Jess arrived home late one evening to find the bar full to bursting with people and a party in full swing, one that had obviously degenerated into what was generally known as a knees-up. The sound of their raucous laughter and singing met her at the door. Half opened boxes stood about on the floor, on tables, on the bar counter itself, spilling their contents over every surface. That was all she needed. She’d just had a wonderful evening with the band, playing at the Tramways Club for the conductors and drivers, and had come away happy and glowing with success. Now she came tumbling down to earth when she viewed the reality of her life as it truly was.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, of no one in particular, which was just as well since nobody was listening. Only Cissie Armitage, ever ready to drown her sorrows at someone else’s expense, bothered to answer.
‘Your Harry and Bert have taken a new delivery. Not that anyone’s asking too many questions about which lorry it dropped off the back of.’
Jess certainly knew better than to ask such a question. Bernie could lay his hands on anything, once he’d set his mind to it. He’d put out feelers with his particular contacts, then send Harry and Bert to chance upon a few cases that had ‘accidentally’ lost their way.
Cissie explained that word had quickly spread and folk had poured in. As a result, the place was humming.
Jess made a quick check that all the blackout curtains were safely drawn then went in search of Bernie. It was nearly midnight and if the police came by they’d be in dead trouble, likely lose their licence, assuming he possessed such a thing.
He saw her coming and got to his feet, swaying slightly, whisky bottle in one hand and a large glass in the other. ‘Now don’t start your fretting,’ he warned when she relayed this possible cause for concern to him. ‘Just enjoy yourself. Gin, vodka, whisky, we’ve got it all here.’
‘So I see.’
‘You don’t change, do you, Miss Lah-di-dah. Always so flipping self-righteous. Well, I’m going up in the world at last, with my own club, eh?’
From the look of him, Jess rather thought he was on his way down, not up, but didn’t risk saying so. It would be far too dangerous to quarrel with Bernie when he was in this state. Before anything more could be said, he’d lurched away and vanished in the fug of smoke, lost in the crowd at the bar.
With its dim lighting and general mêlée, Jess could barely see who was who. She spotted Ma Pickles, or rather could hear her laughing loudly after having swiftly drained her glass of milk stout. Josh, her devoted son was seated obediently by her side, neither drinking nor adding a word to the lively conversation going on around him. What a life that poor man led. Would she ever allow him to grow up?
Someone started singing Roll out the Barrel, and George Macintyre, who clearly wasn’t allowing a dodgy ticker to prevent him from enjoying his whisky, joined in at the top of his voice. As did Frank Roebottom, Tommy’s old fire watcher mate. Cousin Tommy himself was in Italy, and not getting much in the way of leave. He’d written with his congratulations over the new club, and Jess’s success with the band.
Aunt Cora was fast asleep in a corner, the children cuddled up beside her, as usual. There were a few other vaguely familiar faces including Sandra, full of her own importance and flirting outrageously with a sailor. She was fluttering her eyelashes and behaving as if she were eighteen not just turned thirteen. Jess went over and gently suggested that she really ought to be in bed, as should the twins.
‘Would you help me gather them up and take them home? Your mam looks worn out and it’s near midnight.’
Sandra gave her a scornful glance. ‘Push off, you.’ Then wrapping her arms around the sailor’s neck, captured him in a long and passionate kiss. Jess panicked and fled, deciding she was probably making matters worse as Sandra would do anything to shock, so any interference would only make matters worse.
There were other servicemen, well gone on Bernie’s booze, and quite a few girls making up to them. The place seemed mainly to be full of strangers and Jess couldn’t help wondering whether, in the fug of cigarette smoke and the excitement of having so much alcohol to drink, anyone was keeping a proper watch on who was paying for it.
Still, it was none of her business whether Bernie made a profit or not, or what those girls were up to. Doug’s words suddenly came back to her as an ominous warning when Jess made her way over to the stairs, anxious to escape to the peace of her bed, and she wondered if maybe he had a point after all.
It was then that she saw Lizzie. Like Bernie she was rip roaring drunk.
The all too familiar sense of disappointment kicked in. Ever since her mother had been released from prison, Jess had dreamed of saving Lizzie from herself, of creating a home of their own so they could be a proper family, hoping it would be the making of her. Instead, this move looked like it could be her ruination.
Oh, but Jess knew who to blame, and felt a flare of anger towards the man who had driven her mother into such a state. Only this wasn’t the moment to make a fuss. Her priority must be to sober Lizzie up first.
‘For goodness sake, Mam, what have you done to yourself? Or rather what has Bernie done to you?’
Lizzie got up from the table at which she’d been slumped and staggered over to her daughter to wag a finger in her face. Close up, the fumes from her breath nearly knocked Jess out. ‘Don’t start on one of your lectures, girl. I’m having a good time, so shurrup.’ Unable to curb her own propulsion, Lizzie continued across the room and collapsed in a state of semi-consciousness on the floor.
Heaving a resigned sigh, Jess marched over and tried to drag her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs. What were you thinking of to let yourself get into this condition?’
‘There you go again with your flippin’ lectures. I was having a bit of fun. What’sh wrong wi’ that? That Sally Army lot hash done you no good at all. Why can’t you let your hair down onesh in a while and enjoy yourshelf like the rest of us?’
‘Because someone has to maintain some degree of common sense and decorum. And don’t insult my friends. The Salvation Army have supported me more than you ever have over the years.’
‘Ooh, hark at her. La-di-dah!’
Anger seared through her, blurring her mother’s face inches from her own to a sickly oval, and the effort required not to slap it was almost overwhelming. Why had she even bothered to try and help the silly woman. Lizzie was quite beyond redemption.
Jess had longed all her life for a normal upbringing, for a mother who cared for her, who would make sacrifices as Mrs Simmons did for Leah by saving up to pay for music lessons, and by introducing her to nice young men. All right, Leah didn’t always approve, but then maybe she didn’t know when she was well off. Jess tried not to feel any envy for her friend but, deep inside, she couldn’t help it because Leah had everything that Jess wanted. Security. Love. And hope for the future. Everything that Jess was obliged to provide for herself.
‘I’m only eighteen, Mam. Why have you never looked after me? Tell me that? Why couldn’t you manage to do such a basically simple thing? No don’t sit on the floor, I’m not leaving you to loll about, half cut.’
Lizzie opened her mouth to protest but instead vomited the contents of her stomach all down the front of her daughter’s clean skirt and blouse. Jess watched the performance with a strange kind of detachment and all her anger drained away, dissipating in a familiar wave of weariness and resignation.
‘Want a hand?’ Woken from her slumbers by the noise, or else the stink of vomit, Cora had waddled over. Jess accepted her aunt’s help with gratitude.
‘Best if we take her round to mine. You can’t manage her on your own in that state. Much as I hate the silly old besom, I’ll not see her choke on her own vomit. And I wouldn’t care to imagine what’s going on upstairs right now. Now then Lizzie, be a good girl and come home wi’ me, chuck.’
Making no comment on this decision, Jess took hold of Lizzie’s arm and the two of them began to steer her toward
s the door, Sam and Seb trailing on behind, clinging to their mother’s skirts.
Lizzie shook Cora off with a violence and strength that was astonishing. ‘Gerroff! You keep your flaming nose out of my business.’
‘For goodness sake, Mam, Cora’s only trying to help.’
‘I don’t need no help, not from her anyroad. And I don’t need you telling me what I should and shouldn’t do the whole time neither. You can both shove off and leave me alone. If I want a bit of fun, I’ll have it, and neither you - nor po-faced Cora, is going to stop me.’
Bernie came up behind them to see what all the hubbub was about, slurring his words, ‘Aye, leave your mam alone. It’sh nowt to do with anyone what we does of a night. If we want to get well-bevvied, why the bleedin’ hell not?’
Jess turned on him with fury in her eyes. ‘Because you’ll destroy her, that’s why. When I said I wanted a place of our own, I meant a little house, a bit of peace and quiet, not a drinker’s paradise. This whole idea was a bad one, I can see that now, and we’ll be moving our stuff out first thing in the morning.’
‘Where to?’ Cora asked, her round face creasing with a new anxiety. ‘I’ll have you back any time Jess love, but not her. One night, and no more. I’ve had enough of Lizzie, more than I can rightly stand.’
Jess didn’t wonder at it. She felt very much the same. ‘We’ll find somewhere, don’t you worry. We won’t be bothering you, nor Uncle Bernie, ever again. I’d live in Camp Street air raid shelter sooner.’
‘Nay lass,’ Cora’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t say such terrible things. It tears the heart out of me to see you so cut up.’
But she didn’t retract a word of her declaration, Jess noticed. Instead, she half turned and shouted over her shoulder in a voice which cut through the din like a knife through butter. ‘Sandra, put that sailor down and get over here this minute. Your needed.’
How they managed to get Lizzie home that night, Jess could never afterwards remember. For all there were three of them, it took every scrap of strength and Cora’s powerful arms to drag her through the dark streets and fight off her flailing fists. Jess quickly changed out of the stinking clothes then hurried to help Cora wash Lizzie’s face, undress her and get her into bed. Sandra was delegated the task of putting the twins to bed while the two women dealt with Lizzie.
‘Never mind her nightie,’ Cora told Jess. ‘Let her sleep in her slip. That’s as much of a battle as I’ve strength for tonight.’
Usually, Jess and Lizzie shared a bed but the stink of vomit that still lingered in the small room made Jess gag. She certainly wasn’t prepared to climb in beside her mother tonight. Not in her present condition. Cora seemed to be of the same opinion.
‘Sleep on the settle in the front parlour. Don’t you worry about his lordship. I’ll wait up for him for once, so the drunken fool doesn’t bring everything crashing around his ears when he tries to get up them apples and pears. You’ve nowt to fear from him.’
Chapter Nineteen
It was cold in the parlour, filled with dark shadows and creeping mould up the walls. Jess doubted a fire had been lit in here since last Christmas, and even then probably only on Christmas Day itself. Seeing her start to shiver, Cora shovelled up a bit of coal from the kitchen range and set it in the empty grate. Instantly the room seemed less forbidding. ‘That’ll not last long but it’ll help you get off to sleep.’
‘What did you mean when you said you didn’t care to imagine what was going on upstairs?’
‘My mind was happen wandering.’
‘I don’t think so, Cora. Doug Morgan, a docker who comes in the canteen now and then, quiet sort of chap, says there’s something funny going on at the club, something involving those girls. I denied it and told him off, but is he right? Bernie’s not told me everything, has he? I can tell by the gleeful expression in his nasty little eyes. I’d like to know what it is he’s keeping to himself.’
‘I wouldn’t know, love, but I’ll have a word with our Harry and Bert when they get in. They’ll happen know something. In the meantime, you get some sleep.’ Cora covered her with a blanket, tucked back a strand of hair and kissed her cheek. Jess suddenly caught her hand.
‘You’ve been a better mother to me this last year or two than my own has been throughout my entire lifetime.’
Cora’s eyes filled with a rush of tears. ‘Eeh lass, what a thing to say.’
‘It’s true.’
‘All I know is that it’s been a pleasure to have you around. I think of you as one of me own. There now, you’ll have me crying in a minute,’ and dabbing at her tears with her apron, Cora shuffled off, her carpet slippers making a shushing sound on the lino.
After she’d gone, Jess lay on the prickly horse hair sofa, covered with the single blanket and wished she was anywhere in the world but here, in this cold, mouldy parlour. Perhaps she wasn’t in control of her own life at all. What exactly was Bernie up to? What did the future hold? Jess felt tired and dispirited, disappointed in her mother, and filled with all her old insecurities.
She gazed into the flickering flames of the small fire and thought about her father.
‘Where are you Dad? Are you safe and well? Oh, how I miss you.’
All she knew was that he was a POW somewhere, but what was the camp like? Could it be as bad as Strangeways, or worse even?
Sergeant Ted said POWs got regular Red Cross parcels, and the Salvation Army helped by putting families in touch with each other, so her letters should be getting through. If only he’d reply. Why didn’t he write? And why did he have to be locked away too? What a family they were.
Why couldn’t everything be simple, a normal life with parents who cared about her; with no war and nobody fighting one another. How marvellous that would be.
She must have fallen asleep while the tears were still wet on her cheeks because some time later Jess woke with a start to the sound of shouting. Pandemonium had broken out in the kitchen. She could hear Bernie’s deep booming voice shouting that he could do what he flaming well pleased and didn’t need anyone’s say so. Cora was screaming her fury at him. Then there came a loud thud and a crash, which sounded like something, or someone, falling amongst the fire irons behind the fender. This was followed by complete silence which, in a way, seemed all the more ominous.
Jess sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Should she go in? Was her aunt hurt, or had it been her uncle falling in a drunken stupor? It was a wonder that Sam and Seb, or Sandra at least, hadn’t come down to see what all the fresh commotion was about. Perhaps they were used to it and knew when to keep their own counsel.
While Jess was debating the wisdom of intervening between husband and wife, she heard someone fiddling with the door latch. Swiftly, she lay down again, pulling the blanket over her ears, desperately trying to keep still and quieten her breathing.
She heard the parlour door click open, footsteps approach, and there was no doubt in her mind who they belonged to as Bernie weaved an unsteady course towards the old sofa where she lay.
After a moment the squeak of his shoes stopped and Jess could hear the sound of laboured breathing, smell the reek of whisky on his breath. She was keenly aware that he must be standing quite close by, watching her. It was as if his gaze was searing into her soul and she had the urge to get up and run, could hardly bear to keep still beneath his silent scrutiny.
After the longest moment of her life, he spoke. ‘I know you’re not asleep, so listen to what I have to say. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you’ll come back to the club and start being nice to my customers. Neither your mam, nor Cora, and certainly not an interfering little whipper-snapper like you, is going to tell Bernie Delaney what’s what. I’ve had enough of your lip, madam. Is that clear?’
Jess longed to argue, to speak up and defend herself but decided it was wiser to maintain her silence and persist in the pretence of being asleep. She could but trust that he would soon give up, go off to bed and leave them all in peace. Th
ese hopes were instantly dashed as the blanket was suddenly stripped away and a great weight fell upon her, knocking all the breath from her body.
Her eyes flew open as she realised, to her utter shock and horror, that he was lying on top of her, fumbling with her clothing. Vapours of sour beer were overwhelming her and Jess almost vomited. She felt suffocated, trapped beneath the malodorous bulk of her uncle, becoming all too horribly aware that the more she shoved and pushed at him, the more aroused he became.
‘Get off me, you drunken fool!’
But he only hiccupped loudly in her ear and made a grab for her breast.
Dry mouthed with fear, tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, Jess could barely manage to utter anything more than tiny, frightened mewing noises as she fought desperately to free herself.
‘Give us a kiss, you miserable bitch. Come on, don’t be so mean.’
His great, wet mouth fastened over hers and now Jess was sure that she would indeed vomit, so revolted was she by the sucking sensation. She freed one hand and scratched him right across his cheek, making him howl in protest.
‘You little bugger, I’ll fix you.’ His fat face was streaked with blood yet he held her down easily with one hand while sausage-like fingers worked away at her nightdress, dragging it up her legs, poking beneath it, pulling down the knickers she’d left on to keep herself warm. As she squirmed and wriggled, desperately struggling to be free she heard his breathing quicken as excitement mounted. Then his fingers probed her groin and entered her, the pain excruciating as he thrust them inside her but as she opened her mouth to scream, she found another hand the size of a trap door clamped down tight across her mouth.
‘Stop playing the coy little maid, drat you! You let that Steve touch you up, I’ll warrant, and I saw you chatting to that docker in the canteen the other night. You’re a filthy little whore, just like you mam. Stop fighting and open your flaming legs, blast you.’
Sick with fear, Jess could almost smell his arousal, feel the erect hardness of his penis pressing against her most private parts. She could hear him grunting with pleasure, a kind of animal satisfaction while her screams went unheard behind the barrier of his filthy hand. With her mouth squeezed tight shut; her kicking limbs as useless as matchsticks against the thrusting violation, Jess suddenly felt a quiver ripple through him, like the rumble of an earthquake.
Dancing on Deansgate Page 24
