A Country Girl. Nancy Carson
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shop.’
‘Drapery shop?’ Marigold repeated in awe. ‘Oh, I’d like to work in a drapery shop. I bet she’s got some nice clothes.’
He took the stalk of grass out of his mouth and turned to her. ‘I’d rather not talk about Harriet,’ he said softly. ‘I reckon you’re a lot more interesting.’
The comment elicited a shy smile and she lowered her lids.
‘You know what I’d like to do?’ he said, as if confiding a great secret.
‘What?’
‘I’d like to kiss you.’
‘You must be drunk.’
‘I never felt more sober in my life.’
‘Get away with you,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ll be asleep in a minute. Me dad always nods off when he’s had a drink.’
‘I’ve never felt more wide awake. I want to kiss you, Marigold.’
She offered her cheek, teasing him.
‘On the lips, you nit,’ he said with a boyish grin.
She looked into his eyes earnestly for a few seconds, wondering whether to accede to his request. For Marigold this was a momentous step. As he leaned towards her in anticipation, she slowly tilted her face to receive his kiss. His lips felt soft and cool on hers, as gentle as the fluttering of a butterfly, a sensation she enjoyed.
‘Wasn’t too bad, was it?’
She focused on her new boots to avert her eyes. ‘No, it was nice,’ she answered softly. ‘It was really nice …’Cept I can smell the beer on your breath.’
‘Never mind that. Kiss me again.’
She lifted her face to his once more and their lips brushed this time in a series of soft, gentle touches. Marigold’s heart was pounding hard.
‘You kiss nice,’ he said softly.
‘Nicer than Harriet?’
‘A lot nicer than Harriet. Harriet ain’t got kissing lips like you. Her lips are too thin. When you kiss her they feel as if they’re worked by springs. I ain’t that struck on kissing a set of springs.’
‘So you reckon I’ve got kissing lips?’
‘For certain.’ He smiled with tenderness.
‘I bet you’ve kissed loads of girls.’
‘Not really …’
‘A lot, I bet,’ she suggested.
He allowed her to believe it. It could do no harm. ‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘Have you kissed lots of chaps?’
‘Me? No … Only Jack from Kidderminster.’
‘Who kisses the best?’ he enquired. ‘Me or him?’
‘Dunno,’ she answered shyly.
‘Does he kiss you like this …’ Algie put his arm around her, and his lips were on hers with an eager but exaggerated passion.
She turned her face away. ‘Algie, it’s not so nice when you kiss me that hard. You hurt me mouth. It’s much nicer when you do it gentle. Gentle as a butterfly … Butterfly kisses.’
‘Sorry … Like this, you mean?’
He resumed kissing her tenderly again.
‘That better?’
‘Yes, that’s much nicer. I don’t reckon as you’ve kissed that many girls if you think they like it done hard.’
‘I never tried to kiss anybody that hard afore, to tell you the truth. There’s nobody I ever wanted to kiss that hard.’
She glanced into his eyes briefly with a shy smile.
‘Will you be my girl?’
She picked a daisy from the grass at her side before she answered, and twizzled it pensively between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Will you give up Harriet if I say yes?’
‘Course I will. Will you give up that Jack in Kidderminster?’
She hesitated and Algie imagined she was torn which way to jump. Perhaps he was rushing things.
‘Well?’
‘I dunno, Algie …’ she replied with a troubled look.
‘What’s to stop you?’
She sighed deeply. ‘I do like you, Algie …’
‘But?’
‘Well … I can’t say as I know you that well yet. How do I know you won’t still see Harriet behind me back? I mean, if we keep going to Cheshire and Birnigum and back it might be weeks afore I see you again. I don’t see the sense in promising to be yourn if you’m still gonna see that Harriet behind me back while I’m away.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he asserted, trying to sound as convincing as he could. ‘Anyway, if you keep going to Cheshire you won’t see Jack either, so you might just as well decide to pack him up as hang on to him. ’Specially if you got me. I could ride to Kidderminster on my bike to see you if you were moored up there the night. You wouldn’t end up having nothing to do. As a matter of fact, I could ride to see you at lots of places if I knew where you intended to moor up nights.’
‘I dunno, Algie …’
‘Is it because you love Jack, then?’
‘No, it’s because I ain’t sure of you.’
‘Do you still want to see me tonight?’
‘Course, if you still want to,’ she said quietly.
The Meese household, with the exception of their maid and the cook, whose afternoon off it was, had assembled in the parlour. Harriet sat in an upholstered chair expectantly while Priss was perched on its arm, awaiting the imminent arrival of Algie Stokes.
‘He’s very late,’ remarked Priss, twiddling her gloved thumbs impatiently. ‘I don’t think we should wait any longer. He’ll see you in church, Harriet, I’m sure, if he’s coming at all.’
Eli shuffled impatiently, and donned his hat. ‘I’m hanged if I’m going to wait around any longer for that ne’er-do-well. As churchwarden I have a responsibility to be at church in good time.’
‘Yes, please go on, Father,’ Harriet urged. ‘All of you. Except you, Priss, if you don’t mind. I’d rather you wait to walk with me in case he doesn’t show up. I do hope he hasn’t had an accident on that bicycle of his.’
‘He’ll get no sympathy from me if he has,’ Eli said self-righteously. ‘Right, come on, you lot. Let’s go. We’ll see Priss and Harriet at the church with Lover Boy, if he ever deigns to show his face.’
In a swish of satin skirts, the younger Meese girls and their mother left the house and walked down the entry behind Eli in an orderly, if chattering, single file. Emily, the third daughter, eighteen, closed the door behind them with a wave, a smile and a flurry of audible footsteps as she ran to catch them up.
‘What if he has had an accident, Priss?’ Harriet speculated fretfully.
‘Well, it would hardly surprise me. But how will you know? You can’t walk all the way to their cottage tonight to find out. Anyway, we can afford to wait ten more minutes yet. He might show up.’
‘Yes, he might,’ Harriet sighed. ‘But it’s unlike him to be late. You can normally set your clock by him. He’s normally so punctual that Mr Bradshaw could write his timetable by him.’
‘Except there’d be a printing error for today’s times,’ Priss commented airily. ‘But you know what a palaver Father