Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  He gave a deep, throaty chuckle. ‘No you weren’t thinking anything of the sort. You were wondering how quickly we could get out of this place so we could get to know each other a bit better.’ Harry was thinking that if he played his cards right he’d have her up a back alley with her knickers off in no time. He imagined them as white, lacy, and very French.

  ‘Heavens, you are full of yourself, aren’t you? Why would I want to go anywhere with you when I’m quite happy dancing?’

  ‘Because you fancy me rotten, just as I fancy you. What about a breath of fresh air. No harm in that, surely? We could go for a walk and see where it takes us.’

  Leah felt a tightening in her chest. ‘Hey, what are you suggesting? I’m not that kind of girl.’

  ‘Course you’re not. That’s why you’re intrigued by me. Because I am that kind of chap.’ Harry had always found that straight talking generally worked like a charm, both with the scrubbers and with the classy sort, the ones who’d been brought up proper and over-protected. It had never failed in the past to get him what he wanted, and he couldn’t see it doing so on this occasion. Maybe not tonight, but a few carefully judged manoeuvres in the right direction could well pay dividends in the end.

  He moved his hand a bit closer to the swell of her pert young breast, just to test his theory and was pleased to discover that she made no protest. On the contrary, she was gazing up at him out of eyes that were surely dilating with desire. Drat it, if he didn’t get her out of here damn quick, he’d make an exhibition of himself here and now on the dance floor.

  Leah couldn’t quite take in what was happening. Oh, but she was intrigued, indeed she was: by the way he regarded her through the speculative glint of narrowed eyes; the wicked twist to his wide, laughing mouth. She found herself trying to imagine what it might feel like to have him kiss her. The prospect set her pulses racing. For all she knew, Simmons’s Tea rooms could be bombed to smithereens tomorrow and she might die without discovering what the greatest mystery in life was all about. And what a tragedy that would be, to die a virgin, never knowing the true meaning of passion. Time suddenly seemed to be running out for her, as if she must experience everything right now, before it was too late and she’d lost the opportunity for ever.

  Besides, once again this morning, she’d had words with her mother over plans for the weekend. Muriel had arranged for the Gartsides to come for tea on Sunday, and Leah was naturally expected to entertain Ambrose. She couldn’t seem able to get it across to her mother that she loathed the sight of him, that she thought him dull as ditch water. Leah had no intention, now or ever, of agreeing to walk out with him, let alone marry him, however suitable his family background. But Muriel didn’t seem to be listening. She could find no fault with him, and assumed her daughter should feel the same.

  Perhaps the best way to shut her mother up was to find herself a different boy friend, and Harry looked a likely candidate. Leah very much doubted you could ever accuse a Delaney of being dull, and wouldn’t that give her mother a heart attack to see her beloved daughter roughing it? Serve her right for being so bossy and trying to interfere.

  Coming to a swift decision Leah rewarded Harry with her most brilliant smile so that even he recognised, in that instant, what a very fortunate chap he was. ‘Why not?’ she agreed. ‘A walk would be lovely, so long as we’re back by nine-thirty, in time to meet up with Jess and go home.’

  ‘No problem.’ That gave him the better part of an hour. If he hadn’t made his mark by then, he wasn’t the man he thought he was.

  Leah was pressed up hard against a brick wall down by the Irwell, dust in her hair, lipstick gone and all she could think of was what a good kisser he was. She’d never spent such an exciting half hour in all her life.

  ‘Where have you been all my life?’ Harry said, rubbing his hand over her breast.

  Dazed by his passion, with his hands going everywhere and aware the situation was rapidly running out of control, Leah was reluctant to stop him. She didn’t want to offend him, was in fact anxious that he not think her some silly weed of a shop girl who’d go running home to ma if he touched her where he shouldn’t.

  And she wanted him to ask to see her again.

  Even as she masqueraded sophistication, as she was so fond of doing, Leah felt confused. Harry Delaney was the most exciting bloke she’d ever met in her entire young life. He was making her head spin so much that she couldn’t seem to think straight. She could feel him edging up her skirt as he pushed one knee between her legs. His fingers slid beneath her stocking top and she experienced a burst of panic. Was she ready for this? Did she really want to do it? Not now surely, not yet. He’d think her cheap for one thing, and when she did try it, she’d want to be sure that he took proper precautions. She was no dummy.

  She pulled his hand away and pushed down the hem of her skirt. ‘What kind of girl do you think I am, Harry Delaney? I think that’s far enough, don’t you?’

  ‘Not for me it isn’t, nor you neither sweetheart from the look on your lovely face. I can tell when a girl’s begging for it. But OK, not right now. I’ll retire gracefully and admit defeat.’ He gave her waist a little squeeze and said, ‘Come on Cinderella, time I was taking you back to our Jess.’

  A strange disappointment warred with a sense of relief that he’d given in so easily. Leah knew in her heart that it would take very little persuasion on his part to make her change her mind. ‘You do like me though?’ she softly enquired, taking his caution for respect instead of the canny manoeuvre it actually was.

  Harry’s instincts with women were much sharper than his level of intelligence might signify, and he prided himself on knowing when to draw back, and when to push a little bit more. This one needed to be hooked first. ‘Course I do love, but I don’t want our Jess nagging. She’d never let me hear the last of it if you missed your bus.’

  He abandoned Leah the moment they were back inside the dance hall, just as if the half hour of intense passion between them had never taken place, or he’d wiped it completely from his mind. ‘See your around then.’ And he loped away with a sly grin on his face, aware he left her quivering with uncertainty, wondering whether he really did want to see her again, desperate for him to ask her out. Oh, he was an expert on women all right. Next time, she’d be eating out of his hand, panting for it, and more than willing to let him do whatever he wanted with her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was the following Wednesday evening and Jess was serving in the mobile canteen as usual when a docker walked in. He was quite a bit older than herself, in his early thirties, tall with brown hair slicked down with Brylcreem, long straight nose and eyebrows which had a faint look of surprise about them. He was no dreamboat by any means, being too thin and bony for her taste and his smile was a bit slow in coming, adding an air of seriousness to the oval face with its long, pointed chin.

  Jess noticed how quiet he was and, unlike many who visited the canteen, he wasn’t already half cut with the booze. He was well mannered, extraordinarily polite, always saying please or thank you. Thinking he looked familiar, Jess politely asked if he’d been in before and he freely admitted that he had. ‘I’m on maintenance work down at the docks and whenever I get a bit of free time, I come to listen to you play. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all, why should I?’

  He came three evenings on the trot, speaking to no one as he silently watched her going about her work. On the third occasion he said, ‘You look a bit tired tonight. Couldn’t you sit down for a minute and take a rest?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be working.’

  ‘Aren’t you allowed to talk to the customers?’

  ‘Oh yes, but not for too long. There’s a lot of work to be done so I can’t devote too much attention to any one person.’

  ‘I couldn’t be that lucky. I’ve been watching, you’re very popular here, especially with the men.’

  Jess laughed. ‘They like my playing.’

  ‘So do I. Y
ou’re good. You’re also very lovely, with that long blond hair and sweet face. A natural beauty like yours can’t be hidden, it shines forth like a beacon of pure light.’

  Jess was astounded. She’d never thought of herself as anything other than ordinary and was embarrassed to be complimented in such a personal manner by a perfect stranger. It left her at a loss for words, unable to think of a sensible thing to say. Though if it had been Steve who’d said such lovely things to her . . . ‘Are you on your own?’ she asked. Oh dear, now he would think she was being forward and making a play for him. She started to move away but his next words, coming out all in a bluster, gave her pause.

  ‘Sadly yes, my wife and young son died about eighteen months ago and I don’t have any family left - so it’s not much fun at home.’

  ‘Oh, how terrible. I’m so sorry.’ Jess wondered if it was a bomb, but didn’t like to ask. Who knew what fate had befallen the poor woman and her child? Jess wondered if she should ask how he was coping but it didn’t pay to pry too closely into emotions in these difficult times. Yet she couldn’t simply walk away from him now, not after such a confession. She shyly cleared her throat. ‘So, how are you?’

  ‘I miss her.’

  ‘Of course. How old was your son?’

  ‘Only eight. I miss him even more, as we were particularly close. And I’m such an ugly old brute I’m not expecting to marry again, so I’m not likely to get the chance of another.’

  He smiled at her then, such a sad, sorry sort of smile that Jess felt filled with pity for him. Poor man, to be widowed so young, and to lose an only child. ‘Don’t talk daft, you’re not ugly at all,’ she told him briskly. ‘You shouldn’t think so little of yourself.’

  Sergeant Ted had impressed upon her how they should always find time to talk to victims, at least for a little while, so Jess brought them both a cup of what passed for coffee, being the bottled Camp variety, and sat down with him, hoping that a bit of company might cheer him up. He seemed happy to talk, keen to tell her all about his wife, how she went out one day to buy bread and simply never came home. People all too frequently vanished off the face of the earth during a war, she agreed.

  ‘But why did she take the child with her?’

  ‘She couldn’t leave him on his own, could she?’

  ‘Oh no, of course not.’

  ‘So what about you? Why are you so tired and overworked?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ It amazed her that, despite his terrible loss, he could still show a genuine interest in others, herself in particular, gently asking questions so that she began to talk too. Jess would much rather have been sharing her troubles with Steve but told herself firmly that he’d been nothing more than a fantasy and it was easier in a way to talk to a stranger, one who didn’t judge. It was good to get it all off her chest.

  She told him much more about her own life than she’d intended, simply because he was such a good listener; so thoughtful and silent. Jess explained how she loved playing the trumpet, about the friends she’d made in the Sally Army and how spending time with them had saved her sanity because she so hated living with her uncle. She spoke of how desperately she missed her father; all about the family feud and the tricks that the Delaneys got up to. She even bitterly related how her mother wasn’t capable of looking after her properly because she went out drinking every night, and used to leave her locked in a cellar when the bombs were dropping. She made no mention of Lizzie having been arrested and imprisoned for shop lifting. Some things were best kept private.

  As he was about to leave he asked if he could see her again and Jess experienced a flush of panic. Perhaps she’d been too encouraging, given the wrong impression and implied that she was available. She shook her head, embarrassed, and explained how busy she was working at the bakery as well as here in the mobile canteen.

  ‘No wonder you’re tired. Don’t you ever get any time off?’

  ‘Of course, but I have other interests, friends to see. Like I say, I’m pretty busy.’

  ‘How about tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m working.’ She felt relieved about this, thinking it would surely get the message across that she wasn’t available but as she cleared away the mugs, he persisted, hanging around as she washed up. She really must insist that he go. She could see Harriet glancing curiously over in their direction, wondering why one of the customers was in the kitchen area with a tea towel in his hands. Jess took the towel from him and folded it away. ‘Now I have to dash off home and see if Mam’s all right. It’s been nice chatting with you. Good night.’

  ‘How about the day after, or Saturday? We could go to the pictures or something. You’ve made me feel so much better about myself, Jess. I’d really like to get to know you better.’

  Oh dear, now she’d really lumbered herself. Leah would laugh fit to bust when she heard this tale of a love-struck docker. Perhaps it would be best to let him think that she already had a boy friend, before he got too interested, even if it wasn’t true. Jess smiled kindly at him, wanting to let his hopes down lightly. ‘I’m sorry, but I already have a date on both nights.’

  He looked crestfallen. ‘You’ve got a boy friend then?’ He was gazing at her with such wretchedness in his eyes that Jess could hardly bear to look at him. It filled her with guilt. She hadn’t meant to give the wrong impression, or to lead him up the garden path by taking too much interest in him. Any minute now and her soft heart would be won over and she’d agree, which would never do at all.

  She gave a self-deprecating little smile. ‘Sort of.’ No need to say that it was all fantasy, all in her dreams.

  He helped her on with her coat and insisted that he walk her home at least, since accidents were rife in the black-out. Jess tried to tell him that she was quite used to that but he was adamant, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do and she couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse without offending him again. She said goodnight to Sergeant Ted, Harriet and the rest of the volunteers, then set off home with Doug Morgan, as he’d introduced himself to her.

  And really, she was glad of his company when on the corner of Dolefield they came across a few drunken sailors on their way back to their ship after a night on the town. Not that they were in any way violent, only slightly merry, giving her wolf whistles and the like. Jess found it all rather amusing but Doug was less inclined to be benevolent towards them.

  Taking a proprietorial grip upon her arm, he said, ‘All right lads, leave the little lady alone. She’s with me.’ ‘You see now why you shouldn’t be walking about on your own at this time of night,’ he gently scolded her when they’d gone. ‘You never would if you were my girl friend.’

  Long after she’d said goodnight and gone indoors, Doug Morgan continued to stand on the pavement. Watching through the window, Jess didn’t see him leave until Bernie came home, the worse for drink as usual. It troubled her slightly that he’d hung around so long, but then he was no doubt only concerned for her well being.

  ‘What happened to you the other night? Did you have a lovely time with Tommy? You didn’t say much when we were going home, but you looked all dreamy. Are you seeing him again? Go on, spill the beans. I want to hear everything.’

  Leah shrugged, suddenly reluctant to say anything at all to Jess about what really happened that particular evening, guessing that she wouldn’t approve of her going with Harry. ‘Tommy’s OK. Bit young for me perhaps.’

  ‘He’s about the same age as you.’

  ‘Still, I like my men a bit older, with experience. Hey, what about you? I hear you’ve got a fan who comes to listen to you play every night? Chap in his thirties I believe, who saw you safely home. What a dark horse you are.’

  Jess blushed. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Sergeant Ted. He and I were having a bit of a gossip when I came to meet you last night. So, go on, what’s he like? Is he nice? Do you like older men too?’

  Jess screwed up her nose. ‘No, so don’t read anything into it. He’s
not really my type but I felt sorry for him. He lost his wife and child in the bombing, so I was just being kind by talking to him and letting him walk me home.’

  ‘Oh!’ A moment of silence and then, ‘So what is your type? You seem to have got very picky all of a sudden. You never seem very keen to dance with any of those lovely airmen and sailors these days.’

  ‘Maybe I’m waiting for Mr Right.’

  ‘And would Mr Right’s first name be Steve by any chance?’

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Days later, feeling guilty at having missed their regular tea time meetings for a couple of weeks, not simply because she’d been working hard but also because she’d been nervous of meeting up with Steve again, Jess went back to Mr Yoffey’s little shop to make her apologies. She also intended to hand over a final payment for the trumpet, having borrowed money from her store of savings under the mattress. She arrived to find the door locked and the blinds drawn. The dusty Closed sign hung in the window gathering cobwebs.

  Jess clanged the bell which hung by the door, rattled the letterbox and hammered on the window to no avail. There was no sign of the old man and nothing for it but to go away again. She returned the next day to find exactly the same situation. The shop was locked up and barred, wearing a lost, sad sort of air. Jess felt a sickness start up deep inside. Where was he? What had happened to the old man?

  ‘They’ve taken him away.’ The answer seemed to come out of nowhere but, turning, she found the words had been spoken by the very person who had kept her away from his door. Steve Wyman was frowning at her in the way she remembered only too well.

  ‘Taken him where?’ Her heart was pounding, more out of fear for poor Mr Yoffey than anything. Nothing else seemed important now.

  ‘He’s no doubt been interned in the Alien’s camp on the Isle of Man.’

  ‘But why?’