Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  She did tell her all about the party they’d recently enjoyed to celebrate the Coronation. ‘I expect they all had street parties back home, didn’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Miss Rogers agreed. ‘They certainly did, and your beloved market was royally trimmed up with bunting and Union flags.

  A lump came into Dena’s throat. ‘I think of them all at Champion Street Market every single day. I do miss them! My friend Winnie on the fabric stall in particular, and Mrs Poulson’s pies, and jolly Mr Ramsay and his lovely pork sausages. He always gave me an extra one when I bought a few for mam and me.’

  There followed a small silence, then, ‘How is Mam? Have you seen her?’

  Miss Rogers cleared her throat. ‘I did call in on her, yes, after I’d returned from delivering – from bringing you here. But she was out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said . . .’

  ‘I heard what you said, Miss Rogers, but until the day she went to phone you, she’d never set foot outside the door, not since our Pete was drowned.’

  ‘I expect she’d only gone to the corner shop to do some buying in. Remember she no longer has you to do all of that for her now.’

  It seemed so unfair, somehow, that her mother could achieve such a rapid recovery, and only because Dena was no longer there to look after her.

  ‘I also called on her a few days ago, to tell her that I was coming to see you today, and ask if she would care to accompany me.’

  ‘Obviously she said no, since there’s no sign of her,’ said Dena, a bitter edge to her tone.

  Again Miss Rogers seemed troubled by a cough. ‘Actually, she was packing when I called. Clearing out the house and preparing to leave.’

  ‘Clearing out the house? Why? Where could she go?’ Dena felt bemused by her mother’s odd behaviour. It was all very puzzling. ‘She hasn’t been evicted, has she, for not paying rent?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that. Alice told me that she was moving in with her brother. It seems that he called one afternoon and they talked, for the first time in years apparently. Her parents - your grandparents - have both passed away and he - your uncle - is all alone in the world now. He has invited your mother to join him at the family home. She seemed quite pleased to be returning to the bosom of her family, as it were, and it will be much better for her, of course.’

  Dena had been listening to all of this in astonishment, eyes shining with new hope. ‘So you’ve come to take me home, haven’t you, Miss? I can go and live with me uncle now.’

  The silence which followed this heartfelt plea was long and heavy, and the pain of the woman’s next words would live with Dena forever. ‘Sadly, your mother still does not feel able to cope with you, Dena, and was most adamant that you were not included in the invitation. You must stay here, at Ivy Bank.

  Dena blinked at her in blank incomprehension. ‘You mean me mam doesn’t want me to go back home and live with her in the family house? Me uncle neither?’

  ‘No,’ murmured the social worker, pity husking her voice. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  To be rejected once by her mother had been bad enough, twice left Dena stunned, paralysed with shock. For the rest of that day she didn’t utter a single word. Dena chose to withdraw from the noise and excitement of the other girls’ reaction to their visitors and sit alone in a corner, asking herself over and over what she had done to deserve such treatment.

  Of course, she knew the answer: her mother still blamed her for Pete’s death. No matter how fiercely Dena might protest that she had done all she could to protect her little brother, Mam would never believe it. She was condemned to carry the blame of it for the rest of her life. Never to be forgiven.

  But how could she be so unfeeling, so unkind, so cruel? And this brother of hers, Dena’s uncle apparently, was obviously just as bad. Well, they deserved each other. Dena resolved not to allow them, or anyone else for that matter, to ever be made aware of the terrible pain they’d caused her, or of the scars their rejection had left.

  She’d survive on her own, without any help from anyone, she decided, a healthy anger firing up inside.

  When she got ready for bed that night, Dena read Kenny’s letter again, trying to assuage the heat of her resentment by finding evidence of love written within its pages, but the pain was too strong, too deeply ingrained, and even his loving words could offer no comfort. Nor, for once, did she put on her precious locket but left it tucked inside her bible with the letter.

  Dena lay wide-eyed in the darkness, quite unable to sleep. Nor was she able to shut out the image of Pete’s cheeky grin. She felt too wretched, the rejection by her mother simply too much to bear.

  Her one consolation was that at least she didn’t shed a single tear. She felt strangely calm inside, as if a steel door had come down and shut away all feeling.

  Miss Rogers had kindly brought Dena two tablets of soap and a tin of talcum powder which she’d stowed carefully away in her locker, grateful for the woman’s thoughtfulness. The social worker had also brought a small square of ginger cake and Dena had smuggled this too into the dormitory, quite against the rules.

  Later that night, hearing the other girls around her doing the same, she brought out the cake and shared it with her friend, Gwen. Between them they gobbled it all up. And although eating illicit cake at midnight was no compensation for being rejected by her mother, it was nevertheless delicious and certainly preferable to sobbing her heart out.

  And they were not alone. There were muted giggles all around, a bubbling excitement and happiness in the dormitory, for once, from the girls fortunate enough to be brought sweets or treats by their family.

  For those who had spent the day alone, without visitors, and had nothing to nibble in bed, it was a miserable time, dependant upon the generosity of others. Dena was usually one of their number so for once revelled in the thrill of being in possession of being able to share it with her friend. She didn’t even care if Matron came in and caught them.

  They were just finishing off the last crumbs when a torch flashed and both dived under the covers.

  A familiar voice came out of the darkness. ‘I know you two are eating. I can hear you munching and giggling. Give me a piece or I’ll tell.’

  ‘Get lost, Norah! There’s none left, anyway.’

  ‘Give me something else then.’

  Dena turned her back on the girl and pulled the covers over her head. ‘Why should I? Do your worst, what do I care?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Norah did indeed do her worst. First thing the following morning when Carthorse came lumbering in to the dormitory on the dot of seven, issuing orders and ringing her beloved hand-bell, she instantly went up to the housemother and reported Dena for breaking the rules by eating in bed.

  Everyone else, equally guilty, listened in stunned silence as Norah betrayed Dena in her sing-song catty voice. Yet not a soul dared argue or attempt to defend her against the accusation, in case they implicated themselves.

  ‘If you look in her locker you’ll find the paper it was wrapped in. It was a huge cake and we all told her that she must hand it in to Cook so it could be shared amongst us all at tea time, but she wouldn’t listen.’

  Dena’s locker was indeed searched, the incriminating paper covered with sticky ginger crumbs was found, and the soap and talcum powder confiscated. The deprivation of these gifts was clearly intended to teach her a lesson for the sin of greed.

  Dena fiercely protested, declaring that no one had any right to take her possessions. Didn’t she have little enough to call her own?

  ‘You should have thought about that before you broke the rules, Dena Dobson. You don’t seem to be very good at fitting in, do you? Well, perhaps you’ll think twice next time.’

  Dena steamed with inner rage against her rival, yet managed to remain silent, knowing when she was beaten.

  It proved to be a long unhappy day but worse was to come.

  That evening when Dena reached for her precious locket
to wear beneath her nightie as she so liked to do, she found, to her horror, that it was gone, along with her letter from Kenny. They were both missing.

  ‘Have you seen my locket?’ she asked Gwen, desperation in her tone. But the other girl shook her head.

  ‘It’s all I have left in the world to call my own. I’ll kill whoever’s taken it.’

  Carthorse appeared. ‘Lights out, girls. Dena Dobson, in bed this minute.’

  She’d have to wait to deal with the matter first thing in the morning, but she certainly knew who to blame.

  Dena pushed her way through the line of naked girls all desperately trying to cover their modesty with one inadequate towel as they waited their turn for the bathroom, and caught up with Norah just as she stepped out of the bath. Norah Talbot always made sure that she was first in line to enjoy the privilege of the hottest, freshest water.

  Without pause for thought Dena leapt forward and gave the girl a hefty punch in the shoulder. ‘Where is it? What have you done with my locket?’ She pushed her again, harder this time to emphasise her words.

  Norah’s feet suddenly went from under her on the wet slippy floor and she fell backwards, cracking her head on the tiles. A gasp went up from the horrified audience, and then a sigh of relief as they realised that she hadn’t been knocked unconscious by the fall but was lying on the floor laughing up at Dena.

  ‘And you’re a liar, telling me you had nothing to swap. Well, your precious locket is mine now, so take your hands off me. I have your love letter too, and might even write to that soppy boy friend of yours.’

  Dena lost control. All the anger stored up inside her as a result of the dreadful news brought to her yesterday by Miss Rogers, of her mother’s further rejection, and the guilt she felt over her brother’s death, seemed to explode inside, bursting out in a white hot rage.

  She tore at Norah’s hair, slapped her about the face, kicked and thumped her with bare feet and fists, heedless of the screams of the other girls, or of the clatter of boots pounding down the corridor. She didn’t even stop fighting when hands lifted her bodily from the now still figure of Norah Talbot and carried her bodily away.

  Dena stood before Matron in her stark, gloomy office and endured a merciless lecture that seemed to go on for hours, hearing how this kind of dreadful behaviour would no longer be tolerated.

  ‘I really am growing tired of this habit you have of stirring up trouble, Dobson. Either you calm down and conform to the rules set down for your own good, or you will be sent to a reformatory where you will soon learn the error of your ways. The choice is yours, girl. Get yourself under control or you’ll find the cost of your wilfulness greater than you ever imagined. Never, in all my days have I witnessed such appalling behaviour! Poor Norah is now in the sanatorium with all manner of cuts and bruises, as well as a most dreadful headache.’

  Good, Dena thought, although was sensible enough not to express this remark out loud.

  ‘Can you offer any explanation at all for attacking her?’ Matron’s stern gaze seemed to penetrate to the core of her being. ‘I am giving you one last chance to tell the truth. Speak up, girl!’

  Dena remained silent. Would it help if she accused Norah of stealing? Should she tell Matron that the girl was a bully who terrorised the younger girls? She rather thought not. Norah might go in for snitching on others, Dena never would. It might only create further problems in the form of retaliation, on others as well as herself. An endless, self-perpetuating vendetta.

  Dena fully intended to retrieve her beloved locket, and deal with Norah in her own time, and in her own way.

  She looked Matron square in the face, a hardness in her own that shocked the older woman, inured as she was to rebellious young girls. ‘No, Matron. I have no explanation at all.’

  ‘And so for no reason whatsoever, you hit her. This was a completely unprovoked attack?’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dena hissed under her breath.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, yes! We don’t get on. I hate the little piece of shit.’

  For the heinous crime of fighting, made worse by using profane language, Dena was locked in an empty room with nothing but a mat to sleep on and bread and water to drink. She was left there for three long days, with the stink of her own urine and excrement coming from a chamber pot standing in one corner.

  It felt like a living hell. Nevertheless, Dena endured the punishment without a word of complaint, nor shedding a single tear. She no longer cared what they did to her any more. She was beyond emotion. Her heart had solidified into a hard, unfeeling ball of ice and Dena very much doubted she would ever feel warm or happy again.

  Kenny arrived at the club late, having stopped off to buy himself some fish and chips then inadvertently found himself embroiled in a bit of a fracas with some of the bigger lads. ‘Look out, it’s Mary Ann,’ one called out. ‘Went out with Sandra Phillips, who’s anybody’s for threepence, and couldn’t get it up.’

  He’d kill that Sandra next time he saw her.

  Kenny laughed, put on his most convincing swagger, curling his lip and sneering, doing his best to look tough and disguise the fear and shame churning inside. ‘I didn’t even bother to try. I like ‘em young and fresh not well-used.’ Since Kenny was still a virgin himself this wasn’t strictly true but he had to save face somehow.

  Kenny liked girls, particularly Dena who was special, but he found it easier to keep them at a distance. He really didn’t like to be touched. He didn’t even care to touch a girl’s private parts. It felt like an invasion, as if she might not like it, as if it would be wrong if she did like it. And he’d tried hard enough, had taken out any number. He would get all excited but then be repelled by the very thought of actually doing it!

  What was wrong with him?

  He preferred to simply admire their feminine prettiness, to have them flirt with him, but taking it any further, actually getting down to the messy business of making love was a different matter altogether. He really wasn’t sure he could manage that.

  This particular gang was one of the worst in the neighbourhood. They were all wielding coshes and knuckle-dusters, and looking very dangerous indeed. Kenny thought it would be no bad thing if he were similarly armed himself. For now, though, he decided that caution was his best option and took to his heels and ran, trying not to listen to the raucous laughter that echoed the length of the street behind him.

  Once at the club he took out his pent-up frustration by pummelling young Spider to within an inch of his puny life. He gave him such a beating that Barry stopped the fight in the third round.

  ‘That’s enough, lad. Enough, I say!’

  Blood was pouring out of Spider’s nose and there were cuts above his eyes and on his lips. Barry reached for the sponge to start mopping him up, fuming quietly inside.

  ‘What’s got you in a paddy tonight? Whatever it is, there’s no reason to take it out on poor Spider. We can’t send you home looking like this, lad. Your mam’ll have a fit. We’ll have to get you seen by the doc tomorrow. You’re my best chance for the under-eighteens trophy.’

  Kenny knocked the sponge out of Barry’s hands. ‘Don’t push him so flippin’ hard. Leave the poor lad alone.’

  Barry’s eyes glittered. ‘Jealous are you, Kenny?’

  ‘No, I’m flaming not.’

  ‘You could be winning prizes too, Kenny, if you put the training in. Trouble is, you don’t have the control or the discipline. Why not come round to mine and we’ll talk things through, eh? I’ve got plenty of beer in.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Kenny muttered, half under his breath. ‘I’ve places to go, things to do.’

  ‘Suit yourself. You know you’re always welcome. You come along with me, Spider lad, while I find some antiseptic. And we need to talk about next week’s competition, about how best you should play it.’

  Kenny swung away from them and set off home alone, hands thrust deep in
his pockets, kicking moodily through puddles, unheeding of the soaking his trousers were getting as bubbles of rain bounced off the pavements. The house would be empty, his mam no doubt out with some geyser or other, and he really didn’t feel up to coping with another lecture from Carl. He didn’t have a date tonight and he suddenly felt overwhelmed by loneliness, by the feeling that nobody cared about him. Feeling decidedly sorry for himself he called in at the off-licence and bought himself a few beers. It was possible to get anything, even if you were underage. It just took the right sort of tactics.

  When Dena finally arrived back in the dormitory, all the girls gathered round, eager to show sympathy and support for the punishment she’d endured in her solitary cell. It was a strangely moving moment. No one had ever shown the slightest compassion towards her before. Other than her friend Barry, of course, but that had been so long ago she could scarcely remember.

  The other girls too were fed up of Norah’s bullying tactics, and admired the fact that Dena had been brave enough to stand up to her.

  Norah Talbot returned a few days later, none the worse for her spell in the sanatorium. In fact, crowing with satisfaction over her apparent triumph over Dena, and bragging about how she’d been spoiled by Matron who’d allowed her special treats of cakes and chocolate and grapes to eat.

  As if by common consent a plan was hatched, and this time it was Norah herself who became the victim.

  That night the girls crept up to her bed and slid their dressing cords over Norah as she slept, tying her to the bed post. Just as she awoke and opened her mouth to call out, Dena shoved in a scarf and gagged her.

  ‘Now listen very carefully,’ Dena whispered. ‘When I remove this scarf from your big fat mouth, you’re going to tell me where you have put my locket, and quietly return it to me. You’re also going to return Gwen’s Five Boys chocolate, Phyllis’s book and Katy’s new handkerchief, plus any other treasures your greedy little magpie fingers might have nicked. If you don’t, then we are going to pour these two jugs of icy cold water all over you and your bed, and soak you right through. Understand? Got that?’