Nancy Carson - The Factory Girl

She felt herself blushing. ‘Oh, don’t remind me.’ She rolled her eyes sheepishly. ‘We were both all right, thanks. It’s nice of you to come and ask, though. Did it go off all right after?’

‘I believe so. To tell you the truth I didn’t go back after I dropped you off. I went home. Nellie was in one of her moods and she’s best left alone when she’s like that. I’m not really one for parties meself, specially the sort that Andrew and his mates throw. Course, he’s gone back to Oxford now. And so’s George.’

‘God help Oxford, that’s all I can say. So how’s Nellie? Or should I say Helen, since I’m neither close friend, nor family?’

He smiled at her jibe and shrugged. ‘Oh, she’s all right.’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

He gave an evasive little laugh. ‘Yes, she’s as all right as she’ll ever be. I was concerned about you and your sister, though. She looked a bit the worse for wear, your sister. You both did, to tell you the truth. Did you get into trouble with your mom and dad?’

A black and white mongrel appeared and sniffed at her apron. She bent down and stroked its neck, and it trotted away contentedly across the street to the market stalls. ‘We were lucky, Billy. Our mom always goes out on a Saturday night and, by the time she got back, me and Alice were in bed. As far as she was concerned, we had a great night.’

‘And your dad? Was he still up?’

‘We haven’t got a dad, Billy.’

‘Oh. Sorry for mentioning it, Henzey. Trust me to put me foot in it. Really, I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, it’s all right. You weren’t to know.’

‘Anyway, fancy those two gawbies spiking your drinks. You’re best off without the likes of Andrew and George.’

She tutted diffidently. ‘I know that now, but when somebody asks you out, you expect them to behave like gentlemen. You expect to be able to trust them a little bit. Or am I just being naïve?’

‘I think you were unlucky. Haven’t you got a regular sweetheart, Henzey?’

‘Not since the party.’

‘Get away with you! I can scarcely believe that. Somebody as lovely as you? Men must be falling at your feet.’

She gave a dispirited little laugh. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Billy. I was going out with somebody but, because I wouldn’t go to the Palais with him on the night of that party, I haven’t seen him since. Shame really. I wish I’d gone with him now. I expect he thought I was mucking him about.’

‘Never mind, Henzey. Just keep smiling. You’ve got a lovely smile, you know. It’s your fortune, believe me.’ His eyes lingered on her face for a second or two. ‘Ah well, I’d best be off. Give me regards to your Alice, will you? You never know, I might pop and see you again sometime.’

‘Oh, anytime, Billy. Any time you’re passing. It’s grand to see you again.’

Henzey could hardly believe Billy Witts had actually called on her. She could hardly believe he remembered her at all. Her heart danced, wondering why. Could he be interested in her? If not, why had he called? As he walked away, she admired his physique. He was tall, slim and athletic-looking. Henzey liked tall men. At five feet six in her stockings, an inch or two taller in her heels, she was bound to. She especially liked tall men who were clean shaven, devoid of moustaches, tattoos and other adornments she considered superfluous. Billy Witts qualified nicely. Always he was immaculate. He was courteous, too – to her at least – and that implied far more masculinity than brashness or well-developed muscles. Any woman would fancy him. When he smiled, his eyes creased and twinkled, and she felt she would be able to trust him with her life. He was about twenty-four, she reckoned. Funny, though, but every new man she fancied seemed to be significantly older than the one before.

Seeing Billy Witts, so unexpectedly, lifted Henzey from her melancholy over Jack Harper and clarified the murkiness. But it also stirred up the loathing she felt for Nellie Dewsbury.

That feeling was intensified when one Tuesday – it was the 16th of October – Henzey and Clara Maitland went to join the crowds for the official opening of Dudley’s new Town Hall. Stanley Baldwin, the Prime Minister was there to perform the opening ceremony. All the local dignitaries were present, and the two friends had insinuated themselves into a good place to view the proceedings, lining the steps to the new entrance. Over the heads of the crowds they could see a cavalcade of cars approaching. There was a buzz of excitement as, one by one, the cars pulled up. At last Mr Baldwin stepped out with the Mayor of Dudley and Lady Mayoress, to some cheers and, predictably, some jeers. Four cars later, a man with a ruddy complexion alighted with his wife and another, younger, trim-looking girl. Henzey saw, to her great surprise, that it was Nellie Dewsbury.

Henzey nudged Clara urgently. ‘Look! There’s that Nellie Dewsbury I told you about,’ she whispered. ‘That must be her mother and father.’

As she swanked up the steps, Nellie caught sight of Henzey just a few feet away and gave her a look that would have withered a lesser mortal. Then she stuck her nose in the air and strutted uppishly into the Town Hall.

‘I see what you mean,’ Clara remarked. ‘Snotty devil, isn’t she?’

‘I hate her. Oh, I hate her. Did you see her? Did you see how snooty she was?’

‘She’ll get her comeuppance, Henzey. That sort always do.’

Henzey smiled, her annoyance abating. ‘I wish I could let her know that her Billy’s been to see me. That’d nark her good and proper.’

Billy began calling regularly. At first it was no more than once a fortnight, but soon his visits became more frequent. They would chat for only a few minutes, then he would depart. It seemed to Henzey that they were becoming good friends, yet he rarely spoke about Nellie, inclining her to believe there was something amiss with that relationship. Why else would he keep calling on her? Yet he never once asked her out. She was dying to be asked; not least because of the opportunity it presented to wreak revenge on Nellie, whose unkind words at the party still haunted and hurt her, especially as she’d previously admired the girl so much.

Henzey looked forward to Billy’s visits and, as each one approached, she would make a special effort to look good. If he was a day or two late she would fret, forever glancing through the front windows of the store, and would smile with pleasure and relief when she saw him arrive outside. Her workmates recognised her infatuation, and she suffered endless teasing.

‘Nice frock you’m wearin’ today, Henzey,’ Edie Soap commented one morning in December as she was restocking shelves with blue bags of sugar. ‘Billy due?’

‘How should I know?’ she answered sheepishly. She had just struggled in from the stockroom with a fresh tub of cheese and was cutting it, ready for it to be displayed. ‘I never know if or when he’s coming. He just turns up.’

‘I reckon ’er’s took with ’im,’ Edie said to Rosie and Clara. They were making neat parcels of groceries for those customers whose orders were to be delivered.

‘I’d be took with ’im, an’ all,’ Rosie answered. ‘I wish ’e’d come an’ see me.’

‘Come on, Rosie,’ Edie said. ‘He’d have no truck wi’ you and your big belly.’

Henzey smiled, and wished she could assume some claim over Billy. But she could not. He only ever came and talked to her. She could not say he was hers, and it was looking as though she never would.

Clara picked up a Christmas pudding from the shelf behind her and nestled it into the box she was packing. ‘What’s he do for a living, Henzey? He always looks smart. His suits aren’t cheap, are they? And you only have to look at his shoes to know he spends a lot of money on his things.’