Nancy Carson - The Factory Girl

‘’Course I would. That’d be interesting for me as well. I’ve never known anybody before who paints seriously.’

Suddenly the wind whipped up and the rain became torrential. Billy suggested they shelter inside the church till it eased off. As they entered quietly, one or two of the children turned round to look at them. Their Sunday school was just drawing to a close and the teacher was telling them to say their prayers every night when they went to bed, and that she would see them all again next Sunday afternoon. Henzey and Billy sat in a back pew while they filed down the aisle on their way out. Those children whose parents could afford to buy them raincoats, donned them. Henzey smiled at each of them and waved goodbye as they departed.

It was a gesture that touched Billy. There was a warmth in this Henzey Kite he’d never witnessed in anybody else. She seemed the essence of kindness and affability. In the same situation, Nellie would have glowered at the children. She would have been impatient for them to be out of her sight. This girl beside him was so very different. As the Sunday school teacher closed the door behind her, Billy put his arm around Henzey’s shoulder and drew her to him. When she looked up at him, her eyes bright, her face wet from the rain, he kissed her full on the lips, tenderly, gently.

Oh, it was a delicious first kiss and long-awaited, but she was suddenly struck by the realisation that they were inside a church and should respect its sanctity, so she broke away.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We shouldn’t, Billy. Not in church.’ She feared the heavenly host might see and hear, and wreak immediate vengeance. ‘It isn’t right.’

‘Well, it ain’t wrong either.’

He kissed her again, defiantly, more ardently this time. Every time, as she tried to pull away, laughing and uttering feeble excuses, his mouth followed hers till she resigned herself to his kisses and enjoyed them the more. She shut her mind to the sanctity of the church and, when he eased her down so that she was lying on the pew, she was surprised, both at his forwardness and her own passiveness, for she offered no further resistance. His caresses were mesmerising. She was unable to resist. Indeed she did not want to resist. He unbuttoned her wet coat as he kneeled between the pews on a hassock, his lips still on hers. She felt his hand slip inside her coat to her waist, her hip. Her arms were around his neck, then she held his face as she heard herself sigh with pleasure at his touch. He kissed her wet eyelids, her flushed cheeks, her forehead, and then again touched her lips with his own, as gently as a butterfly settling on a flower. Then, to her horror, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she tasted him with some shock…But it was not so bad…It was quite nice really…In fact it made her feel all weak inside, and so much closer to him. Jack Harper had never kissed her like this.

But they were in a church. The door was unlocked, open to anybody. The world could have walked in. The vicar might come in. God, what if the vicar walked in and saw her wantonly draped over his pew? There must be some law against this. At the thought of divine retribution she struggled and managed to sit up.

Billy ran his hand through his hair, for want of something to do with it, and smiled. ‘Blimey, you don’t ’alf kiss nice, Henzey. I got really carried away there.’

Feelings of guilt swept over her; not guilt for kissing Billy; not guilt for merely enjoying it. The guilt was for enjoying it inside a church; for the possibility of being caught.

‘I think we should go outside, Billy…’

With a smile he conceded, stood up and pulled his coat to. As Henzey also stood up and faced him, he drew her to him and kissed her again, lingering over the sensuality of her lips, so soft, so accommodating. They shuffled out of the pew, he took her hand and they moved towards the main door of the church, then walked out into the rain looking hungrily into each other’s eyes. Henzey leaned against one of the sandstone buttresses. Her arms went round his neck again as the rain teemed down, running in rivulets down her face, which was upturned to receive more delicious kisses.

She allowed his hands to wander inside her coat again, fleetingly over her bottom, her thighs. Willingly she would have lain in the soaking grass with him, but when he felt her breasts, even though her heart pounded, she deftly moved his probing hand away in case he might think her cheap. His right thigh docked between hers in another sortie, and she sighed, inducing him to kiss her even more passionately. The rain drenching their faces did not matter, nor did their cold feet in the wet grass. Even the wind blowing and gusting so rudely was intrusive. But, to Billy’s surprise and disappointment, Henzey broke off their embrace and moved away from the buttress.

‘My God!’ she sighed. ‘To think Nellie’s had your kisses all to herself.’ She took his hand, inviting him to follow her. ‘Shall we go, Billy? Else we’ll never dry out before I get you home to meet my mom.’

That Sunday night Henzey walked down the entry with Billy Witts to bid him goodnight. It was half past ten. He had stayed for Sunday tea, for supper and had enjoyed the company and the hospitality of the Kites.

‘Nice of your mom to invite me to your house next Saturday night,’ he said.

‘Yes, but I won’t expect you if you’re still seeing Nellie.’

She was standing facing him, her arms folded. In the dimness of the entry he saw the catchlights in her eyes. Never before had he seen eyes so beautiful, with such a look of gentleness and honesty, as at that moment in the half-light. He took both her hands and held them down by her side. Their bodies touched and, as he leaned his head forward to kiss her, to taste again her lips, her heart beat faster. Whilst he had been sitting in the house, talking, laughing with the family, confident and at ease, he was still contemplating their afternoon out. He liked this girl; she was so refreshingly honest, and he realised that Henzey would never commit herself until she was certain that Nellie played no further part in his life. He also perceived that when – if – she did commit herself it would be whole-heartedly. That commitment would be his for the taking.

It presented him with a great dilemma. He had in mind his intense sexual encounters with Nellie, and how much they meant to him.

‘I’ll be finished with Nellie by Saturday,’ he whispered, unsure of the truth of it; but he kissed her convincingly enough. ‘So shall I see you Tuesday night?’

She shook her head, slowly, deliberately, meeting his eyes directly. But if he’d been able to read her expression accurately in the darkness he would have read her look of uncertainty. She wanted him for herself so much, that to refuse him was breaking her heart. Heeding Clara’s advice was decidedly painful.

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Are you doing something else?’

She shook her head again. ‘No, but I’m not going to see you till you’ve finished with Nellie,’ she whispered coolly. ‘If that’s what you decide you want to do. When you have, you can tell me what happened, and how she took it. If you don’t…well…you won’t turn up here, will you? And I shall understand, Billy. At least we’ll know exactly where we stand.’

She was aching to hug him tight, to give him her love, but how much better to lose him now than to hurl herself headlong into an affair that might end in heartbreak because she was too soft in the beginning. Billy had to know she was not going to be a pushover. She had her standards, and she intended to implement them. A week gave him plenty of time. If he failed to do it there would be little point in carrying on, for this new affair would deteriorate into a charade. She was certain she had given him enough of a glimpse of how things could be. She could do no more. The rest was up to him.