Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  Kenny came, trembling in every limb. He could tell by the tone in his mother’s voice that this meant trouble and would much rather stay where he was in the back, even though he hated washing up.

  One glance at the tall, sour-faced woman and he guessed she must be the social worker who had something to do with Dena. Had his mam found out that he went to visit her before Christmas, or what they’d got up to under that old oak tree? He sincerely hoped not.

  Belle said, ‘I understand that Dena wants to come back here and work on the market, and seems to think we’ll put her up an’ all. Has this anything to do with you, by any chance?’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mam? You always quite liked her.’

  ‘Did I?’ Belle rolled her beautiful violet eyes in despair, then folded her arms and pressed fuscia-painted lips together while she considered how best to deal with this unexpected turn of events. It seemed the lad still hadn’t got over his crush on the girl. If Miss Moustache hadn’t been here, she’d have clipped him round the ear for dropping this on her without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Miss Rogers interrupted her thoughts with a question of her own, ‘Am I correct in assuming that there is some sort of understanding between yourself and Dena, young man?’

  Kenny didn’t entirely follow the woman’s old fashioned way of speaking but he caught the general drift and puffed out his chest. It was such a relief that his visit to the home hadn’t actually been discovered that he didn’t object to being interrogated in the slightest. He willingly agreed that he had been in touch with Dena, although was careful not to give specific details, letting both women assume it had simply been by letter. ‘Me and Dena have been going out since she were fourteen,’ he agreed. ‘And one day we mean to wed,’ just so there was no mistake about his intentions.

  ‘Good heavens, you must be the very young man that she was cavorting with when her mother was forced to have her taken into care! Oh deary me, no! This will not do at all. She cannot possibly stay in your house, Mrs Garside. I’m sorry but I even have my doubts about allowing her to work in the café under the circumstances, but perhaps that may still prove to be feasible so long as you undertake to keep a careful eye on her. At sixteen she is still a young and vulnerable girl, and with little experience of the outside world after her long stay at Ivy bank.’

  ‘Hold on a minute, I’m not her mother. Why should I be responsible for the lass? Why can’t she go back home?’

  ‘Ah, well now that is the problem. The mother has moved back into the family home to live with her brother, and Dena has not been included in the arrangement.’

  Kenny was feeling a bit left out of this conversation and had taken great exception to Miss Roger’s condescending tone regarding his own honourable intentions. ‘Hey, listen to me a minute, you silly old faggot. We wasn’t cavorting, we was in love. Still are. Do you understand what that means, you miserable old cow? I mean to marry her and make her my wife, so I’ll be the one what keeps an eye on her, thank you very much, not me mam.’

  ‘Really!’

  The sound of the kitchen door closing brought customer’s heads swivelling and gossip humming around the café.

  ‘Well,’ said Belle, ‘you seem to have sorted that little problem out nicely, Kenny. Good lad!’

  Chapter Twenty

  It was late in the afternoon that Belle Garside sauntered by Winnie Watkin’s stall, hips undulating in her famously provocative walk. She was carrying a wad of posters in her arms, smiled sweetly at Winnie and asked if she minded putting one up next to her stall.

  Winnie had just happened to be standing out in the aisle rather than tucked behind her rolls of fabric, as she usually was, when she’d spotted the masculine looking woman approach Belle’s café earlier. She could recognise a council official a mile off so had hung around to see what it was all about.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to get near enough to hear what was going on inside the café, although she’d certainly learned a good deal more as the day progressed. Several of Belle’s customers had witnessed the fracas.

  Winnie had also been witness to the woman’s hasty departure; a telling moment.

  Now she peered short-sightedly at the large print on the poster, pretending not to understand. ‘Somebody standing for the market committee? Now who could that be, I wonder?’

  Belle ground her teeth together but managed to hold on to her patience. ‘I hope that I can depend upon your vote, Winnie. After all, we’ve been neighbours for many a long year.’

  ‘Aye,’ Winnie agreed. ‘Some might say too long. Not that it’s any of my business but rumour has it you had a visitor from the social about our little Dena this morning. Are they letting her out, then?’

  ‘She isn’t in prison,’ Belle snapped, annoyed by the change of subject.

  ‘Might as well be, from what I’ve heard about them places. Is she still thick with your Kenny? We’ll be hearing wedding bells before we’re done I expect.’

  ‘You were right,’ Bell said sharply as she made to walk on by. ‘It is none of your business.’

  Winnie Watkin’s next words stopped her in her tracks. Arms folded, the plump little woman raised her voice so that it carried well in the echoing chamber of the market hall, it being fairly empty at this time of the day. ‘I must say I’m surprised. Everyone knows how your Kenny loathed her little brother, and I’m not the only one wondering if he didn’t have something to do with the poor lad falling in the canal that day. Lucky the police didn’t question him on the subject, eh?’

  Belle swung about and rushed back to Winnie, violet eyes now a dark, simmering purple, pointed chin jutting forward in fury. ‘You’d do well to keep that loose tongue of yours in check, and that famous long nose of yours out of matters that don’t concern you.’

  ‘You can’t fool me. I’m all there with me mint drops, I am, and I’ll go on poking me long nose into anything I fancy, particularly if it concerns that lass. I’m very fond of Dena and somebody has to keep a look-out for her.’

  ‘Perhaps you should offer her a job then, put her up in your front room, and have the social on your back. Much better they interfere in your life rather than our Kenny’s.’

  Winnie chuckled, her usual good nature restored when she saw how she’d touched a raw nerve. ‘So Dena’s looking for work is she, and somewhere to stay? I might have considered taking her in only my Donald needs a quiet life. He much prefers us to be on our own.’

  A wry smile of disbelief twisted Belle’s full lips. ‘Would he indeed? Are you sure it isn’t you who would object to having a young intruder in your home, one who can poke her little nose into all your private business?’

  ‘If you’re suggesting that I’m worried my lovely husband might stray, you couldn’t be more wrong, not after all these years. My Donald would much rather listen to United play footie on the wireless than play footsie with a young lass, but at least she’d be safe with me, unlike what might happen to her at yours.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, we all know about your Donald, Winnie, so stop talking rubbish.’

  Winnie’s expression darkened and animosity between the two women simmered, as it always did but she quickly rallied and swung back into attack. ‘Your Kenny’s out of control, in my opinion. He thinks he’s that James Dean, or else Wyatt Earp. He’s nothing but trouble.’

  Belle turned on her heel and flounced away but not before Winnie delivered her parting shot. ‘So you don’t want me to put up one of them posters then? Just as well. If you think I’d vote for you to go on the market committee, you must think I’ve a screw loose. I’d sooner take a long jump off a short pier.’

  The very week Dena decided to write to Kenny, she received a letter from him saying that he needed to see her. She read the words through twice, to be sure she’d got them right the first time, but yes, he was actually saying that he needed her! Oh, music to her ears. He even went on to apologise for leaving it so long, and not having come to see her since Christmas. He�
�d been afraid of taking the risk in case someone should find out about their meeting and get Dena into trouble.

  His consideration and love brought tears to her eyes.

  He’d be there on Sunday night, same time, same place, he promised. And he couldn’t wait to see her and kiss her all over. He hinted that he might even have a little birthday surprise for her.

  Dena could hardly wait either. Memories of their last meeting rose temptingly in her mind. Would they do it again? Not feeling quite ready to tie herself down yet, Dena rather thought that she should behave more sensibly this time. Kenny was good looking and she liked him a lot, but – was she ready for marriage and all that stuff? She really didn’t think so.

  Oh, but she was longing to see him again, and she certainly wouldn’t object to a few more of those exciting kisses.

  Dena went through the same meticulously careful planning, and when the day came, hid a bundle of clothes out of sight under a large laurel bush, exactly as she had done before. That night she was one of the first to switch off her light and settle down to sleep, or at least feign it.

  She could only guess the correct time as she had no watch and no means of knowing beyond listening for the church clock chiming over in the village. You could only hear it properly if the wind was in a certain direction so it wasn’t a very reliable way of telling the time.

  And somehow time seemed to move much slower than usual. Dena counted nine o’clock, then after what seemed like three hours rather than one, she counted out ten strokes, then eleven. She must have dozed off for a while after that because she suddenly woke to hear it striking the half hour.

  Half past eleven, at last! Or was it half past twelve? Panicking, she slipped silently out of bed and with shoes in hand tiptoed across the room. The creak of the door handle turning made her heart go pit-pat, exactly as it had done last time. But in an instant she was speeding bare-foot along the landing.

  As always the fire door was not locked but simply bolted on the inside. They hadn’t had a fire drill for a week or two and Dena was worried that it might prove difficult to shift. In fact it proved to be well oiled and slid back easily beneath her hand.

  She pushed open the fire door and had just placed her foot on the top step when she heard a sound. Dena half turned, about to swing round to check who might be following her when something struck the back of her head. It quite took her by surprise. She scarcely had time to wonder if the door had blown open and accidentally hit her, or whether someone had indeed followed her when a pair of hands pushed at her shoulders, she lost her balance completely and tumbled down the stairs.

  Kenny wasn’t pleased to be kept waiting. He’d smoked five of his Gold Flake cigarettes and kept himself amused by blowing smoke rings, as he’d recently learnt to do. Now he stood under the ancient oak listening to the village clock strike one o’clock and finally admitted that she wasn’t coming. It wasn’t a good feeling. Kenny didn’t care to have women stand him up. It was fine the other way round since girls were two a penny, but he was a man and had his pride.

  He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, thinking that perhaps Dena had found it impossible to escape, but that didn’t help to soothe his wounded pride. She surely could have tried harder. He felt let down, hurt and offended, and really rather sorry for himself.

  He’d bought himself some wheels the day he turned seventeen: a Triumph motor bike which he was extremely proud of. He’d got it cheap from a mate of his in return for a few favours and it made him feel as if he was somebody. He’d even bought himself a leather jacket and helmet off Abe Johnson’s second-hand stall so he looked the part, and had intended taking Dena for a spin down the quiet back roads. Now she’d just have to wait for some other occasion.

  He got home at around three in the morning and since he was due to start washing-up duties at seven-thirty, it didn’t seem worth going to bed. It was unfortunate his mother had changed her mind about never letting him work in the café and had set him on kitchen duties, no doubt to teach him a lesson. It looked as though he might have to find himself a proper job after all. He made a bob or two on the ponies, of course, and had one or two other irons in the fire which he hadn’t told his mother about. But he was in no hurry to make any further decisions about his future. Something would turn up, he was sure of it.

  Kenny parked his bike round the back of a row of houses, climbed over a back-yard wall then flung some gravel up at the back bedroom window. Minutes later the sash window slid open and a woman’s face appeared. She rubbed sleep from her eyes then ran her fingers through tousled hair.

  ‘Is that you, Kenny?’

  ‘Who else, Maureen love?’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll come down and let you in. I’ll not be a jiffy.’

  Minutes later he was in her warm bed, thrusting furiously for all he was worth. But then Maureen was a mature woman, not interested in soft words and teasing kisses. Nor did she need to be caressed or cuddled. She was happy just to get on with the job, as he was. He blessed the day he’d met her, and she certainly helped to sooth his disappointment over Dena letting him down so badly. What better way of spending his money?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dena was taken straight to hospital by ambulance. Apparently one of the girls had heard her scream and alerted Carthorse, who rang the emergency services immediately. Dena had been knocked unconscious and when she came round, didn’t have the least idea where she was or what was going on.

  She could tell though that she was in hospital because there was Housemother sitting at the bottom of her bed reading The Sunday Post and, in a flash it all came back her: the sound from behind, her turning to see who might be following, and then the blow. And something more that Dena could now clearly remember. The face of her attacker.

  Who else but Norah Talbot?

  Her head was aching abominably, and, hearing her groan, a young nurse bustled over to the bed. ‘Good for you, you’re awake.’ She gave Dena a sip of water and made her take a couple of Aspirin to ease the headache.

  Apparently she’d fallen awkwardly and broken her right ankle, but apart from that, and the concussion, the nurse thought she’d got off lightly. ‘Considering you fell a fair distance, the full length of the fire escape.

  Dena agreed that she probably had.

  ‘But don’t fret,’ the kindly nurse told her. ‘You’ll live, and the baby is quite safe.’

  ‘Baby?’

  She smiled ruefully at Dena, then, glancing across at the housemother still engrossed in her newspaper, the young nurse leaned closer so that she could whisper. ‘You did know that you were pregnant, didn’t you love? About three months the doctor says.’

  Dena’s first visitor was her mother, of all people. She didn’t come alone but with Miss Rogers, who had no doubt dragged her along by force. Alice was looking even more disapproving than usual, all tight lipped and with a closed expression on her face. She was wearing a new coat and hat, Dena noticed; looking considerably smarter than the last time she’d seen her on the day she’d allowed her daughter to be taken into care nearly two years ago.

  She didn’t expect a kiss or any sort of warm greeting from her mother, nor did she get one. Nevertheless, Dena sat up in bed and felt ridiculously pleased to see her.

  ‘So what have you done now?’ were Alice’s first words.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault. I tripped, that’s all.’ There seemed little point in saying that she was pushed. That would demand too long an explanation and result in all manner of repercussions. Besides which, Dena’s life-long policy of striving to be invisible automatically came into play.

  ‘And what were you doing on the fire escape at that time of night?’

  ‘Star gazing.’

  Miss Rogers interrupted. ‘It does you no good to lie, Dena. A proper explanation will serve you much better in the end.’

  ‘I leave Ivy Bank in a few weeks, so what does it matter? I wasn’t sleepy and wanted a breath of fresh air. I wasn’t intending to do a ru
nner, if that’s what’s bothering you. What would be the point?’

  ‘Then nothing – untoward – occurred?’

  Dena looked at the woman in silence for a moment. ‘No, nothing at all. It was an accident.’

  She hoped that the social worker might accept this and leave, but she should have known better. Miss Rogers gave a heavy sigh and, pulling up a chair, sat down. For some reason her plain face looked infinitely less forbidding than her own mother’s, gazing at her with something like sympathy in the grey eyes. ‘Dena, we know about the baby. Is that what you were doing that night, going to meet your boy friend?’

  Dena started. She was still reeling from the news herself, felt too stunned to take it in properly. She preferred to deny that it could be true, determined to believe that the nurse, or the doctor, had made a mistake. How could she be pregnant? They’d only made love the one time, and it had been so quick, nothing at all really, surely not long enough to make a baby?

  But if it was common knowledge and all and sundry knew about it, then maybe it was true after all, and she’d have to accept it as fact.

  Dena glanced sideways at her mother seated beside the social worker, handbag clasped in her gloved hands on her knee, a tight frizz of hair escaping from beneath the blue felt hat, indicating a recent perm; her mouth barely visible so tightly pressed were her lips.

  Sex, to Alice, was still a dirty word. Never to be discussed or mentioned, even in private, let alone in a public hospital ward. She would never forgive her for this. Never! To bring such shame upon the family was the worst thing she could possibly have done.

  Miss Roger’s voice again, quiet and soothingly encouraging. ‘Dena, answer me please. You can tell me the truth. Were you going to meet Kenny that night?’

  Weariness washed over her as Dena realised that the woman even knew his name. What did it matter what they thought? She was the one up the spout, the one who would have to live with the consequences of one night of foolish rebellion. ‘All right, yes I was. But I didn’t know then about – about the baby. Not till the nurse told me today. I can’t think how it happened.’