Remembering her manners, Jess smiled at her hostess. ‘Thanks for inviting me. Those mince pies were delicious.’
‘Well, there’s still time to buy some for your dear mother. The shop will be open till ten tonight.’
‘I’ll mention it to her when I get back,’ Jess lied, backing to the door. It was never wise to linger too long or Mrs Simmons might start getting curious and asking awkward questions.
More aware of what went on at the house opposite than she let on, Muriel Simmons slipped four of the remaining mince pies into a paper bag and handed them to Jess. ‘Perhaps she’s working late tonight and won’t have time to call in. Give her these from me, with the compliments of the season.’
Jess blushed bright pink but was not so foolish as to refuse this act of kindness, charity though it undoubtedly was. These mince pies might be the closest she got to pleasure this Christmas, and again she expressed her thanks, more fervently this time.
Leah led her down the stairs to let her out through the shop. ‘I can’t wait for Christmas, can you?’ The shop bell clanged when she opened the door but the two girls behind the counter were too busy serving to take much notice. ‘See that you pop over before lunch if you can,’
Jess willingly agreed in the hope she just might be asked to stay. She never had been invited to anything other than tea at the Simmons’ house in all the years she’d known Leah, but she lived in hope that this might change as she grew older and proved herself to be both polite and well mannered. Jess always paid careful attention to the way Mrs Simmons held her napkin or used a cake fork. Such niceties might well come in useful one day..
She waved goodbye and set off quickly across the now silent, dark street. There’d been no further air raid warnings, no more sirens to send folk scurrying back to the shelters, thank goodness.
The Salvation Army Band had stopped playing and were standing around chatting and drinking hot tea from their flasks, their faces glowing like pale ovals in the soft light from their carefully shaded lanterns, instruments set aside while they took a breather.
Intrigued, and reluctant to return to the confines of the cellar on this night of unusual and precious freedom, Jess wandered over for a closer look. There had been many nights in recent months when the sound of her mouth organ’s plaintive notes was the one thing which had kept her sane. She loved music, a passion she shared with her father.
This thought brought a sudden vision of him to mind. Jess could smell the fresh scent of the Lifebuoy soap he used, the Woodbine cigarettes he smoked. She could hear the rap made by the toecaps on his clogs as he came up the lobby each evening after work, feel the vibration of his cheerful laughter as he held her in a great bear hug; but most of all she recalled the hours he had spent teaching her to play the mouth organ, and even allowing her to try a few tunes on his piano accordion at which he was an expert.
These sweet memories brought a funny sort of tightness to her chest and Jess had to take a few quick breaths in order to ease it before worry over his well-being quite overwhelmed her and she dissolved into tears right there in the street.
As she crept nearer, her toe knocked against something hard, so that it fell over with a clang. Bending down she scrabbled about in the darkness till her fingers closed about an instrument. A bugle, she guessed, by the shiny feel of it.
She glanced about her. The band members were happily gossiping as they made inroads into a huge mound of sandwiches. No doubt they’d be playing for some time yet. Then, as the pubs closed, they’d collect up the worst of the drunks and take them to the mission hall to sleep it off till morning. Jess smoothed the flat of her hand over the instrument, savouring the seductive shape of it, the smoothly polished surface. It was a miracle that such a small, insignificant object could make such marvellous sounds. She put it to her lips and blew. The note rang out, pure and clean and true, echoing along the darkened street, instantly bringing the gossiping band to a stunned silence.
‘Who’s there? Who’s playing that bugle?’
Jess dropped it with a clatter and fled, desperately aware that someone had set off in pursuit after her.
She was in such haste to avoid being grabbed and leathered for her cheek in blowing a Sally Army bugle, that she didn’t notice the chink of light creeping out around the blackout blind in her mother’s room. She ran around to the back, let herself in and was halfway down the steps to the cellar when she heard the scream. She recognised it instantly as Lizzie’s and, coming so soon after the sweetness of the bugle’s call, it seemed all the more horrific, making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, freezing her to the spot and chilling Jess to her very soul. Then without pause for thought, she called out her mother’s name, turned and flew back up the stairs.
Chapter Three
Jess stood at the open bedroom door, paralysed with fear, uncertain whether she should intervene or run for help. To her utter shock and dismay she found there wasn’t one man but two in the room, each punching hell out of the other. One moment they were clasped together in a macabre dance, the next rolling on the floor, fists flying, pummelling each other like fury. The night light that usually sat by the bed had got knocked over and gone out and little could be seen beyond shapes and shadows. The smell of blood and fear was palpable, the sound of loud grunts, the crack of fist on bone, and over all the echo of Lizzie’s screams. Both men seemed oblivious to her desperate efforts to intervene as she flopped between them like a rag doll, at times suffering the brunt of the blows. But then, without warning, one shook himself free, like a dog ridding himself of drops of water, and fled from the room.
Lizzie called out a name that Jess didn’t quite catch, probably because the word was cut off by another blow from the remaining assailant, one that sent her mother sprawling.
‘You stupid whore! Have you no sense? You don’t do nowt without my say-so. Right?’
If Lizzie made any response, Jess couldn’t make out what it was. For several more terrifying seconds she remained rooted to the spot as the man again turned his fists on Lizzie. Her mother was lying curled up, whimpering on the rug while he slapped her, each crack splitting the air like a thunder clap. It was the force of the blows which finally galvanised her into action.
‘Stop that! Leave my mam alone!’
Jess flew at him, punching her own pathetically small fists into his broad back, her fingers desperately trying to get a grip on his jacket to drag him off Lizzie. He rose up on a roar of rage, tossing her aside so that Jess fell back, cracking her head on the floor boards while he thundered down the stairs to vanish into the night.
For some seconds Jess lay stunned and dazed, before the sound of Lizzie’s sobs brought her round, and she struggled to her feet to go to help her mother.
Mother and daughter clung together, Lizzie sobbing while Jess attempted to mop up the blood and tears from a face already turning purple with bruises. She had a bust lip and one eye so swollen it was nearly closed and already turning black. Somehow Jess got her into bed but the next twenty-four hours was a nightmare as Lizzie drifted in and out of consciousness. Jess did her best with cold compresses, blankets and hot cups of tea, leaving her mother alone only as long as it took to nip round to Ma Pickles and ask her to send young Josh to fetch the doctor.
Doc Lee finally arrived late in the evening on Christmas Day. He pulled up Lizzie‘s eyelids, checked her for broken bones, prodded her with his stethoscope and offered little more than two Aspirin and a few strong words of advice.
‘She’ll live, though whether she deserves to is another matter. Do try to keep your mother off the booze, Jess, if you can. It’ll kill her if she goes on in this fashion.’
‘It wasn’t the booze made those bruises on her face,’ Jess hotly protested, unexpectedly feeling the need to defend Lizzie.
But Doc Lee already had his hand on the door latch, his mind moving on to his next patient as if he’d no time to waste on no-hopers without the wherewithal to pay his bills. Jess saw there’d be neither
sympathy nor help from this quarter. She wanted to tell him that Lizzie hadn’t always been this way. Couldn’t he see that?
‘I try my best, but how can I stop her?’
He paused to smile down at her, revealing himself as a kindly man if perhaps somewhat inured to misery by his chosen profession. ‘Because you’re made of sterner stuff, Jess Delaney, and despite your exasperation with having such a mother foisted upon you, you love the old besom. No, don’t deny it, I’ve seen it in the way you care for her. Have you any idea who did this to her? One of her drinking cronies, I’ll be bound.’
Jess had not got a clear view of Lizzie’s assailant in the shadows of the gloomy bedroom. And she’d been too wobbly on her feet from her own injuries to attempt to chase after him, but in her own mind, she was quite certain who it was, utterly convinced as to the identity of the culprit. Uncle Bernie was the one who beat Lizzie up, though who the other man had been she couldn’t even begin to guess. None of this, however, she had any intention of revealing to the doctor. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see his face.’
Doc Lee frowned down at her for a moment, as if sensing some prevarication in the dismissal, but then recalling his busy schedule he shrugged and turned to go. ‘Get her along to the Mission Hall. The Sally Army are experts at salvation, even if you’re not. It might not be too late. Lizzie is her own worst enemy and if you don’t put a halt to this hell-bent ride to destruction she’s on, then look to yourself at least. Otherwise you’ll sink with her.’
Jess let him out the back door, thinking that if she hadn’t just dented one of the Sally Army’s bugles, she might well have acted on this advice. What a Christmas this had turned into! So much for the hope of lunch at the Simmons’s.
She slid the bolt into place after the doctor had gone, then rested her forehead on her clenched hands and sobbed her heart out. Why did she have to bear such burdens? Why didn’t her mam look after her instead of the other way round? How was it possible to love her mother as a daughter should when much of the time Jess felt exasperated and infuriated by Lizzie’s stupidity?
Oh, why couldn’t she be like any normal mother?
When the hiccupping sobs finally quietened, Jess brushed the tears away with the flat of her hand and went to build up the fire so she could brew a pot of tea. She longed, in that moment, for her dad to be here; couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. Why didn’t he come home to help, or at least on leave to see them now and then? She hadn’t even had a letter this week, or last, come to think of it. So far as she could remember there’d been nothing since that Christmas card in early December.
There’d always been a certain amount of jealousy and rivalry between the two brothers. Jake was the good looking one. He was honest and hard working with a good job at a local saw mill. Bernie always claimed his brother would never have done so well had it not been for the care he’d given him when they were growing up, keeping him out of a home for one thing.
In a way that must be true for having lost both their parents in an epidemic of smallpox while still quite young, Bernie had made himself responsible for his younger brother and fed them both, largely by living off his wits. Family legend had it that he’d tried everything from running errands, cleaning windows and washing up, to packing and loading down at the docks as well as scrubbing decks. Jess was only too aware, however, that this honest endeavour hadn’t lasted long before his true nature had asserted itself and Uncle Bernie had found easier ways of making a living, by nicking the stuff rather than packing it.
But although Jake appreciated Bernie’s efforts on his behalf, he strongly disapproved of his brother’s methods. He liked to believe that he was different and took great pride in saying so. A fact which always irritated Bernie.
‘Bit of this, bit of that,’ he would airily remark, should anyone be unwise enough as to enquire what he did for a living. Certainly his wife had more sense than to ask.
Lizzie had once explained to Jess that one of the greatest sources of rivalry between them came over their choice of wife. Bernie had opted for the easy-going Cora Garnet, a homely, anxious-to-please type. Making no claims to beauty, Cora was simply grateful that someone as lively and go-ahead as Bernie Delaney had ever looked her way.
Lizzie, on the other hand, had been far more attractive with long, curling hair and a shapely figure, eager to enjoy life to the full. An “I’m as good as any man” type of woman, which Jake quite liked. Her flirtatious grey-green eyes had once positively sparkled with fun and mischief, eager to taste life, inquisitive about everything. And despite her robust refusal not to be taken for granted, she’d been a good wife, and a loving, caring mother, at least in the early days.
And then Bernie Delaney had pushed his oar in and everything had changed. Jess could pinpoint the date exactly. The last Christmas before the outbreak of war. Christmas 1938.
The two families had made a point of always spending Christmas together and, apart from a few minor squabbles over who was to cook the turkey or provide the pudding, it had always passed off pleasantly enough. Until that day.
Jess was never too clear how it had all started to go wrong, she being only an awkward adolescent of twelve at the time, wrapped up in her own concerns. Perhaps the adults had got a bit too merry, the women partaking of too many glasses of sherry, and too many glasses of beer for the men but suddenly the laughing and joking began to get out of hand.
Her mother had been wearing a new dress, a rose pink satin rather shorter than her usual style, and with it a pair of black, silk stockings which showed off her long shapely legs to perfection. Bernie had already made one or two ribald remarks about her new saucy look, and then quite out of the blue said, ‘Come on, why not show off those glamorous pins of yours, so we can all admire them. We could have a competition. Come on Cora, you start the ball rolling. Lift up your frock, let’s have a look.’
‘No fear, Bernie, who’d want to look at mine, great lumps of lard that they are,’ and she laughed. ‘But if you must, who am I to spoil your pleasure?’ And good naturedly, Cora had indeed raised the hem of her plain navy skirt to reveal a pair of plump knees topped by even chubbier thighs encased in thick lisle stockings. She beamed at everyone, as if proud of her girth and some of the children sniggered and giggled behind their hands, quite used to their mother’s silly capers.
Jess could remember glancing anxiously over at her father, seeing how tight and set his face had become. ‘Leave the poor woman alone, Bernie. You treat her like dirt. What right have you to insult your own wife in this fashion?’
Bernie’s face darkened to a dangerous hue. ‘I reckon you’re the one insulting her by insinuating she isn’t good to look at. As it happens, I think she’s a cracker. And at least I know where she’s been, which is more than some can say.’
Jake leapt to his feet, breathing hard. ‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you implying I don’t know where Lizzie’s been?’
‘Well, do you? She’s a good looking lass with an eye for flirting. Who knows what she gets up to when you’re working down at that saw mill you set such store by.’
‘Damn you Bernie, you’ll take that back or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat. You’ve a mind on you like a sewer.’
Bernie shrugged his great shoulders as if brushing the insult aside and snorted his derision. ‘Flamin’ Nora, what other sort would you expect me to have, after a youth spent in the gutter? Aw, come on Lizzie, be a sport. Cora has shown us hers, how about giving us all a treat.’ And reaching forward he lunged at the hem of Lizzie’s skirt, making her squeal in surprise and bat away his hand with a playful giggle.
Jake’s voice crackled with fury. ‘Leave off, you dirty minded lump. She’ll do no such thing.’
‘It’s all right Jake,’ Lizzie intervened, struggling to calm the situation. ‘I don’t mind. It’s only a bit of fun.’ And she’d started to edge up the hem of her satin frock very slowly, giggling rather self-consciously
. Jake tried to stop her by giving her a little push to make her sit down again but Bernie, revelling in the rise he was getting out of his brother, roared with laughter.
‘Take no notice of him, Lizzie love. Go on, dazzle us all. Make our eyes pop out. We’re all gagging for a gander.’ Then before anyone realised what he was about, he’d grabbed hold of Lizzie around the waist and tipped her upside down, swinging her up in his arms with her head inches from the floor.
Jess and her father had stood transfixed, appalled, for not only could everyone now see all of Lizzie’s legs but also her stocking tops and suspenders, the strip of bare thigh above and all of her frilly French knickers. Lizzie squealed in surprised protest but was utterly helpless to free herself, while Bernie continued to laugh uproariously and shake her up and down, as if it were all some huge joke.
The instant Bernie had set Lizzie back on her feet again, red in the face with embarrassment and very flustered, Jake had launched himself at his brother. Jake was tall, a well set up man with powerful shoulders and arms but Bernie had more bulk, was not an easy man to take on even had Jake been prepared to beat the daylights out of his own kith and kin.
Instead, he grabbed him by the collar, pulling his brother’s face to within inches of his own and spat fury into his face. ‘If you ever pull any more tricks like that, I’ll kill you. Do you understand? Brother or no brother, I’ll kill you with me own bare hands.’ Then he’d collected Jess and the now weeping Lizzie and taken them both home.
Thus had ended family Christmas’s for ever. Sadly, what had also ended that day, was the trust between husband and wife. Jake was livid that Lizzie had been prepared to show off her legs, saying she must have given Bernie some encouragement for him to imagine she’d even do such a thing. For her part, she accused Jake of over-reacting and thus provoking Bernie into taking the action he had. Jess was packed off to bed but she could hear them arguing furiously long into the night.
From that moment on the marriage slid steadily downhill. Jake began to watch his wife more and more closely, to question her every move: why she was late home from the market, who she’d seen or talked to that day, where she was going of an evening; even if it was only for a bit of a crack in a neighbour’s house. Lizzie would scream and yell that he was finding her guilty without even a trial, believing the worst because of Bernie’s uncouth behaviour. Then Jake would be full of apologies and beg her to forgive him.
Dancing on Deansgate Page 3
