Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I waited and waited. They said he was missing presumed dead, but I wasn’t going to presume any such thing. How could I till I had proof? Losing the babies was one thing, losing my husband was . . . Others came back home, why not my Donald?’

  A single tear rolled down the older woman’s cheek and Dena wiped it gently away. ‘Oh, Winnie, how awful. How can you bear it?’

  ‘Aye well, that’s the trouble. I refused to bear it, didn’t I? I couldn’t accept what had happened, that he was dead and gone, that I’d lost him too and he wouldn’t ever be coming back.’ She gulped on a sob, then steadied herself.

  ‘I never meant to let it to go on indefinitely but it came to be a habit speaking of him in the present tense, like he was expected back any day. And then I said that he had returned just to stop folk asking after him all the time. There was no way back after that, and everyone just went along with it.’

  Winnie looked down at her hands, threading a sodden handkerchief between her fingers. ‘It’s getting to know you that’s taught me to be brave enough to face it. You’re only a little lass but so full of spunk. You never let anything get you down. You just come up fighting and smiling every time. I admire that.’ Winnie nodded, then blew her nose very loud.

  ‘Winnie, I’m not brave at all, I certainly don’t feel it. Much of the time I feel all scared inside but I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I lost my little brother, then my mother chucked me out and insisted I was taken into care, and it near broke my heart. Still does if I let myself dwell on it. I just have to keep on going because I have little Trudy here, and because I have you as a friend.’ And this time it was Dena who put her arms around the older woman, offering comfort as they wept quietly together.

  As if on cue, Trudy began to stir in her sleep and rub her eyes, giving a little gasping cry. Their moment of peace was over and they both laughed.

  ‘By heck, chuck,’ Winnie said, suddenly brisk. ‘We’re turning into a right pair of wet lettuces. Look at the face on this little babby, she’ll think we’ve run mad if we don’t cheer up. And it is Christmas, after all. Come on precious, come to your Aunty Win, let’s Ride-a-Cock-Horse while your mam puts the kettle on. We’ll be drunk as mops on this sherry if we don’t watch out.’

  Then they were all three hugging and laughing, Trudy getting excited all over again and Dena hurried to do as she was bid.

  ‘You could move into mine, if you like,’ Winnie offered moments later over a cup of tea and a mince pie. ‘You and Trudy would be most welcome, wouldn’t you sweetie? It’s a big house and, as you know, only me rattling around in it all on me tod.’

  ‘Oh, Winnie, I couldn’t possibly intrude. It wouldn’t be right, not with all this baby clobber, and the sewing. I’d still need to do some work at home when Trudy is asleep, even if I do use your stock room during the day.’

  Winnie’s gaze was sincere. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would at least consider it. I’d be right glad of the company, to be honest. Not that I wouldn’t respect your privacy and independence. I know how important that is to you. The pair of you could have the big back bedroom and the front parlour all to yourselves, pay proper rent and everything. I’m sure we wouldn’t fall out over sharing the kitchen and the lavvy down the yard.’

  Dena grinned. ‘I’m sure we wouldn’t.’ Then after a moment said, ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘All right, you’re on. When shall I move in?’

  ‘No time like the present. How about tomorrow?’

  Dena laughed. ‘I think after the New Year would be better. This will be a busy week at the stall and I shall need time to pack.’

  ‘The New Year it is then.’

  And so they drank another toast with the tea, together with a second mince pie, to celebrate the cementing of a new era in their friendship.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The dance on New Year’s Eve was, in Dena’s eyes, absolutely wonderful. She’d heard of the dubious reputation of the Ritz on Whitworth Street and didn’t believe a word of it. Many mothers preferred their daughters to go to the Plaza, but her own didn’t seem to care what she did, hadn’t even bothered to give her daughter or grandchild a Christmas present, and to Dena the ballroom looked magnificent.

  It was all trimmed up with balloons and streamers, coloured spot lights glistening on the polished floor and the mirrored walls, and everyone in their best party frocks. Dena felt as if she’d entered paradise.

  There were two bands, one was the Phil Moss Orchestra in their lovely red jackets playing all the best dance numbers from the Cha Cha to the Gay Gordons, interspersed with the usual quick-steps and fox-trots and novelty dances such as the Paul Jones and Progressive Barn Dance.

  The second band was a group who played nothing but rock ‘n’ roll. They were great fun and brought the house down, playing all the latest numbers including All Shook Up and Hound Dog; Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti, and Dena’s favourite: Lonnie Donegan’s Rock Island Line. She just couldn’t stop jiving.

  Her dress was of the palest aquamarine with a full bouffant skirt over yards of net petticoat, the waist pulled in tight by a broad belt and the close fitting bodice held in place by shoestring shoulder straps. She’d pinned on a pink corsage made out of stiff organza, and her shoes were black ballerina pumps as high stiletto heels were not allowed on the dance floor.

  Dena felt young and pretty, all the tiredness evaporated away like mist in sunshine; stronger than she’d ever felt and with all her life still before her. Nineteen fifty-six had been a good year for her, and now that she’d reached this new understanding with Winnie, who knew what the next year might bring? Nineteen fifty-seven, she was quite certain, would be the best yet.

  Gwen had fixed her up with yet another blind date, of course. ‘I won’t let you turn into a wallflower,’ she’d said when Dena had protested. ‘And you’ll like Tom, he’s lovely.’

  Tom had a freckled moonface and was a little overweight, which some girls might not mind but he did not appeal to Dena. Fortunately he wasn’t the sensitive sort and once they’d acknowledged that there were no sparks between them, he went off to find himself a new date and left her to it.

  It was a wonderful night and Dena certainly didn’t go short of partners. One was an Italian who said he’d come to Manchester as a prisoner of war and stayed. She decided he was a bit old for her and politely declined the next dance. Another had sweaty hands so she soon got rid of him, while a third kept pressing to take her up to the balcony for coffee while Dena insisted that she really wasn’t thirsty, thank you very much. She guessed he wanted much more than coffee and didn’t fancy him at all.

  At one point she thought she spotted a familiar figure and her heart clenched tight with emotion but then he vanished behind one of the pillars and Dena couldn’t say for certain that she hadn’t simply imagined him.

  Anyway, she really didn’t want to think about Carl Garside, not since that kiss which had shaken her rigid. Why he’d allowed it to go on so long she really couldn’t imagine. Perhaps it was some sort of test. Was he trying to prove that she was a loose woman? Dena blushed even now as she thought of how vulnerable he’d made her feel in that moment, how she’d melted in his arms, giving every impression that she was.

  Someone asked her to dance and Dena shook these depressing thoughts away, thankful for the distraction. Best not to think of Carl Garside at all.

  All too soon it was the last waltz with hundreds of lights spinning from the mirrored ball in the centre of the ceiling. Gwen and her boy friend were wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to the music of Love Me Tender and Dena felt a pang of sweet envy, even though she was pleased for her friend. How wonderful it must be to feel so loved, to have someone of your own who really cared about you.

  A hand touched her arm. ‘May I have this dance?’ And there he was: hair brushed neat, the crazy black curls tamed for once, shoes polished, a knife edge to the creases of his fashionably tapered
trousers. And an unmistakable challenge in the dark blue enigmatic gaze which said, dance with me if you dare.

  Dena could do no more than move into his arms like a sleepwalker, which seemed to be exactly the place she ought to be. She felt a slow unfurling of pleasure as he held her that had something to do with the closeness of his cheek to her own, the scent of his skin and the pressure of his hand upon her back. What was happening to her? Had she lost her reason?

  This was Carl Garside, the boy she hated most in all the world, the person bent on causing her the maximum embarrassment. She couldn’t possibly be falling for him, could she?

  No, she wouldn’t allow it. He was the rudest, most difficult person she’d ever met. He’d done nothing but insult her from the day he believed he’d caught her fiddling the tips. His antagonism towards her had worsened from the moment she and Kenny got together, and, perversely, even more so since they parted.

  ‘I’ve been trying to avoid you all evening,’ he said, speaking softly against her ear.

  Startled, she looked up into his face. ‘Have you? Why?’

  ‘Can’t you guess?’

  Dena didn’t answer. Could think of nothing to say. Her insides were churning with an emotion she really didn’t care to name. What was he implying? What could she say?

  She was saved by the music changing to that of Auld Lang Syne as midnight approached. They were being pulled apart, urged to join the circle as the band leader started the countdown to midnight. Everyone joined in and on the stroke of twelve a great cheer went up as streamers were thrown, balloons popped and everyone was laughing and hugging, shouting Happy New Year and kissing each other.

  Carl and Dena stood several inches apart, silent and uncompromising, neither willing to make the first move; each overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the moment. Yet Dena was aware of an instinctive need drawing them together even as she fought to resist it with every fibre of her being.

  When Carl finally spoke she could scarcely hear the words for all the riotous laughter and singing eddying around them. But it didn’t matter. His eyes were saying so much more.

  ‘Happy New Year, Dena.’

  ‘Happy New Year, Carl.’

  Then he reached for her and kissed her and she was slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him back just as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She moulded herself to him so sweetly, so utterly, that it seemed as if she might never let him go.

  His hold on her tightened, the kiss deepened, became more intense and she could think of nothing but the joy of that moment, her heart spilling over with emotion, just as if they stood alone in a vast empty desert rather than hemmed in by a crowd of noisy revellers.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, breaking the kiss at last. ‘Let me walk you home.’

  ‘All right, but I must tell Gwen.’ She could hardly catch her breath, couldn’t think.

  Moments later Dena had collected her coat and they were walking together through the darkened streets, arms wrapped about each other, scarcely noticing passers-by calling out the compliments of the season to them.

  ‘This is not what I meant to happen. I want you to believe me when I say that.’

  ‘I know. I’ve never been anything but a nuisance in your eyes. I want you to know that I wasn’t intending to steal those tips,’ Dena burst out.

  ‘Oh, Dena, not that again.’

  ‘No, you must listen. Your mother always took a share too which Joan and I didn’t think quite fair since she also got the profits from the meals, so we decided to keep a bit back that Belle didn’t know about. We shared that out just between ourselves and the other girls.’

  He laughed. ‘I see. Quite clever!’

  ‘I wasn’t cheating on the others, though perhaps I was cheating your mam a bit.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you’re right. She got her profit. The tips should have been yours.’

  ‘And for Joan and the other girls.’

  ‘Of course. I should’ve realised you wouldn’t steal from anyone.’ He looked at her for a long moment and something twisted inside her.

  ‘I didn’t think you even liked me. What about that time when you shouted at me for getting a baby sitter so’s I could go out? Anyone would think it was the crime of the century the way you blasted off at me.’

  ‘I shouted at you for using Barry Holmes as a babysitter.’

  ‘Just because you don’t like him?’

  Carl looked a bit sheepish. ‘Because Kenny said you were seeing him.’

  ‘Seeing him?’

  ‘All right then, having an affair.’

  Dena’s jaw dropped open and then she burst out laughing. ‘Me and Barry, having an affair?’

  Carl had the grace to smile. ‘Anyway, none of that has anything to do with why I’ve been resisting you.’

  ‘Oh, and why is that then?’ She was aware that she was openly flirting with him now, and quite enjoying herself.

  ‘I held off because you’re Kenny’s girl.’

  ‘That hasn’t been true for a long time. He thinks I am, and I keep having to remind him that it’s all over between us. I stood him up at the altar, if you remember?’

  Dena was filled with a rush of guilt for rejecting Kenny, conflicting with the birth of a sparkling excitement, like champagne surging through her veins, as if she’d been waiting for this moment all her life. She felt overcome by utter amazement that this magical thing was even happening between herself and Carl.

  Carl took her cold hands between his own and began them to warm them, then kissed her cold nose, smiling as he did so. ‘Mam still hasn’t properly forgiven you for showing us all up that day. She’s always banging on about your shameful behaviour and how you ruined all chance of her getting on that blasted market committee.’

  ‘That’s a bit rich. It was her idea to organise a big wedding, not mine. She still pops in to see Trudy from time to time, which I don’t mind at all, although thankfully she seems to have finally given up hope of luring me into marriage with her younger son.’

  Carl’s eyebrows went up. ‘Is that what she tried to do?’

  Dena nodded. ‘I suspect only so that she could claim Trudy as her grandchild. She loves her, I can understand that.’

  Carl frowned, then shook his head in bewilderment. He’d long since given up trying to understand his mother, or women in general come to that. Belle was utterly selfish, that was for sure. But he had more important matters on his mind right now. He tucked Dena’s hand in the crook of his arm as they walked on. ‘So what are we going to do about this?’

  ‘I don’t know what more I can do. I’ve already apologised for not telling Kenny sooner, like the day before the wedding at least, but it was a last minute panic on my part. I just knew that I couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘I don’t mean about the wedding, I mean about us.’

  Dena slanted a sideways glance at him. ‘Is there an us?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me Dena, you know there is. At least, you do if your response to that kiss is anything to go by. If it was genuine, and not a lie, that is. Or were you only pretending just now?’

  He pulled her to a halt, challenging her to answer, and the expression in his eyes was so full of hurt and misery in that moment that she could hardly bear it. ‘No, of course I wasn’t pretending but – oh, I don’t know - I suppose it’s knocked me for six. I never expected this to happen either. I can’t seem to think straight.’

  He smiled then, a genuine wide smile, the most relaxed she’d ever seen him and it was lovely. ‘At least we agree on something at last.’

  She grinned back. ‘I suppose we do.’

  ‘A change for the better, I’d say. A welcome improvement on previous relations between us. I confess I’ve been fighting this feeling for some weeks, months even. Every time I saw you I fell deeper into the mire of wanting to look after you, needing to love you, and longing to kiss you. When Kenny came home in a sulk the other night because you wouldn’t go w
ith him to the New Year’s Eve Dance, against my better judgement I found myself buying a ticket. I like you, Dena. Rather a lot, as a matter of fact.’

  He looking deeply into her eyes and the next moment he was her cupping her face between his hands and kissing her, his tongue caressing hers, demanding, wanting, and all Dena could do was surrender herself to the pleasure of it.

  A long time later while they both caught their breath, he stroked her tousled curls and nestled her head against his chest. ‘It isn’t going to be easy, is it? Kenny isn’t going to like this one little bit.’

  Dena couldn’t look at him, nor did she wish to. She didn’t want to even think about Kenny in the magic of this moment. She needed time to sort out in her mind the implications of all he’d just said, all she’d felt in his arms. Small shivers of delight were running down her spine as he tenderly stroked her hair, threading his fingers through her short soft curls.

  ‘N-no, I don’t suppose he will but I can’t help that, can I? It just didn’t work out for us, that’s all. And Kenny will have to accept that fact.’

  ‘It must be explained to him with great tact.’

  She moved in his arms, looking up trustingly into his face. ‘Will you tell him, or shall I?’

  Carl kissed her pert little nose, each translucent eyelid, then smoothed her arms and shoulders and set her a little away from him, as if compelling himself to resist her. ‘I shall. He’d be bound to guess anyway. Feeling as I do, I couldn’t possibly keep it a secret. I have to see you again, Dena. You do realise that?’

  She nodded, so full of emotion in that moment that she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘You do want to see me again?’

  ‘Of course I do, but Kenny has been pestering me for weeks now. Months. He follows me everywhere, constantly calling and asking me to go out with him. He seems to think I still belong to him, that I’m still his girl, and he won’t take no for an answer. I shudder to think what he’ll do when he learns about us.’