August 1909, Birmingham

"Oh no, Arthur, look! Herb is running into the old manufacture!" Agnes panted and cursed silently.

"That's good. The beast is trapped now," Arthur answered and sped up, reaching the old side entrance seconds before her.

Chasing father's chicken on the run all through Small Heath had always been Agnes' job, and on this day she'd help by Arthur Shelby, the eldest of the Shelby brothers. Agnes had bumped into him just minutes ago, seconds after Herb bumped against his lower leg.

"I hate it here," she whispered, entering the old manufacture. "It feels haunted."

"It isn't." Arthur answered and closed the door behind him.

The light was dim, the windows broken, and no Herb in sight.

"Where is this crazy cock, where would I hide if I was a stupid boiling hen on the run?" Arthur whispered and continued louder: "Putt, putt, putt, come on, Herb, come to daddy!"

"Maybe he's gone," Agnes whispered and in this moment a low cackle was to be heard.

"Nope." Arthur shook his head and took a few steps to the left, before he stopped: "Did you hear that?"

"No. What?" She whispered.

"There are people outside. Maybe the coppers. Come ...," he whispered and grabbed her hand, leading her to a small door on the left.

A wall closet, as it turned out.

"Fuck," he whispered and closed the door behind him.

The side entrance door opened with a jar.

"You sure it isn't haunted?" A female voice said and a male one answered: "I'm sure. Come here, baby."

For a few minutes it was pretty silent, then she heard low moans. She took a deep breath, smelling dust and Arthur, and whispered: "Maybe we should go. They aren't the coppers, aren't they?"

"We're gonna wait here. Think of your reputation, Agnes." He whispered at her ear and she nodded.

Whoever the couple out there was, they could tell everyone that she was a whore, giving herself to Arthur Shelby. She didn't exactly know what this could mean and include, but she'd heard her father casting aspersions about girls in the neighborhood, who messed around with boys. Agnes bit on her lip and closed her eyes, listened to the unfamiliar noises coming from the couple.

"Oh, Jimmy, there's a cock!" The girl said breathlessly and he answered chuckling: "There he is, right. Fat and hard and ready to ..."

"Jimmy! An actual cock! There, behind you!" She giggled and Agnes noticed that Arthur suppressed a laugh too.

"Oh. Alright. Looks like Herb. Agnes' Herb, you know?"

"Agnes? Watery Lane Agnes?"

"Right. But to be honest, babe, I'm much more interested in my own cock and a certain pussy. Lift your skirts and turn around, honey."

"Oh, holy mother of god," Arthur whispered and sighed.

A deep grunt and a much higher moan reached Agnes' ears and she started to feel very uncomfortable.

The following silence lasted not a whole minute, then the woman started to scream. Little cries, strange noises, grunting, and every now and then a high pitched scream.

"Arthur?" She whispered and felt that he came nearer.

"Aye?"

"Maybe ... maybe we should risk my reputation and help her. She's in pain, don't you think?"

"No. She isn't in pain, Aggy. He pleasures her and he's doing pretty good, I guess. Have you never heard your parents fucking?"

Agnes held her breath for a moment and thought about an answer: "No. My mother died when I was three years old. Father is alone since then."

"Right, I didn't think about it. He wouldn't bring a whore in his home."

"I don't think that my father is visiting a whore and ..." Agnes stopped, thinking of the Friday evenings when her father came home very late, sometimes smelling like he'd used a woman's perfume. She'd always wondered what whores do and what exactly the secret activities between men and women were. No one talked about, and if someone talked, it was always in a whisper and very ... vaguely. Now she had the chance to satisfy her curiosity. She cleared her throat and said under her breath: "I know it's wrong and ... rude, but ... do you think we could have a look? To make sure she's alright?" She whispered and Arthur chuckled lowly: "Sure."

He opened the door slowly and the first thing Agnes saw was Herb, standing in front of the closet. Then her eyes searched for the couple and found them just six or seven steps ahead of the closet. The woman was bent over an old bench, and Jimmy – James Coleman, holy mother of god! – took her from behind.

"Oh, my god!" Agnes whispered and looked away. "That looks ... horrible."

"But it feels good," Arthur answered.

"Did you ...?"

"Of course. I'm 22, Aggy. I did this a hundred times and I love it."

"But you're not married, you're not even engaged!"

"Aye."

Agnes noticed Arthur's grin before he carefully closed the door and the darkness surrounded them again.

"In a few years, Aggy," he whispered, "when you're as old as I am now, you'll understand it much better. And with the right man, you're gonna love it too."

July 1920, Birmingham

"Agnes?" A deep voice said. "Aggy, the chicken chaser of Watery Lane?"

Agnes turned around and faced Arthur Shelby. Within the blink of an eye her brain brought up the embarrassing afternoon in the old manufacture when they watched James Coleman fucking Janet Abramson.

"Good evening, Arthur," she greeted, and gave him a forced smile.

She wished the ground to swallow her up. Back then she'd been 15 years old and completely stupid in all things men and women. Now she was 26. And nothing had changed.

"Long time no see," Arthur said and added with a grin: "How's Herb?"

"He was our special guest at the Christmas table back in 1910."

Arthur chuckled and asked: "Poor Herb. What are you doing these days?"

"I'm working at St. Albert's. I'm on my way to work. It's my last nightshift for this month."

"You're a nurse?" He asked and she nodded: "Two months in the war my father had a massive stroke. I attended him until his death in February 16. After his death I went to London and became a trained nurse at the Royal College of Nursing. And since last year I'm a registered nurse. How are you, Arthur? I was glad to hear that you and Tommy and John came back from the war."

"I'm fine, thank you. We're all fine. So, uhm, Aggy, are you married or engaged or something?"

"No. I'm not. I've got ... no time left for ... for all the romantic things."

Arthur nodded slowly and said: "Back in the war, in the nights I couldn't find sleep, I often thought of the afternoon we chased Herb."

Agnes chuckled and shook her head: "That was a really long time ago."

"Yes. But it was peaceful. And it was a lot of fun."

Agnes noticed the pain in his facial expression, the sadness and the craving for some peace. She knew this mien, she'd seen it so very often in the faces of all the soldiers she'd met.

"It was," she answered softly and gave him a smile, a true one this time.

"So, tomorrow, when you've got some free time ..."

"4 p. m. at the side entrance of the old manufacture. You good with that?"

"Will you bring a chicken we can chase through the halls?" He asked frowning.

"No," she answered under her breath and bowed her head, watching her shoes like there was nothing more interesting to see. "Maybe this time we could stay on the other side of the door ..."

"Jimmy and Janet?" Arthur asked and lifted his eyebrows.

Agnes nodded and swallowed hard, her eyes closed. She felt the blushing and asked herself if she was totally nuts.

"Bloody hell, no! That's not the Aggy I know," Arthur said. "The Aggy I know doesn't mess around in an old manufacture."

"The times are changing, aren't they?" She grinded out, without being able to look at him.

He nodded slowly and came nearer: "But for a first time a bed is always a good choice, fucking around in public isn't something for beginners. We'll meet at the manufacture, for old times' sake. Then we're going to have a beer in a pub and ..."

"Alright," Agnes said hastily, shame made her cheeks burn. "Just for old times' sake."

So, Arthur Shelby also joined the row of men who weren't interested in her and everything she'd got to give. Which included not only a virgin pussy but also a heart full of love. But neither her pussy nor her heart was of any interest for the men she'd met. She was so eager to give and just couldn't find a man who needed all the love and support she wanted to share. So she worked hours and hours and hours, three free days a month, giving all the unrequited love, all her patience and every hour of her time to her patients.

"I'm looking forward to it. Have a good night, Aggy."

She nodded and fled around the corner. What the hell did she think? A single tear rolled over her cheek, a second followed moments later. She'd offered herself to a random man she'd known years ago, just like a desperate, flat broke whore who needed her daily dose of morphine to cope with all the calamities of her life.

And what about tomorrow? Should she meet him at the old factory? Was she able to smile all the way through an excruciating evening full of embarrassing silence? Her brain presented her without being asked her own words: "Maybe ... maybe we should risk my reputation and help her. She's in pain, don't you think?"

She cringed. Most likely Arthur Shelby still laughed about her foolishness.

No. She wouldn't go to the old manufacture. She'd go to St. Albert's and work a few extra hours. Mr. Stevens, who'd lost both hands in a horrible accident at the sawmill had wished for a bath, but they hadn't had the time to bath him over the last few days. Tomorrow she'd run him a bath, wash his hair and scrub his back, gifting him her time. Charles Stevens knew nothing about her embarrassing past as a virginal Peeping Tom and her miserable presence. She could talk to him without feeling constantly ashamed.

Agnes nodded to herself, straightened her back and hurried to St. Albert's. Arthur Shelby was a man of the past and there he would stay. In a past that she hopefully would forget someday.