As the weeks slipped by Jess came to resent the fact that everyone seemed to go out of their way to keep Bernie happy. What was so special about her uncle that he had to be given such special treatment, so that his entire family tiptoed around him as if he were some sort of god?
One afternoon when she and her aunt Cora were enjoying a warming cuppa after she’d got back from the market half frozen, Jess risked asking her aunt why she’d married him.
‘Because he was a real bobby-dazzler in them days. And I wasn’t. Truth is love, I were bullied by my school mates something shocking for being a bit on the plump side like. One day two girls tied me up with their skipping rope and sold ink pellets at ‘appenny a time for the other girls to throw at me.’
‘Oh, but that’s dreadful!’
‘It wasn’t very nice, no. My mam gave me gyp when I got home, I don’t mind telling you. Anyroad, Bernie spotted what was going on and he went for them. You should have seen them girls run.’ Her plump jowls shook with laughter as she recalled the moment. ‘He made it clear that if anyone had a go at me in future, they’d have him to deal with.’
‘I see.’ Jess understood perfectly, even if she did think it dreadfully sad that Cora had been fooled into seeing Bernie Delaney as some sort of hero. Ever since then Cora had been his adoring slave, accepting all he told her as gospel, content to devote her entire life to waiting upon him, hand, foot and finger, without complaint.
But what about his sons? What caused them to be so meek and mild?
Even Leah was mystified when Jess explained it all to her as they sat together by the Irwell near the old Botany warehouse.
‘Bernie is always given the largest share of pie or portion of meat and them big lads of his never say a word despite the fact they’re both working at hard, physical jobs down at the docks.’
She explained about Cora, how she buttered his bread for him, tied his tie, fetched his News of the World or Manchester Guardian whenever he wanted it.
‘Heavens!’ Leah giggled. ‘Does she scrub his back for him on a Friday night as well, do you think?’
Jess nodded, then her eyes twinkled as she added. ‘Not that we’re allowed to witness it, mind. She shoos everybody out while Bernie does his ablutions, so who knows what they get up to. Happen she gets in the bath with him,’ and both girls fell into fits of giggles at the very idea.
‘I don’t think women that old can have sex, can they?’ Leah wondered out loud, and Jess laughed.
‘Lizzie seems to manage it without any difficulty,’ and then slapped her hand over her mouth as she realised what she’d said.
‘It’s all right, Jess. I won’t say anything wrong about your mam. I don’t believe half what they say about her anyway. Go on with telling me about your uncle, and these cousins of yours. What are they like?’
Jess knew only too well that more than half of the rumours about her mother were indeed true. Leah might be a year older than herself but she was years younger and a sight more naïve than herself in that department. Muriel had protected her daughter, perhaps too well. Not wishing to consider Lizzie’s current situation Jess gladly continued with her tale.
‘You’d like Tommy. He’s about your age. He’s grand is Tommy. Desperate to join up, unlike the rest of them Delaney lads, dozy cowards that they are. There’s big and boastful Harry, and daft Bert. I suppose there’s more to them both than that, but it about sums them up. The twins, Sam and Seb, are lovely, but Sandra seems to have a permanent scowl on her face. I don’t think she likes me being there. She sulks a lot and rarely speaks to me, not even to pass the time of day. She doesn’t say much to anyone, come to think of it, but then she’s not expected to, being only a girl.’
‘You could try setting her an example of what a thinking woman can achieve in life when she sets her mind to it.’
Jess giggled. Leah made her laugh sometimes with her fancy, middle class way of looking at things. Thinking woman indeed. Untalented, unintelligent, useless fifteen year old with an absent father and an inadequate mother, that’s what she was.
‘Fat chance. She’s spoiled rotten by her dad, who she worships. Even Aunt Cora will do anything to stop her going into one of her moods. But I still can’t understand why no one ever disagrees with Uncle Bernie, not even his sons so far as I can see. You’d think they’d want to challenge him now and then, wouldn’t you?’
‘Perhaps they’re a bit afraid of him, so pretend to do as he says and yet quietly go their own way,’ Leah shrewdly suggested. ‘No matter what his family does, you at least, must stand up for yourself. We can’t let chaps have things all their own way.’
‘Oh, I do, don’t you fear,’ and they grinned at each other, as always in perfect accord.
‘Are you very unhappy living with your aunt and uncle, Jess? I could always ask Mother if you could stay with us for a while.’
Jess looked at her friend askance. ‘What, the daughter of a jail bird bunking up with Leah Simmons? Oh, I can see her approving of that one.’
Leah vigorously protested. ‘Mother isn’t at all snooty or toffee-nosed, though admittedly she does fuss at times. She understands about Lizzie, about her . . . problems. I could ask her about the possibility of a job for you after Easter. Would that help?’
Jess gave a little nod, flushing with shame in the face of such generosity. ‘That’d be grand.’
‘Consider it done. I know what’s wrong with you,’ Leah said. ‘You need cheering up. Isn’t it your birthday soon, that should liven you up. You’ll be having a party, I expect? You don’t turn sixteen every day of the week.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Oh Jess, that’s awful.’ Leah fell silent for a moment, stunned that any family could choose to ignore such a significant event. Then she brightened. ‘I know, we’ll celebrate on our own, and what better way than to go dancing.’
‘Dancing?’ Jess gazed at her friend wide eyed, even as a bud of excitement burst within. She’d never been to a dance before, nor even listened to a real dance band but she decided that Leah was right. Turning sixteen was something special which should indeed be celebrated. ‘But I can’t dance. I don’t know how.’
‘I know a few steps. I’ll teach you.’
They practised their dance steps night after night in Leah’s bedroom over the tea shop on Deansgate, with only a very old wind-up gramophone playing a cracked record of indeterminate vintage which had belonged to Muriel in her younger days. Neither girl was particularly adept, although what they lacked in style they more than made up for in enthusiasm. With a real dance band, they were both quite certain it would be much easier.
With her usual thoroughness Mrs Simmons stepped in to arrange for the two girls to have proper lessons at Winters Dance Academy. Mr Simmons stoically agreed to act as dance partner each evening to help them practise the basic steps while his wife offered endless instructions on the etiquette of the ballroom: such as how a girl was not obliged to accept an invitation but must sit out a dance completely if she should refuse a prospective partner for any reason.
Leah and Jess certainly listened most attentively, for all they were desperate to laugh, knowing that Mrs Simmons’s real motive was that she believed this to be an excellent opportunity for her daughter to find an attractive husband, preferably a rich one.
As the big day drew near, Leah announced her decision. ‘We’ll go to the Plaza on Oxford Street.’
Jess gasped. ‘But isn’t that a very grown-up sort of place?’
‘So what? With a bit of lipstick on, and a ribbon tied round that wild hair of yours, you’d pass for eighteen any day. You could be a real stunner, Jess Delaney, make no mistake.’
Jess giggled. ‘You sound just like Mam. She’s always saying I don’t make enough of myself.
Mrs Simmons gave her blessing to the idea, together with her carefully considered opinion that the Plaza was most respectable. If all went well, perhaps next time she might allow the girls to try the Ritz. ‘You meet a much bett
er class of partner there. But do watch your posture, my dears, and always listen most attentively when a young man talks to you.’
‘What if there’s a raid?’
Leah shrugged. ‘So what? How do you reckon everyone else is getting through this dratted war? Largely by ignoring it. We’ll be safe enough. Why shouldn’t we have a bit of fun? Stop thinking of excuses not to come. What’s the problem anyway?’
‘Uncle Bernie,’ Jess ruefully admitted. ‘He’ll never let me go.’
‘Oh, leave him to me. I’ll fix Uncle Bernie.’
And she did that too. Once all the arrangements had been made, Leah gazed up at him with those entrancingly blue, innocent eyes and asked if it would be all right for Jess to stay at her house the following Saturday night.
‘Mother’s invited her to supper, to celebrate her birthday, and doesn’t feel it would be safe for Jess to be going home in the dark afterwards, with the black-out and all.’ Leah lied without a flicker of guilt, but Jess was quite certain he’d refuse to allow her to go. He might even offer to come and fetch her home himself but Leah’s charm held good, and he grudgingly agreed.
On the night of the dance Robert acted as escort, faithfully promising his parents that he would keep an eye on the two girls and bring them safely home. They caught the bus, collecting Robert’s fiancé on the way, each of them carrying silver dance slippers (in Jess’s case an old pair of Leah’s), wrapped in a brown paper bag. Once inside, they slipped them on, depositing their outdoor shoes in the cloakroom together with their coats, scarves and handbags.
As anticipated by Leah, Robert was more interested in spending the evening with his one true love than supervising his sister, and left them to it, agreeing to meet up again at the door at half past ten on the dot.
The band was playing ‘Run, Rabbit, Run’ and the two girls were standing by the door, optimistically hoping someone might ask them to dance.
They’d done their best to make themselves suitably appealing. Leah was dressed in a peacock blue satin frock which reached right down to her ankles and shimmered as she walked, clinging to every curve of her slender figure. With scarlet lipstick, fair hair piled high and those brilliant blue eyes, she looked as if she’d stepped straight out of the silver screen. Jess saw it as a proper, grown-up ball gown rather than the knee skimming day dress style she herself was wearing, yet felt not a trace of envy for her friend.
Leah had delved into her wardrobe and found a pale blue crêpe frock for Jess. It had a lacy collar and covered buttons all down the bodice, fastening at the waist with a neat little belt that had a gold buckle. Since Jess had point blank refused to wear a ribbon, Leah had pinned up her hair into fashionable coils all about her head, then applied not only a soft pink lipstick but also powdered her nose, put rouge on her cheeks and smoothed Vaseline on her eyelashes to make them shine.
Mrs Simmons had declared herself enchanted by the result, and had generously dabbed a touch of her favourite Lily-of-the-Valley perfume behind each of Jess’s ears, proclaiming she’d be the belle of the ball, after Leah of course.
Jess had never felt so glamorous in her life. It was all so exciting.
‘I do hope I don’t make a fool of myself,’ she said, a note of anxiety in her voice. ‘What if I forget the steps and everything we’ve learned?’
‘You’ll be fine. Look at you, jigging to the beat already. How could someone as musical as you not be able to dance?’
They’d hardly been standing there for five seconds before a sailor claimed a delighted Leah in a dance, spinning her away into a fancy quick-step. Now Jess stood alone and she flattened herself back into the shadows of the entrance, heartily wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her.
In the corner by the stage she could see a number of professional dancers, of both sexes, who were there to partner people like herself who had no one to dance with. Except that she couldn’t afford to pay sixpence for a ticket, so she would have to remain a wallflower, probably for the entire evening while her more glamorous friend was snapped up by every man in the room.
She could feel her cheeks starting to burn with the shame of it; longing now to escape, or creep to a chair in a corner, were she able to find one. The only seats available were placed around the small tables which circled the dance floor, generally occupied by what were obviously courting couples. Just watching them kissing and cuddling made Jess feel even more the odd one out; a reject, a failure, unwanted by anyone. She noticed that Leah was now dancing with a soldier and was waving to her over his shoulder.
What on earth had possessed her to come? Mrs Simmons had given her a lovely birthday tea, wasn’t that enough?
‘My I have the pleasure of this dance?’
Jess almost jumped out of her skin. Someone was actually asking her to dance. He was quite skinny with ears that stuck-out, a bulbous nose, and dressed in an air-force uniform that looked three sizes too big. Nevertheless she graciously accepted, not feeling any right to be choosy.
From then on her luck changed, or perhaps she just looked more relaxed and smiley but she was soon inundated with offers, never short of a partner for a single dance.
There were admittedly one or two near disasters, though not through any fault of her own. There was the soldier who was so much shorter than Jess that his face came perilously close to her bosom while she could barely see more than the top of his head. The plump man who kept treading on her toes as he tried to steer her around the crowded floor, runnels of sweat steaming down his flushed face, evidently due to the concentration involved. Then there was the one who gripped her so hard she was flattened against his chest in an iron hold, while she strained to turn her face away from his tainted breath which stank strongly of pickled onions.
There was always an element of tension as a possible partner approached and each girl would wonder which of them he had his eye on. Their response could be either relief or resignation but they were never anything less than polite. Mrs Simmons would have been proud of them.
No alcohol was allowed in the dance hall but during the interval the two girls bought a glass of lemonade each and slipped outside for a breath of fresh air. The room might be hot and over-crowded but Jess found the atmosphere magical, the crush of people intoxicating, the colourful swirl of skirts with their tantalising glimpses of suspenders and French knickers, exciting.
The band was superb, and the singer seemed to float across the stage in her long white evening gown, her voice filling the room with achingly sweet love songs like A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square followed by rousing numbers such as We’re Gonna Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line.
‘It’s fun isn’t it?’ Leah said, giggling. ‘I reckon I clicked with that last sailor I was dancing with. He was Welsh, called Taffy, and took quite a shine to me. Offered to marry me on the spot but I told him I had every intention of staying fancy free, thank you very much. No quick wartime wedding for me. Not my scene, boyo, I said. What do you think of the band?’
‘Great. I love the sound. Three trumpets, two trombones and five sax. Brilliant!’
Leah raised her eyes in despair at the fact Jess had troubled to count the instruments. ‘I was more interested in their looks. The drummer’s rather dishy, don’t you think? Maybe we should go and chat him up while he’s on his break.’
When they returned, the band was already back on stage playing The Blackout Stroll and for the next hour they scarcely saw each other as they were kept busy on the dance floor.
‘I don’t think my feet will ever recover, not to mention these silver shoes of yours,’ Jess groaned. ‘They’ve been trodden on so much.’
Next came the Ladies Excuse-Me. ‘Come on,’ said Leah. ‘Now’s our chance. I fancy the dishy airman dancing with that fat girl with the spotty chin. I’m sure he’d much rather have his arms about me. Which one have you got your eye on? Make your mind up quickly, then we can dance round together.’
Jess glanced frantically about, wondering if she
had the courage to actually walk up to some perfect stranger and ask him to dance, or even more daring, interrupt a dance in progress and drag him away from someone else who he might very well prefer. She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the very thought. ‘I’m not sure that I can - er -. You go. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Grumpy. You’re turning into a real old misery boots. No fun at all.’ But Leah didn’t hang around to argue as she was intent on grabbing her airman who seemed delighted to be relieved of trying to make conversation with his more ample partner.
For a moment Jess felt utterly bereft, again standing alone on the perimeter of the dance floor while everyone else seemed to be laughing and dancing, changing partners with dizzying frequency and clearly having a marvellous time. Was Leah right? Was she turning into an old misery boots? This was a whole new experience for her. She felt rather dazed by it all, overwhelmed suddenly by the reckless determination of everyone to have a good time, no matter what tomorrow might bring.
Some of these young men could be flying planes straight to their own deaths next week. Innocent young girls might be bombed in the factories where they slaved away every day making parachutes or nuts and bolts for aeroplanes, or even in their own homes while they hid under the stairs. Yet here at the Plaza it seemed impossible to imagine that there was a war on at all. How could there be, when everyone was so happy?
Jess had just decided that she’d sit this one out when she saw him.
Her gaze homed in on him, perhaps because he was not in uniform as almost everyone else was, or because he sat huddled in a corner beside the stage, a wrapt expression on his face as he concentrated entirely upon the band. He seemed so alone, so apart from the colourful swirl of dancers, the only sign of movement being the tapping of one foot, and fingers beating in time to the music. Perhaps he was deliberately hiding himself away; as if not for a minute did he expect a gorgeous girl to ask him to dance. If so, Jess felt a rush of sympathy for him. Hadn’t she experienced the very same emotions herself, a resolve to appear disinterested and unavailable. Without even pausing to consider her action, she set off across the floor.
Dancing on Deansgate Page 6
