Peggy had dreamt of playing at such an event. It could be a big break for her, but she shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, sorry. My sister isn’t well and I just can’t leave her at night.’
‘I’ll pay you double.’
‘No.’ Peggy turned to walk away. Devlin grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
‘You didn’t refuse me last time. In fact you enjoyed yourself so much you stayed the night,’ he leered. Peggy blushed scarlet. ‘We could make a night of it again, you and me, after hours. Only we’ll go easy on the brandy this time.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You and me, together all night.’
Peggy froze. ‘Nothing happened between you and me that night and you know it!’
‘Are you sure about that?
‘Absolutely,’ and she pulled her arm away.
Devlin laughed. ‘Well, maybe not, but there’s nothing to stop me saying that it did. I’m sure old man Goldstein might be interested to know about you getting drunk and staying out all night, or maybe your mother should be told?’ He was so absorbed in baiting her that the slap to the jaw caught him by surprise. The anger blazed in his face.
‘Now listen here, I’ve spent a lot of money organising this competition and I’m damned if I’ll see it ruined for lack of a pianist! You’d better be there.’
When Peggy came through the back door that evening, she was surprised to hear the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Pat and Betty from next door were sitting at the table and the room was filled with the smell of stew simmering on the stove.
‘Ach there you are, Peggy. Just popped round with some stew we had left over and there are some vegetables and a couple of eggs on the draining board there.’
‘That’s so kind of you, Betty. What would we do without you and Jack?’ Peggy’s thanks were all the more heartfelt since there was next to nothing in the cupboard.
‘Pat’s been telling me she’s not been too well. She could do with a good tonic, I think. You know, there are a lot of people under the weather at the moment. Sure, what else would you expect with all the destruction and disruption, and you’ve only to look in the shops to see there’s nothing worth having, is there? Ah well, sure we just have to keep going.’ Betty heaved herself out of the chair and headed to the door. ‘Oh, any news from your mother?’
‘Her and Sheila are fine the last we heard. We’re hoping they’ll be home any day. I thought she might have rung me at the shop before now, but maybe I’ll hear from her tomorrow.’
‘Sure she’s probably better off there anyway. I could do with a wee stay in the country meself.’
When Betty had gone, Peggy ladled out the stew and they ate in silence until Pat said, ‘I had a letter from Stormont today to tell me I’ll be going on half-pay next week.’
‘God that’s all we need!’ Peggy threw her spoon into her empty bowl. ‘If it wasn’t for those two next door we’d be on starvation rations. It’s bad enough having to walk to work and back, without doing it on an empty stomach.’
Pat began to cry.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Peggy knelt and put her arms around her sister. ‘Don’t cry, please. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s all right, we’ll get you well again soon.’
Pat wiped away her tears. ‘No, you’re right. I’ll just have to go back to work. Sure I’ve been off a month. I’ll go in tomorrow.’
‘No! You can’t. You’re not sleeping half the night and when you do you’re dripping in sweat or crying out in a panic. You just need a bit longer. We’ll manage, I promise you.’
‘Peggy, will you stop giving off and listen for once!’ Martha held the phone a little away from her ear and smiled nervously at the customers in the post office. She disliked strangers knowing her business, but most of them already knew she was the Belfast woman who had come in search of her daughter and had been there for the McManus family when they needed an extra pair of hands – sure, hadn’t she served in the shop, got the messages and cooked meals so Bridie could spend time with Rose, the poor wee girl, they told each other.
‘Peggy, it’s time you girls started fending for yourselves, sure there’s only you and Pat there anyway. No, I don’t know when I’ll be back … another week maybe… If you speak to me like that, my girl, I might take myself off altogether! I’m going now. I’ll maybe speak to you next week. Don’t forget to thank Mr Goldstein for letting you use the telephone.’ Martha hung up the receiver and composed herself before turning to face the post office queue and walking quickly out the door. Sheila was sitting on the bench outside.
‘Well, Mammy, can you stay?’
‘Of course I can stay. I’ll do what I want – those girls have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do! It’ll do them no harm to be make their own meals and wash and iron for themselves. No doubt the house’ll be piggin’ when I get home, but a good day’s reddin’ will soon put that to rights.’
‘And can we go and help with the harvest?’
Martha took Sheila’s hand and swung it as they walked. ‘Why not, we’re having a wee holiday, just you and me, aren’t we?’
They were up at six the following morning to walk the three miles to the farm. Bridie’s family kept twenty acres of arable land and needed two fields of oats gathered in within the week. The party numbered eight, Sheila and Martha filling in for Bridie and Rose who was still too weak for manual work. They left the sleeping town behind and walked in companionable silence under a canopy of soft blue sky. Other workers were already there – men stood about leaning on up-turned scythes; others spat on whetstones and sharpened blades; and a group of young men joked and smoked. The women sat in a circle chatting quietly. Nearby, a shire horse chomped breakfast from a nosebag. From a distance, the horse seemed deceptively small but up close Martha marvelled at its height and girth – she had never imagined a beast so big. Frank gave Sheila a long wooden stick and showed her how to hold a length of oat stalks upright while he scythed them down, before moving quickly forward to hold up the next row.
‘The secret,’ he said, with a wink, ‘is not to get yer legs mixed up with the stalks.’
Behind them came Martha and Dermot who gathered up armfuls of stalks, tied them in sheaves and dropped them on the ground to be gathered up later. Time and again they reached the headrig and turned again into the sun … away from the sun … and Martha lost all sense of time and place. There was nothing in her mind save the ground strewn with oats and the rhythm of bending and standing and twisting the sheaves.
Shortly after midday a halt was called. The wives had arrived and spread blankets on the higher ground. They laid out bread and cheese and tomatoes, with little newspaper pokes of salt, and apple juice for everyone. Children played tig in the stubble and every now and again a shout would go up as a field mouse or frog was discovered in the devastation. Workers took their ease: some lying asleep, cap over their eyes, others sitting in groups smoking. Martha sat in the shade of a sycamore and held her hair up to let the wisp of breeze cool her neck. She kept her eye on Sheila and Dermot as they sat side by side with the other youngsters, his head inclined to hers as he listened to her chatter. She’d seen the way his eyes followed her in the kitchen and the yard and knew they sometimes left the house separately on their bikes in opposite directions only to meet up minutes later further down the road. He was a nice boy, gentle with his sister in her grief, but soon Sheila would return to Belfast and Martha worried about the pain of parting.
She sensed a shadow fall on her and followed the line of it to its owner. She let her hair fall and raised her hand to shield her eyes.
‘Y’all right there, missus?’ It was Vincent, Bridie’s brother.
‘Aye, I am thanks.’
‘I’m grateful for you and the wee girl helpin’ us out. An’ Bridie told me what you done for her an’ Rose.’ He had an embarrassed look about him.
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ Martha protested. ‘Bridie did much more for me when she took Sheila in.’
He made to sit down, then hesitated. Martha, seeing his confusion, moved over a little to make room. He hunkered down.
‘How many days to harvest the oats?’ she asked.
‘Well now, a couple more good days like this one should do it. Then there is the grass seed crop to mow. Of course, if any other farm is strugglin’, we’ll give them a hand. All in all we should be finished in time for the ceilidh.’
‘Ceilidh?’ said Martha.
‘Aye, a bit of celebration – dancin’, eatin’ …’ he lowered his voice, ‘and drinkin’ for some eejits.’
‘You don’t approve of the drink, then?’
‘Oh I don’t mind a bit of celebration of hard work, but I’m a Pioneer.’
‘Pioneer?’
‘The Pledge.’ Vincent noticed her blank look. ‘Drink, I never touch it, it’s the devil.’
Martha smiled, ‘Aye, maybe you’re right,’ she said.
They sat for a few minutes looking out over the field to the low hill beyond. Eventually Martha spoke. ‘It’s beautiful here, so peaceful.’
‘It is today, but imagine it in the winter when the black clouds scutter over thon hill day after day and ye’ve to be up at dawn seeing to the animals.’
‘Even then it’s beautiful, I’m sure.’
‘Aye, I suppose it is,’ he conceded, ‘but we don’t have the excitement of Belfast.’
Martha looked sideways at him and saw the twinkle in his eye. ‘There’s nothing exciting ever happens in Belfast,’ she laughed.
‘Not even with the war, the bombin’ and the like?’
‘Oh aye, we’ve had bombs on our heads, but that’s frightening not exciting. I’ll tell you something but, working in the fields is hard on the hands for a city dweller like me!’ She held up her hands to show the cuts from the sharp stalks. To her surprise, Vincent reached out and took both hands in his and examined them closely. Then he looked up at her and, realising what he had done, he released her hands and looked away.
‘You needed to have washed them in vinegar before you started to harden them up. Try an’ do it tonight even if they sting a bit.’ He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a pair of well-worn leather gloves and offered them to her. ‘Put these on for now; they’ll protect your skin.’
‘No, I’m fine, honest. Anyway, you’ll need them.’
‘No, I don’t really,’ he laughed and added, ‘they’re more for show than anything!’ Martha took the gloves and slipped her hands inside them. He nodded, satisfied, and stood up to survey the field. ‘We’ll have this finished by the end of the day, I think, if we get a move on.’ He touched his cap and with long, purposeful strides he was off towards the horse and cart. As he passed, the workers stirred and within minutes the work had resumed.
Bridie had a big dinner of stew and potatoes made for them when they got back and Martha marvelled at the pleasure of sitting down to a meal that someone else had prepared. Her hunger satiated, exhaustion set in. She couldn’t wait to take her aching limbs to bed, but first there were her hands to see to.
‘Bridie, would you have any vinegar I could bathe my hands in?’
‘Of course, let’s have a look at them. Ach, they’re not too bad.’ She fetched the vinegar from the cupboard.
‘They’d have been even worse if Vincent hadn’t lent her his gloves to wear,’ said Sheila.
‘Is that so?’ said Bridie raising an eyebrow as she passed the vinegar to Martha. Then she rummaged in the hot press and found an old pillowcase from which she tore two long strips. ‘Soak these in the vinegar then wind them round your hands before you go to sleep.’
It was still light when Martha went to bed. She lay on her back waiting for sleep to come and thought about the strangeness of the day – the hard physical labour, the satisfaction that grew with each sheaf she tied. But as she drifted off to sleep, breathing in the smell of vinegar bandages, the image that stayed in her mind was of Vincent’s kind face as he offered her his leather gloves.
Devlin had said it was going to be a spectacular affair and he had certainly transformed the tired and dated Plaza Ballroom into a stylish venue. A huge banner was strung across the entire façade proclaiming ‘Grand Dance Competition’. On either side of the entrance, huge flower arrangements cascaded over fluted pillars. A broad-shouldered, uniformed doorman welcomed everyone as they arrived. In the ballroom itself the mustiness had been replaced by the smell of polish from the shiny dance floor. The stage was lit by coloured lights, the glitter ball was gleaming and the band were tuning up their instruments.
Peggy couldn’t help but be impressed. The place certainly had class, as did the many people arriving for the evening. Despite her misgivings about asking Betty to sit with Pat for the evening, she was pleased to be part of such a grand event. Think of it as a professional engagement, she told herself, do what you have to do and leave. She was, as always, well-groomed and elegant, her hair swept up to give her a little extra height. There were pearls in her ears and around her neck. Her white blouse was bleached and starched, her black pencil skirt damp-pressed to look like new, her black high-heel court shoes polished until they shone. She lifted her chin and walked the length of the ballroom to the stage as though she was on a catwalk.
Devlin had his back to her and was talking to the band who, one by one, stopped listening as their eyes flitted in her direction. Devlin turned to see the focus of their attention and watched her walk to the piano.
‘I knew you’d come.’ He leaned on the piano and smiled.
‘Really and how could you know that?’ Peggy refused to look at him and played a scale to check the piano was in tune.
‘Because you couldn’t resist spending another evening, or should that be night, with me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because you pay well.’ She glared, intending to face him down, but she was distracted by the blueness of his eyes.
‘In that case you’d better make sure you earn it, so keep off the booze and get the tempo right!’
Peggy stood up. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ But Devlin was already walking away.
The ballroom filled up rapidly. There was a queue of competitors registering to take part and the dance floor was packed. At eight o’clock Devlin went to the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Plaza Grand Dance Competition. There will be four rounds – waltz, quickstep, foxtrot and modern. At the end of each round the judges will decide who should be eliminated. The final round will consist of only twelve couples who will dance three different modern dances. There will be prizes of £1 for third place, £3 for second and £5 for the winners!’ The audience gave a huge cheer.
‘And that’s not all. In between the rounds, there will be dancing for everyone with spot prizes and prizes for the best-dressed man and woman.’ More cheers. ‘The competition starts in five minutes!’
At around ten o’clock, just before the final round, the band was given a break and records were played. Peggy powdered her nose and reapplied her lipstick then sat at a table drinking a glass of water.
‘Sneaked in some gin and tonic, have you?’ Devlin said sitting down next to her. Peggy ignored him, so he waved his hand to take in the whole ballroom. ‘Good idea of mine, don’t you think? This is just a start. I’ve loads of ideas to make the Plaza the place that everyone who’s anyone wants to be. It’s all about style really.’ He touched his bow tie and pushed back his dark hair and Peggy saw a grace in his movements, an arrogance that compelled her to look at him and, despite her dislike, drew her admiration.
As if reading her thoughts, he moved his chair closer. ‘You could be a part of this.’ His voice was soft, persuasive. ‘You have talent and looks. You might be just a member of the orchestra, but when you’re on the stage all I see is you, all I hear is the piano.’ Instinctively, Peggy leaned towards him and, with just inches between them, he whispered, ‘I can make exciting things happen.’
There was a change of record and Devlin
reached for her hand and pulled her on to the dance floor.
‘I thought I wasn’t allowed to dance on my break,’ said Peggy.
‘You are when I tell you to.’
Peggy could dance the foxtrot, but this was in the swing style. One circuit of the floor, though, and she had the measure of it. She followed Devlin’s lead instinctively.
When the music ended he kissed her softly and said. ‘Now get back to work, I’m not paying you to entice men.’
At the end of the evening Peggy queued with the rest of the staff for her wages. ‘What’s this?’ she demanded when Devlin gave her ten shillings.
‘Going rate for a pianist for an evening’s work.’
‘You said you’d pay me double for tonight.’
‘So I did,’ he replied, ‘but you’ll get the extra in next week’s wages.’
‘But I’m not coming next week. I told you my sister’s ill! I only came tonight because …’
‘Oi!’ someone behind her shouted. ‘Get a move on, some of us have homes to go to.’
‘So I’ll see you next week then,’ and Devlin flashed his broadest smile.
Peggy had discovered two things quite by accident, the first being that if she gave up eating lunch every day she could save some money, and the second, that spending her lunch looking round the shops made her forget how hungry she was. She left Goldstein’s at one o’clock as usual and headed towards the department stores intending to wander round some make-up counters.
She was walking towards the City Hall when she heard someone shout her name and turned to see Devlin running across the road towards her, dodging the traffic. He took her arm and put it through his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Peggy was so taken aback that she let it rest there. As they walked he chatted about the coming Saturday night at the Plaza. Peggy was so pleased to be walking arm in arm along Donegall Place with such a handsome and well-dressed man, that she was reluctant to explain to him yet again why she wouldn’t be there on Saturday and, by the way, he owed her money.
Golden Sisters Page 18
