felt utterly cut off
: more alone than ever. She clung with all her strength to Ned as he held her. He was her life now, her anchor.

  ‘Never leave me, Ned. You won’t, will yer, promise me?’

  He held her while she cried like a little child.

  In a while she wiped her face.

  ‘Let’s go over there.’ She pointed beyond to where the hayfield met the wheat, the hedgerow a dark line between. ‘No one ever goes there, not except at harvest or sowing time. We can just pretend there’s no one else in the world but us.’

  ‘That sounds my sort of place,’ Ned said. Her tears had roused in him a powerful combination of tenderness and desire.

  Jess looked anxiously at him. ‘Are yer hungry? We could get summat in the village.’

  ‘No—’ He reached for her hand. ‘That can wait.’

  They walked hand in hand across the hayfield, swishing through the grass, hearing the wind moving through it. The feel and sound of it filled Jess with a wistful longing. It was the sound of her childhood, once happy, then so cruelly spoilt. She looked up at Ned beside her, white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his arms, jacket slung over one shoulder. Just the sight of him made her want to hold him close: his wavy hair, shaped rather squarely round his forehead, darker eyebrows. She pressed his hand to her lips.

  ‘You suit the country an’ all,’ she said. ‘D’yer fancy being a farmer?’

  He laughed. ‘Not sure I’d know one end of a cow from another! I’d ’ave to leave that to you!’

  Jess thought of Mrs Hunter, the farmer’s wife, and her exhausted face. ‘It’s one of the hardest jobs there is, I reckon.’

  There was a strip of unsown land where shorter, scrubbier grass was growing, but it was in the shade, so they walked to the gate and climbed through to the wheatfield.

  ‘That’s better,’ Ned said. ‘It feels even further away from everything.’

  ‘Let’s sit down.’ Jess took Ned’s coat and her cardigan and laid them together. She looked shyly at him. ‘Half the day’s gone already. I wish we could stop it going so fast.’

  They lay resting back on their elbows, looking out across the corn, hearing the breeze, the occasional grating cry of a crow, and smaller birds darting between the heads of wheat. Between its tough stalks, the glowing petals of poppies blew on their curved stems, their blooms wide open to the sun. Jess rolled over and snuggled closer to Ned.

  ‘It don’t matter about them any more. I’ve got you. I mean I know I ain’t really got yer – but I have for today, so I can pretend.’

  ‘I wish you could meet my mom and dad. They’d like you.’

  ‘They like Mary though. So they wouldn’t, would they? Not as things are. If they knew they’d hate me!’

  Ned was silent. He picked a stalk of grass with his free hand and nibbled the end. Suddenly he rolled on to his side and looked into her eyes. They seemed to hold a question, whether directed at him or within herself, he couldn’t tell. For a moment she looked deeply serious, then a smile broke over her face.

  ‘My Jess,’ he said. ‘My wench. Yer lovely, you are.’ If only he could tell her properly what he felt! But words were no use. He kissed her mouth, slowly moving his hands over her body. Her dress was light cotton, only her bare flesh beneath. He worked his way, stroking until he reached her breasts and reached inside until he could move his hands over them and they were so firm and beautiful to touch. She didn’t object, as she had sometimes in the park, thinking people could see. She arched her back, responding to his kisses, pressing against him until he was aroused past reason.

  Jess’s mind was awhirl. Here they were, for the first time ever in a place where they were truly alone. The one time where she could have with him what Mary had. She could have his whole body. She felt a throbbing between her legs at the thought. No one would know. No one except the two of them. The idea of this act with Philip had so repulsed her, but now, as Ned touched her, it felt right, the only thing to do, inevitable.

  Ned tried to hold on to his self-control. He mustn’t go too far, it was wrong. For some time they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, until he pulled away and knelt above her.

  ‘Oh God, Jess—’ he sounded desperate. ‘I want you – let me have you . . .’

  She gave a small, uncertain nod, then whispered, ‘Yes.’ She reached out and began to unbutton him, hearing him panting in surprise.

  He unfastened her dress, looking around, afraid that despite what she’d said, someone was coming. But there was no one. She raised her arms and he pulled the dress over her head, then took off his own shirt.

  They made love beside the rustling wall of wheat, her strong fingers pressing on his bare back, her legs locked round him, urging him closer and deeper to her.

  Everything was quiet, then, except for the sound of their breathing, pressed close to one another, and the swish of the corn. She moved her hands over him, in wonder at what had just happened.

  ‘What a woman you are, Jess,’ Ned murmured. ‘There’s no one like you.’

  She kissed his neck, holding him close looking up at the tiny puffs of cloud against the blue sky, and the brilliant red smile of the poppies.

  Now he’s mine, she thought, without shame. Really and truly mine.

  Fourteen

  ‘EUROPE AT WAR — ENGLAND IN SUSPENSE’

  Jess bought the Gazette that Bank Holiday Monday, a week after her day with Ned. She read it in Aston Reservoir Grounds, lolling on the grass with Olive, Polly and Sis, buying Scattoli’s ice-creams as a treat, the tinkling music and roar of engines drifting to them from the Fun Park where they’d come for a day out. It was a hot, festive day, smelling of fried onions and engine oil. The idea of war seemed abstract and far away, despite the talk in the factory all week.

  ‘D’yer think it’ll ’appen, Mom?’ Polly looked round at Olive who was sitting behind them, legs splayed, shoes off to air her bunions.

  ‘Looks as if it might. They want to get it over with, that they do.’

  The next day, 4 August, England declared war on Germany, and three days later, Bert came home jubilant.

  ‘I’ve joined up!’

  Jess had never seen him look so excited. He seemed taller suddenly, shoulders back, proud of himself. The women stood in a ring, giving him their absolute attention.

  ‘Well,’ Olive said. ‘Yer father was an army man – in the early days.’

  ‘I asked about joining his regiment, but they said I might as well be in the Warwicks – with Sid and Jem. They’ll let us know, soon’s they want us.’ He pulled his boots off, looking up at them from his seat by the cold hearth. ‘Can’t be worse than all the bloody noise and filth in the Mills, can it? I’ve always had a hankering to give the army a go, so now’s me chance.’

  Jess immediately thought about Ned. He wouldn’t go, would he? Not a married man with a family? And with her . . . He couldn’t leave – how could she bear it?

  Bert left a few days later, the family hero, for training at Tidworth, on the edge of Salisbury Plain.

  Ernie was next. By the middle of August posters were appearing all over town, Kitchener’s handlebar moustache, ‘Your Country Needs You’. When Ernie came round that Saturday night, Polly knew immediately.

  ‘Oh Ernie – yer haven’t!’

  Ernie smiled shyly, stroking his beard. Ronny was throwing himself at his legs and Ernie laughed, picking the little boy up and making faces at him so he chuckled.

  ‘Ooh – yer getting too heavy for me!’ He swung him to the floor. ‘Look, Poll – d’yer fancy coming out, for a walk like?’ Jess saw a blush seep into his chubby cheeks.

  Olive’s eyes followed them as they left. When they came back, Polly was pink-faced and smiling, and both of them looked as if they might burst if they didn’t get the words out.

  ‘You two look mightily pleased with yerselves,’ Olive said. ‘Let’s ’ear it then, whatever it is.’

  ‘The thing is, Mrs B,’ Ernie said, all blushes. ‘What with me going away soon like, I�
�ve asked – I mean, Poll and I would like to get wed.’

  ‘Oh, Poll!’ Jess cried, delighted for her.

  ‘Oooh!’ came from Sis.

  Olive was silent.

  ‘Is that awright, Mom?’ Polly looked uncertain. ‘I mean, since I’ve no dad to ask for permission like . . .’

  ‘When was yer thinking of? Yer getting married in church, proper like?’

  ‘Whatever you say, Mrs B,’ Ernie said fervently. ‘I want to do right by Polly, and if that’s what she wants.’

  ‘Ar, it is what she wants,’ Olive said. ‘Well – yer’d best get weaving then, ain’t yer? We’ll sort yer a frock out, Poll.’

  Jess went to them, ‘I’m very happy for yer. That’s lovely news that is.’ She kissed them both, making Ernie go red again.

  She was indeed very pleased. Polly deserved to be happy and she liked Ernie. Would have trusted him with her life. But that night there was an ache in her heart for the thought of a wedding of her own. A wedding that she doubted could ever happen with the man she loved.

  They still met every week, hungry for each other’s company. Their lovemaking had brought them even closer, and they spent their one evening a week locked together, walking, talking. The next Tuesday, they went to Handsworth Park.

  ‘It’s daft me bringing you ’ere again,’ Ned said. ‘Too near home for comfort.’

  ‘But it’s so pretty – everyone else’s in getting on with their tea this time o’ day.’

  ‘That first time I came ’ere with yer – you know – after you nearly threw yerself under that bus . . .’ He shook his head in teasing despair at her antics. ‘I’ve never felt more wound up in me life.’

  Jess smiled. ‘Nor me.’ After a moment she said abruptly, ‘Ned – you’re not going to join up, are yer?’

  He was silent, then sighed. ‘Not for now, anyroad.’ Seeing her dismayed face he touched her cheek, smiling. ‘Eh, cheer up! They don’t want an old married man of twenty-one – we’ll let the young’uns with no family go first and see what ’appens! They say it’ll all be over in a few weeks anyroad.’

  ‘I can’t stand the thought of you going away. I mean, I’m no one – nothing to yer, am I? Not as far as anyone else knows. If anything was to ’appen to yer, it’s the widow they’d tell, not me . . .’