The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson

bundle of fur in one hand and stroked its head gently with the other. ‘I know somebody who’ll just love you,’ he said softly to the puppy.

      That afternoon, he put the puppy in his jacket pocket and walked to Bull Street, trying to imagine Lucy’s delight at seeing it. As he approached the Piddocks’ cottage, Bobby their sheepdog sauntered up to him sniffing suspiciously.

      ‘I got a little pal for you,’ he murmured to the old dog. ‘Just you wait and see.’

      He tapped on the door and Lucy opened it with a smile. ‘I thought it would be you,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’

      ‘Is that your new frock?’ he asked, stepping over the threshold.

      ‘Yes,’ she answered expectantly. ‘Do you like it?’

      ‘The colour I like, it matches your eyes. I like the shape of it as well, but it could never outdo those blue eyes of yours, Lucy.’

      ‘But do you think it looks nice?’

      ‘I think you look lovely in it, yes.’

      ‘You do say lovely things sometimes.’

      Inside, the smell of dinner still lingered, but as usual, the place was clean and tidy. Haden came in from the privy, greeted Arthur and sat on the settle.

      ‘How’s your back?’ Hannah enquired of Arthur.

      ‘Tolerable, Mrs Piddock, thank you.’

      ‘Would you like me to rub it with some goose grease? That would ease it, I reckon.’

      ‘That’s very kind, Mrs Piddock, but I’d better not. I’ve got a clean vest on today.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘I brought you a present, Lucy,’ he said proudly and felt in his jacket pocket. With a broad grin, he pulled out the warm bundle of fur.

      ‘Oh, Arthur!’ she shrieked with delight, carefully taking the animal from him. She put it to her cheek and felt its soft fur warm against her face. ‘Oh, isn’t he beautiful? Oh, thank you, Arthur.’

      Haden, facing the fire grate as he sat on the settle, could only hear what was going on behind him. ‘What’s he bought thee?’ he asked, turning around.

      ‘A puppy, look … and he’s beautiful.’

      ‘A puppy?’ Haden grinned. ‘Let’s have a look at him …’ Lucy handed the little dog over to her father. ‘This dog’s a bitch,’ he exclaimed with obvious disappointment.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lucy said with a laugh of joy, taking the puppy back. ‘I still love it.’

      ‘And in no time it’ll be in pup itself and we shall have a house full o’ bloody pups, most likely from that dirty bloody Bobby we got outside.’

      ‘Oh, I doubt that,’ Hannah countered. ‘Our Bobby ain’t got it in him.’

      ‘What are you going to call it, Lucy?’ Arthur asked.

      ‘I don’t know. I think you should choose a name, since you bought her. Can you think of anything?’

      ‘Well, she likes being tickled, by the looks of it. Why not call her Tickle?’

      ‘Tickle,’ Lucy mused. ‘Yes, I like that.’

      ‘Tickle!’ Haden mocked, rolling his eyes. ‘Fancy calling a bloody dog Tickle.’

      Lucy sat down and played for ages with the puppy in her lap. Arthur watched, revelling in his newly won glory. Hannah, meanwhile, boiled a kettle and made a pot of tea while Haden and Arthur talked about the new fireclay works that were being built near Silver End and the increased employment it would bring.

      As she fondled the puppy, Lucy was in her own world. She pondered her relationship with Arthur. Never had she met a kinder, more well-meaning man, and she felt guilty that she could not find it within herself to reciprocate his obvious devotion. She was fixed on her dream of eventually winning the love of a handsome young man. He did not have to be wealthy; she did not aspire to wealth. She would be perfectly content living in a little cottage, like her sister Jane did, romantically cuddled up with this handsome new young husband she craved, in front of a homely fire. And what did her ideal man look like? That was easy. He had to look like Dickie Dempster.

      Try as she might, she could not purge her mind of Dickie Dempster and thoughts of them eventually being together. She lay awake at night and imagined him in bed with her, engaged in passionate embraces and hungry kisses, which almost left her breathless. She imagined the manly scent of him, his firm skin rubbing gently on hers. She stroked her inner thighs, her breasts, making believe it was his touch, and left herself ever hungrier for him. Dickie Dempster was becoming an obsession and it was not fair. It was certainly not fair on Arthur, for in every other way Arthur would be an ideal mate for a gentle soul like herself. He was not only kind and thoughtful, but he made her laugh with his unwitting antics. When he told her about adding the wrong epitaphs to the two graves in Pensnett churchyard she howled with laughter. And so did he; they laughed together so much. When he told her about the trials and tribulations with the horses she could picture him in her mind’s eye, and it tickled her for days afterwards. If only she could feel desire for Arthur, this same desire she felt for Dickie Dempster, he would be exactly right for her and she could make a commitment to him. But she did not feel desire so ardent, nor would she ever, so she could not commit herself. Arthur was not handsome, Dickie Dempster was. Dickie possessed a sort of animal magnetism that for her was overpowering, Arthur did not.