When We Danced at the End of the Pier

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘Shush,’ I said.

  ‘What’s he going to talk about anyway?’ she said.

  ‘He’s going to talk about him and Mrs Simpson.’

  ‘Even more boring,’ said Brenda, rolling her eyes.

  ‘This is history, Brenda.’

  ‘Well, I hate history.’

  ‘Cover your ears then.’

  The voice that had been coming out of the wireless faded away and there was more crackling and whistling.

  Jack’s mum came through from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks.

  ‘Has it started yet?’ she said, putting the tray on the table.

  ‘Your husband’s still trying to get it to work, Mrs Forrest,’ said Mrs Boniface.

  Jack’s mum squeezed herself in between Mrs Gadd from number twelve and Mrs Hacker from twenty-four.

  Suddenly the King’s voice boomed into the room, startling everyone. Mrs Boniface jumped and let out a girly squeal. Mr Boniface glared at her. I always thought that, in their case, Boniface was a very unfortunate surname because they definitely weren’t.

  Silence descended on the room as the King started to speak.

  ‘At long last I am able to say a few words of my own. I have never wanted to withhold anything, but until now it has not been constitutionally possible for me to speak.

  ‘A few hours ago I discharged my last duty as King and Emperor, and now that I have been succeeded by my brother, the Duke of York, my first words must be to declare my allegiance to him. This I do with all my heart.

  ‘You know all the reasons which have compelled me to renounce the throne but I want you to understand that, in making up my mind, I did not forget the country or the empire which, as Prince of Wales, and lately as King, I have for twenty-five years tried to serve. But you must believe me when I tell you that I found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as King as I would wish without the help and support of the woman I love.’

  You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Mrs Gadd and Mrs Boniface were sniffing and Monica was sobbing. I put my arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Well, that’s that then,’ said Jack’s dad, switching the wireless off. ‘It’s really happened and at least he’s been honest about it.’

  ‘But it’s so sad,’ hiccupped Monica.

  Mr Boniface took out a tin of baccy and started rolling a fag. ‘I’m not sure that brother of his has got the backbone for the job,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Gadd, ‘I reckon he picked a good’n with that wife of his. That little body’s got backbone and I reckon, with her behind him, he’ll be alright.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think he wanted this,’ said Jack’s dad. ‘His brother has grown up knowing that one day he would be the King, he’s been prepared for it all his life but Bertie hasn’t and I think he will need all the support he can get. History has been made this day, so let us all drink to the health of our new King, George VI.’

  Everyone stood, picked up a glass of sherry from the tray and looked at Jack’s dad.

  ‘God bless the King,’ said Jack’s dad.

  ‘God bless the King,’ said everyone else.

  All I could think of was Peter standing in the middle of the bookshop with tears rolling down his face. I felt like giggling but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I needn’t have worried, because at that point Mrs Boniface knocked back her glass of sherry and said, ‘What I can’t understand is why any woman in her right mind would call a baby Wallis.’

  Thirty-Two

  Nelson had been sent to an army training camp in Aldershot. He wrote to me and Jack every week and we wrote back. He seemed really happy. His letters were full of war manoeuvres on the wild, windy plains with a great bunch of young men from all over the country. ‘Sometimes I feel as if I’m in a John Wayne movie,’ he wrote. ‘Remember when we used to run around the beach shooting at each other, Jack?’

  He moaned about the food and the cold barracks but you could just tell that he was loving every minute of it. ‘I’ve made good friends with a bloke from Liverpool. His name’s Albert White and everyone calls him Chalky. I can barely understand what he’s saying because of his accent but we hit it off straightaway.’

  I looked at Jack’s face as he read the letter and wondered if he was just a little bit jealous of Nelson’s new friend, but he seemed happy enough. Jack wasn’t the jealous type.

  Our letters were dull by comparison. I tried to make the bookshop sound more interesting than it was and the customers funnier than they actually were. I told him all about Peter and Hassan sitting in the yard, putting the world to rights. I told him about Maggie and how nice she was and the dusty bookshelves that looked like they were going to fall down at any minute.

  ‘What can I say about college?’ said Jack one evening when we were replying to one of Nelson’s letters, ‘that is even mildly interesting?’

  ‘It’s enough that you are there, Jack, and doing what you always wanted to do. Nelson is so proud of you. We all are,’ I added.

  ‘There must be something else we can talk about,’ said Jack, ‘that isn’t book related.’

  We both sat thinking about what we could say to Nelson that was interesting.

  ‘I know. We could go to the pictures,’ I said. ‘Then we can tell him all about the films, just like we used to.’

  ‘You are a genius, Maureen O’Connell. What are you?’

  ‘I’m a genius, Jack Forrest.’

  ‘I don’t even mind if it’s a Western,’ I said. ‘Nelson likes Westerns.’

  ‘There’s a film on at the Regent called Girls Can Play starring Rita Hayworth. We could go and see that, maybe Monica would like to come.’

  I was a bit disappointed that Jack wanted Monica to come with us; I wanted him all to myself, but that was selfish because I knew Monica would love to come.

  Monica had the left the orange fingers factory and was now working at the golf-ball factory. Her fingers were gradually returning to their normal colour.

  We were in my bedroom when I asked her about going to the pictures with me and Jack.

  ‘Is it OK if I bring a fella along?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ve got a boyfriend?’

  ‘Well, he’s a boy and he’s a friend so, yes, I suppose I have.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Does this boyfriend have a name?’

  ‘His name’s Norman and he’s a foreman at the factory.’

  ‘Blimey!’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, I’m not that ugly.’

  ‘You’re not ugly at all,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘Anyway, it’s about time you got one, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m…’

  ‘I know, you’re destined to be with Jack.’

  ‘’Fraid so,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Has Marion Tucker been mentioned since the incident in the barn?’

  Just the thought of that night made me go hot all over. I’d been trying to block it from my mind and now Monica had to go and mention it. I wished I’d never told her.

  ‘Not a word,’ I said. ‘And that’s how it’s going to stay. I made a fool of myself and it’s never going to happen again. Not ever.’

  ‘So now you are going to wait for him to make the first move, right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I don’t want to bring you down, Maureen, but I can’t help thinking that you’re in for a long wait. Men can be a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to romance.’

  ‘He wasn’t slow where Marion Tucker was concerned, was he?’ Bloody hell, I’d said it again.

  ‘That’s because Marion Tucker wasn’t important to him.’

  ‘Where did you learn so much about love all of a sudden?’

  Monica grinned. ‘The golf- factory. It must have something to do with being surrounded by balls all day.’

  ‘Monica Maltby!’ I said. ‘Wash your mouth out with soap an
d water.’

  We both started giggling.

  I stared at her. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

  ‘Better get myself along to Confession,’ she said, making the sign of the cross.

  ‘I don’t go any more,’ I said.

  ‘What, never?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to go.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘My dad would kill me if I didn’t go to Confession.’

  ‘How would he find out?’

  ‘Father Ryan is one of his drinking buddies.’

  ‘But a priest is bound by the seal of the Confessional,’ I said.

  ‘I should think that goes straight out the window after a few beers.’

  ‘Blimey!’

  ‘Is it because of your dad that you don’t go any more?’ asked Monica.

  ‘They wouldn’t bury him in the churchyard and I find that hard to forgive. I miss the church though – you know, the actual building. I used to light a candle for two doors down’s dead dog that got squashed by the milkman’s horse. Me and Brenda used to pray to the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I miss that.’

  ‘Couldn’t you still go there?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think God would mind and he’s more important than the church. In fact, he owns the church.’

  ‘So you think it’ll be alright for me to go, then?’

  Monica nodded.

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  ‘If you get struck down by lightning, we’ll know it was a bad idea.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, making a face at her.

  ‘So is it OK if I bring Norman?’

  ‘What, Norman the foreman?’ I said, grinning. ‘Of course you can. The more the merrier.’

  Norman was shorter than Monica and quite solid-looking. You got the feeling that he would probably turn into a rather round man, but he had twinkly eyes and a smiley face and I could see why Monica liked him. He was also very intelligent and said that the golf-ball factory was a stopgap: he wanted to join the RAF but his mother was widowed and he had to work. Jack liked him a lot and the four of us started going round together.

  That first night we went to the pictures was the night that Jack fell in love with Rita Hayworth. In fact, I think we all fell a little in love with her. She smiled down from the silver screen as if she was smiling only at us. She was just a teenager in the film but she seemed much older. I sat next to Jack in the dark cinema and we held hands. I looked across at Norman and Monica and saw that he had his arm around her shoulder. That night I wished that I was Rita Hayworth.

  The four of us went to the pictures every week after that. We saw Westerns and comedies, war films and Hollywood musicals. We laughed at Charlie Chaplin and the Marx Brothers, we fell in love with an adorable little girl called Shirley Temple and we booed James Cagney playing the part of a tough gangster. And, of course, we watched Jack’s beloved Rita.

  Every film we saw, we shared with Nelson. Jack was better at bringing them to life than I was and I loved reading what he had written; it was like seeing the film all over again. Nelson loved getting our letters and we loved getting his. Then we got a letter saying he was coming home.

  * * *

  The following Saturday, Jack and I were standing by the barrier at Brighton station, waiting for Nelson’s train to arrive.

  ‘Where’s he going to stay while he’s here?’ I said.

  ‘I hadn’t really thought about it,’ said Jack. ‘He didn’t mention it in his letter.’

  ‘I wondered whether he might be staying with you.’

  ‘Not that I know of, but if he’s got nowhere else to go, then he’s going to have to.’

  ‘He could stay with us, I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind.’

  We leaned on the barriers and watched the trains chugging into the station. We watched the children hanging out of the windows, waving and cheering. Doors were opening and slamming shut as the trains deposited their cargo of men, woman and children onto the platform. Mums and dads were desperately trying to keep their children in their sights as they watched them run towards the gates, clutching their buckets and spades, looking forward to a day at the seaside.

  We stepped away from the barrier as crowds of people pushed and elbowed their way towards the exit. Used tickets were almost thrown at the poor ticket collector, some of them missing their target and fluttering freely across the station. I could almost see them flying down West Street, circling over the sea and the pier.

  ‘Did he say what time he was arriving?’ I asked.

  ‘He just said around one o’clock,’ said Jack.

  I looked up at the big clock on the wall. ‘It’s ten past,’ I said. ‘He should be on the next train.’

  It was another twenty minutes before Nelson’s train chugged into the station. It stopped with a huge judder, belching white smoke over the passengers who were stepping down onto the platform. We watched impatiently as people emerged from the smoke and then we saw him. He walked towards us out of the mist, like a hero in a Western.

  ‘Nelson!’ I yelled. ‘Over here.’

  Nelson grinned as he spotted us. Every time I saw him he looked different to the time before. He walked confidently towards us, unfamiliar in a dark suit, more the man than the boy.

  I threw my arms around him and Jack thumped him on the back. Nelson dropped his case and him and Jack proceeded to play fight as they had always done.

  I looked into his eyes and we smiled at each other. And there he was, the boy in the brown jumper.

  It turned out that he would be staying at the home for destitute boys and it was Mr Farley who had given him the suit.

  ‘It’s not new,’ said Nelson. ‘But it’s better than anything I’ve ever owned.’

  ‘Well, it looks new,’ I said. ‘And I think you look very smart.’

  We took the tram back to the estate, dropped the case off at my house and headed for the seafront.

  Nelson took off his jacket and laid it on the stones for me to sit on. ‘I’ve missed this,’ he said as he leaned back against the old stone wall and looked out over the sea.

  ‘No water where you are, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Just fields,’ said Nelson. ‘Miles and miles of them.’

  ‘Like the Downs?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing like the Downs. Just miles and miles of flat countryside, not a rolling hill in sight.’

  I picked up a pebble. It was smooth and flat and I gave it to him. ‘Take this back with you,’ I said. ‘Then, when you find yourself missing this place, it will remind you.’

  Nelson put the stone in his pocket. ‘I shall keep it forever, Maureen,’ he said.

  Nelson was like that, he said nice things. Sometimes he was more like a girl than a boy. I wished Jack was a bit more like it. When I thought about the life that Nelson had, I wondered where all that softness had come from.

  I watched as Nelson and Jack walked down to the water’s edge. I stayed sitting against the wall. I thought perhaps it would be nice for them to have some time alone. These days the two of them didn’t look so very different. Nelson had filled out and he’d grown. Looking at him didn’t give me that bad feeling in my tummy that I used to get; the same feeling I had when I looked at my daddy. Nelson turned back and waved while Jack threw stones across the water.

  I loved Nelson but I wished it had been Jack that turned back and waved.

  * * *

  Nelson was only home for a short time but we made the most of that week. I was working during the day and Jack was at college so Nelson took to coming into the shop and helping out with the books. Sometimes he joined Peter and Hassan on the bench in the little yard. In the evenings we walked along the seafront or up on the Downs. I don’t know if it was deliberate but both Jack and I avoided the barn. Some evenings me and Jack went to the home and sat in the rose garden. We didn’t do much but we were together and that’s all we wanted.

  On the follo
wing Sunday we took Nelson back to the station. It was sad saying goodbye to him but he promised that he would be back on his next leave. Me and Jack saw him show his ticket at the barrier. We watched the ticket collector tear it in half and then watched as he walked down the platform and boarded the train. He hung out the window waving to us, then he held up the pebble and I blew him a kiss. We watched the train getting smaller and smaller and the smoke billowing backwards and disappearing into the clouds.

  Thirty-Three

  Brenda had left school that summer and was working in Woolworths with her best friend, Molly. My little sister was growing up. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday that me and Daddy were pushing her along the seafront in the squeaky old pushchair.

  With two more wages coming into the house things were getting easier at home. It was nice to see Mum looking less worried. She hadn’t had an easy life; I hadn’t realised just how hard it must have been for her. It was Daddy who had been the fun one, he’d been more of a playmate than a dad. It was only as I grew older that I understood why Mum had never played with us; she’d been too busy trying to pay the rent and put food on the table. She didn’t have time for games. The three of us were closer now and that made me happy.

  Jack got a scholarship to study medicine in London. I was proud of him. He’d worked hard for it but I knew that I would be lost when he went. There had been several Marion Tuckers since the incident in the barn; they all had different names but they were all Marion Tuckers. I’d learned my lesson and never mentioned any of them to Jack. I would lose him for a few weeks, never much longer than that, and then he would come back as if he’d popped down to the corner shop for bread. But I was afraid of the girls he would meet once he left Brighton and went to university. They would be clever, like Jack, and they’d probably be able to afford nice clothes. They wouldn’t be Marion Tuckers. I was driving myself mad thinking about it. What if he fell in love with someone? I’d been waiting almost all my life for him. I’d never so much as looked at another boy. In fact, I was getting a reputation for being stuck-up. Monica thought I was barmy.