Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters Page A

how shamelessly I took my memories of her, and turned them to my own improper advantage ! Each night at the Palace she kissed me farewell; in my dreams her lips stayed at my cheek - were hot, were tender - moved to my brow, my ear, my throat, my mouth .. I was used to standing close to her, to fasten her collar-studs or brush her lapels; now, in my reveries, I did what I longed to do then - I leaned to place my lips upon the edges of her hair; I slid my hands beneath her coat, to where her breasts pressed warm against her stiff gent’s shirt and rose to meet my strokings ...
    And all this - which left me thick with bafflement and pleasure - with my sister at my side! All this with Alice’s breath upon my cheek, or her hot limbs pressed against mine; or with her eyes shining cold and dull, with starlight and suspicion.
    But she said nothing; she asked me nothing; and to the rest of the family, at least, my continuing friendship with Kitty became in time a source not of wonder, but of pride. ‘Have you been to the Palace at Canterbury?’ I would hear Father say to customers as he took their plates. ‘Our youngest girl is very thick with Kitty Butler, the star of the show ...’ By the end of August, when the oyster season had started again and we were back in the shop full-time, they began to press me to bring Kitty home with me, that they might meet her for themselves.
    â€˜You are always saying as how she is your pal,’ said Father one morning at breakfast. ‘And besides - what a crime it would be for her to come so near to Whitstable, and never taste a proper oyster-tea. You bring her over here, before she goes.’ The idea of asking Kitty to sup with my family seemed a horrible one; and because my father spoke so carelessly about the fact that she would soon have left for a new hall, I made him a stinging reply. A little later Mother took me aside. Was my father’s house not good enough for Miss Butler, she said, that I couldn’t invite her here? Was I ashamed of my parents, and my parents’ trade? Her words made me gloomy; I was quiet and sad with Kitty that night, and when after the show she asked me why, I bit my lip.
    â€˜My parents want me to ask you over,’ I said, ‘for tea tomorrow. You don’t have to come, and I can say you’re busy or sick. But I promised them I’d ask you; and now,’ I finished miserably, ‘I have.’
    She took my hand. ‘But Nan,’ she said in wonder, ‘I should love to come! You know how dull it is for me in Canterbury, with no one but Mrs Pugh, and Sandy, to talk to!’ Mrs Pugh was the landlady of Kitty’s rooming-house; Sandy was the boy who shared her landing: he played in the band at the Palace, but drank, she said, and was sometimes silly and a bore. ‘Oh, how nice it would be,’ she continued, ‘to sit in a proper parlour again, with a proper family - not just a room with a bed in it, and a dirty rug, and a bit of newspaper on the table for a cloth! And how nice to see where you live and work; and to catch your train; and to meet the people that love you, and have you with them all day ...’
    It made me fidget and swallow to hear her talk like this, all unself-consciously, of how she liked me; tonight, however, I had no time even to blush: for as she spoke there came a knock at her door - a sharp, cheerful, authoritative knock that made her blink and stiffen, and look up in surprise.
    I, too, gave a start. In all the evenings I had spent with her, she had had no visitors but the call-boy - who came to tell her when she was wanted in the wing - and Tony, who sometimes put his head around the door to wish us both good-night. She had no beau, as I have said; she had no other ‘fans’ - no friends at all, it seemed, but me; and I had always been rather glad of it. Now I watched her step to the door, and bit my lip. I should like to say I felt a thrill of foreboding, but