by Kitty Neale
‘Polly –’ Johnnie pulled away, breathless ‘– you’re driving me crazy. We have to stop or soon I won’t be able to.’
She pulled him back to her and kissed him again, her voice husky as she said, ‘Don’t stop. I want you.’
As Johnnie took her, the last of Polly’s fear melted away as she gave herself up to the joy of his lovemaking.
It was some time later, and their naked bodies lay entwined on the front-room floor, both glowing with satisfaction. Polly leaned across Johnnie to take a puff on his cigarette, and then said, ‘That was amazing. I never dreamed that making love could be so wonderful.’
‘Do you mind if I ask you something really personal?’
‘I don’t know. It depends on the question.’
‘You’re not a virgin. It doesn’t bother me, but as you were so nervous of me even kissing you when we first met, I just assumed you would be.’
Polly took a moment to answer and suddenly felt very exposed. She reached around for the throw on the sofa to cover her nakedness then sat up cross-legged on the floor. She hadn’t intended to tell Johnnie about the rape, not yet, but as he’d asked, it forced the issue.
‘Do you remember that I told you I lived in Croydon for a while, that it hadn’t worked out there for me and that’s why I came back here?’
‘Yes,’ Johnnie answered, ‘but listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me.’
‘I know, but I should tell you. You see, what happened isn’t over yet.’
‘What do you mean by that? Have you got a boyfriend or husband or something?’
‘No, nothing like that, but I do have a court case coming up. I’m a key witness to a murder.’
‘Murder! Blimey. What happened?’
‘My best friend, Katy, was trying to defend me when she saw a man raping me. She took off her shoe and hit him over the head with it, but … but she hit him so hard that it killed him.’ Polly found herself crying, suddenly overwhelmed at reliving the memory of what had happened. In Johnnie’s arms she’d managed to block it from her mind, but now it had resurfaced.
‘Polly, oh, sweetheart,’ Johnnie said, holding her as tears fell onto his chest. ‘I’m so sorry that you had to go through that, but it’s a good job your friend killed the bastard, ’cos if she hadn’t, I bloody well would have!’
They stayed under the throw on the front-room floor all night, and made love again to the sound of birdsong as the sun rose in the morning. Polly felt a peace that had been missing since the loss of her parents and for the first time she felt truly safe and protected in the arms of the man she was falling in love with.
Later that morning, as Polly cooked breakfast, saucepans clattering, china clanging, Johnnie sat back on the sofa listing to her singing ‘Yellow Submarine’ at the top of her voice. He smiled. She was so amazing and it blew him away, but every so often the awful thought would come into his head that had been festering in his mind ever since he’d looked at the photo of her parents: she was his half-sister. His stomach turned.
He lit another cigarette as he tried desperately to dismiss the thought, but it kept rearing its ugly head. Not only had Polly lost her parents, she’d been raped, so no wonder she’d been so nervous of him at first. She had been skittish when he’d tried to kiss her, but last night and this morning she had put her trust in him, given herself to him – so how would she react to finding out that she had been duped into having sex with her half-brother? No, he couldn’t tell her.
He’d hardly been able to believe it when he had arrived at her house, only to find that it was the same door he had knocked on a few weeks previously when he had been searching for his mother. It was such a coincidence and at first he hadn’t put two and two together. He had just assumed that Polly must have moved in after Glenda and Frank had died.
To his horror, it had become abundantly clear when he had seen the photo of his mother on the sideboard. It had taken him a few minutes to work it out but, once he had, all he wanted to do was run from the house in utter revulsion. Yet something stopped him. Polly.
He’d tried so hard to quash his attraction towards her, but somehow, when she had kissed him, the urge to hold her, to feel her body close to his, had overridden his sensibility and now he had to wrestle with his conscience.
He questioned whether his feelings for her were really so wrong. After all, he told himself, it wasn’t as if they had grown up together as siblings. When he thought about their kisses, the feel of her body against his, his excitement rose and he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. There was a word for what they were doing, he thought. Incest. He sighed, trying to dismiss those negative thoughts. What they were doing felt natural and good, so how could something that felt so right be so wrong? And anyway, he thought, who says it’s wrong? The law? The Bible? Johnnie decided he didn’t know and didn’t care. He wasn’t going to live by someone else’s rules, not if it meant he would have to give up Polly.
‘Johnnie, breakfast is ready,’ Polly called from the kitchen. ‘Come and get it.’
When he walked into the room, Polly looked so happy when she smiled at him that he couldn’t stand the thought of causing her any more pain. He looked at the eggs, bacon, beans and fried bread and, though his stomach was churning, he knew he had to eat it. ‘That looks great,’ he said, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.
‘What do you fancy doing today? We could cycle to the lake again if you like.’
‘Sounds perfect to me,’ he told her, forcing a smile. He thought he was in love with Polly, knew he wanted to be with her, yet deep in his heart Johnnie knew it was wrong and felt sickened at what he was doing.
He didn’t want to hurt her and couldn’t bear to see a woman cry. He had never once seen his gran shed a tear, so was unprepared for the sobbing when he had told Helen about Glenda being killed. Though he knew Helen would be upset, he hadn’t expected her to burst out weeping. It had made him feel uncomfortable and he hadn’t known how to react. So how could he tell Polly the dreadful truth now? Oh, God, she’d be disgusted with him and that was the last thing he wanted. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t tell her the truth, not just yet anyway.
In London, the sun was beating down on Harry’s bare back, turning his olive skin a deep brown, which gave him a Mediterranean look. He hated working on a Saturday but the job was behind schedule and his foreman had practically begged him, promising him a new labourer as the last one was about as much use as a chocolate teapot.
He had to give it to the lad, this one was like a whippet, which pleased Harry, but he cursed under his breath as Liam just wouldn’t shut up chatting.
‘I’m right chuffed to be working with you, Harry. I’ve heard all about you. It’s said that you’re the fastest brickie in Battersea. That suits me, see, ’cos I’m a quick worker too. I like to get the job done. Yeah, can’t be doing with all that hanging about and stopping for a fag,’ said Liam, hardly pausing for breath. Sweat was dripping from his brow but he was mixing cement and collecting bricks quicker than Harry could lay them.
Harry grunted; he really couldn’t be bothered to engage in conversation.
‘I’ve been working with your son Johnnie. Nice bloke he is. Mind you, his head don’t seem to be on the job any more, not since he’s been seeing that bird down in Kent.’
Harry’s ears pricked. He didn’t know that Johnnie had been seeing a girl, but then he hadn’t seen him since Maude’s funeral.
‘From what Johnnie told me, she sounds like a bit of all right. I reckon he’s landed on his feet there, ’cos she’s got her own house and all! What’s her name, I can’t think, but it’ll come to me. Proper soppy about her he is, and he doesn’t stop bloody talking about her. He even knocks off early on Fridays to rush down to see her. You watch, you’ll be digging your best bib and tucker out soon, wedding bells will be in the air!’ Liam laughed as he marched up and down holding on to pretend braces with his thumbs as he sang, ‘I’m getting married in the morning.’
So, the boy has a woman – good on him, thought Harry. It was about time he settled down and started a family of his own. But Kent was a long way to go. He wondered if Johnnie would move down that way or if his new lady friend would come up to London.
‘Polly, that’s her name!’ Liam shouted. ‘I knew it would come to me eventually. Polly Myers – but I bet that soon changes to Polly Jenkins, eh, what do you reckon, Harry?’
Harry clenched his trowel until his knuckles turned white. Myers! Surely it had to be a coincidence! Surely she wasn’t related to Frank Myers, a man he still hated and always would. ‘How did he meet this Polly?’ he said carefully.
‘I ain’t sure,’ Liam replied, ‘but one Saturday, a while back, I asked him if he fancied going to the dogs. He said he couldn’t ’cos he was going to Kent to meet someone he hadn’t seen in years. He was excited about it, but a bit cagey and wouldn’t say who it was. The next thing I know he comes back harping on about this Polly.’
‘I’m off,’ Harry growled as he threw his trowel down, and without further explanation he put on his shirt before almost running from the site.
There was only one person he could think of who could tell him what was going on. Someone he knew his son saw regularly. Helen. She was sure to know something and Harry was determined that, one way or another, he would get it out of her.
Helen was just filling up the budgie’s food pot when a heavy banging on her front door made her jump so violently that she dropped the seed over the bottom of the cage.
‘All right, all right, where’s the fire?’ she called as she walked towards the door, but when she opened it her good humour was soon extinguished when she saw Harry Jenkins standing there.
‘I need a word,’ he said, and without invitation he pushed past her before she could close the door in his face.
Helen felt sick. Since she had told Johnnie about his mother’s whereabouts, she had been dreading this. Johnnie had promised he wouldn’t say anything, but somehow Harry must have found out. Well, he was in her home now, so she reluctantly led him to the kitchen and stammered, ‘W–would you like a cup of tea, Harry?’
‘No, thanks.’
Helen decided that with the cat out of the bag, the only way to handle this was with a direct approach. ‘I–I think I know why you’re here, Harry.’
‘Oh, yeah? So what is it you think you know then?’
‘You’re here because I told Johnnie where he could find his mother.’
‘You what?’ Harry looked confused.
‘You mean you’re not here about that?’ Helen gasped, kicking herself as she realised that Harry didn’t appear to know anything about it and she had just dropped herself right in it.
‘You’re telling me you told Johnnie where to find Glenda?’
Helen decided that she wasn’t going to cower before this man. She’d had enough of being afraid of him, and anyway, what did it matter now? ‘Yes, I did. The boy had a right to know about his mother, especially after your mum died. I kept your secret for years because I was scared of you, but it was wrong, Harry. It wasn’t fair on Johnnie, or Glenda, but now it’s too late and my only regret is that I didn’t tell him sooner.’
‘What the fuck are you going on about, woman? I don’t give a toss about all that secrets bollocks. It’s all in the past and I just wanna know about now. So, Johnnie’s been seeing his mum, has he? Good luck to him.’
‘What? No, he hasn’t been seeing Glenda, Harry – she’s dead! Before I told him, Glenda and Frank died in a gas explosion so he never got to see her. I couldn’t believe it when Johnnie told me … it broke my heart.’
Helen was surprised by Harry’s reaction. He had turned ashen and looked a bit wobbly. After all the pain he had caused she would never like the man, but she had enough compassion to offer him a chair.
‘Here, sit down,’ she spoke softly as she pulled one out from the table. ‘I’m sorry, Harry, it must have been a shock to hear it like that. Glenda and Frank died just before Christmas last year. I had no idea until Johnnie told me, the poor love. He was so excited about going to see his mum only to get there and find that it was too late. Are you all right? Do you want that cuppa now?’
Harry slowly shook his head. ‘Dead … I can’t believe it. All these years … I never stopped loving her, you know.’
Helen said nothing, and whether Harry wanted one or not she busied herself with making a pot of tea, whilst thinking that if he had loved Glenda surely he would never have hurt her the way he had.
Harry regained his composure. ‘So who is Polly Myers? She’s the one I’ve come to ask you about.’
‘Polly – she’s Glenda and Frank’s daughter. Johnnie’s half-sister.’
Harry lifted his head and the look that Helen saw in his eyes made her blood run cold. Did he want to take out his revenge on Frank’s daughter?
‘What? That can’t be right. Johnnie’s mate has just told me that Johnnie’s got a new girlfriend – Polly Myers!’
‘No, Harry, he must have got it wrong. Are you sure that’s what he said?’
‘As sure as I am that a rag doll has got cloth tits! He said Johnnie has been going down there every weekend and waxing lyrical about his new bird.’
‘Maybe … maybe he’s just been saying that. You know what young lads are like, and maybe he’s been bigging himself up to his mates while he’s really just been getting to know his sister.’
‘Yeah, his sister, so I hope you’re fucking right! He’s down there now so you’d better tell me where I can find him.’
Helen was reluctant to give him the address. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Harry. What are you going to do, go down there banging on the door and causing a scene over some silly rumour you’ve heard?’
‘Helen, it might not be a silly rumour, so just tell me where he is. I ain’t gonna cause a scene. I just wanna make sure they ain’t doing things that they shouldn’t.’
‘But that would be … be …’
‘Incest!’ Harry finished for her. ‘It ain’t unheard of.’
‘But Johnnie would never do anything like that. I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent.’
‘Perhaps, but if it isn’t I need to put a stop to it and quickly. Now come on, give me this Polly’s address.’
Helen reluctantly gave it to him. If any of it was true, she just hoped that Harry would handle the situation with diplomacy and sensitivity. They were two young and vulnerable people who had suffered losses, and though it was wrong they might have been drawn to each other for comfort. The last thing they needed was Harry Jenkins and his great size-ten boots stepping on their feelings.
Chapter 31
Harry didn’t arrive in Ivyfield until early evening, but he soon found Polly’s house. He didn’t notice the pretty garden with its colourful array of marigolds and roses, or the white net curtains hanging at the window. There was only one thing on his mind.
Before knocking on the door he took a deep breath and collected himself. He hoped against all odds that his suspicions were unfounded. Although he had been thinking it over on the train, he still was at a loss as to what he was going to say.
A pretty young woman answered the door and at once Harry was taken aback at how much she resembled her mother. Memories of Glenda flooded his mind, but somehow he managed to push them aside, his voice almost cracking as he said, ‘You must be Polly. I’m Harry Jenkins, Johnnie’s dad.’
Polly welcomed him with a huge smile. ‘Oh, goodness, Johnnie didn’t say you were coming today. Sorry, where are my manners? Do come in.’
‘Thanks,’ Harry replied, following her into a living room.
‘Johnnie, look who’s here.’
Johnnie jumped up from the sofa when he saw his father walk in, and the colour drained from his face. ‘Dad, what are you doing here?’
‘It wasn’t easy to find you, but Helen finally gave me this address. I think we need to talk, son,’ Harry said, trying to keep his tone light.
Po
lly looked a little puzzled, but asked, ‘Can I get you anything, Mr Jenkins? Tea? Coffee?’
‘Tea, please, love.’
As soon as the girl left the room, Johnnie asked again, ‘What are you doing here, Dad?’
‘I told you, we need to talk,’ Harry told him, unable to bring himself to ask the question that sounded so despicable in his head.
‘Is this about my mum? Because if it is, there’s a few things I want to talk to you about too. How could you have lied to me my whole life? You told me she was dead!’
‘This has nothing to do with your mother, God rest her soul. This is about you and her – your sister.’
Johnnie looked down at the floor and Harry could tell from the look on his face that what he’d dreaded had already happened. He felt sick to his stomach. He’d told himself not to lose his temper, to stay calm, but the thought of what his son was doing made his blood boil. ‘How could you, you fucking little pervert! She’s your flesh and blood. My God, and she’s just as bad.’
‘No, Dad, it’s not like that. I love her, I can’t help it, and Polly doesn’t know. I haven’t told her we’re related. Dad, please, don’t say anything, you can’t.’
‘What you’re doing is disgusting. It’s unnatural, and if you don’t bloody well tell her, I will!’
‘All right, but not while you’re here. I’ll tell her when you leave. Please, Dad,’ Johnnie begged.
Polly came back into the room carrying a tray with a china teapot, cups and saucers, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the expression on Johnnie’s face. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Er … Dad just had a bit of bad news for me, that’s all. Ain’t that right, Dad?’
Harry nodded absently, still floundering. It was one thing to think that Johnnie and Polly might be committing incest, but to actually know for sure had shaken Harry badly.