‘You are. Nobody showed me how to dance before.’
She smothered a small sigh. ‘We’ll have another one later then, if you like,’ she said, thinking that this wasn’t exactly fulfilling her hopes for this evening. Especially as she glimpsed Dolly and Jim laughing at them as Billy held her carefully away from him so that he could watch her feet and match their movements.
She might have known they were going to be stuck with them. From the moment Dolly’s eyes had lit up at the sight of Jim making his way towards her, Gracie knew they were done for. Nobody else was going to break into the foursome and ask her to dance now. And if Dolly thought she had found her love-match in the oafish Jim, she certainly hadn’t done so with his mate. But he didn’t want to dance very often, so they sat it out while the others got on with it.
It hardly put her in a very good frame of mind, and halfway through the evening the band left the stage, off for a breather, and Dolly and Jim were dancing to gramophone records. Gracie closed her eyes briefly, preferring to listen to the music rather than to Billy’s awkward attempts to chat. His offering to buy her another glass of lemonade in this interval had been the highlight of the evening so far, and she sent him off gladly.
‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, miss?’ a voice said, close by.
She felt a rush of guilty relief, knowing it wasn’t Billy’s voice, and that at least she might have one decent dance this evening, with someone who didn’t hold her as if she was another sack of coal. She opened her eyes quickly, a ready smile on her lips, and then gaped.
The saxophone player, looking just as handsome close to as he had on his exalted position on the stage, was smiling down at her.
‘Oh—I—yes, thank you!’ She was momentarily as tongue-tied as Billy had ever been. And then he held out his hand to take hers, and she forgot Billy existed as she walked down to the dance floor with the saxophone player, aware of people watching and whispering, recognizing him from the band, and obviously envying the girl he’d chosen to be his partner.
‘I’ve been wanting to dance with you from the moment I saw you come in,’ he said, as he took her in his arms.
‘Have you?’ Gracie asked faintly, knowing this was absolutely the wrong way to react. She should be as cool as a cucumber, like the debs who were pictured in the newspapers, all with their noses in the air and wearing their lovely gowns, and reeking with their daddy’s money.
‘Don’t say you didn’t notice me looking at you,’ the saxophone player said with an easy smile. ‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you until I had to. That’s the penalty of playing in a band. It’s only in the interval when they play gramophone records that I get the chance to dance with a beautiful girl.’
Without warning, Gracie felt madly, ridiculously jealous of all the beautiful girls he’d danced with before.
‘I bet you say that to all your dancing partners,’ she said.
‘Not all of it,’ he said, whisking her expertly around the room. ‘And I’m being guilty of appalling bad manners, because I haven’t introduced myself. My name’s Charles Morrison, but everyone calls me Charlie.’
‘And I’m plain Gracie Brown.’
Charlie laughed softly, his arm tightening around her waist to steer her out of the way of the other dancers.
‘Oh, there’s nothing in the least plain about you, Gracie Brown.’
She looked up into his eyes, as blue as her own, and she felt a tingling deep inside her such as she had never experienced before. So this was how it felt when you met the knight on the white charger who was going to sweep you off your feet, Gracie thought weakly. Only in her case, it was the saxophone player at the local Palais who was whirling her around the dance-floor and making her dizzy.
2
‘Blimey, you didn’t waste much time,’ Dolly said. ‘You were looking at that bloke as if you could eat him.’
‘At least I wasn’t fastened so tightly to him that you couldn’t put a penny between us,’ Gracie said crossly.
‘So what? Jim’s a real man, not a poncy dance-band player.’
‘There’s nothing poncy about Charles. Charlie, I mean.’
‘Oh my gawd. Charles, is it? Going up in the world, ain’t you? I bet you didn’t tell him you worked for Lawson’s Shirt Factory.’
‘We were only dancing, not telling each other our life histories.’
But she felt a touch of dismay as she said the words. Charlie—Charles Morrison—was obviously out of her class. He was clever for a start, nimble with his fingers in an artistic and different way from the way she kept her machine going at the sweat shop. She might look the part tonight, and he might think she was a society girl and not a humble shirt-maker. But the thought of her being mistaken for a society girl made her laugh.
‘What’s got into you now?’ Dolly said, pressing more of her favourite Tangee lipstick on to her scarlet lips.
‘I was just wondering what Charlie would think if he knew how my old man sweated for a living down Southampton docks, that’s all.’
‘What difference does that make to a pound of fish?’
‘None,’ Gracie said, pulling her wayward auburn curls more neatly around her cheeks with a lick of spit. ‘Only that he probably meets all the nobs in his job, and I was just a face in the crowd.’
She felt a swift surge of misery at the thought. She really liked him. He could talk nicely, and she knew she had tightened up her sloppy talk when they were dancing. She ignored the memory of her mum saying with a sniff that putting on airs never got anybody anywhere, our Gracie, and it’ll only end in tears …
‘You should think a bit more of yourself,’ Dolly went on lecturing. ‘I told you he had his eye on you. He never needs to know what your dad does, does he? Tell him you’re a duchess, out slumming for the evening,’ she invented wildly.
Gracie laughed again. ‘I’m sure he’d believe that! Especially if he’d seen me hauling poor Billy around on the dance-door.’
‘I suppose a coalman’s not good enough for you now,’ Dolly said.
‘Well, not Billy! Nor Jim, if you want to know what I think.’
‘I don’t. Anyway, he’s good enough for me, and you’re a snob!’
She flounced out of the ladies’ cloakroom, and Gracie felt her cheeks flame. How could she be called a snob when she worked like stink from morning till night in that miserable sweat shop for a pittance? The only thing that kept her there, apart from the excitement of living and working in London and being independent, was that the girls were allowed to take scraps of material home, and she was skilled at making smart blouses from the offcuts. She didn’t need to look poor, just because she was a docker’s daughter.
She lifted her chin high and marched out of the ladies’ cloakroom to make her peace with Dolly. If she fancied Jim and didn’t mind being pawed by those unsavoury fingernails, it was none of her business.
The band was playing again now, and her searching eyes went straight to Charlie. He really was lovely-looking, and any girl would be proud to have him as her young man. For a moment, Gracie let herself dream. And then a classy-looking girl with blonde hair, wearing a black evening dress and long, satin black gloves went on to the stage and began to sing, and Gracie’s heart jolted.
‘Looks like you’ve got a rival, Gracie,’ Dolly said, close beside her.
Gracie tried not to feel disappointed or stupidly betrayed, when she had no business to be, just because he had danced one dance with her. Just because he had picked her out of the couple of hundred people here, and made a point of coming up to the table where she sat, and asked her in that so-polite way if she would care to dance with him. He probably did that on every occasion. He probably played at ever so many dances, every night of the week except Sunday, and she’d be a fool if she thought she was anybody special.
‘Do you want another dance, Gracie?’ Billy asked her a while later.
She gave a sigh. He was all right in a dull, undemonstrative kind of way, but he wasn’t the
sort to make any girl’s blood tingle. But he looked at her so hopefully that she didn’t have the heart to refuse him.
‘All right, but then I’m going outside for a breath of fresh air.’
She had to admit that the atmosphere was becoming claustrophobic. There were too many people crammed into a hall that had seemed large and spacious at first, and now seemed pathetically small for them all.
The air was thick with cigarette smoke, wafting upwards to that great glittering ball of light in the ceiling, creating wreaths and patterns of a peculiar opaque beauty. The smoke made her cough, and crushed in the middle of the heaving mass of dancers she realized she was finding it hard to breathe comfortably.
‘Billy, I need some air,’ she said, her throat catching.
‘All right,’ he said, obliging as ever.
They began to push through the dancers. Other people seemed to be coughing too, Gracie realized, and her eyes started to water. It shouldn’t be like this on the Grand Opening …
Even as the uneasy thought swirled into her mind, people began shouting. Excitement at the occasion turned to mild alarm and then panic. The shouts became screams, and nearing the door, Gracie swivelled around to see flickers of fire appear as if from nowhere.
‘Run, Gracie,’ she heard Billy shout, pushing her so hard she almost fell.
‘Get out while you can, ducks, before you’re fried to a crisp,’ someone yelled in her ear.
All the doors were suddenly opened, and Gracie was nearly flattened as the mass of people fought to get out of the hall through what seemed now to be minuscule openings. A huge roar sounded behind her, as a sheet of flame was ignited by the rush of air from outside.
Without warning, the beautiful, slowly circulating ball of lights in the centre of the hall came crashing down on the people right beneath it. Shards of glass flew everywhere, and the dancers’ finery was quickly sprayed with blood, and worse.
‘Gawd Almighty, what’s happening?’
Dolly’s scratchy voice came to Gracie through the chaos, and she grabbed hold of her friend’s hand and almost hurled her through the open door to the welcome air outside. They fell to the ground, in real danger of being trampled by the others following, and the next minute they were hauled to their feet and pulled sideways into a nearby alley. It happened so fast that what had been such a splendid occasion, was now a heaving mass of bodies all trying to escape from the pall of black smoke and flames coming from the building.
Gracie and Dolly were still catching their breath when the sound of fire engines streaking through the night added to the unreality, and they clung to one another in sheer relief that they were alive, even though it became clear that many were not going to be so lucky.
‘Bloody good thing we were near the entrance,’ Jim said hoarsely, flexing his knuckles in his familiar way, as if to fight the whole damn world if he could.
‘The poor buggers who were nearest the band didn’t stand a chance,’ Dolly sobbed, her face streaked and ugly with tears, her lipstick smeared across her cheeks like a garish clown’s face.
Gracie felt her heart stop. Nobody knew what had started the fire, but the Palais had been built on the site of an old warehouse. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, one of their lodgers had said, which seemed like a horrible omen now. But Gracie was remembering that the band had been playing at the far end of the hall, well away from the entrance doors. Charlie Morrison had been playing his saxophone, and it was a sure bet now that he was one of those who had been burnt to a crisp … that handsome young man, whom she had foolishly dreamed was going to be her knight in shining armour …
‘Gawd Almighty, what’s got into her now?’ Jim asked irritably, as Gracie started keening uncontrollably.
‘It’s shock,’ Dolly said, startled by this uncharacteristic wailing.
‘There’s only one way to deal with that,’ Jim told her, and Gracie felt a stinging slap across the side of her face.
‘What are you doing?’ Dolly yelled. ‘Have you gone bleedin’ mad?’
She pummelled at his chest to stop him, and the next minute she went reeling as he punched her back.
‘You silly bitch, can’t you see I’m doing it for the best?’
‘No. I think you’re doing it because you like hitting women,’ Dolly raged, pulling Gracie into her arms, and wincing at the pain in her bruised chest.
‘It ain’t the first time,’ she heard Billy snigger.
People were pushing past them to get away from the inferno, not bothering with the four people bunched up against the wall of the alley, and more concerned with saving their own skins as the beautiful new Palais went up in smoke.
‘I’m getting her home,’ Dolly said through gritted teeth. ‘You two can go and stuff yourselves for all I care.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. Tell you what. I’ll see you in the park on Sunday, Dolly.’ Jim grinned.
‘Not if I see you first. Are you loony or something?’ Dolly said, and then yelped as she banged her head against the wall as Gracie jerked out of her arms.
‘Don’t even think of seeing this lout again, Dolly,’ Gracie screamed. ‘He’s nothing but a bully.’
‘And you’re such a little princess, ain’t you?’ Jim sneered. ‘Anyway, what goes on between Dolly and me ain’t no business of yours.’
‘Come on, Gracie,’ Dolly said, grabbing her arm and pushing her through the people running out of the alley towards the street beyond. ‘We need to get away before they start asking for witnesses.’
They twisted away from the coalmen, but as they reached the main street they were faced with several men asking questions and taking notes.
‘We don’t know anything,’ Gracie yelled in a panic. ‘We were dancing like everybody else when the air suddenly got choked and then the fire started.’
‘And you are?’
Dolly pushed forward, seeing what all this was about before Gracie did.
‘What’s it worth for our story, mate?’
‘A few bob if it’s reliable,’ the man said.
‘OK then. I’m Dolly Neath and this is my friend Gracie Brown, and we work at Lawson’s Shirt Factory. We was quite near the entrance so we could get out when the fire started—’
‘Dolly, they’re reporters,’ Gracie ground out. ‘They’ll put our names in the papers. Don’t tell them any more.’
‘Why not? Don’t you want to be famous?’
‘If my mum and dad get to see any of this, they’ll make me go back to Southampton, you idiot.’
‘Hold still, girls,’ came a voice, and as they stopped arguing, their eyes met a camera flash, and then a few coins were pressed into Dolly’s hand before the newspaper men slithered away like the snakes Gracie’s dad always said they were.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ she raged, but Dolly was looking with disgust at the paltry sum she’d been paid.
‘Next time I’ll invent something really wild, and get paid properly for my trouble! And I’ll be looking half-decent for a picture in the paper as well and not like a bleedin’ scarecrow—’
Gracie felt alarmed. ‘Oh God, my folks will kill me if they see my picture in the paper. You don’t really think they’ll show them, do you?’
‘Nah. They’ll be taking pictures of the fire and any toffs who got fried.’
‘Oh shut up, Dolly. That’s a horrible thing to say.’
‘Why is it? You got to face facts, and it stands to reason that some of them were done for. ‘Specially those near the band—’
She stopped talking at the stricken look on Gracie’s face.
‘Oh, sorry, gel, I wasn’t thinking. But don’t worry about your saxophone player. The band came through a door at the other end of the hall to get on the stage, didn’t they? Stands to reason they’d have been all right.’
She tried to sound confident for Gracie’s sake, when in reality she didn’t have any idea of the band’s arrangements. It just seemed to make sense on a night when nothing else did.
But neither of them wanted to hang around any longer, and they ran down the street until they could catch a tram back to the boarding-house, ignoring the black looks of the other passengers who clearly thought they’d been up to no good.
* * *
As the next day was Sunday, there would be no reports of the fire in the newspapers yet, and no work until Monday morning. Which was just as well, considering the state of Gracie’s bruised cheeks, and the ache in Dolly’s chest where Jim had punched her.
They couldn’t keep their discomfort away from the prying eyes of the landlady, though, and during breakfast, she snapped at the two factory girls.
‘I don’t know what you two have been up to, but let me remind you that this is a respectable establishment, and if you start bringing trouble back here, you’ll be out on your ears quicker than blinking.’
‘We’re not bringing trouble back, Mrs Warburton,’ Gracie said, before Dolly could answer back. ‘We were caught up in the terrible fire at the new Palais last night, though. Hasn’t anybody told you about it yet?’
The bleary-eyed laundry worker, back from his night shift, nodded.
‘The girl’s right, Mrs W. They say it burned to the ground, and after they spent all that money on it as well. They all said it was courting disaster to build it on top of an old warehouse. Gawd knows what was underneath it.’
Mrs Warburton was clearly displeased at being the last to hear.
‘It would be the Lord’s work then. I always said such places were dens of evil.’
‘More likely to be the work of some more earthly devils handy with a box of matches,’ Dolly said in a loud aside.
The landlady looked at her coldly. ‘You should be careful about saying such thing, Miss Neath. Dirt sticks, you know.’
‘Daft old trout,’ Dolly said, as the landlady went out of the dining-room. ‘It’s not as if we was smoking cigarettes, anyway.’
Another lodger added his piece.
‘You know how particular Mrs Warburton is, and if she thought you girls had taken up smoking, she’d send you packing. It’s all right for a man to smoke a pipe,’ he added, ‘but cigarette smoking is unbecoming for young girls.’
Unforgettable Page 2
