Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  Responsibility! Duty! Dena experienced the slightest stirring of unease. Having her life so blatantly planned out for her by Kenny Garside didn’t seem quite right. She’d make up her own mind where she lived, let alone who and when she married, thank you very much. Dena decided she would write back and tell him not to be so presumptuous. Cheeky monkey!

  Oh, but she would also tell him how pleased she was that she was still his girl. It made her feel that someone cared for her. Kenny, at least, had not let her down.

  When she had read the letter through three more times and caught up on all the news from the market, she began to feel sleepy. Dena slipped the letter carefully back between the pages of her bible, hung her precious locket around her neck and went blissfully to sleep.

  More than a hundred girls crowded into the common room the next day where two television sits were set up, one at each end of the room, as they were to be allowed to watch the crowning of Queen Elizabeth.

  Not that it was possible to see much over so many heads, the screen of the television sets being dreadfully small. Nor could they see the colour of her velvet robe or the true magnificence of her golden coach since it was all in black and white, yet it was so exciting to witness this awesome spectacle.

  They watched transfixed as the young Elizabeth in her plain white gown, looking so pale and serene, was dressed in her finery little by little till she became a true Queen with crown, orb and sceptre.

  And when the long ceremony was finally over, they still had the best part still to come. The party! And that was even more exciting, even if they were all still dressed in their boring gymslips.

  There was egg, and salmon paste sandwiches, jelly and ice cream, iced buns, and Tizer to drink. An unheard of treat! Everyone was given a balloon and paper hat to wear, and after the tea-party a magician was brought in to entertain them. He made rabbits disappear and pulled coins from behind their ears. He even pretended to pour water over Matron’s head, making all the girls scream in horror. Fortunately no water came out and they could all breathe again.

  Later there were three-legged-races, Hunt the Thimble and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, with prizes for the winners. Dena came first in the sack race and won a pocket diary which pleased her enormously. It represented something to add to her small collection of treasured possessions.

  That evening as they all sat around in their dressing gowns drinking their cocoa, even stuck-up Nora Talbot conceded that it had been a wonderful day. And then Miss Stanford came in and got everyone excited again by announcing that she had an extra little treat for them.

  She was carrying a large brown paper bag and, dipping in her hand, came up with a fistful of sweets which she began tossing up in the air. There was a mad scramble as everyone dived to catch one. Sweets still being on ration they were a rare treat.

  Dena managed to catch a stick of Coltsfoot rock but Norah Talbot pushed her over and snatched it out of her hand.

  ‘You nasty piece of work, give that back.’ Dena tried to grab her but Norah held it too high for her to reach, so she was forced to return to the fray and try and catch another sweet instead. Unfortunately she was too late and they were all gone, Miss Stanford too. Dena was bitterly disappointed and felt a betraying prick of tears at the back of her eyes.

  ‘Aw, diddums, not going to cry are you? Did the poor little new girl not get a toffee then? What a shame!’

  Dena turned on Norah with a hiss. ‘Don’t think you can bully me. I know all about bullies and I’ll not put up with it.’

  Norah laughed. ‘You’ll not have this Coltsfoot rock neither. Not unless you can give me something in return for it. What all new girls have to learn,’ she continued, clearly enjoying herself, ‘is that we do swaps here. We don’t mind what it is, nice new hanky, bar of soap, sweeties sent from home, but if you want any peace and to be left alone, it’ll cost you. Understand?’

  Dena was silent. She understood well enough what Norah was telling her, and didn’t like the sound of it one little bit.

  ‘And what if I don’t have anything to swap?’

  ‘Everyone has something, like that new diary for instance.’

  ‘I won that fair and square.’

  ‘Show her how it’s done, Katy,’ Norah said, folding her arms in that self-important manner she had.

  The quiet, obedient Katy held out a tatty copy of The Beano and began to walk around the common room chanting, ‘Who’ll swap something for this?’

  Another girl stepped forward. ‘I’ll swap you this School Friend,’ and so the deal was done. Then Norah broke off a tiny piece of the rock and offered it to Katy in exchange for the new comic. Katy reluctantly agreed. Although she hadn’t been allowed the chance to even read it yet and really didn’t care for Coltsfoot rock, she knew better than to argue with Norah. The rest of the girls sat sucking their sweets, thankful that this little contest of wills didn’t involve them.

  ‘There you are,’ said Norah, that wasn’t too painful, was it? So now, what have you got in exchange for the rest of this stick of Coltsfoot rock?’

  Dena would have loved to say that she did have something to swap, not only for the rock but to trade for a new comic instead of the dreary religious tomes that filled the library shelves. But not for the world would she hand over the diary. She pointedly slipped it in her dressing gown pocket. ‘I told you, I’ve nothing.’

  ‘That’s a bare-faced lie. I know for a fact that you do, something far more valuable than a diary.’ Norah pulled something from her own pocket then dangled the silver heart locket that Kenny had given her, right before Dena’s eyes.

  Dena was appalled. Shock rippled through her and she began to shake with fury. ‘You’ve been in my locker! You thief!’ She flew at the other girl, made a grab for the locket but missed entirely as Norah swung it out of reach. Seconds later the two girls were grappling with each other on the floor and all the rest were cheering them on. Norah spat in her face, peevishly pinched the skin on her arm, then kneed her in the stomach. Dena doubled up in agony for a moment before lurching forward and grabbing a fistful of Norah’s hair, which made the other girl scream at the top of her voice.

  Unfortunately the sound alerted Carthorse who came galloping into the room snorting with fury. ‘What on earth is going on here!’

  Fighting was forbidden at Ivy Bank and they were both severely punished by being made to scrub the bathroom floors and clean the lavatories for a whole week.

  The party was most definitely over but the feud between the two girls had only just begun.

  Belle too was missing Dena, far more than she’d expected. Not only had the girl been a good worker but trade had fallen off considerably since she left. It was astonishing how many people no longer visited the café now that the girl was no longer there to serve them. Infuriating!

  Of course, if Belle wasn’t so dependent upon the café for her profits, then it really wouldn’t matter quite so much. The way this market operated at present was, in Belle’s humble opinion, a complete shambles.

  There was so much needing to be done, and she was the one to do it. She’d be much more effective than Joe Southworth. A real loser he was! Soft-hearted and hen-pecked, and terrified of stepping on anyone’s toes, that was Joe’s problem. Though he did have a few hidden charms.

  She glanced fondly across at the head lying beside her on the pillow and smiled to herself. What was she worrying about? She still had plenty of charms of her own, despite the passing of the years, and Joe was putty in her hands, just like all the other losers.

  Leaning closer she kissed his shoulder, then his cheek, rough with stubble. Then she tickled his ear. ‘Joe, isn’t it time you weren’t here? Won’t Irma be wondering where you’ve got to?’

  He was out of bed like a pellet fired from a gun, and Belle burst out laughing. ‘Don’t panic, it isn’t morning yet. You can tell her that you had some late business to attend to, eh?’

  He was busily trying to squeeze his fat buttocks into his trousers. �
�I’ve told her that tale so many times she’s beginning to grow suspicious.’

  Belle pushed back the sheets a little, allowing them to drape provocatively over the rise of her full breasts as she smiled up at him, violet eyes issuing a challenge as she licked her rosebud lips. ‘Not regretting our little tumble are you, Joey dear?’ and laughed all the more as she saw the movement in his trousers. ‘Apparently not.’

  The hunger in his eyes was most gratifying and Belle pulled back the sheet to allow a better view of her still fascinating figure. He gulped, giving a little groan deep in his throat.

  Belle’s expert fingers swiftly unbuttoned the flies he’d so carefully done up before he realised what was happening, fondling his penis as if it were an old friend, as indeed it was. ‘Joey,’ she purred. ‘One for the road, eh?’

  She had his trousers off in no time and was soon homing her old friend back into familiar territory. Joe liked it a bit rough and Belle was always happy to oblige with any little peccadilloes her men-friends might have. Like all her previous lovers, he adored the fact that she took control, that she was a noisy and enthusiastic mistress.

  But then Belle enjoyed sex. It was her favourite pastime. And the second time in a night was always better than the first.

  She gasped out loud and arched her back, a spasm running through her. ‘Oh God, Joe, that’s so good. No, no, let me just . . .’

  She was on top of him now, riding him hard, watching the sweat roll down his flabby face as his excitement mounted. On and on she rode, impatient to reach that perfect pitch of pleasure, and achieving it long before he did. She slumped in triumph when he finally climaxed.

  Was this the moment to ask? Perhaps.

  But then she heard a resonant snore and chuckled softly to herself.

  It was almost an hour later before he woke and reluctantly climbed out of bed once more. ‘Dammit, it’s no good, Belle, I’ll have to go.’

  She sat up, leaning casually back against the mound of soft, silky pillows. Belle might have come up from the gutter but she had impeccable taste, knew how to provide comfort, and how to satisfy a man’s every need, many of which his wife wouldn’t even have heard of.

  She judged the moment to be opportune. ‘I was wondering if you’d given any further thought to what I mentioned the other day about a change in the regulations? You know, the sale of goodwill and licences, fines over market discipline and such. And really, the place looks untidy at times with cabbage leaves and litter everywhere. Some of these new stall-holders don’t show the same sense of responsibility as we old-timers. They should pay more for the privilege then they might appreciate what they have. Don’t you think so?’

  Joe had fought his way into his shirt and waistcoat by this time and wasn’t really listening. ‘I can’t talk about this just now, Belle. It’s not the right time, I have to go.’

  The smile vanished in an instant. ‘So when is the right time? If I mention it in the office, you’re too busy with your normal day’s routine. If we’re in the pub you want to relax, and now that you have relaxed, you still haven’t time. Champion Street Market needs expanding and bringing up to date. We could build some covered stalls outside, for instance. Perhaps increase the size of the fish market. There’s a great deal could be done, and I’d be willing to help, draw up a few plans perhaps?’

  Joe shrugged on his jacket and was already half way to the door but he paused momentarily to heave a gentle sigh. ‘Not now, Belle love. Anyway, I can see no reason for any changes. We’re a small friendly market, let’s leave it at that. Things are fine as they are. Anyway, we’ve no money.’

  ‘You could put up the fees, charge extra for disposing of rubbish or for having the best pitch such as being on the front line.’

  ‘Folk would object. They can’t afford to pay any more, not with trade going downhill as it is, and I’d have to consult the council. They’d need to have their say and they might not approve. They can be very difficult.’

  ‘Don’t be so defeatist, Joe. The council might like the idea of a bigger and better market and offer us a grant. If you put me on the committee, I’d be happy to discuss it with them. A few grumpy old councillors don’t worry me.’ Anyway, she’d slept with quite a few of them, Belle thought with a soft smile of nostalgia.

  ‘Nay, Irma would really smell a rat if I put you on the market committee.’

  ‘Why would she? I’ve stood this market for twenty years, and owned the café for nearly ten. I surely deserve some say.’

  ‘It would be best if you got someone else to propose you, Belle love, anyone but me. I’ll have a quiet word with some of the new stall-holders, point out they need to mend their ways and be a bit tidier, but I’m not inclined to change any of the rules at this juncture, or try anything new at the present time.’

  ‘Pompous twit!’ Belle muttered as the door closed behind him. ‘If she were market superintendent it would all be very different. But she couldn’t even get herself elected on to the committee.

  Well, there were more ways than one of skinning a rabbit. She’d get her own way in this, if she had to strangle the little bleeder with her own fair hands.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carl was sitting in the kitchen when Belle sauntered downstairs half an hour later in her jazzy pink dressing gown. She could tell by the way he glared at her that he’d seen Joe sneaking off, and didn’t approve. She adored this elder son of hers but he seemed to find the fact that his mother was still capable of having sex, as an embarrassment.

  Belle went to put on the kettle. ‘Go on, get it off your chest. Say what you have to say.’

  ‘What game are you up to this time? Where is all this leading? Joe Southworth isn’t your type. Besides which, he’s a happily married man with two kids and you promised me faithfully you’d leave the married ones alone in future, after that trouble you had the last time.’

  Belle shrugged and lit up a Capstan Full Strength. ‘I’m making an exception in Joe’s case. He’s worth the effort. Anyway, that Irma’s a right little cow. He deserves better.’

  ‘You’re up to something. I know you.’ Carl got up from the kitchen table and went to stand beside his mother, watching with some impatience while she spooned tea in the pot and poured boiling water over it. ‘Well, are you going to tell me, or what?’

  Belle looked at him with fond affection. Carl had always been over-protective of her, ever since he was a small boy. He loved his mam, and why shouldn’t he? Strictly speaking he and Kenny were only half-brothers, and Carl’s olive skin gave some hint of his Italian ancestry. Not that Belle was saying who his father was. That was her secret, one she’d take with her to the grave if necessary.

  Fortunately, the boy had never shown any inclination to find out, probably assuming she didn’t even know for certain. Belle drew on her cigarette, smiling at him through the curl of smoke. Of course, he might be right there. There was always room for doubt.

  ‘Joe and me go a long way back, and he’s been having a hard time of it lately. If I can bring him a bit of comfort, so what?’ Her silk dressing gown slid off one shoulder as she shrugged and Carl pushed it back into place.

  His life seemed to be full of problems at the moment. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about with Kenny, now his mother seemed hell bent on making a complete fool of herself over the Market Superintendent.

  His brother was behaving like a proper prat over that young lass, writing letters to her, mooning about how he missed her and couldn’t live without her. What had got into the lad Carl simply couldn’t understand. Dena Dobson was just a silly young girl, no different from a thousand others, and more light-fingered than some. Nowhere near as innocent as she made out.

  Yet this calf love of Kenny’s didn’t seem to stop him playing the field, judging by the number of girls he’d taken out lately, so perhaps there wasn’t too much to worry about after all.

  ‘So what’s in it for you?’ he asked Belle, accepting the mug of tea she handed to him. ‘No one
can accuse Joe Southworth of being the most handsome creature on God’s earth.’

  ‘Depends who’s looking.’ Belle sat down at the table and crossed one leg over the other, making sure she carefully covered her knee with her dressing gown. Carl was a bit of prude, always concerned about what was right and proper, reputation and such like, and very strong on family. Now that was another thing he got from his father. ‘All right, I agree, Joe is no James Mason. Doesn’t have much in the upstairs department either, although downstairs seems to be in full working order.’

  ‘Mam!’

  ‘Sorry, love! Fact is, I think he’s pretty useless as a market superintendent, if you want my opinion. Right piece of wet lettuce, and as a result folk run rings round him. They take advantage all the time. Champion Street Market is going downhill fast and customers are voting with their feet and going to other markets instead. It won’t do. The stall-holders are complaining, and is it any wonder? This is our livelihood we’re talking about here.’

  ‘So what’s the answer?’ She’d captured his attention now and Carl sat down at the table opposite her, interested to hear her solution.

  ‘I could do a much better job, you know I could. The only problem is, I can’t seem to get myself voted on to the committee, so how can I hope to take over, or squeeze hum out? And I’m quite sure he’s the one blocking me, so I thought – why not try a little gentle persuasion. It’s worth a quick . . .’

  ‘OK, I get the picture.’ It was no wonder she attracted men like flies round a jam pot. For all she was over forty her figure was still good, her brunette hair thick and vibrant, and her heart-shaped face and full pouting lips a strange mix of innocence and beguiling allure. But Joe Southworth should know better.

  ‘So what’s sparked off your interest? You’ve never shown any inclination in getting involved with the committee before. Don’t tell me that you’re learning a bit of responsibility in your old age? Although I must say I admire your concern over the other stall-holders, Mam, even if it does take a bit of swallowing.’