Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘There’s good little lambs,’ Cora indulgently and inaccurately remarked. Afterwards they were rewarded with a stack of thickly cut wedges of bread and dripping while she collapsed back in her chair and, through rasping gasps for breath, urged Jess not to worry. ‘You’ve had a bad shock, lass. Best to take it easy for a while. Just be glad we’re shut of him. I certainly am.’

  ‘But I thought you adored him, Aunt Cora. Worshipped the ground he walked on.’

  ‘He looked after me well enough once, but you can maybe have too much of a good thing. Happen we’ll get a bit of peace round here now.’

  Cora was growing desperate to change the subject, almost willing the twins to be naughty. ‘Now then you two, don’t eat all that bread and dripping, leave some for your mam’s supper an’ all. Nay, look at the state of them hands!’ Glad of the distraction, she jumped to her feet again and began scrubbing their hand and faces of the terrible twosome with Carbolic soap.

  Having slept for much of the day in a state of shock, Jess had trouble getting off to sleep that night. She huddled under the covers listening to the intermittent sobs and snores of her mother beside her, still mourning for her lost love, and thought how things might have been so very different; how this budding romance between herself and Steve might well have developed, if life had continued as smoothly as she’d hoped. Tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting her pillow and draining her of all energy. Could it still? Could she tell him about this terrible thing that had been done to her?

  If she’d known him better, if they’d been engaged, or if he’d told her that he loved her, she might have been more confident of his reaction. But their friendship was too new, too fragile and she didn’t feel able to inflict it on him.

  Jess became so depressed that she even convinced herself that he might not believe in her innocence, that he’d assume she’d encouraged Bernie and brought it all on herself. Men could be like that sometimes. Hadn’t her mam said as much a thousand times, and perhaps, in this instance at least, Lizzie was right.

  And yet she didn’t want to lose him. Oh dear, what should she do?

  The next morning, aching with tiredness and red-eyed through lack of sleep, Jess went to the tea room as usual, pretending she’d had a touch of ‘flu but was quite recovered now. The other girls told her she still looked ill and should certainly be in bed, which was true in a way. Jess felt very much below par, almost as if she had indeed suffered a bad dose of influenza. Her limbs felt weak and trembling, one minute all hot and prickly, the next ice cold. She felt quite unable to show interest in anything or anyone around her, could concentrate on nothing, too haunted by the image of a life without Steve. How could she possibly survive now that she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with him?

  She spent much of that day and the next, constantly sneaking off to the bakery kitchens to get warm where Robert would very kindly give her a warm scone or a mug of hot cocoa. And most nights she spent sobbing quietly into her pillow.

  One afternoon towards the end of that dreadful week, Leah found her cuddled up in the airing cupboard, squeezed in beside the tea towels. ‘So this is where you’ve got to. I thought you might have gone off home, feeling sick again. You came back to work too soon. You’ve not been right all week.’

  Jess shook her head which had developed a dull ache, wishing for once that her friend would leave her alone. ‘I’m fine, really.’ But, apparently, Leah wanted to talk.

  She repeated the hilarious tale of the piano recital, which Jess had already heard ad nauseum so didn’t trouble to listen. She still felt strangely detached from reality, only vaguely aware of Leah’s voice droning on. It was as if the world had tilted and everything was slightly out of focus.

  What should she do about Steve?

  Something must have caught her attention because she tuned in again to hear Leah saying ‘I haven’t told Mother yet,’ rolling her eyes heavenwards in mock despair. ‘God knows what she’ll say. Harry is a darling, quite thrilling really and very romantic, don’t you think, to bring me roses and go down on one knee? I could hardly believe my eyes. Says I’ll be the making of him. Isn’t that lovely? But the fact he’s a Delaney will count against him, I’m afraid. Ma will not be pleased, bless her. Oh dear, and she had such high hopes for me. Too high for my taste, I’m afraid. I wondered if you’d be there when I told her. I mean, you are going to stand for me, aren’t you? Who else would I ask? And it would help so much if you explained how really he isn’t at all like his father.’

  ‘What did you say? Sorry, I think I’ve missed something. I thought for a minute you said Harry.’

  Leah flushed, carefully avoiding eye contact with Jess, knowing that in these past few weeks while she’d been seeing Harry, she’d deliberately misled her by letting her think it was Tommy she was pining over. ‘Of course I said Harry. Who else would I mean? Aren’t you listening to a word I say? Here’s me talking about going against my better judgement and tying the knot with your delicious cousin and you aren’t paying the slightest attention.’

  ‘Delicious cousin? Tying the knot?’ Jess regarded her friend through wide, astonished eyes, not quite able to believe she’d heard correctly. ‘That is what you said? But you can’t mean Harry. Our Harry! I thought it was Tommy who . . .’

  ‘No, I said Harry because I mean Harry. Isn’t Tommy in Italy? And it would hardly be dim Bert, would it? We’ve been walking out for a while, two or three months in fact. I thought you knew,’ she airily remarked, regarding Jess with a studied innocence.

  Jess was not fooled, not for a moment. She knew her friend far too well. ‘You deliberately didn’t tell me. You didn’t want me to know, did you? I can’t quite take this in. Harry isn’t sweet and decent like our Tommy. Harry is . . . Harry.’ Lost for words, appalled by the idea of her dear friend doing such a reckless, crazy thing she hotly protested, ‘You can’t do it. You can’t marry Harry!’

  ‘Why can’t I? I can marry anyone I choose. I being the operative word here, and not my mother. He’s explained to me how he’s taken over the club on Deansgate, has sown his wild oats in the past but now has a great future before him as a businessman. I do love him, you know. We have great fun together. He’s a bit . . . well, wild perhaps is the word, but he excites me Jess. He believes in living life to the full, even if that involves taking risks, as I do. You know how terribly boring I found Ambrose, every other man I ever met, in point of fact. And working at the tea room nearly drove me demented at times. I was always longing for something amazing to happen. Well, it has! I’m never bored with Harry. He’s the man for me.’

  ‘You’re not . . . He hasn’t put you up the duff, has he?’

  ‘Heavens, no. What do you think I am?’ The bright crimson that suddenly stained her cheeks, giving the lie to this cry of innocence.

  ‘Oh Leah, no.’

  Leah was shaking her head. ‘No, it’s all right. I did think I might be, for a while, but it was a false alarm. For heavens’ sake, be happy for me. No doubt you and Steve will be doing the same soon, so come down off your high horse and start thinking about what you’re going to wear. It’s Thursday next, so you’ll have to get your skates on. Not literally, of course. It isn’t a wedding on ice. Oh lord, listen to me, I’m growing hysterical now. Come to tea on Sunday. Please! I shall tell Daddy before he goes off to his ARP duties after lunch. He might not react too badly, but you simply have to be there when I tell Mother. Just to make sure murder isn’t done.’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I thought you, as my friend, would understand. It will mean that we’ll be sisters - or is it cousins-in-law? Related anyway.’

  Jess put her arms about Leah and hugged her tight, her mind a turmoil of emotion. Life seemed to be hitting her with one shock after another, and it was really all too much. ‘You realise you’re quite mad, joining the Delaney family.’

  ‘I understood it to be a requirement.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Jess’s presence when Leah an
nounced her wedding plans to her mother did not, in any way, seem to help as much as she’d hoped. Jess felt very much a spare part, an intruder between mother and daughter as, ashen faced and tight-lipped, Muriel made her feelings on the subject very plain. She did not approve of the match and never would, had no intention whatsoever of attending the forthcoming wedding and foresaw nothing but misery and disaster for the happy couple in the years ahead.

  Deep down, Jess had to agree with her; had already tried to say as much but her friend wasn’t listening.

  ‘And I would remind you, Leah dear, that you are still under age.’

  Leah, glassy eyed with fury, swiftly responded. ‘Fine, but don’t think you can stop me. Harry and I love each other and if you won’t give us permission then I’ll simply go and live with him. Cora would have me, wouldn’t she?’ Leah asked, defiantly turning to Jess.

  ‘I - I’m not sure. Little fazes Cora, it’s true, but the house is a bit overcrowded already, what with us all doubling up because me and mam have decided to stay on with Cora to keep her company, now Uncle Bernie isn’t around any more. Though that’s only so long as the pair of them manage not to do blue murder to each other.

  ‘For all the cause of their friction has done a bunk, they can’t resist letting fly at each other at the least provocation. Mam flung her porridge at Cora the other morning, so there’s no guarantee it’ll work.’

  From out the corner of her eye, Jess caught the look of absolute horror on Muriel’s face, saw a shudder run through her, and quickly strove to adopt a more positive note.

  ‘However, I heard Harry saying the other day that you and him could move into the little flat over the club, and Bert and his girl, Maisie, have found a place on Quay Street, so it should all work out.’ Jess ground to a halt in some confusion, not sure whether she’d made matters better or worse.

  Leah said, ‘You and Steve will be getting married soon too, won’t you?’ as if this would make her own decision seem perfectly reasonable.

  ‘Marriage? Oh, I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘Why? I thought you were itching to wed Steve Wyman.’

  Jess didn’t know what to say, how to explain her new doubts. ‘For one thing, he hasn’t asked me. For another, I’m far too young to even consider such a thing yet.’

  Muriel stoutly informed her daughter. ‘There you are, you see. Even dear Jess isn’t so stupid as to rush into matrimony. I maintain that you are far too young.’

  ‘How can you say that, when you’ve been trying to talk me into it for years?’

  ‘But that was with a nice young man, one with the right sort of background, and from a decent family who could offer you security and happiness, not a Delaney. I can only pray that you’ll have second thoughts, so please do give yourself time to think, and don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.’

  Jess cleared her throat. ‘That’s not bad advice, Leah.’

  Leah cast a furious glance in her friend’s direction and starkly retorted, ‘Thanks for your support. Big help you’ve been,’ and stormed from the house.

  Left alone with Mrs Simmons, Jess for some reason felt obliged to apologise. ‘I’m sorry. They are perhaps a bit young to go rushing into things, but at the same time Leah does have a point too. Harry is very go-ahead, and he certainly has looks, and charm.’ And knows how to use it to his own advantage, Jess thought, but blundered swiftly on. ‘What with Uncle Bernie having done a runner and Leah at his side, Harry might well settle down to become an honest and upright businessman. Who knows? She could be the making of him. And the family isn’t all bad. Cora’s lovely, and Tommy is as nice a boy as you could ever wish to meet. He’s honest and hard working, and he clearly adores her. Bert’s harmless enough, being too thick to be otherwise. I mean, if it weren’t for Harry he’d never have got up to half the scrapes he has. . .’ Having thus reminded Mrs Simmons that her daughter was about to marry the one Delaney who most resembled his disreputable, bullying father, she thought it politic to quietly take her leave. As Jess crept down the stairs she heard Muriel start to weep.

  Back home in Cumberland Street while her mother sat up in bed smoking her ‘last fag’, Jess paused only briefly in the application of smoothing cold cream over her face when Lizzie drily remarked, ‘That chap of yours came round this evening looking for you.’

  ‘What chap?’ Though the rapid beat of her heart was telling her that she knew only too well.

  ‘That musician bloke. Steve whatever he’s called.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That you were out with the God lot.’

  Jess bit back the urge to take issue with this comment and simply said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What’ll I tell him if he comes again?’

  ‘Tell him the same. That I’m out. That I’m busy.’

  ‘Hey up, love’s young dream died the death has it?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Nowt, only if you don’t want him, happen you wouldn’t mind if I had a crack at him myself. He’s a nice looking lad.’

  Jess switched off the light and slid into bed, keeping as far away from her mother as possible, paying no heed to her rasping, dry-throated laugh.

  Strangely enough, Bernie’s sudden and unexpected departure seemed to benefit the entire family. Except for herself. Jess felt certain that she would never be able to erase the memory of what had taken place that night. Steve hadn’t called again. She hadn’t in fact seen him for a few weeks. He’d sent a note to say that he’d called to explain that he’d be working overtime as they had an important operation on, some hush-hush project, which was very often the case.

  Against all reason that part of her brain which was so obsessed by the assault, even to the extent that she refused to put a name to it in her head, believed it might be that he’d somehow heard about what had happened, and that was why he stayed away. She welcomed his absence since it would give her the time she needed to think and to recover.

  Jess had considered writing a note by way of reply, to tell him that it was all over between them but that had seemed too cruel, too stark. Best to wait till this project, whatever it might be, was over and done with. By which time she should have acquired the necessary strength to face him.

  She had no idea whether Cora had confided in Harry and Bert; whether they knew all about the attack or not, or if they might mention it to their mates at the club after a pint or two. It made her a bit jumpy to think of gossip spreading behind her back, as it so easily seemed to do round here. The likes of Ma Pickles, Molly Gaum, and Cissie Armitage enjoyed nothing better than relishing other people’s troubles.

  When two more weeks slid by without the usual appearance of her period, Jess realised that her troubles had only just begun, that there were indeed to be repercussions, as Cora had feared. Leah had got away with a false alarm but she wasn’t going to be so fortunate.

  This was real. So if there was gossip now, it would soon get much, much worse.

  Despite a genuine sense of unease over Leah’s impulsive decision to marry Harry, the worst of the Delaney bunch in Jess’s opinion, she still felt a spurt of envy for her friend. It hurt more than she could describe that at this, the lowest point of what, for her, had never been an easy life, it should be Leah, cherished and over-protected by her doting parents, who came up smiling every time. She’d been spared the shame and dishonour of an illegitimate child, and she would be the one celebrating a wedding, free to enjoy life and love without fear. Jess hated herself for feeling this way, but jealousy was sharp and raw in her breast.

  She stared at her reflection in the spotted mirror on the wall of the bedroom, exclusively hers now that Lizzie had moved into the two boys’ old room, and watched tears of despair slide slowly down her pale cheeks. Her whole life seemed to lie in ruins at her feet. Jess couldn’t bear to imagine the revulsion in Steve’s face, should she ever tell him about the attack and its result. Even if he stuck by her, how would she know that it wasn’t simply out
of pity. Best to make a clean break now before matters went any further, before any more hurt was done.

  All she was left with was her music. Jess wished she could convince herself that this would be enough, that she didn’t need any love in her life, nor respectability. Both of which she’d craved all her young life. But even if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life as an outcast, she would survive somehow by pouring all her energy into her music and the band. Nothing would stop her from doing that. Not even a child. A child! Just saying those words chilled her to the bone. How could she feel any love for a child foisted upon her in such an evil way?

  Jess blamed herself for what had happened, truly believing that she’d brought about her own downfall, first by allowing Steve to make love to her, as surely no decent girl would do; conveniently forgetting in her misery how very much in love they’d been and how safe she had felt with him at that time. And then she’d made matters worse by provoking her uncle into such a rage that he’d – he’d done what he’d done.

  She couldn’t even describe it. Couldn’t say the word.

  Jess shuddered, slapped the tears of self-pity from her face. What good did it do to mope over things that couldn’t be altered? What couldn’t be cured must be endured, isn’t that what Cora was so fond of saying? And she would need to be tough to face whatever lay ahead.

  ‘There is no escape,’ she told herself sternly. ‘I shall simply have to learn to live with it, taking things one day at a time. What else is there to do, except hope and pray that a solution might present itself?’

  There would be no wedding for her. No love or life of blissful contentment. Jess knew in her heart that all hope of such things were now dead. She certainly didn’t have the nerve to go to Steve and tell him she was pregnant, because how could she be certain that the child was his? That being the case, how could she possibly expect him to accept one which had been forced upon her in such a revolting manner, the child of her own uncle.