Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Good for you,’ Winnie said. ‘I wasn’t blessed with children myself, so I hope you don’t feel offended at my not being able to offer you a home. I doubt that my Donald would care for all the mess and fuss and noise of having a baby around, d’you see?’

  Dena smiled. ‘I understand. I shall have to find somewhere else though, by the time it’s born. I couldn’t bring up a child in that dump but it’ll do for now. Miss Rogers has done her best, so I don’t complain.’

  ‘I thought you and Kenny Garside were to be wed?’

  The question brought her up short, despite the fact that Kenny talked of little else. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well then, won’t you be living with his mam?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to. I’d like us to have our own place.’ Dena flushed, thinking of what Carl’s reaction would be if they did move in with his mother. It would be quite impossible. The prospect of sharing a house with him, seeing him every day made her start to shake inside. A vivid picture of them sitting side by side on that sofa came into her mind and something inside her clenched, a jolt of emotion she would really rather not feel. It disturbed Dena just to think of him. Why was that?

  Perhaps because Carl never had a good word to say for her, accusing her of stealing all the tips when she hadn’t been doing that at all. It was Belle who should be blamed for taking more than her fair share, not her badly paid overworked employees.

  But that was all in the past. The situation now was entirely different. Dena was in no position to take advantage of Kenny, or hurt him in any way. And why would she want to? She loved Kenny and he’d certainly made his own feelings for her very plain.

  Ever since she’d come out of the hospital not a day had gone by when he hadn’t been to see her, often bearing flowers or a little love letter he’d written especially for her. And of an evening he would insist on taking her out to the pictures, for a drink, or simply a walk by the River Irwell in order to cheer her up and celebrate her being free of the home at last. Afterwards he would walk her back to the bedsit in Champion Street, then pull her into the shadows away from the street lamps so that he could kiss her.

  ‘You’re still my girl, aren’t you Dena? I’m so lucky having someone like you.’

  ‘Of course I’m still your girl. Why wouldn’t I be?’ She almost felt irritated by his constant need for assurance. For all his swagger and show-off manner Dena sensed that Kenny was nowhere near as confident as he made out. He never seemed entirely sure of her, as if he considered himself unworthy of her attention. She shouldn’t be so impatient with him. Wasn’t this trait really rather endearing?

  His brother, however, wasn’t in the least little bit endearing. He was aggressive and antagonistic, accusing her of being on the make and only marrying Kenny in order to give her baby a name. Dreadful man! How she hated him!

  Winnie’s voice, still chattering on, brought her back to the present. ‘. . . so you have my heartfelt sympathy, love. Living with in-laws rarely works. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, as they say.’

  ‘I know, Winnie, but I do need to be independent, to make my own decisions and earn my own money. I worry about what will happen when the baby is born.’

  She smoothed a hand over the emerging swell of her tummy, instinctively protective. Because of this baby growing inside her people she knew well walked past her in the street without speaking, keeping their gaze fixed on some invisible spot in the far distance. She’d turned into a pariah overnight, a person to be avoided at all costs, as if having a baby out of wedlock had turned her into some sort of evil witch.

  ‘I don’t know how we’ll manage if I can’t find someone to look after it so’s I can carry on working. We can’t live on thin air. We have to eat and Kenny hasn’t found himself a job yet. He says the market isn’t as busy as it used to be during the war so there’s less work around.’

  ‘Well, that’s true, but I expect things will change again before long. It’s probably only a temporary lull. He should have tried harder with that apprenticeship of his, and it’s been one job after another since. Time he shaped himself and found something permanent, since he’s soon to be a dad.’ Winnie’s tone was impatient and she turned away and began fussing with a length of cloth, rolling it up and smoothing it as if afraid that she’d said too much.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Dena sounded doubtful, wondering why she didn’t feel more confidence that Kenny would find permanent employment. Perhaps, in her heart, she agreed with Winnie that he wasn’t trying hard enough.

  ‘He’s young enough to start afresh and learn something new, after all,’ Winnie continued, unabashed.

  ‘I was wondering . . .’ Dena faltered, the words dying on her lips. She’d hoped to ask if she might continue working for Winnie after the baby was born, and bring it with her to work, perhaps parking the pram behind the stall. How much trouble could one small baby be, fast asleep all day? But faced with her old friend’s sudden coldness, she couldn’t seem to find the courage. Maybe it was too soon. She might try again in a week or two, when she’d proved her worth.

  Winnie paused in her labours to turn and face her. ‘What? What were you wondering, chuck?’ But the enquiring smile was vague rather than welcoming and Dena shook her head.

  ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’

  Once she and Kenny were married, it would all be different. People would stop gossiping about her then, stop giving her nasty looks. She’d be respectable again. ‘Right, what do you want me to do? Where shall I start?’

  ‘You can start by helping me do a thorough stock check. I’ve lost track of what I’ve got behind this stall. Who knows what treasures I might find if we have a good sort out? And it’ll help you to get to know what’s what. How about it?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Dena set to with a will. Winnie had bought a small red notebook and in it she listed every roll of fabric and net curtaining, each bolt of cotton, reel of thread, yard of lace, ribbon and rick-rack trimming.

  The task took every moment of her working day for the rest of the week, and in that time she didn’t serve a single customer, which was a big disappointment to her. Dena liked people and had been looking forward to chatting with all her old regulars, but she certainly got to know the stock that Winnie had for sale.

  When Saturday came round and Winnie was clearly run off her feet and in dire need of a helping hand, Dena dashed to her side, eager to help. ‘I’ll serve Mrs Dawson, shall I Winnie?’

  ‘No love, you carry on with what you’re doing. I can manage.’

  Biting back her disappointment, it came to her of a sudden that Winnie was deliberately keeping her at the back of the stall where the customers couldn’t see her burgeoning bump. Anyone would think a baby was something to be ashamed of.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Miss Rogers would ask. She visited Dena regularly twice a week; was always ready to admire Dena’s efforts at sprucing up the bedsit, was interested in her job but asked the most probing questions and constantly reminded her that there were other options to marriage.

  Dena always insisted that she was fine, that plans for the wedding were progressing well. In fact, Belle had taken complete charge, even to the extent of choosing an ankle-length ice blue gown for Dena to wear.

  ‘White wouldn’t be appropriate, dear.’

  It was to be a quiet affair, Belle decided, and did she have anyone in mind for a bridesmaid?

  ‘Well, there’s Gwen, I suppose. My friend from the home.’

  Belle sat with her notebook on her knee and pulled a face. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, do you, dear? We don’t want any reminders of that place.’

  Dena tried to protest. ‘She isn’t in the home now. She’s training to be a nurse at Salford hospital.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ Belle chewed on the end of her pencil. ‘Perhaps a bridesmaid wouldn’t be appropriate either in the circumstances. A bit too showy, and people might make unfortunate comparisons with her slim virginal figure in comparison with your
own. You are starting to show quite a bit now.’

  Dena smoothed a hand over her bump and tried not to reveal the panic that was building up inside. She had a sudden desire to scream, which wouldn’t do at all. With even Winnie being a bit cool and mindful of her customers sensitivities, her future mother-in-law was the only one who was the least little bit supportive and not hide-bound in prejudice, so why did Dena feel this dreadful resentment against Belle’s inherent bossiness?

  ‘I am not, however, in favour of a furtive trip to the register office. We’re Catholics, so you’ll have to convert, of course, but Father Dimmock has agreed all of that can be attended to quite quickly, in just a few short lessons.’

  Dena said nothing. It was all too bewildering, but she felt a small resentment that the priest’s opinion on the matter should have been sought before her own.

  ‘Which leaves only the reception and the guest list to deal with. Not at the café, I think. Perhaps the Midland Hotel? No, too grand. Better that I hire a room and organise the catering myself. Joan is perfectly capable of coping with a few sandwiches and sausage rolls. And a cake, of course. We don’t want people seeing this as a hole-in-the-corner affair, do we? Not when I still haven’t got elected on to that blasted committee. We must invite everyone from the market. It does no harm to one’s image to appear generous. Might as well get some good out of this affair. We shall have a really good do. Make a bit of a splash. What do you say? Oh, and what about your mother? I shouldn’t think she will want to come, do you? Although I suppose we must invite her, for form’s sake.’

  An increasingly bemused Dena could do little more than nod or shake her head, and silently go along with Belle’s plans as arrangements progressed with the speed of an express train.

  Belle even started buying baby clothes, ordered a fancy cot with teddy- bear motifs, and a beautiful coach-built pram in preparation for the happy day.

  ‘You and Kenny will live here, of course, with Carl and me. And I shall help you to look after the baby. You’re far too young to take responsibility for my grandchild on your own. Don’t fret about a thing, dear. It will all be taken care of.’

  The banns were called and the wedding organized in three weeks flat. It was utterly amazing! Dena seemed to spend the whole of that time with not a moment to stop and think. She was either dashing to Father Dimmock for lessons or to the dressmaker for fittings; encouraging Kenny to look for work or commiserating with him when he failed. She even found herself obliged to listen endlessly to Belle’s political machinations, all about her future plans and hopes for advancement in the market.

  And all of this while desperately trying to keep pace with her new job and being acutely aware of Carl watching events unfold with grim-faced disapproval.

  Belle insisted on taking her shopping to Kendal’s department store and bought her lingerie, a beautiful nightdress, and a brand new pair of silver grey stiletto heel shoes with lovely pointed toes.

  ‘Winkle-pickers, that’s the name everyone is giving them. Very elegant dear, though do take them off as soon as the ceremony is over. We don’t want to risk you falling over and damaging my grandchild, do we?’

  Now all you need is some Goya face powder and a nice new lipstick, Cyclamen pink perhaps, to put some colour into you.

  Belle even booked them a honeymoon: a week at a quiet hotel in Grasmere. ‘Very romantic, dear. Think of it as my wedding present to you and Kenny.’

  Dena wasn’t sure that she fancied a week in the Lakes. What on earth would they do there, in the quiet green of the countryside? Walk endlessly up and down hills, no doubt, with rain dripping down their necks.

  She was a city girl and would much have preferred somewhere warmer and more lively, like Blackpool or Brighton. Or London. Dena would love to go to London and see Buckingham Palace and the changing of the guard. But she’d been allowed no say in the matter. It was all organised before she was even informed.

  In just a few short weeks, Dena’s marriage and her entire future, rather like the baby’s name, seemed to have been taken completely out of her hands. Even Kenny seemed bemused by the speed of it all, and there was certainly less and less opportunity for them to be alone together. No more trips to the flicks, no more necking in dark alleyways. No chance for a bit of romance at all.

  ‘Are you sure you want all of this?’ she said to him one evening when he was walking her back to the bed-sit after Belle had presented them with yet another fête accompli. On this occasion her plans for the floral decoration of the church. By the sound of it, it would surely look like Covent Garden and would most certainly cost a small fortune. Dena had tried to protest but Belle had insisted that visual impact was essential.

  Oh, for a simple register office wedding!

  Kenny said, ‘It’s not about what I want. You’re my girl and must have the best.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s all getting a bit much?’

  ‘Mam’s working hard to make everything perfect for us, so the least you could do is be appreciative.’ His voice had taken on a slightly huffy tone and Dena instantly back-pedalled.

  ‘Oh, I am, I am! It’s just that it all seems such a rush, and so unnecessary.’

  ‘Aye well, we don’t have much time, do we, if we’re to be settled before the baby comes?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Dena ached to have time to think, to be in charge of her own future, but Kenny was probably right. Best not to think too much and just go along with everything.

  And then days before the wedding he suggested he take her round to see a friend. ‘You remember I mentioned her once. She’s desperate to meet you and I’m sure you’ll get on famously.

  Dena tried to get out of it, protesting that she was far too busy, still with last minute details to arrange, and really rather tired. But he absolutely insisted.

  ‘There’s something she wants to say to you before it’s too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  He patted her on the shoulder and winked. ‘Too late to get out of marrying me, I suppose. She just wants to help. Come on, you’ll like her, I know you will.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The moment Kenny ushered her into his friend’s parlour, Maureen offered them a glass of beer, which Kenny accepted but Dena refused. She did accept an offer of tea and wondered why he’d brought her here, what all this was about.

  The woman looked rather old to be one of Kenny’s friends, being in her early thirties, maybe even older. She was quite fashionably dressed in a knee-length black pencil skirt and an emerald green sweater that revealed a slim but shapely figure and set off her titian red hair. Really quite attractive, Dena supposed, for her age, yet there was a shabbiness about her, and she wore rather too much make up. Dena wasn’t sure what she’d expected when he’d spoken of ‘his friend’, but certainly not a woman, let alone one like this.

  The house was not at all what she’d expected either, being rather cluttered and not particularly clean. Alice would have been horrified by the state of those lace curtains, let alone the grimy windows, and the sofa whose pattern had long since been rubbed off by too many backsides sitting upon it. There was a milk bottle on the table which her mother would never have approved of either, and Dena could see unwashed dishes in the sink in the back kitchen. Worse still.

  Not surprisingly, in view of the mess, there was an unpleasant, unwashed odour about the place. Seeing her hesitation, Maureen gathered up a few newspapers that were littered about, and several items of clothes, then spread out a paisley shawl for her to sit on.

  ‘Thank you.’ Now Dena felt embarrassed.

  Apart from the sofa the furniture comprised a table covered by a chenille fringed cloth, four velvet-backed chairs, and an old-fashioned sideboard stacked with plates and cups, none of them quite matching. An armchair stood by the hearth where a coal fire blazed, with a small side table and lamp bearing a crinoline lady beside it that cast a false rosy glow over the entire scene.

  As Maureen bustled into
the kitchen to make the tea, Dena whispered to Kenny, ‘Is she a relative of some sort? An aunt, or a cousin?’

  ‘Something of the sort,’ Kenny muttered. ‘She’s a clever woman, with many skills at her fingertips.’

  Dena wondered what these skills might be and again glanced about the room, looking for any sign of crochet-work or tapestry, or knitting perhaps. Her mother had used to be very fond of needlepoint in her younger days. But she saw nothing that offered any clue, not even a sock in the process of being darned.

  Once the tea had been drunk and several ginger biscuits consumed by Kenny along with his beer, Maureen readily volunteered an explanation of the nature of her skills, and they were nothing at all to do with needlework.

  ‘Kenny has explained about this bit of bother you’re in, love, so I told him he could bring you round to see me. If you’re wanting rid, I can help.’

  Dena looked at her, confused. ‘I - I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’

  The woman smiled, clearly intending to be reassuring. ‘Let’s just say that I’ve helped many a young lass in a similar situation. How far gone are you, three months?’

  ‘Three and a half.’ Dena was stunned that this stranger should even know she was pregnant. Why on earth had Kenny told her?

  ‘Not too far advanced then. You could come round tomorrow and this little problem would be history in a matter of minutes. You wouldn’t feel a thing, I promise. It’s not a proper baby, not yet, so it would slip away without any bother at all.’

  ‘Slip away!’ Dena turned to Kenny in a daze. ‘Is this why you brought me here?’

  ‘I were just trying to help.’

  ‘And this is how you do it? This is your way of giving me the best, is it? You want me to kill my baby so you don’t have to go through with marrying me?’

  Kenny looked startled then boyishly contrite, flushing with guilt as if he’d been caught with his fingers in the treacle tin. ‘Course I still want to marry you, you’re the one who’s been complaining about being rushed. I wanted you to have the choice, Dena love. You can either keep the baby and we’ll get wed right away and live with me mam, or you can take up Maureen’s offer which will give us time to save up and get married in our own time, instead of all in a rush like.’