Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Leah looked lovely in a blue velvet gown with pink bud roses and lilies-of-the-valley in her bouquet and on the circlet she wore in her lovely dark hair. Her bright blue eyes shone with happiness, only occasionally clouding over when she remembered the pressure she’d had to apply in order to get permission for this wedding to take place. Neither parent had attended and there was no reception afterwards at Simmons’s Tea Room. Not even her father was present to give her away, that role being carried out by her brother Robert. Jess was maid of honour in a pretty, strawberries and cream two-piece, while Bert acted as best man to a beaming Harry, who looked particularly pleased with himself.

  ‘They’ll come round love,’ he kept saying, whenever Leah glanced anxiously and hopefully towards the door. ‘Even if it takes a week or two. Anyroad, they’ll come fast enough when the first grandchild appears.’

  ‘Don’t be crude, Harry,’ his mother scolded. Cora, at least, had come up trumps by providing a substantial tea of potted meat sandwiches and home made scones and jam (since she still hadn’t run short of sugar). And, of course, one of her famous trifles.

  Harry and Bert had made sure there would be enough booze for friends and family to enjoy; so plentiful that by the time the groom finally staggered to the marital bed at four in the morning, he scarcely even noticed that it was already occupied by his neglected. Leah lay listening to his drunken snores until every last tear had been shed and exhaustion finally claimed her.

  Jess was thankful in the coming weeks for the distraction of her work at the mobile canteen, which was as hectic as ever. Manchester had taken a battering over these last two years and she couldn’t help wondering if it would ever be the same again. Much of Deansgate near to the Cathedral was in ruins. Nearer to home, Young Street had gone, parts of Duke Street and Camp Street were badly damaged among countless others, including Gatrix’s warehouse on Quay Street where her mother had once worked in the days when she’d taken a bit more care of herself; close to where Bert and his girlfriend, Maisie, were now living.

  Harry and Leah, as agreed, had moved into the little flat above the pub, or Delaney’s Club, as it was now known, where they were settling happily into married life. At least, Jess presumed they were. She’d seen little of them since the wedding as Leah had failed to show up at a couple of functions that the band had been involved with, which had left them short of a pianist. She still worked at the tea room and had been anxious to apologise, swearing that it wouldn’t happen again, but there seemed to be so little time to chat recently, as if neither of them felt quite in the mood to exchange confidences as easily as they once had. Perhaps they were growing up: Leah wishing to keep her married life private and Jess too conscious of her own shameful secret, of which she couldn’t even bear to think.

  And still she hadn’t seen Steve.

  Keeping her mind firmly on the task in hand, she put a scraping of marg on another slice of bread and agreed with Ma Pickles, who’d just popped in to see how she was, that yes, it looked as if they might be lucky and escape a raid tonight.

  ‘Have you time for a cuppa?’ Jess offered, more out of good manners than a desire to sit and chat with one of the worst gossips on Deansgate, next to Molly ‘British Gaumont News’ who was at this very moment sitting in the corner opposite.

  ‘I’ll not say no. I saw your Lizzie earlier, three sheets to the wind as usual and propping up the bar at that fancy place what your Harry runs now.’

  Jess turned quickly away so that the old woman wouldn’t see the concern in her eyes. Nasty old maggot, she thought, so that’s why she’s ‘popped in’, to crow over Lizzie’s latest fall from grace. Just as well she isn’t too interested in my state of health.

  Molly Gaum’s voice rang out, ‘Oh aye, it’s a growing problem you knows, in view of all the yanks stationed locally.’ Guessing she was talking about the rash of illegitimate births, Jess felt quite certain that guilt must be written all over her own face, even though she hadn’t been near an American GI. She hastily applied herself to buttering bread, determined not to listen to any more nasty remarks, or react to Ma Pickles sniping.

  ‘I thought you’d happen want to know,’ Ma Pickles persisted, disappointed by the lack of response.

  ‘Ta very much! Most kind of you, I’m sure.’

  A small silence and then, ‘Your Uncle Bernie not back from his travels then?’ She narrowed her deceptively mild gaze, edging closer so that she could focus more closely upon Jess.

  ‘No doubt he’ll turn up again one day, like a bad penny,’ Jess tartly replied, not anxious to discuss family business with the likes of Ma Pickles. ‘Now, you’ll have to excuse me, we’re a bit busy tonight.’

  Despite there being no raids on, the place was packed with people, all apparently in need of assistance. Sergeant Ted was busily occupied taking down details of someone in need of accommodation. He kept a list of anyone prepared to offer temporary bed and board but a permanent arrangement was always more difficult as so many buildings had been damaged and rooms were in short supply. Many families were stretched to breaking point with overcrowding.

  Harriet was trying to calm a woman who’d lost touch with her mother and sister. They’d become separated after their house was hit and she hadn’t been able to find them since. She was desperately worried, not certain that they’d even survived. Harriet was assuring her that everything possible would be done to locate her family, by sending details through the network set up by the Salvation Army for this very purpose.

  Many of their regulars had popped in simply because they sought solace from the desperate conditions at home, thankful to be free of a night spent in the air-raid shelter and while they slurped hot soup or gulped down great mugs of tea, conversation revolved around the war, as always. Everyone agreed that there was a general feeling that a corner had been turned and they were on the home straight.

  ‘We have the planes, that’s why, and the brave chaps to fly them. Bomber Harris has made a big difference,’ one man said. ‘Not least through a sustained assault on German Industry which has knocked the stuffing out of them.’

  ‘Aye, but they’ve suffered too, them lads. Had the stuffing knocked out of them a few times,’ said another, and went on to claim that it was the Russians capturing Stalingrad and pushing the Germans back further, which had finally done the trick.

  Italy had apparently sunk into political chaos and largely given up altogether, and it was generally agreed that the North Africa campaign had ended in total victory. Finally, since the attacks on Hamburg in July where more people had lost their lives than in the London blitz, everyone believed that the enemy was all but beaten. Yet it hardly seemed appropriate to celebrate, and Jess’s heart went out to those German families caught up in this terrible war with the Nazis through no fault of their own, just as folk were here in England.

  And how was her Dad surviving? She’d got one postcard with various printed sentences upon it, many crossed out, others with ticks beside them. It told her little more than that he was alive and being well taken care of. Jess didn’t believe that for a minute.

  ‘Nay, we’re getting maudlin here. Play us a tune, Jess love,’ Molly Gaum urged, and she readily agreed. Anything to take her mind off her problems.

  She played Kenny Baker’s Always in my Heart, sentimental enough to bring the tears to anyone’s eyes, too much for Jess so she changed to We’ll Meet Again; The White Cliffs of Dover; and all the usual favourites in order to get everyone singing. But when someone called for I’ll Be Seeing You, she shook her head and hurried into the kitchen to do the washing up instead.

  ‘Are you all right, Jess?’ Sergeant Ted asked, his kind eyes soft and enquiring.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. Only I’m a bit pushed this week at work, do you mind if I skip my lesson for once? Mam’s not been too well.’

  ‘Course love. Whatever you like.’

  She smiled, all her heart in the gaze she bestowed upon him. ‘It was a lucky day for
me when I dropped that bugle. Where would I have been without the Sally Army all these years? You’ve kept me sane.’

  He patted her shoulder, only too aware of her personal difficulties at home. ‘Things will buck up for you soon, love. The war won’t last for ever, and you’re very nearly a woman. You’ll soon be in charge of your own life. Free to make your own way.’

  Jess turned away to plunge her hands into the hot soapy water, not able to bear his sympathy. ‘I’ll get this lot done,’ she said in her brightest voice, and wisely Ted left her to it, so that he wouldn’t see her tears fall. He didn’t rightly know what was wrong, didn’t like to enquire too closely, but something was.

  Resolutely dry-eyed, Jess strove to get her emotions back under control. There was too much suffering in this world already, people who’d lost loved ones, those who’d been maimed and injured by the bombing, far worse than she had to deal with so where was the point in self pity? She felt proud to wear the red shield, worn by Salvationists involved in social and emergency services since the early days in the First World War. Soldiers then had been glad to see the ‘Doughnut Girls’ bringing sustenance and a cheerful smile. Jess knew that many had also been gifted musicians, boosting the morale of the front line troops, singing, praying and leaving wild flowers at the grave-sides. The canteens thought of themselves now as a ‘flying squad’ ready to move at a moment’s notice on the home battle front.

  Sometimes, Jess worked all night long, not getting to bed until the early hours. There’d been times when she’d found this hard going, having to work at the tea room the next day. But in the weeks following the assault and this knowledge of a new life growing within her, she welcomed it. Normal sleep seemed beyond her, therefore a state of exhaustion was a requirement to stop her thinking too much.

  Jess’s desire to concentrate on her music was granted in an unexpected way. To their astonishment and delight, Delaney’s All Girls Band was asked to play on the wireless. Some producer or other had seen them perform and he wanted them for a late night show which featured new bands.

  ‘It’s on a Monday night,’ Adele said, puffing frantically on the third cigarette she’d started since she’d heard the news just moments before, ‘so nobody will be listening.’

  Jess smiled, knowing that the thought of playing to so many people had given her an attack of the nerves. That’s why she was sometimes late for a rehearsal, though she’d never yet missed the start of a performance. Her stage fright was crippling and she would often be found sitting back stage sucking sherbet dabs. Once out there in front of an audience, however, it was a different matter and she would play her heart out, loving every minute of it.

  Lulu was very excited. ‘This could be a big thing for us. Lift us on to a whole new level.’

  ‘Too right,’ Ena said. ‘Today the wireless, tomorrow the Ritz.’

  ‘Oh, hecky-pecky thump,’ Adele groaned, and Miss Mona silently handed her another sherbet dab.

  On the night in question, they fumbled their way through the streets in the blackout, then into the studio with their instruments and gas masks at the ready, creeping around a bewildering array of screens and curtains so that not a glimmer of light would escape. They didn’t speak, not even to console the shivering Adele as they were all nervous now, wishing they were simply doing a gig at a factory or hospital.

  But once inside, the atmosphere changed. They entered a brightly lit room full of jolly people all happy to see them and anxious to make them feel relaxed and comfortable. The session went like a dream. They forgot all about being ‘on air’ and just enjoyed themselves. They played their socks off, and afterwards the bookings just rolled in.

  They worked so hard over the next few weeks that on one occasion Jess ended up with a swollen lip and for a time it looked as if she might not be able to go on but luckily it calmed down sufficiently for her to play.

  Performing on air had given them a new confidence in themselves and they began to experiment, to ‘take off’ by improvising more freely, to develop their own melodic lines and chord changes. Playing the same arrangements over and over for dances can become boring, so it felt good to spice thing up a little. They’d ask their audience to name their favourites and the requests would pour in, then they’d finish with some really hot swing numbers.

  ‘We’re a success! We’ve done it!’ Leah yelled.

  We certainly have, Jess thought. If only life could always be this good. She knew Steve had called round, several times in fact, but fortunately she’d always been out. He’d even written to her but she’d torn up the envelopes without opening them. Jess felt guilty about doing this but was fearful of seeing him, of saying what needed to be said.

  One evening, Jess had her hands deep in a bowl of flour making Yorkshire puddings in the kitchen of the mobile canteen, when she glanced up to find him leaning on the door jamb, grinning at her. ‘I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, now that you’re famous. You were never in when I called, and didn’t answer any of my letters.’

  She covered her lack of composure with as careless a tone as she could manage. ‘It’s not that at all. I’ve just been busy. Anyway, I thought you were working on some special project or other?’

  ‘Is that all you have to say? No, hello Steve. Good to see you, Steve. I’ve been longing for you day after day, Steve.’ He came towards her and Jess quickly went to fetch baking powder to add to the National flour she’d just sieved into a bowl. He frowned slightly. ‘It’s true, we’ve had a big job on, as I explained in my notes. You did get them, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I got them. Er, they’re around somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve missed you so much, Jess. I rather hoped you might have missed me. Anyway, I came to say that as from tomorrow, I’m all yours. So you can fill me in on all your exciting news, your great success.’ Hazel eyes twinkled merrily at her, trilby hat perched beguilingly at the back of his head, a thatch of unruly red-brown hair falling disarmingly over his forehead and she had an almost unbearable urge to run her fingers through it, to smother his beloved face with kisses and tell him how very much she loved him. He looked as untidy as ever in an ill-matched suit and tie but to Jess he had never looked more handsome, or his smile more enticing. She drew in a deep, calming breath.

  ‘How have I had time to miss you? When I’m not at the tea room, I’m here. When I’m not here, I’m playing in the band some place or other. I’ve been run off my feet, if you want to know.’

  ‘That much is obvious,’ he said, dusting flour from the tip of her nose. ‘And I must say that it suits you.’ He was about to slide his arms about her waist but Jess side-stepped away, neatly evading his touch as she dashed over to the cupboard to fetch a packet of dried egg. She simply couldn’t have borne it if he’d touched her, not just then.

  ‘I did intend to write to you,’ she said, and then wished she could bite back the words, unspoken.

  ‘A billet doux you mean? Oh yes, please do, I’d really love to get one of those from you, my darling. Why didn’t you? There’s no need to be shy.’ He caught hold of her on the way back, pulling her close, nuzzling his mouth against her throat. Quite against her better judgement, Jess was melting against him, growing light headed with her need to let him kiss her. Yet desperate not to yield to her emotions she pushed him away and turned her agonised gaze away from the hurt that sprang into his eyes.

  ‘What is it, Jess? What’s happened? Someone upset you?’

  ‘No, course not. Like I say, I’m busy, that’s all. Besides, it wouldn’t have been that sort of letter. I needed to tell you, to explain – I mean. . .’ Oh, sweet Jesus, this was far more difficult than she’d ever imagined, even in her worst nightmares. Again she took a deep breath. The only way was simply to come right out with it. ‘I think we have to stop seeing each other. It’s over.’

  The silence following this breathless statement was deep and profound. Jess filled it by adding reconstituted milk to the pudding mix and starting to beat very hard.r />
  Steve put out a hand to quietly stop her. ‘Would you mind repeating that, very slowly please?’

  Still she didn’t look at him. ‘We have to end it. Now!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’m not ready . . .’

  ‘Ready for what? Marriage? I don’t recall us getting round to discussing such matters, or my asking you. Though I intended to, sweetheart. Dear God, you know that I did. I thought – believed, we had something going for us. What’s changed? What in hell’s name has happened to make you so cold towards me all of a sudden? It’s not this damned wireless thing, is it? You haven’t gone all grand on me?’

  ‘Of course not, don’t be silly.’

  ‘Then what it is, for God’s sake?’ And when she didn’t immediately answer, ‘talk to me, for pity’s sake, Jess.’

  ‘I can’t talk now. Can’t you see how busy I am. Anyway, like I say, it’s over. There’s nothing more to be said,’ and she calmly began to pour Yorkshire pudding mixture into sizzling hot pans.

  She didn’t dare to glance at him, knowing his face to be all pinched and white, yet Jess was acutely aware of his eyes following her every movement in pained disbelief. She knew to the second when he turned on his heel and walked out the door even though he made not a sound, for she felt as if he’d taken her heart with him.

  Life for Leah wasn’t quite so rosy as she’d hoped, though had she been thinking more clearly she would have recalled that Jess had tried to warn her, right in the beginning. Even Cora had once commented that her lads were ‘an acquired taste’.

  But she soon learned the truth of that, even between the sheets. Harry was still ready and willing to prove himself the great stud he imagined himself to be, except on the nights he was somewhat the worse for wear, when it was more problematic. But no one, certainly not his trusting, adoring wife, could accuse him of being romantic.