The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson

‘Thank you.’

      In return he put his hand on her shoulder and touched her. It was the first time he had touched her in that way and his emotion was too pure for desire, too respectful for sensuality. ‘You kissed me,’ he said with astonishment.

      ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she replied, returning to her perch.

      ‘Lord, no.’

      Another awkward pause developed and Lucy realised that maybe she had been hasty, indecorous in kissing him, a regular churchgoer, when she hardly knew him.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, relieving the tension. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I bet you think I’m a proper strumpet. I’m not, though, Arthur. Honest I’m not.’

      ‘Oh, I liked it, Lucy. I don’t think you’re a strumpet at all. You can do it again if you like.’

      ‘I’d better not,’ she replied with a laugh that to him sounded like a silver bell tinkling.

      The last of the daylight had all but gone and a full moon was already high, sailing through wispy clouds. In the distance they could hear a locomotive puffing tiredly on its arduous journey up the incline towards the Brettell Lane and Round Oak stations.

      ‘Tell me about your father,’ Arthur suggested, eager to learn what he could that might give him an inkling as to why his own father evidently didn’t admire the man. ‘What’s he like?’

      ‘He’s lovely and I love him,’ Lucy answered simply. ‘He’s kind, he cares for us all. He wouldn’t do anybody a bad turn – he’d rather help somebody.’

      ‘What’s he do for a living?’

      ‘He’s a shingler at the New Level ironworks. D’you know, Arthur, every time it’s payday he buys me a little present? It might only be a quarter of cough drops, but he always brings me something.’

      ‘That’s being thoughtful,’ Arthur agreed, and realised that here was a way he too could enhance his standing with Lucy. ‘He sounds the dead opposite of my father … What about your mother?’

      ‘Oh, she’s a bit fussy. We only live in a little cottage, but it always has to be spick and span. She’d have a fit if she saw a silverfish in our house. Our clothes always have to be spruce as well. She’d have another fit if I went out in something that looked dirty or shabby.’

      ‘Well, every time I’ve seen you, Lucy, you look nice,’ Arthur remarked. ‘So she must be a good influence.’

      ‘I just hope I can be like her if I ever get married.’

      ‘I hope, Lucy – if I ever get married – I’ll be lucky enough to pick a wife like that.’

      Whatever was being implied, however inadvertently, and whatever was being likewise perceived, seemed to put paid to their conversation entirely and they remained unspeaking for long embarrassed seconds, until Lucy thought of something to say to divert them.

      ‘Can you ride a horse, Arthur?’

      ‘After a fashion. It isn’t my favourite method of transport though. Awkward, stupid animals, horses. I don’t feel comfortable on a horse. Not since I fell off and broke a rib.’

      ‘You didn’t!’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘Well, you’re a real knight in shining armour and no mistake,’ she laughed, ‘falling off your horse.’ It was just like him to do that, she thought.

      ‘I’d rather drive our cart and have the nag in front of me. The worst he could do is take fright.’

      ‘You drive a cart?’

      ‘Course I do. It’s what we lug our stone and masonry around with.’

      ‘I fancy riding on a cart. I’ve never ridden on a cart in me life.’

      ‘Honest?’

      ‘Honest.’

      ‘Maybe one of these days I’ll take you for a ride.’

      ‘Mmm, I’d like that, Arthur … You ain’t got a carriage, have you, by any chance?’

      ‘A carriage? God’s truth, who d’you think we are? Lords of the manor?’

      ‘I was only wondering. It doesn’t matter. A cart will do. As a matter of fact, a cart will do nicely … I’m getting off this stile, Arthur. I got pins and needles in my bum … Shall we carry on walking?’

      ‘If you like. Let’s walk to Stourbridge. It’s light enough with the moon as bright as it is.’

      So they walked to Stourbridge and back, chattering away, getting to know each other in the process. On the way, Arthur claimed he was parched and they stopped at the Old Crown Inn on Brettell Lane before he returned Lucy home. They stood on the corner of Bull Street, within sight of the Piddocks’ cottage, but at a respectful distance.

      ‘I’ve really enjoyed tonight, Lucy, talking and walking with you,’ he said sincerely. ‘How about you?’ In the scant moonlight he discerned her smile.

      ‘Yes, so have I.’

      ‘Can we meet again then?’

      ‘If you want,’ she agreed. ‘When?’

      ‘How about tomorrow?’

      ‘I help out at the Whimsey tomorrow.’

      ‘Well, I could come and walk you back after.’

      ‘My dad will walk me back. We’ll have to leave it till a night when I’m not working.’

      ‘When’s that?’

      ‘Thursday.’

      ‘That’s the night of my bible class.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘But I could meet you later.’

      ‘How much later?’

      ‘Just after nine, say.’

      ‘My mother wouldn’t let me out that late. She reckons I should be abed by then.’

      ‘What if I call for you?’

      ‘And let you meet my mother?’ He saw the look of doubt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know, Arthur. I haven’t told her about you.’

      ‘What then?’

      She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘How about Saturday afternoon? Or Sunday?’

      ‘Saturday afternoon I sometimes go to Dudley with my friend Miriam. I could meet you Sunday afternoon though.’

      ‘It’s a long time to wait, Lucy. Nearly a week. I’ll have forgot what you look like by Sunday.’

      She shrugged again. ‘Maybe your toothache will have gone by then.’

      ‘It’s gone already,’ he said brightly. ‘Maybe I’ll come to the Whimsey one night when you’m working. Just to say hello.’

      She shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’

      ‘You don’t sound very bothered,’ he suggested.

      ‘I just don’t see the point. I won’t be able to walk home with you. Not with my father there.’

      ‘But I’ll see you Sunday at any rate, Lucy. Does three o’ clock suit?’

      ‘Yes. And thanks for asking me out, Arthur.’

      She sounded sincere, he thought, and was encouraged. ‘It’s been my pleasure …’ He grinned like a schoolboy. ‘And thank you for the kiss earlier. I shan’t be able to sleep for thinking about it.’ He turned and went on his way, euphoric.

      Arthur could not help himself. So taken was he with