The Girl with the Creel Page 5

  Late the following forenoon, when she stopped working momentarily to wipe her brow, she had a pleasant surprise. ‘Oh, here’s George,’ she whispered to Peggy May, who said, somewhat accusingly, ‘I thought you said he was going back to Cullen the day.’

  ‘That’s what he told me.’ Lizann gave George a warm smile when he reached them.

  ‘We’ve been held up for repairs,’ he explained, ‘so we’ll have a few more days here. Can I see you tonight again? Please, Lizann?’

  She knew she shouldn’t go out with him again, not after the things she’d thought last night, but she couldn’t say no and was glad that Peggy May didn’t say anything sarcastic, neither then nor later when she was making ready to meet George.

  During their first hour together they made light conversation and teased each other a little, and then – she didn’t know what sparked it off – he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he muttered in a few minutes.

  Thrusting aside the thought that she shouldn’t be letting him, she whispered, ‘I like it, George,’ a gross understatement, for every inch of her was responding to the stimulus – responding in a way that, in her naivety, she did not understand could have only one possible outcome.

  George, however, was cautious. ‘But what about Peter, and Katie?’

  Propelled on to find out what Peter had always held back from, she looked at George now and said, ‘They’ll never know,’ adding with an embarrassed half-smile, ‘… whatever we do.’

  Straightaway, it came to her that saying this might put him off her, make him think she was cheap, and she wished she hadn’t been so bold, but when George murmured, ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’, she didn’t correct him.

  Obviously taking her silence as agreement, he pulled her to the ground. She had been afraid that the reality wouldn’t measure up to her dreams, but, carried away with the rapture of it, she lost track of everything except a mounting, spiralling need. Being so innocent, it did not dawn on her that she was being guided by an expert, an expert who had gentled her past the initial pain and soothed her with kisses before taking her on a soaring flight which came to the wildest, most wonderful conclusion. Only then did she become conscious that the wetness from the soggy grass was seeping right into her clothes, that a dense fog which had descended unnoticed was lying over them like a blanket.

  Silently, George helped her up and turned his back so that she could make herself presentable. She was quite relieved that he kept quiet, but disappointed when he took her to her lodgings and left her still without saying a word. When she went upstairs, she excused her flushed face and damp clothing to Peggy May by saying that he had lain on the grass with her and kissed her an awful lot, and if her friend suspected he’d done more than that, she didn’t say so.

  Lizann’s dreams were predictable that night, but in the morning she wondered if George had been disgusted when she offered herself to him, for that’s what it had amounted to. She was thankful, therefore, when he appeared on the Denes in the forenoon, and there was no hesitation in the nod she gave in answer to the question in his eyes. Time couldn’t pass quickly enough for her now, and when work was finished for the day she set off for their digs at a pace that had Peggy May complaining, ‘Slow down, Lizann, for ony sake. I ken you’re desperate for his kisses, but there’s nae need to rush me off my feet.’

  Unhappily for Lizann, George did not kiss her once that night, nor the following night. She couldn’t understand it. Why was he acting as if nothing had happened between them? But when he said, at Mrs Marks’s door, that tomorrow would be their last night together, she still agreed to meet him.

  Her thoughts were confused when she went inside. She’d been attracted to him the first time she saw him, but her feelings for him went much deeper now. She should really steer clear of him tomorrow, for they were both committed, almost, to somebody else, but …

  She met him as promised, praying that he would stop being so distant, but again he talked only about trivialities. Lapsing into a dejected silence, she wished he would speak about things that mattered. If he didn’t want to see her again, why didn’t he just tell her, bid her goodbye and leave her? Short and sharp, it would still be better than dragging it out like this.

  Hearing a change in the tone of his voice, she turned to look at him. ‘Lizann,’ he said, ‘are you angry about what I did the other night?’

  ‘No, I’m not angry,’ she replied, honestly, ‘and I’m not sorry we did it.’ She was more to blame than he was, after all.

  ‘What’s wrong, then?’

  ‘What are we going to do, George? After this, I mean.’

  ‘When I go back to Cullen and you go back to Buckie?’

  ‘I still love Peter, and I can’t tell him.’

  ‘No.’ After a pause, he said, slowly, ‘I’m still going to marry Katie, and you’ll marry Peter. What we did hasn’t changed that, but I’d better get you back …’

  ‘Not yet. If I’m never going to see you again, give me a last night to remember.’ It was out before she knew what she was saying.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  A twinge of conscience made her say, ‘D’you think I’m awful?’

  ‘No, I want it as much as you.’

  Now it was as if nothing of the outside world existed for them; they were conscious only of their rising passions, of the shared thrills and heart-stopping ecstasies, then, stealthily intruding, the awful thought that their time together was coming to an end. They were reluctant to break away from each other, but the parting had to come some time, and at last they walked slowly, morosely, to the door of Lizann’s lodgings. George’s final kiss was long and tender, and her spirits leapt when he groaned, ‘Oh, God, Lizann, I think I love you.’

  ‘I think I love you and all, George.’ She looked at him in awe for some seconds, as if trying to find some way they could have a future together, then suddenly said, ‘No, I can’t let Peter down now.’ With a strangled sob, she ran inside.

  Peggy May eyed her in concern but, to Lizann’s great relief, asked no questions – she didn’t want to speak about it. Nobody could understand how she felt; she didn’t understand it herself.

  Lizann lay in torment that night. She had been unfaithful to Peter, she had let her mother down, and she could imagine how angry her father would be if he ever found out what she had done; but she wasn’t sorry for having done it. What she did regret was that she would never see George again.

  Would Peter notice anything different about her when she went home, and what would she tell him if he did? But she didn’t need to tell him anything; it was natural that she’d be different after being away from home for the very first time. Nothing had really changed between them, and if he asked her again to get engaged, she would say yes.

  Chapter Three

  On the train, in spite of the singing and joviality going on around her, Lizann Jappy remained silent, as she had been since they set off in the morning. Normally her cheeks shone with rosy good health, her mouth was turned up in a smile, but today her face was peaky and her dark eyes had lost their radiance. Slumped in her seat, she seemed to have no interest in anything, but when the singers started up again, the first few words penetrated her consciousness.

  ‘What a friend we have in Jesus,

  All our sins and griefs to bear,

  What a privilege to carry

  Everything to God in prayer!’

  Parting with George was the worst grief she’d ever had to bear, she thought wretchedly, and not even God could help her. How could she pray after the awful sin she’d committed? It had started off with her wanting to satisfy her curiosity because Peter … no, she couldn’t blame Peter, and he was such a decent man that she couldn’t hurt him by telling him. Besides, as George had said, what they did hadn’t changed anything. When she went home she would accept Peter’s proposal and put George right out of her mind.

  ‘What’s wrong, Lizann?’

 
; The voice in her ear made her jump. ‘Nothing.’

  Her friend was not to be fobbed off. ‘Why are you nae singing? Are you thinking about that Cullen man? That George Buchan?’

  ‘I love him.’

  Peggy May’s eyes widened. ‘Does he love you?’

  ‘He said he did.’

  ‘Well, he’ll come and see you, won’t he?’

  ‘He said he’d a girl at home, and I told him about Peter, so we’re not going to see each other again.’

  Peggy May was astonished. ‘But you’re nae promised to Peter?’

  ‘He asked me to marry him before I came away, and I said I’d give him my answer when I got back.’

  ‘You could tell him you’ve fell in love wi’ somebody else.’

  ‘What’s the use? George is going to marry his Katie. He still loves her, the same as I still love Peter.’

  ‘I canna understand you. Who d’you really love, Peter or George?’

  ‘I know it sounds silly, but I love them both. I really do.’

  After some thought, Peggy May said, ‘You’ll soon forget George once you’re married to Peter.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Peggy May clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘You will, Lizann. You only ken’t him for a wee while, and you’ve ken’t Peter your whole life. You’ve went steady wi’ him for months.’

  Gathering that Peggy May had grown impatient with her for being lovesick over a boy she hardly knew, Lizann came to the conclusion that her friend was right. ‘Aye, I’m being daft, amn’t I? George and me had just been ships that pass in the night.’

  Peggy May grinned, ‘That’s right, so tell Peter you’ll marry him.’

  Her own decision now being endorsed, Lizann smiled and joined in the singing, but exhaustion had finally caught up with the other girls, and when they came to the end of this hymn they dispersed to their own compartments. Those who were left settled back with their eyes closed and Lizann was the only one not to doze off.

  Two years ago, when she asked if she could go to Yarmouth, her father had said, amongst other things, ‘The English are different from us, and you never know what kind of queer folk you could meet.’ She gave a faint smile at the memory. She hadn’t met any of the queer English folk, only George – tall and broad, with untidy hair and soft, loving eyes. Could she ever forget him?

  Hannah was still up when Lizann arrived home just after midnight. ‘It’s awful late,’ she said, accusingly. ‘I was beginning to think something had happened to your train.’

  ‘It’s an awful long way. It took us over seventeen hours.’

  ‘You must be wore out.’

  ‘I’m ready to drop, and I’m going straight to my bed.’

  It was late afternoon before she woke, refreshed by her long sleep, and when she went down to the kitchen, Hannah said, ‘That’s better. You was like death warmed up when you come in last night. Did you tell Peter when you’d be back?’

  ‘I wrote to him the same time I wrote to you.’

  ‘He’ll likely come after he’s had his supper, then.’

  He came at seven on the dot, and Lizann was astonished at the way her heart jolted at the sight of his dear face. ‘You got home all right?’ he asked, unnecessarily, as he waited for her to put on her coat.

  Out in the street, he put his arm round her and observed, ‘You’re a lot thinner. Was it awful hard work?’

  ‘Aye, it was, and I’m glad to be back.’

  Because it was November again, cold and dreich, he took her along the road instead of the shore, asking questions which she’d already covered in her letters, but at last he said hesitantly, ‘Have you made your mind up now, Lizann?’

  She had been waiting for this, but she still wasn’t absolutely sure.

  ‘Lizann?’ he urged, anxiously.

  She hadn’t the heart to keep him waiting any longer. ‘Yes, Peter.’

  ‘D’you mean yes your mind’s made up, or yes you’ll get engaged?’

  Burning her boats, she smiled shyly. ‘Yes, I’ll get engaged.’

  His hug nearly squeezed the breath out of her, and when he let her go, he fished in the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a small velvet box. ‘I bought the ring last week after I spoke to your father.’

  Feeling a niggle of irritation that he’d taken her answer for granted, she nevertheless opened the box as if it contained the crown jewels. It wasn’t an expensive ring, she could see that even in the feeble rays of the moon – just one tiny diamond on a raised shank – but it was likely all he could afford. ‘Oh, Peter, it’s right bonnie,’ she assured him.

  ‘Let me put it on,’ he said, lifting her hand. ‘The jeweller said he’d change it if you didn’t like it, or if it didn’t fit.’

  She did like it, and when he slid the ring down her finger it fitted as if it had been made for her. His arms came round her again, and his kisses were all a young girl could have desired – if she hadn’t been comparing them with another man’s. ‘My dearest darling,’ Peter muttered hoarsely, ‘you’ll never regret this.’

  Already half regretting it, she could only say, ‘I know I won’t.’

  ‘I love you, Lizann. I love you with my heart, my soul and my body. I’d wed you tomorrow if I could.’

  ‘My mother’ll want me to fill my bottom drawer first, so it’ll be a year or so yet.’

  ‘A year or so yet?’ He grabbed her again. ‘What if I say I can’t wait another year? Will you let me …?’

  His heavy breathing alarmed her. She wasn’t ready for this. It did seem like a sin when it was Peter. ‘No! I’ll not let you, not till you put the wedding ring on.’

  ‘Is the engagement ring not enough?’

  She pulled away from him. ‘No it’s not, and if you’re going to carry on like this, Peter Tait, you’d better take it back.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Lizann. It’s just that I haven’t held you for so long … I didn’t mean it, and I’ll not do it again.’

  ‘You’d better not!’ She was on the point of saying she wasn’t a girl like that when she remembered that it would be a downright untruth. Less than a week ago, she had … No! She mustn’t think of that! ‘It’s better to wait,’ she said, gently.

  ‘Aye, and as long as I know you love me …’ He broke off and gazed earnestly into her eyes. ‘You do still love me?’

  ‘Yes, Peter, I still love you.’

  His breath came out in a long contented sigh. ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her forward. ‘We’d better move; we’ll be frozen to the spot if we stand here much longer.’

  Just before they reached Portgordon, Peter swivelled her round to make the return journey. ‘I wish there was a place we could sit down and have a real cuddle … and I just mean a cuddle,’ he added, hastily.

  ‘There’ll be plenty time for cuddling once the better nights come in,’ Lizann murmured, already apprehensive as to where cuddling might lead. She didn’t want to spoil their marriage by giving in to him beforehand.

  ‘It’s funny,’ Peter reflected, ‘a couple of years ago, if anybody had said you’d be my wife some day, I’d have laughed in their face.’

  ‘Was I so ugly?’

  ‘That’s not what I … you were Mick’s wee sister, always there.’

  ‘Like the furniture?’ She couldn’t resist teasing him.

  ‘You know what I mean. I didn’t realize you were growing up till I saw you in that pink frock.’

  She was seventeen and a half now, but it was still difficult for her to accept a compliment. ‘You fell in love with the frock?’

  He stopped and pulled her against him. ‘I fell in love with the lovely young girl inside the frock. Your lips were quivering like you weren’t sure whether to come right into the hall or turn and leave, and when I took you up to dance and felt the curves I’d never noticed before, my heart galloped like it’s galloping right now.’

  His long searching kiss started her
heart galloping, too. ‘Peter,’ she gasped, when he drew back. ‘I wish we’d got engaged before I went away.’ If she’d been fully committed to him, she thought wryly, she wouldn’t have done what she did, and there wouldn’t be this little voice in her head now, telling her she was making a terrible mistake.

  When they went into her house, her parents were waiting to celebrate the engagement, and the slap on the back Willie Alec gave Peter was so hearty that it made him stagger. Hannah tutted at her husband. ‘You near knocked him flat on his face. You dinna ken your own strength.’

  Laughing gustily, Willie Alec broke open the bottle of Drambuie he had bought for the occasion. The Silver Star had landed two hours earlier, and he’d been waiting to toast the betrothed couple. ‘You’ve a nose like a blood-hound,’ he joked to Mick, who came in at that moment. ‘You can smell drink a mile away.’ But he filled a third glass. The two women, not being whisky lovers, especially not the sweet liqueur, made do with some of the Hall’s Wine Hannah bought to fortify herself every winter.

  Willie Alec held his glass aloft. ‘Here’s to Lizann and Peter,’ he boomed. ‘May they have health, wealth and happiness, and he blessed wi’ as fine healthy bairns as me and Hannah.’

  ‘Ach, Willie Alec,’ she reprimanded, ‘you shouldna be speaking about bairns and them just new engaged. And I think they shouldna set the date till Lizann’s nineteen.’

  ‘That’s a year and a half yet,’ her husband protested.

  ‘It’ll gi’e them time to be sure o’ their feelings.’

  ‘Aye, well, maybe that’s best.’

  When the laughing and joking began, Lizann couldn’t help thinking how lucky she was in her parents. Hannah, slim and dainty, with only a few silver hairs shining through the black, did voice her opinion sometimes, but let her man have his own way over most things. Peter’s mother was a big fat lump who domineered her husband. Bowfer was a puny little man who hardly ever opened his mouth when his wife was anywhere near. He was a joiner to trade, working in the same shipyard as his son, and his evenings were spent swilling beer down his throat. He likely needed Dutch courage to go home and share a bed with Bella Jeannie, Lizann reflected in some amusement. Not that he would get much room, for she must take up about three-quarters of it. Willie Alec, on the other hand, was master in his house when he was not at sea. He never bullied his family, but he could be real strict if he thought it was necessary.