Dancing in the Dark

by Maureen Lee

  Everyone went outside to take a look. They could see the German crosses on the wings.

  “Is that a Messerschmidt, Jo?”

  “No, Jen. It’s a Heinkel.”

  Suddenly the plane went into a dive. It appeared to be coming straight for them. Peggy screamed and they ran inside and slammed the door. Almost immediately, there was a loud explosion, followed by another, then several more. The plane must have dropped a stick of bombs.

  From somewhere within the building, there was a thud and the crash of breaking glass.

  “Jaysus! That was close!” someone gasped.

  They stood still, scarcely breathing, as the plane’s engine grew fainter. Then the sound disappeared and the all-clear went. The raid was over.

  The laundry had suffered superficial damage. At least, Flo assumed that a shattered office window and the door blown off its hinges could be described as superficial.

  “The thing is,” she said shakily, “I’d forgotten today’s the day I do the accounts, otherwise I’d have been in here sorting out the wages, or writing the statement for Mrs Fritz.” There was a small crater in the street outside, and the houses opposite had also lost their doors and windows, but thankfully, no one had been hurt.

  The twins began calmly to sweep up the broken glass and restore the room to relative order. Flo decided to take the money home and leave the bank till Monday, but it was important that the women were paid. Using the presser as a desk, she counted out the money and wrote each name on a little brown envelope. She felt angry with herself because her hands were trembling and her writing was all over the place. She’d had a close shave, that was all. Some people suffered far worse without going to pieces. Her stomach was squirming. She felt uneasy, full of dread. “Pull yourself together, Flo Clancy,” she urged.

  “Flo, luv,” a voice said softly.

  Flo looked up. Sally was standing at the side door and the feeling of dread grew until it almost choked her. She knew why Sally had come. “Is it Mam?” she breathed.

  Her sister nodded slowly. “And Albert.”

  Sally said, “Promise you’ll make things up with Martha.”

  “Why should I?” demanded Flo.

  It was almost midnight. The sisters were as yet too exhausted to grieve. They paid no heed to the raid going on outside, which was as bad as any experienced so far, decimating the beleaguered city even further. They were in William Square, the only place Sally had to go now that she’d lost her home in Burnett Street. The joint funeral would take place on Monday, the day after Flo’s twenty-first birthday. There was room for Albert in his motherin-law’s grave, where she would join her beloved husband. The wreaths had been ordered, a Requiem Mass arranged, and a friend of Mam’s had offered to provide refreshments after the service. Father Haughey was trying to track down Albert’s cousin in Macclesfield. The address would have been in the parlour, but there was no longer a parlour, no longer a house, nothing left of the place to which Mr and Mrs Clancy had moved when they married, where they’d brought up their three girls. The bomb had gone through the roof and exploded in the living room, demolishing the houses on both sides. Martha had been safe at the brewery but Mam and Albert, sheltering under the stairs, had been killed instantly. Their shattered bodies lay in the mortuary, waiting for the funeral director to collect.

  “Oh, Flo,” Sally moaned, “how can you be so unChristian and unforgiving? Martha’s pregnant and she’s lost both her mam and her husband.”

  Martha had been whisked from the brewery to Elsa Cameron’s house. When Sally went to see her, she was fast asleep, the doctor had given her a sedative.

  “I can’t begin to imagine how I’d feel if I’d lost Jock and Mam at the same time,” Sally shuddered.

  “But you’re in love with Jock,” Flo pointed out.

  “Martha was no more in love with Albert than I was and all three of us loved Mam.”

  “You’re awful hard, Sis.”

  “I’m only pointing out the obvious. What’s hard about that?”

  “Oh, I dunno. It’s just that you always seemed such a soft ould thing. I never dreamed you could be so unsympathetic.”

  “I feel sorry for our Martha,” Flo conceded. “I just don’t want anything more to do with her, that’s all.” She felt irritated that Sally didn’t seem to appreciate the enormity of what Martha had done. Maybe, because Flo’s baby was a bastard, she wasn’t supposed to love him the way a married mother would.

  “Despite our Martha being an ould bossy-boots, she depended on Mam far more than we did.” Sally sighed.

  “She’ll miss her something awful. We loved Mam, but we didn’t need her.” She turned to her sister and said, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Tommy O’Mara and the baby, Flo. But you’re a strong person, a survivor. You’ve got yourself a nice little home, an important job. It’s time to forgive and forget.”

  “I’ll never forgive Martha, and I’ll never forget.” Flo’s voice was like ice. “I’ll speak to her politely on Monday, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

  But Martha was too ill to attend the funeral. And Sally had been right: Elsa Cameron reported that it was her mother Martha kept calling for. There was no mention of Albert.

  The momentous year had flown by. Suddenly, it was Christmas again and Liverpool, though battered and badly bruised after the week-long May blitz, had survived to fight another day. The raids continued fitfully, but it was rare that the siren went nowadays. Life went on, and mid-December, Martha Colquitt gave birth to a daughter, Kate, named after the grandmother she would never know.

  “She’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen,” Sally told Flo. “Ever so placid and good-humoured.”

  “That’s nice.” Flo did her utmost to sound generous.

  “But I wish Martha’d find somewhere else to live.”

  Sally’s brow puckered worriedly. “I wouldn’t want that Elsa Cameron anywhere near a baby of mine. She treats Norman like a punch-bag, poor bugger. He’s only four, and such a lovely little chap.”

  “What’s happened to her husband?”

  “Eugene used to come home from sea every few months, but last time he told her she was crackers and he’s never been back since. I reckon he’s done a bunk, permanent, like.”

  “Martha said once Elsa had a sort of illness,” Flo remarked. “She said some women go that way when they have a baby. Afterwards they’re never quite right in the head.”

  Sally nodded. “There’s summat wrong with the woman. By rights, Norman should be taken off her.

  She’s not fit to be a mother.”

  It seemed grotesquely unfair that Elsa Cameron, unfit to have a child, and Nancy O’Mara, unable to have one, should both have become mothers, yet Flo was childless.

  She changed the subject before she said something she might later regret.

  “What d’you think of me decorations?” she asked. The room was festooned with paper chains and tinsel. Clusters of imitation holly hung in both windows.

  “It looks like a grotto. I tried everywhere for decorations, but there’s none to be had in the shops.” After living for a few months with Flo, Sally had found herself a small flat not far from Rootes Securities in Speke, which meant that she and Jock could be alone together during the precious times he was on leave.

  “I got them from upstairs,” Flo said smugly. “There’s plenty more, if you’d like some. It’s like having a big shop up there all to meself.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a few. I’m expecting Jock any minute, and it’d be nice to have the place looking Christmassy. Don’t forget you’re invited to Christmas dinner, will you?”

  “No. And don’t you forget me party the Saturday before. I feel as if I owe the girls in the laundry a party. I never had the one that was planned for me twenty-first.”

  Sally twisted her lips ruefully. “Mam was really looking forward to that. She was trying to get the ingredients for a birthday cake.”

  “Was she? You’ve never mentione
d that before.”

  “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  The sisters were silent for a while, thinking about Mam and Albert and how much their little world had changed over the past few years.

  “Oh, well.” Sally sighed. “I’m on early shift tomorrer.

  I’d better be getting home.”

  It was a sad Christmas, full of bitter-sweet memories of Christmases that had gone before, made even sadder when a letter arrived from Bel to say that Bob had been killed in North Africa. “I only wish you two had met, Flo,” she wrote. “He was the dearest husband a woman could have. We were only married two years, almost to the day, and weren’t together for a lot of that time, but I’ll never stop missing him. Never.”

  On New Year’s Eve, Flo slipped into the Utility frock that she’d bought especially for the Rialto dance, which would go on till past midnight. It was turquoise linen, made with the minimum amount of material, short sleeves and a narrow collar. She adjusted the mirror on the mantelpiece, took a sip of sherry, and began to curl her hair into a roll.

  Would she meet anyone tonight? She was glad Christmas was over and it would soon be 1942. She and Sally had both agreed that they would put the past firmly behind them and start afresh. With a wry smile, Flo glanced at the fluffy blue bunny, still in its Cellophane wrapping on the sideboard. She’d bought it for Hugh, but hadn’t had the nerve to take it round to Clement Street, knowing that it would be refused. Anyroad, Hugh would be two in February and had probably grown out of fluffy bunnies. She still looked for him, walking up and down Clement Street two or three times a week. Nancy must have deliberately done her shopping when she knew Flo would be at work because there was never any sign of her out with Hugh. For a while, Flo was worried that she’d moved, but Sally said that Martha had taken Kate to see her.

  She sipped more sherry, already slightly drunk and the evening hadn’t even started. She didn’t even know what her son looked like! How could she ever put the past behind her when he would still be on her mind if she lived to be a hundred? She hummed “Auld Lang Syne”, and told herself she was strong, a survivor. She wondered why she wanted to weep when she was getting ready for a dance where she was bound to have a good time.

  “Because it’s not really what I want,” she told herself bleakly.

  When someone knocked on the door she turned, startled. Sal was spending New Year’s Eve at Elsa Cameron’s with Martha. “If she’s come to persuade me to go with her, she’s wasting her time.”

  A middle-aged man, sunburned, with hollow eyes and hollow cheeks, was standing outside the door holding a suitcase. He wore an ill-fitting tweed suit, and the collar of his frayed shirt was far too big.

  “Yes?” Flo said courteously. She didn’t recognise him from Adam.

  “Oh, Flo! Have I changed so much?” he said tragically.

  “Mr Fritz! Oh, Mr Fritz!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Am I pleased to see you!”

  “I’m glad someone is.” He looked ready to shed the tears she’d so recently wanted to shed herself. He came into the flat and she pushed him into a chair, then stared at him as if he were a long-lost, dearly loved relative. He was much thinner than she remembered, but despite his gaunt features and the lines of strain around his jaw, he looked fit and well, as if he’d spent a lot of time working outdoors. His once chubby hands were lean and callused, but without his wire-rimmed glasses he seemed much younger. The more she stared, the less he looked like the Mr Fritz she used to know.

  “Are you home for good?” she demanded. She wanted to pat him all over, make sure he was real, and had to remind herself he was only her employer.

  He said drily, “After all this time the powers-that-be decided I wasn’t a danger to my adopted country. Just before Christmas they let me go.” His brown eyes grew moist. “I’ve been to Ireland, Flo. Stella wasn’t pleased to see me, and made it obvious she didn’t want me to stay. The younger children didn’t know who I was.

  The others were polite, but they’re having such a good time on the farm I think they were scared I’d insist they come home.” He sighed. “They’re known locally as the McGonegals. Stella is ashamed of her married name.”

  Flo had no idea what to say. She frowned at her hands and mumbled, “I always thought you and Mrs Fritz were very happy together.”

  “So did I!” Mr Fritz looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what happened, but as soon as the war started Stella became a different person, bad-tempered, blaming me for things I had no control over. I couldn’t produce coal or sugar out of thin air as if I were a magician. I wasn’t personally responsible for the air raids. When the women left the laundry for higher wages, that was the last straw as far as Stella was concerned. It was a shock, after so many years, to discover she could be so unpleasant.”

  “Perhaps,” Flo said hesitantly, “once the war’s over . . . ”

  “No.” He shook his head wearily. “No, it’s too late, Flo.

  I spent eighteen months in the camp. The other married men had letters from their families. Some wives travelled hundreds of miles to see their husbands for just a few hours. I had a single letter from Stella the whole time I was there, and that was to tell me she was back in Ireland and she’d left you in charge of the laundry and William Square.” There was a lost expression on his face.

  Something had happened with which he would never come to terms. “You can’t be sure of anything in this life, I hadn’t realised that,” he murmured. “I never thought it possible to feel so very alone, as if I’d never had a family. I still feel like that—alone. Do I actually have a wife and eight children? It seems absurd. It’s even worse since I went to Ireland. We were like strangers to each other.”

  “Oh, Lord!” Flo was horrified. He was such a dear, sweet man, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She said in her kindest voice, which seemed rather thick and emotional all of a sudden, “You don’t seem like a stranger to me.”

  For the first time he smiled. “That means a lot, Flo. It really does.” He glanced around the room and she hoped he wouldn’t recognise the decorations and all the other things she’d pinched from upstairs. “You’ve made this place very cosy. It’s a relief to have somewhere, someone, to come back to.” He smiled again. “But you’re obviously getting ready for a night out on the town. I expect you have a date with a young man. Don’t let me keep you.”

  “As if I’d let you spend New Year’s Eve all on your own,” Flo cried. “I was only going to the Rialto by meself.”

  Despite his protestations, she refused to leave. “I’ll pretend I got all decked up because I was expecting you,” she said, in the hope that it would make him feel less alone, more welcome.

  Apparently it did. By the time she’d made a cup of tea and something to eat, he looked almost cheerful. She poured them both a glass of sherry and told him all about the laundry. “I hope you don’t mind but we changed the name to White’s after we lost a lot of business.”

  He already knew. Stella had given him the statements Flo had sent. “It’s all I have left now, my laundry.” He sighed, but more like the gloomy Mr Fritz of old than the joyless person who’d just landed on her doorstep.

  She described the staff. “You’ll love the twins. They can only manage one person’s work between them, but they only get one person’s wage, so it doesn’t matter.”

  She told him about Peggy, who had to leave early for her lads’ tea, and Lottie and Moira who worked half a day each. “And, of course, you know Jimmy Cromer, he’s a treasure.”

  “Jimmy will have to go now I’m back,” Mr Fritz said.

  “You can’t sack him!” Flo gasped. “He’s a good worker, dead reliable.”

  “But there’ll be nothing for him to do.” He spread his hands, palms upwards, a gesture she remembered well.

  “I’ll be able to collect and deliver, won’t I?”

  “Even so, you can’t sack Jimmy for no reason,” Flo said stubbornly.

  “He’ll be superfluous to requirements
, Flo. What better reason is there?”

  “It seems very cruel.”

  “It’s necessary to be cruel sometimes if you run a successful business. It’s what capitalism is all about. You can’t employ superfluous staff and make a profit.”

  “And here’s me thinking you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Flo said sarcastically. “I suppose you’ll be reducing the wages next, so you make an even bigger profit. Well, you needn’t think I’m working me guts out if everyone leaves.”

  His eyes twinkled. “You’ve changed, Flo. You would never have spoken to me like that before.”

  Flo tossed her head. “I’m not sorry.”

  “Why should you be sorry for expressing an opinion? I like you better this way. But let’s have more sherry and save the arguments for tomorrow. It’s New Year’s Eve.

  We’ll talk about only pleasant things. Tell me, how are your family?”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing pleasant to tell.” She explained about Mam and Albert being killed in the same raid that had damaged the laundry.

  “So many tragedies.” Mr Fritz looked dejected. “Hitler has a great deal to answer for. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be alive.”

  As midnight approached, he noticed the wireless and suggested they listen to Big Ben chime in the New Year.

  “Is that the set from upstairs?”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed it,” Flo said uncomfortably, “You can have it back tomorrer.”

  “Keep it, Flo,” he said warmly. “It will give me a good excuse to come down and listen to the news.”

  “You mean I can stay?” She felt relieved. “I thought you might prefer to have the house all to yourself, like.”

  “My dear Flo,” he laughed, “would I be silly enough to put my one and only friend out on to the street? Of course you can stay. What’s more, this furniture’s seen better days. There’s a nice little settee and chair in Stella’s sitting room that you must have. She’s not likely to use it again.”

  “Shush!” Flo put her finger to her lips. “It’s about to be nineteen forty-two.”