Nancy Carson - The Factory Girl

For Henzey it had been the happiest day of her life. For once she lay alone in bed – in Lizzie’s big bed – wide awake, thinking over what had happened that day. Life really was going her way now and she had every reason to be happy. Not only was her mother married to a man they all loved and respected, but she herself was deeply in love with a well set up young man. Who knew where it might lead eventually? Best not to dwell on it, but she fostered a few hopes and wishes already. Love was new, exhilarating and, every time she even thought about Billy, her pulse raced and butterflies stirred in the pit of her stomach. She would not see him tomorrow – she didn’t on a Monday – but he had promised to take her to meet his family soon and, on Saturday night, they were due to go to The Tower Ballroom by the reservoir at Edgbaston. She did not know yet what they would be doing on the other nights of the week, except on Wednesday, which was May Day. Doubtless they would join the throngs in the castle grounds that day and go for a drive into the country in the evening. She didn’t mind what, just so long as she was with him.

Henzey rolled onto her left side in the bed and shuffled herself comfortable. Yes, she really had got the better of Nellie Dewsbury. Whatever heartbreak Nellie was going through, somehow it served her right. Whatever that horrible girl was feeling she was only reaping what she had sown.

With these thoughts running through her head she was as far from sleep as it was possible to be. She sighed and closed her eyes again, and her thoughts meandered to her family. They, too, were settled. Herbert was doing well in Jesse’s dairy business, and Jesse had suggested they become partners when he was twenty-one. Already they were considering taking on other men and expanding the business. In an atmosphere of increasing economic gloom, it was fortunate that they were doing so well. Alice was coming fifteen and seemed to have settled in at George Mason’s. Henzey had taken her under her wing to some extent, showing her what to do and putting her right if she erred. She had also warned her about Wally Bibb whom she did not trust. Maxine was excelling at school, though that was to be expected, for they were always being told that she was the brightest girl in the class and she should go to university since more of them were accepting girls. But Maxine was set on music and her ambitions lay no further than her cello.

At last Henzey felt sleepy. She turned over and smiled contentedly again as she curled up in the big wide bed, all warm and snug. Soon she was dreaming of Billy Witts.

Henzey happily fell into the routine of seeing Billy Witts about three times a week. She had met most of his family, who were very nice to her. At weekends they went dancing at The Tower Ballroom in Edgbaston; one night in the week they usually went to the cinema and twice already he had taken her to posh restaurants. On Saturday mornings, while she was at work, Billy liked to play golf and, on summer Sunday afternoons, he usually played cricket for St. Thomas’s church team. She had accompanied him to a couple of matches. Those of his friends she had met seemed to like her as far as she could tell, and a girl-friend of one of them, Marjorie Lycett, told her how glad she was that Billy had finally ditched that snotty Nellie Dewsbury.

When Billy brought Henzey back home to the dairy house at night he would swing his Vauxhall through the wide entry and into the yard and stop the engine while they said goodnight. And sometimes it would take them a whole hour. Henzey knew that it would have been so easy to get carried away with Billy, for he always left her longing for him, breathless and tingling all over; but happy, for he wooed her with fine words.

She wanted him. He lit her up like a firecracker whenever he touched her, but she dare not make the running and he certainly seemed in no hurry, however passionately they kissed. But she never allowed herself to become preoccupied with such thoughts. Rather, she enjoyed being in love, with all the attention and sweetness it brought, and was content to let such physical matters take their course. Besides, she did not want to get into trouble, like Rosie Frost. She wanted no guilty conscience that she had gone against her mother’s wishes. Sex should be confined to the marriage bed; and she was happy to wait.

Then one Wednesday in the middle of May, when Henzey had come home from work, she went upstairs to change. Her mother was half-undressed in her bedroom, posing in the cheval mirror at the side of her dressing table. The door was open and as Henzey walked by she caught sight of Lizzie in profile. She stopped to talk, leaning against the door jamb, and saw how much weight Lizzie had gained.

‘I was just trying on this new frock,’ Lizzie said, pointing towards a heap of floral patterned voile. ‘Jesse and me have been invited to a Masonic do on the first of June. He reckons they might invite him to join. It’s his life’s ambition now to be a Mason.’

‘Coming up in the world, eh? Come on, then. Let’s see your new frock. I bet you’ve had to have a bigger size again. You’re really putting weight on, Mom. It must be contentment.’

Lizzie took the dress and slipped it over her head, adjusting it as it fell around her body.

‘Mother, it looks like a maternity frock,’ Henzey commented innocently. ‘You’re not that fat.’

‘No, not yet I’m not,’ she sighed. ‘But I soon shall be.’

‘Not if you watch what you eat.’

Then it dawned on her.

‘God! You’re not pregnant, are you, Mom?’ Henzey sat down on the bed and looked at her mother.

Lizzie turned away self-consciously. ‘Yes, I am, our Henzey.’

‘But you shouldn’t show yet.’

‘Henzey, I’m four months.’ Lizzie walked over to the window and stared out across the field behind the house and the vast industrial landscape that was spread out before her.

‘But you’ve only been married a fortnight…You mean you got married because you had to?’

Lizzie did not reply.

‘And all the time you’re preaching to me to mind what I’m doing? That I’m only seventeen…My God!’

Henzey felt ashamed of her mother, but she’d said enough. Never before had Henzey spoken to her like that, and she half expected a slap across the face for her trouble. Yet no slap came. For long seconds Henzey was silent while she tried to collect her thoughts. Abruptly, she stood up and turned away from Lizzie, biting her bottom lip in anger and distaste. Then, just as abruptly, she sat down again. Her mother – her own mother – had been having sex with Jesse before she was married…And at her age…It was disgusting. It was absolutely disgusting. It came as such a shock that Henzey felt she’d been punched in the stomach.

Lizzie remained at the window, looking out.

Henzey shook her head slowly in disbelief, then spoke again, quietly, composed. ‘What am I supposed to say, Mom, when folks start making jokes about my mother and the milkman?’

Lizzie remained silent.

‘And how d’you think our Herbert’s going to feel when his mates start laughing behind his back, making sarcastic comments?’ Henzey continued. ‘Dear God, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set our Alice and Maxine? Come to that, what sort of an example d’you think you’ve set me, after all your preaching and finger wagging? Good God, Mother! I can hardly believe it.’

Lizzie continued to look outside with glazed eyes. Everything Henzey said was true. Every example she cited, as to the consequences for the family, she had herself considered. It was as if their roles had been reversed, as if Lizzie was the errant, wayward daughter and Henzey the fraught and angry mother. Now Lizzie felt ashamed –thoroughly ashamed. She had no wish to alienate her daughter over this, nor any of her family. What she needed above all was their understanding and their support, but particularly from Henzey.