Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  She had hoped to persuade Alice to pick up her life again, to perhaps follow her dream of finding full time work in Kendals, but she no longer seemed interested in anything.

  ‘What does it matter? I’ve nothing to live for now,’ she would say, whenever Dena suggested it.

  ‘We need the money, Mam, if nothing else. Anyway, it’d do you good to get out of the house for a bit each day and meet new people.’

  ‘Unfeeling hussy! You think I can bury my beloved son and then carry on as if nothing has happened? You might be able to manage that, after what you did to him, but I have finer feelings!’

  Then there was the fact that her own family had disowned her. This hadn’t bothered Alice for years, now she never stopped going on about how cruel they’d been to her; how uncaring and unfeeling everyone was; that no one could possibly understand the depth of her agony.

  ‘Not so much as a card, or a tear shed for him, their own grandson, never mind a polite enquiry about how I’m coping with this terrible grief,’ and yet again she would be overcome by a paroxysm of crying.

  Day after day Alice wept for her lost child. Once the period of shock had passed, the tears had started and never properly stopped. The slightest remark would set her off and Dena would rush to put her arms about her mother and try to offer comfort.

  ‘You’ve got me, Mam. I’m still here.’

  ‘You can leave me alone!’ Alice shouted, her voice rising to near hysteria. ‘You do nothing but remind me of my loss. If it weren’t for you we’d never be in this mess.’

  ‘Mam, don’t say such a dreadful thing. It’s not true. I tried to save him, I really did.’

  Dena put her hands over her eyes as a painful image flashed across her mind. These visions could come to her at any time, day or night, her brain constantly replaying the scene as if from an old black and white film.

  Sometimes the picture would vary or she’d almost catch a glimpse of someone, but then it would vanish before she’d quite grasped it. If only she could get a clear view of their attackers, identify one of them. Surely that would help? But all she could recall was a pair of dark eyes glaring at her from out of a balaclava.

  But she mentioned none of this to her mother. How could she? Dena felt helpless in the presence of such profound grief.

  On her way home one evening Dena stopped off for a mug of tea with Barry, welcoming an opportunity to pour out some of her troubles to a sympathetic listener. She told him about the half crown tip, and how Carl had seen her pocket it.

  ‘He must think I was stealing. What should I do? Ought I to say something?’

  ‘Nay, best to say nothing.’

  ‘I’ve never dared do it again, and Joan says I’m daft not to. She thinks we deserve better pay anyway. And it’s true Belle is mean. Half our wages are supposed to come from the tips but she takes a cut of them too.’

  ‘I didn’t realise things were that bad for you.’ Barry at once offered to lend her ten shillings but Dena refused. ‘I’ll not take charity from me friends. It’s the government who should help us, and the navy should pay Mam proper whack, considering they lost me dad in the first place.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that one, cherub, but at least take a bag of veg home with you. I’d only be chucking ‘em out anyway, as they’re past their best, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh, Barry, what would I do without you?’

  Carl wasn’t the only one watching her. Kenny couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was so lovely he meant to have her, no matter what it took to get her. He’d seen how Dena mourned for her brother and felt a small nudge of sympathy for her loss, nevertheless he decided it was time to make his move. One evening as Belle pulled down the shutters, he ran a comb through his slicked back Brylcreemed hair, smoothed down the new jacket he’d bought to impress her, and offered to walk her home.

  ‘Thanks but I’m all right on me own,’ she protested.

  ‘Course you are, but you wouldn’t object to a bit of company, I hope. You’ve worked hard today and must be worn out.’

  He was so friendly and sympathetic there seemed no harm in accepting his offer. It started to rain and they had to run, drenched to the skin and laughing, to the old bus shelter where they stood for what seemed like hours, chatting happily together about nothing in particular. It wasn’t even as if she was waiting for a bus. It was just somewhere to be out of the rain.

  Kenny asked how she was coping and if her mother was getting over the tragedy which irritated Dena a bit as she hated to keep being reminded of it. When she didn’t answer he started talking about the café, asking if she enjoyed working for his mam, teasing her about how custom dropped off whenever she wasn’t there.

  Dena relaxed and quite forgot the time as they started to chat like old friends. But then in a panic she remembered her mam’s tea and made a dash for home, Kenny’s voice calling after her that he’d see her next week.

  The following Saturday he seemed to appear out of nowhere and fell into step beside her as if it were perfectly natural for them to be together. It certainly felt right. Kenny was fun to be with, entertaining, exciting even, and very easy to talk to. He didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, as Carl did.

  This time they chatted about the coming celebrations for the Coronation, the latest Frankie Lane record and he asked if she’d seen the new film, High Noon, which of course Dena hadn’t.

  ‘I’ll take you. When would you like to go? Thursday? Friday?’

  ‘It’s my birthday next Friday,’ Dena said, surprising herself by blurting out this information. ‘I’ll be fourteen.’ She wished she could be older, more sophisticated. Kenny would surely see her as merely a child but his next words disproved that.

  ‘Friday it is then.’

  ‘I haven’t said I’ll go with you yet.’

  ‘No, but you will,’ he said with supreme confidence. ‘Why would you refuse? There are dozens of girls begging me to take them to the flicks,’ he bragged, flicking back his fair hair.

  Dena laughed. ‘Then why ask me?’

  ‘Because you’re the prettiest, and quite the nicest girl I know.’

  She flushed bright pink. ‘All right, I’ll come.’ Dena didn’t know how she’d manage it, but it would be wonderful to escape the house for the evening, and her mother’s moans. It was her birthday after all.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Belle asked the moment Kenny arrived back.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Up to no good with Chippy and your other namby-pamby friends no doubt.’

  Kenny puffed out his chest. ‘I was with Dena, as a matter of fact.’

  Belle laughed. ‘You’re wasting your time with that one, lad. She wouldn’t look twice at a Mary-Ann like you. And what would you do with her, if you caught her?’ Flicking the ash from her cigarette on to his shiny shoes, Belle strolled away, laughing delightedly at her own joke.

  Glowering, Kenny muttered to himself under his breath. Belle had treated him with this sort of casual contempt for as long as he could remember. Carl she saw as big and tough, a strong man who was going places in the world, while Kenny she belittled at every opportunity, calling him weak, fickle and unreliable, and frequently pointing out his uselessness with girls.

  Much as Kenny hated his mother yet he longed to please her, to prove to her his worth. Trouble is, he didn’t know how. ‘I’ll show you I’m no Mary-Ann. I’ll bloody show you,’ he shouted, which only made her laugh all the more.

  Chapter Eight

  When Friday came round it seemed just like any other day and not her birthday at all. Dena made breakfast as usual, taking porridge and a mug of tea upstairs to her mother in bed, as she said it was too cold in the kitchen yet for her to get up.

  Deep inside Dena carried her exciting secret. She hadn’t dared to ask yet if she could go to the pictures with Kenny Garside, scared that Mam might say no. Was this the moment? she wondered.

  Alice didn’t even open her eyes as Dena set the tray by the bed. Perhaps later would be a
better time, when she was up and dressed.

  After Dena had cleared away and washed the dishes, banked up the fire and filled the coal bucket, worrying about the low stock of coal left in the bunker out in the yard, she put on her coat and called upstairs that she was off to school now.

  ‘Is there anything you want before I go?’

  Alice did not reply. Dena decided that her mother must have gone back to sleep so there was little point in going up. She’d talk to her this evening about Kenny.

  Perhaps, Dena thought, as she walked to school, her mother might have a surprise for her at tea-time. She can’t have forgotten that it’s my birthday. She might have slipped out to the corner shop to buy something without telling me.

  Once upon a time her mother had used to bake a cake and put candles on the top. They’d sing Happy Birthday and Dena would blow them all out with one breath and make a wish. Of course, that had been a long time ago, when she was small.

  Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and she gave them a quick rub, not wanting to disgrace herself as she saw a group of friends ahead, waving to her. She made no mention to them that it was her birthday because they’d be certain to ask if she was having a party, or what present her mother had given her that morning. Dena decided it would be best to wait till tea time and see what Alice’s surprise might be.

  There was no surprise. Dena arrived home to find the fire out, no food prepared for any birthday tea, not even a slice of bread spread with marg let alone a cake with candles. And there was no sign of her mother.

  ‘Mam! Where are you?’

  A thin wail came from upstairs. ‘Where else would I be but in bed? We’ve run out of coal and I’m starved with cold. You’re no use to anyone, girl. And beat those rugs. They’re filthy. Useless, dozy numbskull that you are.’

  Dena slammed out of the house and, after scavenging in the spoil-heaps and rubbish tips, returned with half a bucketful of coal and an old orange box. Having got the fire going she set about making tea: a fried egg sandwich for herself as a treat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an egg. What better way to celebrate her birthday? She licked up every drop of runny yolk, every last crumb and gave a satisfied sigh when it was all gone, knowing she could have eaten another quite easily.

  But Dena was determined to be cheerful and even hummed a little tune as she stood in the yard beating the clippy rugs with the carpet beater. But then she still had the evening to look forward to.

  When she went upstairs to ask if Alice would like a boiled egg for her tea, which she always enjoyed, she found her mother fast asleep.

  Dena stood in the bedroom doorway and felt once more plunged into helplessness and despair. Why did she sleep all the time? She must have been up for some hours today though, as she’d used up all the coal, but why go back to bed in the middle of the afternoon? Dena pulled open the little drawer where she’d hidden the sleeping tablets and counted them out. She could have sworn there should have been ten but there were only eight. Mam must have taken a couple this afternoon and now was snoring like a banshee, loud enough to wake all the neighbours.

  She couldn’t be bothered to stay awake long enough to make her a surprise tea, buy her own daughter a birthday present, or even to wish her Happy Birthday.

  Well, what of it! If she was determined to stay in bed and be miserable, let her. Dena meant to enjoy her birthday in her own way without any help from her mam.

  Of course, her mother being asleep deprived Dena of any chance to ask if she could go to the pictures with Kenny, as she’d intended, but surely she couldn’t blame her for that? Mam was forever either slagging her off over some supposed fault, or else fast asleep and snoring her head off. She certainly wasn’t interested in anything Dena did or said, so what did it matter?

  Half an hour later Dena set a tray of sandwiches and flask of tea on the bedside table, then crept silently out of the house without waking her.

  Kenny was waiting, as promised, on Slate Wharf. They walked along by the canal basin, much quieter now that the day’s work was done and most of the tugs and barges had been tied up for the night. Neither of them spoke, Dena simply thrilled to be out of the house. Free at last.

  Castlefield had once been a thriving industrial area, the heart of Manchester’s wealth. Now it looked half derelict and carried an air of sadness with its bombed-out sites and flattened warehouses. Children played among the rubble and people hurried by with their collars turned up against the wind, unseeing of the desolation around them.

  When they reached the place where the Manchester Ship Canal merged with the Rochdale and Bridgewater Canals, Kenny said, ‘This is the last lock on the Rochdale Canal, once owned by the Duke of Bridgewater. There are nine more locks between here and Dale Street Basin, along what they call the Castlefield Flight, allowing the canal to rise sixty-three feet. Amazing piece of engineering that, eh?’

  How he loved to show off, Dena thought, not really listening. She was still worrying about her mam in the house alone, about the missing tablets and the constant criticism of everything she did. Would Alice never forgive her for not protecting Pete that day? Would she never recover from her grief? Dena longed for her to be as she once had been, at least interested in what her daughter did, even if she wasn’t the most loving mother in the world.

  If only there was someone she could talk to properly about her problem. But how could she without giving away the whole story of what had happened that day by the canal? Dena was quite convinced that whoever had been bullying her brother were the ones responsible for his death. Yet even if she could find out who the culprits were, what could she do about it? Nothing! She couldn’t even bear to think about them.

  ‘Hello, are you still with me?’ Kenny’s voice in her ear.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was miles away.’

  ‘Shows how fascinating I must be. Penny for ‘em.’

  Dena shook her head, finding her cheeks growing warm at his comment. Was he being sarcastic or just teasing her? She couldn’t be sure.

  They were now walking past Giant’s Basin, a great curving overflow sluice that took surplus water from the canal down into the river Medlock, which reminded her of what he’d been trying to tell her. ‘You were saying something about the canal, some engineering thing.’

  Kenny gave a cocky grin. ‘I like being with you, Dena. You’re so appreciative of what I have to say, unlike other people I know.’ And then began to bore her rigid by talking about his new job at the engineering works, how he was serving an apprenticeship for which he was very badly paid. ‘I deserve more,’ he said, with his characteristic swagger. ‘I’m good at me job. One of the best.’

  Dena hid a smile. ‘You can hardly have been there any time at all.’

  ‘So? One day I’ll be a fully fledged mechanic. That’s something, isn’t it?’

  ‘That would be grand,’ Dena agreed.

  ‘Then I’ll make a load of brass, buy myself’ a big house. Maybe invent something important what everyone’ll pay a fortune for. I mean it you know. I have big plans, me.’

  ‘Good for you. But why do you always have to be showing off? It’s so unnecessary. Why not just be yourself.’

  Kenny looked startled, as if such a consideration had never entered his head. True, he had been trying to impress her, but wasn’t that what a lad was supposed to do with a lass? ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. Playing the big man all the time. Look at you now, combing your hair, preening yourself.’ She wondered if perhaps she was being unkind, if he might be nervous so couldn’t quite stop himself from fidgeting. ‘You think far too much of yourself, Kenny Garside.’

  ‘What’s wrong with a person taking a pride in their appearance?’ Kenny protested, but slid the comb back in his pocket and stuffed his hands in too, as if he didn’t know what to do with them when he wasn’t using them for the purposes of grooming.

  Dena did admit that he wasn’t bad looking. The quiff
of blond hair which seemed to be causing him so much trouble, flopped enticingly over his forehead and his eyes were a clear light blue, as if the sun was shining behind them. He had a nice face with a sort of boyish innocence about it, not nearly so surly as Carl’s. He wasn’t quite as tall as Carl either, but loose-limbed and with a rather sexy swagger to his walk. It was no wonder all the girls fancied the Garside brothers. Dena was certainly happy enough to be seen out with Kenny and it felt perfectly natural to slip her arm into his as they walked along, sharing a moment of complete contentment.

  They caught a bus at the end of Liverpool Road which would take them into the city centre. Kenny insisted on paying, as it was his treat. Yet he made no mention of it being her birthday and Dena wondered if he’d forgotten. After all, why should he remember if her own mother couldn’t?

  They went up on the top deck and it felt good to be sitting with him in the warm fug of the bus. ‘Tell me about your brother, about Carl. Is he still doing the driving?’

  Kenny’s face clouded. ‘Aye, for Catlow’s warehouse, taking stuff back and forth from the dock all the time. Bore me to tears that would, but he seems to like it. He’s a brainless idiot is my brother, not like me at all.’

  ‘I’m sure he isn’t.’ Again there was that touch of amusement in her voice which Kenny picked up on.

  ‘He is, far too solemn and serious for his own good. I do at least know how to have a bit of fun in life…’

  ‘As well as being more handsome and intelligent,’ Dena teased.

  ‘That’s right,’ Kenny agreed, taking her seriously. ‘He has none at all.’

  ‘Oh, Kenny, do stop bragging. I’m sure he says the same about you.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. How could he? You watch out, Dena. He’s a shocking flirt, and he’s not one to cross isn’t our Carl. Not that he can do any wrong in Mam’s eyes. Makes me furious at times the way she lets him get away with stuff. He orders me about all the time, then sits back expecting her to wait on him hand, foot and finger, and she does, soft cow. But she won’t do anything for me, quite the reverse. It’s Kenny do this. Kenny do that. Kenny will you fetch that? And it’s an order, not a request, like I’m some sort of slave.’