Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  A small nod.

  ‘Good, because that would be just a beginning. We could think of any number of other little tricks to play on you, if we put our mind to it.’

  ‘Dena slowly unfastened the scarf while every girl in the room held her breath. They all knew it would take only one loud yell from Norah to bring the wrath of the dreaded Carthorse - or worse, Matron herself - down upon them. Then the fat really would be in the fire. Every last one of them would be severely punished. It really didn’t bear thinking about.

  But, for once, Norah was genuinely frightened. It was all too easy to bully one girl, but not so comfortable to attempt the same trick on a whole group.

  The locket, along with many other items of value, was recovered and an uneasy peace ensued. Although Dena remained wary of Norah Talbot, not trusting the girl as far as she could throw her, the incident, so far as she was concerned, was closed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Life continued at Ivy Bank much as normal, even though the days seemed longer than ever as Dena waited impatiently for release. The second year of her stay seemed to go by much quicker than the first, and in no time at all Christmas was almost upon them once more. She was well used to the routine and had plenty of friends now: Gwen, Phyllis, and even Katy who had once been hand in glove with Norah, and although there was still animosity between herself and the erstwhile bully, Dena managed to keep her distance.

  But she was lonely for the market, longed for her freedom and to have someone who really cared about her. She lived for Kenny’s weekly letter which were generally short and with nowhere near as much news of her friends on the market as she would have liked, but always full of his love for her.

  One day, quite out of the blue, he announced that he intended coming to see her just before Christmas, and Dena was filled with excitement. Boy friends were not allowed at Ivy Bank but she wouldn’t let that stop her. What did she have to lose? Nothing!

  Kenny was the only person in the entire world who cared a jot about her. She hated the home, the staff, Carthorse the housemother, Matron, everyone. Dena hated the entire world that held her prisoner and wanted to rebel against it, if only to prove that she was her own person and needed no one. She wanted to make it plain to everyone that she absolutely refused to be bullied and would do exactly as she pleased.

  Most of all, she hated Alice, her so-called mother.

  In the twelve long months since the fight and incarceration in that terrible windowless room, Dena had managed to avoid Norah Talbot, largely by keeping herself to herself. She’d obeyed all the rules, done exactly as she was told and concentrated entirely on serving her time, rather like a prison sentence.

  But she felt as if her young life was passing her by.

  Dena had read in the papers that boys were creating a scandal by wearing Edwardian style suits and having their hair frizzed, and girls were wearing fashionable A-line dresses while she was still stuck with this dreadful old gymslip. Sweet rationing had finally ended and there were enticing posters advertising Wall’s ice cream everywhere you looked, which they weren’t allowed to eat at Ivy Bank. Roger Bannister had broken the four minute mile, and the Grove Family had started on television. Not that they were ever allowed to watch it. And a singer called Elvis Presley had made a record called That’s All Right Mama which all the girls wanted to listen to whenever it came on the wireless.

  In just a few short months, and she was counting the days, she would turn sixteen and then she would kick the dust of this uncaring place off her heels for good.

  Dena already knew that she intended to return to Champion Street Market. She would ask Belle for her old job back, and if that wasn’t possible, she was quite certain that one of the other stall holders would offer her work.

  Where she would live and whether she could afford to support herself on such low wages she wasn’t sure, but that was no reason not to try.

  She meant also to have a good time: to buy lovely fashionable clothes, to go to dances and buy records as other girls did. Dena meant to live life to the full, and nothing and no one would stand in her way.

  In the meantime, the prospect of seeing Kenny was like a miracle, a wonderful treat to look forward to. To once more feel his arms around her, his lips on hers, was something she dreamed of night after night. Dena was willing to take any risk to turn that dream into reality.

  She began to make plans.

  Girls often bunked off, slipping down the fire escape and trying to catch a bus or train that would take them miles away from Ivy Bank, back to their families. Generally speaking they were soon found and returned to Matron’s tender care, sometimes before they’d got a mile from the door.

  Dena meant to be much cleverer than that. She had no intention of absconding, therefore would be in no danger of being spotted by some eagle-eyed bus conductor or railway porter.

  She felt jittery with excitement. A romantic tryst in the woods with Kenny Garside was even better than her wildest dreams. Worth being locked away for a whole week on bread and water, worth any punishment Matron could dream up. Not that she had any intention of getting caught. Nor would she be, so long as none of the girls heard her leave, or no one inadvertently locked the fire escape while she was out.

  Dena wrote back to Kenny straight away, mentioning a spot in a nearby wood where the girls were often taken for a healthy walk. But no one would be going on nature rambles at midnight, so they’d be perfectly safe to meet there.

  Carl told himself times without number that he really shouldn’t be troubling his head about his stupid brother, or his mother either for that matter. If she wanted to behave like a whore, that was her business. He just hoped she didn’t bring shame down upon them all. Her latest beau seemed to be Sam Beckett from the neighbouring ironmongery stall, though Carl was quite convinced she was also still seeing Joe Southworth, despite her protests of innocence in this regard.

  Sam wasn’t a typical Belle victim. For one thing, unlike Joe Southworth, he didn’t have a wife, and being a stubborn sort of bloke he didn’t like to be pushed around. In his mid thirties he was younger than Belle and had spent much of the latter years of the war as a POW. He’d had a hard time getting over that so she wouldn’t find him quite so easy to handle. They’d already had a bit of a barney when Belle had asked him to put her forward for the market committee and he’d laughed his head off.

  ‘And what would you use for brains, Belle?’

  ‘At least mine aren’t in my trousers,’ she’d shouted back, but the row that ensued got her nowhere. Nor would it. Sam had a mind of his own and Carl understood perfectly why he was keen not to allow Belle on to that dratted committee, as was everyone.

  She’d take it over completely, order everyone around and think herself Queen of the market. She would start demanding all kinds of changes because she was fiercely ambitious and not a little greedy, and would be eager to make some sort of impact to prove herself, while most of the other stall holders would prefer things to stay exactly as they were.

  As for Kenny, he too seemed hell-bent on creating problems. Today Carl had arrived home from work to find him dressed up like something out of a western. Long jacket complete with velvet collar, tight drainpipe trousers, even a bootlace tie. There he stood in front of the hall mirror admiring himself as if he were a girl.

  Carl burst out laughing. ‘What’s all this about? Are you off to a fancy dress party?’

  Kenny stuck out his lower lip in that moody way he had, a bitter look in his eyes as he turned on his brother. ‘This is the latest fashion I’ll have you know. Not everyone wants to look like they’ve picked their clothes out of a rag-bag.’

  Carl glanced ruefully down at his dusty blue overalls bearing the Catlow’s motif on the breast pocket, and with a careless shrug went to the kitchen sink to rinse his hands and face in cold water. ‘Who are you out with tonight? Jenny, Josie or Jeannie? It must get confusing. Perhaps you could start working your way through the Ks next.’

  ‘I’l
l go out with who I bleeding want.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re over Dena Dobson at last?’ Carl asked as he rubbed his face dry on a rough towel, amusement rich in his tone. ‘Thank the Lord for that, at least.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. These dates don’t mean a thing. They just help to pass the time. Dena is still my girl. She’s the one for me.’

  Carl reached for the frying pan and took four large pork sausages from the new green and cream refrigerator standing in the corner. ‘They might mean something to her, if she ever finds out you’re two-timing her.’

  ‘You mind your own business, you. I thought we’d settled this once and for all, that you should keep your nose out of how I feel about Dena.’

  ‘Aye, but I seem to recall that I won that particular contest, so I reckon I can keep on asking.’ Carl jabbed at the sausages as they began to sizzle.

  Kenny was dabbing Clearasil on a few spots he’d discovered on his chin. ‘Well, I say you can’t. I had enough problems with that brother of hers forever turning up at the wrong moment, just when I was trying to chat Dena up, so don’t you start.’

  Carl hadn’t cared much for the little squirt either, right little trouble-maker he was, always in trouble and ready to put folks’ noses out of joint. It was no surprise to him that he’d come a cropper.

  Kenny frowned at the spotted image of himself in the mirror, hoping the ointment would soon soak in. ‘Matter of fact, I were thinking of going to see her in that home they’ve got her in. I don’t suppose her mam bothers to go and see her and she must get fed up with having no visitors. Besides, she needs to know that she’s still my girl. They’ll be letting her out in just a few months and it’s happen time we got engaged.’

  Carl was shocked into silence by this surprising statement and stood, frying pan in hand, watching in astonishment as Kenny blithely applied yet more Brylcreem to his hair. He’d let it grow right down to his collar, with long sideburns, flicking back the front part into a quiff. Having satisfied himself that it was exactly how he liked it, Kenny smoothed down his jacket like a bird of paradise might groom his ruffled feathers.

  Carl piled his cooked sausages onto a plate, along with two thick slices of buttered bread. ‘Don’t talk so daft! You’re far too young to be getting serious.’

  ‘Sez who?’

  ‘Me! I say so.’

  Kenny’s response was to swagger out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Carl watched him go on a sigh of despair.

  Carl spent a quiet evening in alone with the new Bush television set he’d bought for them, and thought maybe he must be getting old to be staying in on a Friday night, not even going down to the club for a workout. But somehow he felt in need of time on his own to think. He drank a few beers, watched Gilbert Harding, and wondered what the hell he was doing with his life.

  He told himself that it was time he stopped worrying about his flaming family, stopped watching and fretting over Kenny and left him to sort his own life out. The same with Belle.

  Long past time he gave more attention to his own future.

  And while he sat there watching the swan floating on the river in the programme interlude, it occurred to him that he was doing the same thing. Drifting along, getting nowhere, doing nothing.

  Carl came to a decision. He would give up the driving. It was a dead-end job going nowhere anyway, and he wanted something better.

  He enjoyed driving his wagon to and from Manchester’s many markets, loved the hustle and bustle, the urgency to deliver food early while it was still fresh and new. He’d lived and breathed the market all his life. This was where he belonged, where he wanted to be.

  But his mam was right in one respect at least. He did want to be his own boss, to build up a business for himself, although not in transport.

  She would not be pleased, given these grand ideas she nursed for ‘her boys’, but that was her problem. Belle had spoiled him rotten all his life, right from when he was little, for some reason always favouring him over Kenny, which perhaps had more to do with who had fathered them than anything else. Whatever the reason, her attitude hadn’t helped Kenny one bit, nor Carl himself for that matter.

  But he wasn’t a silly kid any more. He was a grown man and he’d please himself what he did with his own life.

  Nevertheless Carl had no wish to blunder into something without first getting all the facts. He needed much more information before he put the proposition to her. It would never do to alienate her from the start. Best to make sure that his idea could work, then he’d tell her.

  What he needed was a bit of advice from a mate. He glanced at his watch. Not too late to nip down to the club for a beer, he decided, and reached for his coat.

  Barry, he was told when he got there, had left minutes before. ‘He’s seeing some of his lads home. You’ll probably catch up with them if you hurry,’ the barman said, but Carl had a pint in front of him by this time and decided it could wait. After all, there really wasn’t any rush. He couldn’t pack in his job right now, not with Christmas just around the corner. He’d catch up with Barry another time.

  On the way home from the club Kenny passed under the railway arches, the canal water glinting inkily in the light from a pale moon. He quickened his pace as it was after closing time and there were quite a few rabble-rousers about very much the worse for booze. He’d had a few drinks himself, for all he was under age, and no doubt some of his mates would still be knocking it back, if they got half a chance.

  For once Chippy wasn’t with him, which was a relief.

  Kenny enjoyed having a gang of lads around him, looking up to him as leader, doing his bidding, but tonight he was thankful to be on his own as he had a plan in mind. He was sixteen years old, not far off seventeen and still a virgin. And this problem he had with girls and sex was worrying him badly. How could he be a proper husband to Dena, if he couldn’t get himself worked up to do what was required of him? Kenny had thought long and hard about this and believed he had found a solution.

  He walked and walked and eventually came to the spot where he knew the prossies hung out. He took a moment or two to weigh them up, anxious to choose the right one. Most of them were young girls, experienced in the game he had little doubt, but not necessarily the best choice for him. They’d be sure to guess that it was his first time and could easily make him look a complete fool, which wouldn’t help at all.

  And then he spotted her. She was tall, rather graceful in stature, not quite so flashily dressed as the others and she had a pleasant smile on her face. Most important of all, she was older than the rest by a good ten years.

  The woman saw him looking at her, seemed to recognise his shy hesitation yet obvious interest and sauntered over to talk to him. ‘Hiya, chuck. My name’s Maureen. Looking for a good time?’

  He was looking for an education, for Maureen to solve this terrible problem he had, but he didn’t say as much.

  Kenny just nodded, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. She smiled at him but didn’t laugh, much to his relief; then she linked her arm in his in a friendly way and led him away into the darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When the day of Kenny’s visit finally arrived, Dena felt sick with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of seeing him again, as well as a secret joy over this private bit of rebellion which no one would ever discover. It proved that she was still a person in her own right, with a mind of her own who could do exactly as she pleased, even if she incarcerated in this dreadful place.

  She waited until everyone was asleep and then put her plan into action. Slipping down the fire escape proved to be much easier than she’d expected. As soon as Dena reached the bottom she pulled out the bundle of clothing she’d hidden earlier beneath a laurel bush, and quickly pulled on a skirt and jumper over her nightie. Because it was such a cold night, she then put her raincoat on top.

  After that it was simply a matter of tip-toeing across the lawn, climbing over the garden wall and ducking quickly into the un
dergrowth of hazel that grew beneath the taller ash and birch trees in the wood.

  It was a clear night in early December, her way lit by a bright, full moon so that Dena reached the ancient oak in the heart of the woodland in no time at all. He was already there, waiting for her, and the moment he saw her Kenny ran to her and crushed her tightly in his arms. Dena was so thrilled she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Dena, at last. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you! I’ve ached for you. Have you missed me?’

  ‘Oh, Kenny. You wouldn’t believe how much.’

  He seemed so pleased to see her, but then this was her own Kenny, the only friend she had in all the world. Even so, he looked different from the Kenny Garside she remembered. Older perhaps, but then she too had changed, had filled out somewhat.

  Then it came to her. He was wearing one of those Teddy Boy suits, had grown his hair and developed - what were they called – sideboards - sideburns? He looked rather dashing, so fashionable and yet so dangerous. Nobody would push Kenny Garside around, not dressed like that.

  And when he kissed her she felt overwhelmed by emotion, not wanting the magic ever to stop. So bewitched was she by his loyalty and love, Dena would have done anything for him, anything at all. She wanted, needed, longed for him to love her.

  He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she welcomed that too, but then she’d learned a good deal from the other girls since she’d come to Ivy Bank, and understood now that this sort of kissing, French, they called it, would not get her pregnant. The tongue darted, circling her own and Dena felt a tightening in her belly.

  His urgency thrilled her and she helped him spread out his raincoat so that they could sit together under the tree, holding each other close. ‘It’s so lovely that you haven’t forgotten me after all this time, and that you came to see me. I never expected you to.’