Chocolate Girls (6 page)

And she did. Stupid, desperate, longing fool that she was, she went and put her slacks and sweater on under her coat and went out to him. In the back garden he pulled her close and kissed her with more insistence than he ever had before, his hands pressing her hungrily to him, urgent on her breasts. He left her weak with desire, unable to say no to his caresses, or to meeting him again, or to stand by her principles or her common sense. And that was how it had been all through the spring, furtive meetings and kisses, drinks in public places, until one evening when she’d lain back under his insistent body among the crackly leaves in a patch of woodland near Kenilworth. Even then she’d managed to delude herself that she wasn’t really doing anything so harmful. She was giving companionship to a lonely man. She’d tried to block out thoughts of his wife, his other life.

Now, in the Meeting, she cleared her throat and shifted a little in her seat. The pain in her stomach was becoming more insistent, a low, burning gripe. After a time of silence people were getting up and ministering. Sharing the direction the Spirit was pointing in their lives at this time of crisis. But she couldn’t discipline her distracted mind. Over and over she remembered their lovemaking, that first time on that sultry evening.

He led her under trees, their feet making fallen leaves rustle, stepping around branches and ferns and tree roots. The light was shadowy, and the little wood gave the feel of a fairy story. He looked for the driest spot near the trunk of a tree which was scattered with brown leaves, kicked some pieces of branch aside and laid out his coat. He reached for her hand. Janet hesitated, but his eyes beckoned her on. Slowly, hardly believing what she was doing, she raised her hand to meet his, knowing as she did so that she was saying yes to more than she had ever agreed to before.

‘Oh darling.’ He drew her into his arms, feeling her shaking. ‘I’ve been thinking of nothing but this all day.’

She closed her eyes and raised her face to him. He removed her specs and laid them on his jacket. His warm lips closed on hers and she felt him begin to unbutton her dress. She had the presence of mind to pull back, her brown eyes stretched wide.

‘But Alec, no! What if I was to bear a child? I can’t . . .’

He smiled, laughter lines appearing at the corners of his eyes in the way she loved. He caressed her face with his fingertips to quieten her. ‘You won’t, my darling. Look—’ Reaching in his pocket he produced a French letter. He had to explain what it was, as she’d never seen one before.

‘Oh Alec!’ She put her hand over her mouth, a blush spreading right across her body.

She should have got up then, said no, never, she’d never . . . and run back to the road, run from him for ever. Her common sense told her this over and over again, but then he said how much he wanted her, needed her, and with that hungry look on his face he’d teased the front of her dress open. She’d always been bashful about the ample size of her bust as a girl during games at school, when she’d felt self-conscious and cumbersome beside some of the others. Now she heard a man gasp with pleasure at the sight of her, saw Alec bury his face in her pale flesh. She looked down at him, stroking his black hair, feeling herself go limp with desire.

‘We have tried to keep the peace,’ the voice of an elderly man was saying behind her. For a moment her mind was hauled back into the Meeting. She’d all but given up trying to centre her mind on worship. Fragments of his speech reached her.

‘We have failed and the darkness of war is upon us again after a brief interval . . . In rejecting violence, do we give the aggressor leave to do his worst? . . . No clear, comfortable answer is forthcoming . . .’

Janet couldn’t keep her mind on the moral dilemmas posed by the war, even though she knew how urgently it affected the Friends. John Steven, a boy she’d grown up with, was sitting across from her. Surely he wouldn’t go to fight? He felt very strongly, she knew. He’d be a Conscientious Objector, like the others. To her shame her mind was still full of Alec. She had not been able to resist him. She had responded with all the passion of her nature. Alec had been highly excited by her. She burned with shame. She was a sinner, a hussy. Surely they could all see it! And as well as that sin, there were all the lies she’d told her mother. That she was going out with Joyce, one of the other typists. That she’d worked late. All the time she was haunted by the deceptions, by her mother’s trust in her, sitting there beside her with her hands in her lap, her eyes closed. During her upbringing Frances had read her selections of the writings of George Fox, founder of the Society of Friends, and fragments of it haunted her now.

‘Friends, whatever ye are addicted to, the tempter will come in that thing . . .’

Well, now she was reaping the consequences all right. She’d rebelled against being dear, sensible Janet, but dear sensible Janet, she could see now, might well have been a much more impressive person to be.

Never had she been so relieved to see the Elders shake hands, signalling the end of the Meeting. She felt queasy, and wanted to get home, curl up in a ball and sleep, but people needed to stay on and talk, to encourage each other. All the way home Frances talked about the war and pacifism. At last they walked back into the house to the smell of a small knuckle of beef roasting in the oven.

‘A number of the Friends have taken in refugees now,’ Frances said, stirring the gravy. ‘The Pilgers and Mrs Bowles each have someone. Some are the Jews one sees advertising in the papers of course, and those poor Belgians. I do feel it’s perhaps something we could do – offering hospitality. Oh, my dear, are you all right?’

Janet had gone deathly pale and was sitting at the table clutching herself in agony.

‘Oh . . .’ She gasped. ‘Oh Mummy, I’m so very sorry. There’s something I’m going to have to tell you.’

Ruby was so late for work that day that she did something she and Edie used to do when they were fourteen. She raced down to the Dingle, the little path down to the Cut by the wharf, and ran along the towpath by the canal’s pewter-coloured water. She wasn’t sure if it was really quicker but it always felt like a short cut. She might just make it to clock on in time! She was carrying two dry cobs in a bag for lunch. For a penny you could get a bowl of thick, delicious soup in the works dining-room and she and Edie used to have one together, usually after a swim.

Oh Ede, I don’t half miss you, she thought. But a smile appeared on her face at the news Edie had told her on Saturday. They’d gone out for a drink, she and Edie waiting at the beery table while Jack and Frank were at the bar. Edie put her lips to Ruby’s ear and whispered, ‘I’m expecting, Rube!’ Her heart-shaped face was glowing with happiness and even though Ruby felt a pang of jealousy, she couldn’t but be pleased for her. Edie beckoned Ruby close again. ‘I’m two weeks late and I’ve started feeling ever so peculiar, sick of a morning and that.’

‘Oh Edie!’ Ruby hugged her, brimming with excitement. ‘Fancy – already! Oh, I’m ever so happy for yer. Does Jack know?’

Edie shook her head, eyes dancing. ‘No, I’ll tell him when we get home tonight. I’m counting on you and Frank to make sure ’e doesn’t go off getting into his Sat’dy night mischief!’

The presence of Frank and Ruby kept Jack in order, keeping him out of the company of his rowdier drinking pals, and the two of them saw Edie and Jack to their front door.

‘Better not invite you in,’ Edie said. She gave Ruby’s arm an affectionate squeeze. She nodded towards Miss Smedley’s front room. ‘The old witch don’t like anyone enjoying theirselves!’

After all the ‘goodnights’, Ruby and Frank were left. Frank immediately put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. Ruby smiled with anticipation in the darkness.

‘This is the moment I’ve been waiting for,’ Frank breathed into her face. She could smell beer, hair cream, the hot breath of desire. They turned into a side street and he pulled her into his arms.

‘Wish I could see you better,’ he said. ‘I couldn’ t take my eyes off you all evening.’

Ruby’s large body shook with surprised laughter. ‘That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that, I can tell yer!’ She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, straining to make out Frank’s chiselled features. ‘Fatty’s the only thing I’ve ever got called!’

‘No.’ His hands moved down her arms, encompassed her hips. ‘Not fat. You’re a real woman, you are. I’ve always thought so. Like one of them big ships.
Majestic.
’

‘HMS
Majestic
.’ Ruby let out her loud laugh. ‘You cheeky sod.’ But she was as chuffed as it was possible to be.

She felt all churned up inside, thinking about the kisses which followed, the way Frank touched her. He’d pressed against her, sulky with frustration when they had to part. She’d allowed her thoughts to race ahead. They could get married soon. She could have all the same things as Edie. They could even be neighbours, bring up their babbies together! She chose not to think for a moment about what would happen to her mom, to George and the boys if she wasn’t there. She was full of desire and expectation.

Until yesterday. Trotting as fast as her plump legs and ill-fitting shoes would allow, she raced in at the back of the factory. Last night Frank had told her he’d received his summons to register for active service and attend the medical check-up! Ruby was horrified.

‘Never mind, Rube.’ Once again they were in the dark street. There was no privacy either at Ruby’s house or with Frank’s large family in Heeley Road. He stroked and kissed her. ‘If I’m one of the first I might get the best jobs, eh?’

‘Oh, please don’t go!’ She was surprised how aggrieved she felt. There was no need to turn on any tears, they came pouring out of her. At home she had kept her feelings down, but suddenly at the thought of Frank going it was as if all the grief about Dad’s death, all the struggles they’d been through since, came pouring out at the same time. She couldn’t stand another loss.

‘I don’t want to go,’ Frank was saying, his hands pressing her close to him. ‘I don’t want to let you go of an evening, never mind go away and leave yer.’

With a cry she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her wet face against his. She heard him say solemnly, ‘I love you, Ruby Bonner. I want to make you my wife.’

‘Oh!’ She pulled back from him. ‘Oh Frank – d’yer mean it? Oh, I love you too!’ She was laughing now.

‘Course I mean it. You’re just – well, you’re everything to me! So, will yer, Ruby? Will yer marry me?’

‘Yes!’ She’d wept with happiness. ‘I want to stay with you for ever. I want to be your wife!’

It had been the happiest moment of her life and she told him so. But when she’d had time to catch her breath and come to her senses, she’d told him they’d have to wait. She wanted to marry him more than anything in the world, but how could she? If she married, she’d have to give up her job, and she’d have to watch her brothers struggle on alone to support her and their mom. And Frank wasn’t even going to be here, not now he’d been called up.

Frank took this badly to begin with. ‘But I want you, Ruby. Why can’t we at least get wed even if I’m going away? You could still live at home.’

‘I’m worried about my job,’ she told him. ‘I can’t rush into it just yet, even if it’s what I want more than anything. Oh Frank, if only we could go and live on an island somewhere where there’s no war and no families – just you and me!’ She clung to him. She was frightened he’d go and find someone else!

In the end, Frank came round reluctantly to her way of thinking. ‘You’re worth the wait,’ he said, kissing her.

This morning, as she panted through the aroma of chocolate and into the crush hall where they all gathered in the morning, she felt down, and resentful about it. Why did Frank have to be one of the first called up? Damn their wars! This time it was that rotten, bloody Hitler spoiling everything!

Edie sat in the little room overlooking Fordhouse Lane, cuddled up in the old armchair, hair loose, an old crocheted blanket laid across her lap and a cup of tea on the table by her elbow. She was waiting for Jack to come home, her sketchbook in her lap, drawing the fireplace, trying to capture the life in the flames. Outside it was almost dark, cold rain lashing against the rattling, draughty windows. Every so often a gust howled down the chimney, making the coals hiss and flare up.

‘Come on, Jack,’ she whispered impatiently. The smell of mutton stew laced with carrots and onions curled round the room, along with the steam from the gently boiling potatoes. ‘If yer going to be much longer I’ll ’ave to start in on them taters. Me and Little’un ’re starved!’

She sat with her hand over her stomach. There was nothing to show yet, as she was only a few weeks gone, but she loved the idea of the child inside her. She felt very grown up and proud. She was making a life for herself. She and Jack had overcome their problems as a married couple and now she was to be a mother. Even Florrie was showing her a bit more respect. I’m not just the kid sister any more, Edie thought, chewing the end of her pencil and watching the licking movements of the fire. And there isn’t much sign of anything happening with this war. Not to us anyroad. No wonder they’re calling it ‘phoney’. And I’ve got two little jobs and a babby on the way!

She’d found two cleaning jobs, one up at the Oak Inn in Selly Oak, and one for a family in Cartland Road. She and Jack could manage. She felt warm and contented. She wasn’t even being sick as much as Florrie had assured her she would. She felt quite well in herself, although more tired than usual.