Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  Drat him! Drat all men.

  Her little fling with Sam Beckett seemed to have fizzled out but she was still seeing Joe Southworth, for their bit of slap and tickle as he called it, whenever he could escape from Irma. Belle thought herself a soft fool since she was still no nearer to winning him round to vote her onto the blasted market committee. She was beginning to believe she never would succeed, and now it looked as if she was to lose her one and only grandchild as well. What did folk think of her? A failure, that’s what.

  ‘Kenny! Get out here. Do you never see what’s going on under your own nose?’

  Kenny came, wiping his hands on a tea towel and feeling very down in the dumps as he prepared himself for another lecture. Even his own mother was treating him with contempt these days, constantly ordering him to do something about getting Dena back. As if he could force the girl to marry him.

  ‘Look, over there. It’s Dena. I reckon she’s been to see Winnie after getting her old job back. Run after her. Go on. That’s your child too remember, not just hers.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Well then, start taking some responsibility for it.’

  ‘I will, I will.’

  ‘We want little Trudy in the family, where she belongs. I need to know that my entire life hasn’t been wasted raising you two numbskulls.’

  ‘I’m working on it. I’ll win round her in the end. Just give me time. ‘

  Trouble was, he couldn’t quite decide how to set about it. He watched in misery as Dena walked away, mesmerised by the swing of her hips, the tilt of her lovely head. Her chestnut hair was growing again, less of a shining cap and with more curl to it. He liked it better this way. He longed to touch it, to feel its cool silkiness between his fingers, to call her to him, but she seemed unmoved by his charm these days, wouldn’t even give him a kiss let alone a bit of the other.

  He still called round regular as clockwork but she absolutely refused to come out on a date with him, even to the Sandman Club where he and his mates liked to meet up of an evening to listen to skiffle, and pull the birds of course. That was another thing. He wouldn’t need to bother about other women if he had Dena.

  She was still the one he wanted, the only woman who really turned him on, apart from Maureen, that is. But he couldn’t marry a prostitute, could he? And Kenny was determined to marry someone, to have a woman on his arm like other men. Why wouldn’t she forgive him, the daft cow?

  And nobody had any sympathy for him, not his friends, nor his mam, and certainly not his dratted brother. Thought he was the big I am did Carl since he’d started that big fancy stall of his.

  ‘Stop pining after her. She’s not worth it.’

  ‘I don’t care about Dena Dobson no more,’ Kenny lied. ‘I reckon she’s having it off with Barry Holmes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Aye, he’s in and out of her house all hours of the day and night. Anyway, I’ve plenty of girl friends. I don’t need her.’

  But he did. He needed Dena very much indeed. He’d had an idea on a new line of opportunities that he might pursue. If it worked, that would soon bring her running. He was quite sure of it.

  He’d show Dena who was the big man round here; that Carl wasn’t the only one with ambition. He’d win her back one way or another, see if he didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Dena loved being back at work. It felt wonderful, if only to escape the confines of the smelly bedsit and have some adult conversation. To show her appreciation, she worked harder than ever for Winnie. It meant getting up even earlier than usual, so that she could get on with her chores before Trudy woke for her feed. Dena liked to get the nappies out of soak and rinse them through first thing so that they had all day to dry.

  She always made sure that Trudy ate a decent breakfast: Weetabix, or scrambled egg and a rusk, if she could afford it, so that she didn’t start grizzling too soon for her next feed while there were customers around.

  Dena loved the smell of her, that sweet baby scent of warm milk and talcum powder. She would bury her nose in her tummy when she changed her to make her chuckle with delight. Oh, she was so happy! Everything was going to be all right after all. Absolutely perfect! Wasn’t she the luckiest girl in the world to have such a lovely baby, and to have a friend like Winnie?

  She didn’t see quite so much of Miss Rogers these days who claimed she had more urgent cases on her books these days to keep her occupied, but she’d pop in on Dena every few weeks or so, just to see how she was getting on.

  ‘I’m getting on fine,’ Dena would say, proud at getting back her job.

  Oh, and she really did love her work. She enjoyed helping customers to choose the right fabric, often suggesting a different colour, perhaps a soft pink rather than a dingy green to set off a certain colouring, or a lovely electric blue satin rather than dove grey for a party dress.

  ‘Be adventurous,’ she would say. ‘Jewel colours are all the rage right now.’

  She knew this because she read every fashion magazine she could get her hands on, bought second hand from Abe’s stall.

  How she loved the feel of fabric in her hands, but she remained fearful of losing her job. Trade wasn’t exactly bustling with Winnie constantly complaining about how hard up she was. If she decided she couldn’t afford to employ Dena any more, could cope just as well on her own, where would Dena be then?

  ‘I miss the sewing machine we had at Ivy Bank,’ she said one morning, quite out of the blue. ‘If I had use of one, I could run up a few dirndl skirts to sell, or circular skirts too which are all the rage. You don’t have one, I suppose?’

  ‘I’ve got a Singer at home,’ Winnie said.

  Dena brightened. ‘We could perhaps get some felt in, in bright primary colours. A rack of lovely coloured skirts on display might improve trade quite a bit.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll pick up soon. It’s always a bit slack in January and February,’ Winnie muttered. ‘Nothing much will happen till Easter, assuming we survive that long.’

  ‘But we could give it a bit of help, couldn’t we? While we’re quiet, I could at least run up a few skirts in time for the spring season.’

  Winnie looked thoughtful. ‘Happen I’ll bring it in one day and you can have a go. We’d be a bit pushed for space round the back here though, that’s the only problem. I’ll give it some thought.’

  Surely she didn’t need to ask Donald for his permission to lend Dena a sewing machine?

  Dena’s social life too had greatly improved. Gwen had eagerly written back and one evening they met up at the Plaza ballroom to go dancing, Barry doing the honours with Trudy, as he’d promised.

  Dena didn’t have a new frock to wear so Winnie let her have a remnant of cheap cotton printed with yellow polka dots on a white background. She’d made this into a pair of Capri pants that finished just below her knee, all hand stitched, which she’d teamed with a white open-necked shirt, white socks and a cheap pair of ballerina pumps she’d got from Abe’s second hand stall. A scarf knotted about her neck, cowboy-style, finished the look off nicely.

  In truth she’d have come in sackcloth and ashes, it was such a treat to get out and about. Through all those years in the home she’d never been allowed the kind of normal, simple pleasures that other girls took for granted, and her dreams of enjoying them once she’d left had been dashed when she’d found herself pregnant with Trudy.

  Not that she minded. Dena loved her child to bits although she had begun to feel like an old frump, stuck in all the time with the nappies and feeding bottles, and little in the way of conversation. Surely it could do no harm to have a break from being a mum once in a while?

  The band was great, a quartet playing all the latest rock ‘n’ roll numbers which Dena adored: Rock Around The Clock, of course, and a new Elvis Presley number, Heartbreak Hotel, which had everyone swooning. Then there were the slow numbers, Secret Love and Three Coins in a Fountain. Lots of boys asked her to dance and Dena felt reborn, sudde
nly young again. A teenager, instead of a mum!

  A record player of her own had been another thing Dena had always longed for, and the money to go to the store and buy records like other girls. She ached to have the time and money to hang around in the music booths listening to all the latest hits and choosing which one she wanted to buy.

  But buying a sewing machine was now top priority so that she could earn a bit extra making skirts and dresses. Dena felt that she was on her way up, had a job at last and some money coming in, but she must be sensible and not allow the excitement of her hard-earned independence go to her head.

  Of course, if Kenny hadn’t behaved so stupidly they might have been happily married by now. But was that what she wanted? Dena had been certain of it once, because she’d loved him so much. Now she was less sure. He’d let her down badly taking her to see that Maureen creature. What had he been thinking of? Dena suspected he probably hadn’t been thinking about her at all. That was Kenny’s problem, always so full of himself.

  Dena was not short of partners and it was while she was dancing with one lively lad about her own age, the pair of them acting a bit daft to Sh-boom, sh-boom - Life could be a Dream, and singing at the tops of their voices when she caught sight of Carl across the dance floor.

  He was dancing much more sedately with a pretty, dark-haired girl. Something jumped inside her, surprise perhaps, that he should be here too. He hadn’t seemed the dancing sort.

  Their eyes met and she could sense his disapproval even from this distance. Was it so wrong for her to want to take a break and go out now and then? She was nearly seventeen, for heaven’s sake! Oh, dear, what if he should come over and start going on at her about standing Kenny up? That would be so embarrassing!

  Wanting to show that she didn’t care, that she was glad that she was still fancy free, Dena wiggled her hips more outrageously than ever, making her partner roar with delight. She was having such a good time, why should she let miserable old Carl spoil it?

  Dena was just throwing herself into a dizzying spin when Carl suddenly appeared by her side and she bumped right into him, her gaze coming on a level with his slim Jim tie. It was blue and rather plain with a single diagonal stripe half way up, fastened in a wide Windsor knot at his throat. His shirt was white beneath a navy jacket and she’d quite forgotten how broad his shoulders were. She became aware that her hands were pressed hard against the warm firmness of his chest, and she instantly removed them.

  About to turn away and make her escape Dena was prevented from doing so as he grabbed her by the wrist.

  ‘Gerroff, this one’s mine,’ her partner protested, but Carl didn’t seem to be listening. He was too intent on marching her from the dance floor.

  ‘Hey! Where do you think you’re taking me?’ Dena spluttered, but since he didn’t answer, and she had to concentrate on avoiding being trodden underfoot by other rock ‘n’ rollers, she had no option but to wait till they reached the perimeter of the dance floor. At which point he pulled her round to face him, his expression like thunder.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I - I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You’ve no right to be out dancing. You’re supposed to be looking after your child. Where is she?’

  Dena’s eyes opened wide. ‘What business is it of yours, might I ask?’

  ‘She happens to be my niece, that’s what business it is. Don’t you know you’re the talk of the market? You and your paramours. Don’t you even care?’

  Dena blinked, then laughed. ‘Paramours is it now? I must be having a busy time of it and there’s me not even noticing. Folk’ll say anything to prove I’m a whore. Well, let them do their worst. And you’re right, I don’t care.’

  His jaw seemed to tighten as he glared at her, the dark blue eyes glittering dangerously. ‘And who’s looking after her while you’re here, making an exhibition of yourself?’

  ‘I’m not making . . . Hang on, I’ve every right to go out for an evening with my friend, if I’ve a mind. Just because I have a baby doesn’t mean I have to give up enjoying myself.’

  The full sensual mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘Oh, I’m sure you would make sure that you don’t. Isn’t that the reason you need to stay fancy free, so you can play the field?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, play another record, will you.’

  Gwen chose this opportune moment to make an appearance. ‘Is everything all right, Dena? Who is this?’

  ‘This is the biggest nosy parker in all of Manchester, that’s who this is. Will you please release my arm, you’re leaving bruises.’ Dena snatched it away and began to rub the sore spot. ‘Look, it’s turning purple before my very eyes.’

  Carl snorted his derision. ‘Don’t talk ridiculous. Are you going to answer my question or do I have to shake it out of you? While you are cavorting with men on the dance floor, who is looking after your child?’

  Gwen interrupted again. ‘Should I call one of the bouncers? If this man is bothering you, Dena, we can get him thrown out.’

  Dena laughed out loud, finding the idea of someone trying to manually remove the hunky Carl from the Plaza dance floor highly amusing, particularly with his skills acquired in the boxing ring. ‘It’s a tempting thought, Gwen, but I don’t think I’m really in any danger. You weren’t planning on doing anything very serious to me, were you, Carl?’ she challenged.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, as if turning over various possibilities in his mind. ‘Since you’ve refused to allow my brother to make a decent woman of you, I can only assume you enjoy being taken for a harlot. And I still want to know who the hell is looking after your child!’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Trudy is fine. If you must know, Barry is looking after her.’

  The silence now was awesome. ‘Barry Holmes?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  At which point Carl did a most extraordinary thing. He once more grasped her arm in an iron grip, and gave her a little shake as if he couldn’t quite find the words to express the tumult of his feelings, brows drawn darkly together, seething with rage. ‘I might’ve known. You’re going home Now! Understand? Say goodnight to your friend.’

  ‘What?’

  He swung Dena about and practically frogmarched her towards the door, Gwen scurrying after them, almost losing her balance as she tried to run in her tight pencil skirt.

  ‘Dena, what should I do?’

  ‘It’s all right, don’t panic. I’ll tell this interfering busybody where he can get off, just the minute he takes his paws off me.’

  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen until after he’d reached the front door of her bedsit. He pushed her unceremoniously into the front seat of his battered old Ford Prefect and drove at breakneck speed through the streets of Manchester, revving impatiently whenever the lights changed and held him up. He roared along Deansgate while Dena sat clinging to the strap, her knuckles white with the strain of hanging on, slowing down only as they turned into Hardman Street and then left into Champion Street. It was all dark and deserted at this time of night with trestle tables stacked against the wall of the market hall, canvas sheets rustling in the night breeze like ships sighing at being left in dry dock. The car screeched to a halt outside of her building.

  ‘Key. Where’s your key?’ He held out one hand, impatiently flapping his fingers.

  Dena firmly shook her head. ‘I’m not giving it to you.’

  ‘Then open the damned door!’

  Even as Dena furiously protested that she certainly wasn’t going to allow him inside, she obediently slid the key into the lock, as instructed, and pushed open the door. Paying not the slightest attention to her discomfort as he still kept a ferocious grip on her arm, Carl surged up the stairs, dragging her behind him.

  The smell of fish from the market that day was strong in her nostrils, seemingly intensified by being trapped in the well of the stairs, and for some reason making Dena feel ashamed of where she lived.

 
But what followed was even worse than she could have imagined. Barry was sitting quietly by the electric fire, Trudy on his knee contentedly sucking on a bottle when Carl charged into the bedsit like a bull on the rampage.

  Barry had hardly got out the words, ‘Hello, what are you doing back home so soon?’ when Carl snatched the baby from him and thrust the startled, screaming infant into Dena’s arms.

  ‘Put the child to bed and don’t ever leave her with this piece of low-life ever again.’

  ‘Carl, stop this!’

  ‘Dear, dear!’ said Barry, rolling his eyes heavenwards. ‘What a commotion. Have I offended you in some way, lad? And there’s me thinking we were friends.’

  ‘Colleagues, nothing more.’

  ‘Colleagues! Ooh, what a fancy word. You were happy enough to seek me out when you wanted a bit of free advice, and you know that I’ve always cared about you and your brother. Like me own sons, you’ve been.’ There was an intensity to his gaze as he looked into Carl’s face, and a deep sadness.

  ‘Let’s just say I don’t much care for you hanging around my niece.’

  ‘Your niece is she now?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Nothing to do with my being here, in Dena’s bedsit, as a friend?’

  Carl hissed something at Barry that Dena didn’t hear, she was too busy trying to calm a crying baby, but Barry stood up.

  ‘Well, if that’s the way the land lies, I’d best make myself scarce. I’m not one for hanging around where I’m not wanted.’

  ‘I think that would be for the best,’ Carl said, in the kind of tone which implied that he’d be almost disappointed if he did leave, as he would then be deprived of the opportunity to personally throw him out of the building.

  Dena tried to intervene. ‘There’s really no need for you to go, Barry. I don’t know what’s got into him but none of this is any of Carl’s business, and I really think . . . ‘