Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  Maureen said, ‘I know Kenny adores you because he never stops talking about you, but this is about you, Dena, not Kenny. Don’t expect him to help much, if you decide to keep it. Men never do. The question you have to ask yourself is do you want to be stuck with a child when you’re just starting out? When you’re both so young?’

  Dena shivered, despite the stifling heat in the grubby little room and the gently persuasive voice of the woman. The prospect of what she was being offered filled her with disgust.

  She stood up. ‘I think I’d like to go home now, Kenny, if you don’t mind. Thank you for the tea, Mrs … ‘

  ‘Just call me Mo, everyone else does. Except little Kenny here, who is far too shy and polite,’ and she gave a throaty chuckle. ‘At least in that respect.’

  Dena chose not to take her up on the offer either and walked briskly to the door, expecting Kenny to follow her immediately. But she was out in the street before he came charging out, clearly annoyed.

  ‘That’s no way to thank someone when they offer to help. You were downright rude to Maureen in there.’

  ‘If I was rude, and I should think she’d be too thick-skinned to notice, then I’m sorry. But what she was suggesting was not only illegal, but also nasty and highly dangerous. To be honest, Kenny, I was appalled by her so-called generous offer, and by her home, and by the woman herself. She isn’t going to use her butcher’s implements on me, ta very much.’ On which note Dena swung about and stalked off, head held high.

  ‘Don’t you dare walk away from me!’ Kenny yelled after her. ‘Come back here this minute.’ But she didn’t. Dena kept right on walking.

  The church was packed, Belle sitting in regal state close to the front, in accordance with her prerogative as mother of the groom. She was royally dressed in a Dior style calf length dress in fuscia shantung that must have ten yards of fabric in the skirt alone, and a sweet little jacket trimmed with a white collar and cuffs, nipped in at the waist which made her appear slimmer than she actually was. Long white gloves and a wide brimmed picture hat finished off the ensemble, making Belle feel as glamorous as Princess Margaret Rose herself. Only the high-heeled shoes were causing her problems, pinching her corns something shocking. She eased them off a little under the seat.

  Joe Southworth chose this moment to approach and lean over the back of the pew to whisper in her ear. ‘You look stunning, Belle. See you after, in the pub?’

  She turned her face up to his, leaning back to allow ample opportunity for him to enjoy the view of her cleavage visible in the vee of her collar. ‘Now why would you want to do that, Joe? Wouldn’t Irma object to your absence from her side? Anyway, I thought you and me were history.’

  ‘And whose fault is that? You’re the one constantly blowing hot and cold, not me. I never know where I am with you, Belle. We had a nice time in Cheadle Hulme that time, didn’t we?’

  Belle flickered her eyelashes in a gesture of non-committal. ‘Perhaps you were wanting to talk about the new committee. It’s coming up to that time of year again, I see. And they can’t all be standing for re-election. Surely some committee members must have finished their term of office? Yourself, for instance?’

  ‘I’m allowed to stand again for a second term, according to the constitution.’

  ‘Then maybe I should stand against you, go right to the top.’

  He chuckled softly as though she’d made some sort of joke. ‘Don’t talk daft. You need to have served time on the committee first.’

  ‘And how could I do that, I wonder?’ She kept her voice deliberately soft, since they were in church, but made no attempt to disguise its cutting edge.

  Joe sighed, glancing swiftly behind him as he leaned closer. ‘We’ve talked about this any number of times and I’ve already explained, there’s nothing I can do. You know I can’t propose you. It would raise eyebrows. It would look suspicious. God, but I’ve missed you, Belle. I’ll come looking for you later and we’ll make up for lost time, eh? See you,’ and giving her a knowing wink, he swaggered off, well pleased with himself.

  ‘Not if I see you first,’ Belle muttered.

  The organ was playing Love Divine All Love Excelling and she smiled as Kenny and Carl quietly took their seats in the pew in front of her. The pair of them looked so smart in their new grey suits with draped jackets and single button fastening, pristine white shirts and slim Jim grey silk ties.

  Such fine boys, so handsome that any girl would be proud to have one for a husband. Kenny was perhaps the more dozy of the two, totally lacking in ambition but his heart was in the right place, Belle was sure of it. But then she would think so, being his mother. Who knew what went on in that head of his, daft young fool that he was. Belle hoped that becoming a father would be just what he needed to make him grow up and launch him on to the ladder of success.

  Carl was much more complicated and would so often take the moral high ground. But he was right in a way. Dena Dobson was fortunate to be marrying into the kind of family who didn’t object to her shady background. A brother dead in strange circumstances; taken into care for being out of control; and now up the duff at just sixteen. Her record certainly wasn’t unblemished and few women would welcome such a daughter-in-law.

  Belle passed the time by idly studying her neighbours as they quietly entered and found their seats. She nodded and smiled at Mr and Mrs George, the baker and his wife, and Jimmy Ramsay growing fatter by the day. She agreed with Annie Higginson that they couldn’t have picked a better day, weatherwise, and felt a wave of sympathy for the way she bullied her sister into waiting while she comfortably settled herself before allowing her to even enter the pew.

  There was good old Joan, looking all rosy cheeked and puffed up with self-importance because she’d been allowed to make all the food for the reception, and been rewarded with an extra day’s holiday. Generous to a fault, I am, Belle thought.

  Next to Joan came Alec Hall with his pink dickie-bow tie and black velvet jacket. Bit of a snob but such a gent! He’d grudgingly agreed to provide music later for a bit of a knees-up, with the help of that son of his, who always looked so sulky, like he wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But then the poor motherless boy must have had a hard time of it, living with such a father, who never had a good word to say for anyone, even his own son. Having been widowed when a V2 bomb dropped on his house with his poor wife inside, he’d be quite a catch for some likely woman would Alec. Belle had made a play for him herself once, but got nowhere. Just as well, happen. He was a bit too serious for her taste.

  One by one the church filled up with friends and neighbours, with pretty well every stall on Champion St Market represented. But then no one would dare to miss Belle’s big day. Even that slimy toad Barry Holmes had got himself a good seat near the front, on the bride’s side she noticed, and his pink carnation was even larger and more showy than usual.

  Dena’s mother hadn’t even bothered to turn up, silly cow. But then, she hadn’t been sent an invitation.

  Moments later the organist started the hymn all over again and there was a rustling among the assembled congregation, a shuffling of feet and bottoms as folk kept turning around to see who was here, and to check if the bride had arrived yet. Belle glanced at her watch. She should have arrived five minutes ago. No doubt she was going to be fashionably late, as was the bride’s prerogative.

  Another five minutes went by, and then another. Whispering had been added to the shuffling feet and Belle’s heart was starting to pound. She’d kill the little bleeder when she did turn up. What right had she to keep their lovely Kenny waiting like this? And she was heartily sick of Love Divine. Couldn’t the flaming organist at least change the tune?

  It was ten more agonisingly long minutes after that when the priest glided over on softly padding feet to whisper the fateful words: ‘Are you sure that she is coming, Mrs Garside? She’s almost twenty-five minutes late. It’s looking remarkably like she’s changed her mind.’

  ‘Changed her mind? Don’t be
ridiculous!’ Belle’s cry of outrage came out louder than expected and heads turned in her direction. Dropping her voice to a hissing whisper, she continued, ‘Why would the flaming tart change her mind? She needs this marriage. What else can she do?’

  Glancing nervously at his mother Kenny looked white as a ghost, and Carl, quite beside himself with pent-up anger, thumped one fist into the palm of his other hand as if he’d like to hammer it into Dena’s head.

  The priest slid back to have a quiet word the organist, who at least changed the tune to some dirge that sounded more like a funeral march than one appropriate for a wedding. Belle couldn’t even bring herself to turn around now. She shrank into her seat, shamed before everyone, keenly aware that all eyes were upon her; shock and pity pulsating through the little church as everyone whispered behind their hands, gossiping about her and her stupid son.

  Belle realised that she’d been made into a complete laughing stock before the entire market. Fat chance now of getting elected onto the committee!

  Minutes later she heard the stealthy patter of footsteps as people crept quietly out of the church. Friends and neighbours had got the message, even if Belle and the poor deserted groom refused to accept it.

  The bride had stood him up.

  Shocking as it might seem, since the girl was pregnant and disgraced, after all, Dena Dobson clearly wasn’t nearly so anxious to be made into an honest woman as Belle Garside might imagine. In the circumstances they might just as well all go home, take off their finery and get back to work. There would be no wedding celebration on this day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dena had her baby without any fuss in early September 1955: a beautiful girl weighing six pounds four ounces, with a cap of strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes who she named Trudy. Dena chose the name because she’d looked it up in a baby book at the library, and discovered it meant ‘one who is loved’. And Trudy would certainly be that.

  Dena knew what it felt like to be unwanted and unloved, a state of affairs she had no intention of inflicting on any child of hers.

  Dena had managed to hang on to her job on Winnie Watkin’s fabric stall until she was seven months pregnant. Since then she’d relied on the maternity benefit that Miss Rogers was able to get her.

  The social worker had also stood as godmother at a quiet little christening ceremony, together with Winnie Watkins. The two women flushed with pride by the honour accorded them, for all they knew Dena had no one else to ask.

  Christmas on her own had been a bleak and lonely time, passing in a blur of dirty nappies with nothing in the way of presents and good cheer. She’d almost found herself feeling nostalgic for Ivy Bank and for Carthorse, not to mention Miss Stanford and her shower of sweets.

  There were days when Dena couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for herself but then she would think of those less fortunate. The starving babies in Africa, for instance. The death of James Dean in a terrible road accident at only 24. Racial riots in America, and even Princess Margaret. She too was without her lover this Christmas. Throughout the autumn Dena had watched the events of the doomed romance with pity in her heart. If a princess couldn’t find happiness with her Group Captain Townsend, what hope had she?

  Her New Year’s resolution had been to put sadness behind her, not to think about Kenny any more or of what she’d lost, and to get herself a job. It was time to look to the future, for her child’s sake as well as her own.

  She was still living in the bedsit that Miss Rogers had found for her, still single, and now unemployed. Not the best start in life for her precious child, but Dena remained determinedly optimistic. Things could only get better. At least she had a healthy, beautiful baby of her own to love and care for.

  There wasn’t a day went by when she didn’t thank her lucky stars for finding the strength to fight the prejudice she’d encountered. The thought of giving her baby away to some other, unknown woman, just because she happened to be respectably married, was too awful to contemplate.

  As for Kenny’s solution, Dena shuddered every time she remembered that sordid little room and his dreadful ‘friend’. She’d once asked him if he was still seeing Maureen, but he’d vehemently denied it. Not that she believed a word of it, quite certain that he lied and was indeed still seeing her. Nor did she care any more what he did. It was nothing to do with her.

  But if she could so easily forget him, why did she still worry about him? Why did she wish sometimes that they’d been able to get married without any fuss or interference from anyone?

  On that fateful day, when it had become abundantly clear that Dena had no intention of going through with the wedding, he’d rushed over to hammer on her door and shout the place down. Dena had refused to let him in, begging him to go away and leave her alone. And, miracle of miracles, he did just that, though not before he’d assured her that if she should change her mind and decide to forgive him and marry him after all, she only had to call and he’d come running.

  On the days when she was near to tears with loneliness and panic at the responsibilities and problems that lay ahead, Dena had been sorely tempted to say that she had, but then would remember why she hadn’t married him in the first place.

  What was worse, Dena was haunted by another face, one more ruggedly good looking, with winged eyebrows that scowled at her, a square jaw set tight, and darkly curled hair she ached to touch. It was astonishing how her insides would clench then flutter like a scatty butterfly whenever she should chance to catch a glimpse of Carl out and about in the market.

  Always he would turn away, deliberately snubbing her, not wanting to meet her eye.

  Dena knew that he condemned her for letting Kenny down so terribly, for showing his brother up before everyone. She longed to be able to explain, to tell him that she’d needed time to think and properly consider what she was letting herself in for. Even now that Trudy was born, she still hadn’t made up her mind whether she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Kenny. Did that mean she was stupid or wise, brave or immature, sensibly cautious or just plain irresponsible? Dena felt too confused even to understand her own motives and emotions.

  Why should she need to explain to Carl, to anyone, how she felt? And why on earth was she behaving like a stupid schoolgirl with a crush when really she hated the very sight of him?

  He’d never been anything but rude and unpleasant towards her, so why allow him to affect her in this way just because he was a good looking male? He was nothing to her, nothing at all! She didn’t even like him. Kenny might be tactless and immature, but at least he wasn’t nearly so violent or aggressive as his brother.

  She would cope somehow or other, without help from anyone, no matter how difficult it might be. Dena had soon discovered that dealing with a new baby on her own wasn’t going to be easy. Trudy was often fretful, either refusing to suck properly, or being sick because she’d gobbled up her feed too fast, screwing up her little knees against colic and night after night screaming her head off. The tiny bedsit stank of dirty nappies, sour milk and Fairex powder.

  Nevertheless, despite all these problems the baby was a delight and Dena was entranced by her, could have sat all day simply gazing at her in wonder were it not for the nappies to be washed, and the baby food to prepare.

  She was breast feeding but the health visitor, who called regularly to offer advice and support, was encouraging Dena to get her on to some solids as soon as possible, so that she would sleep better.

  Miss Rogers too remained a regular visitor but Alice, on the other hand, never came near. Once again when Dena most needed a mother, she simply wasn’t there. Even now, after four months, she still hadn’t called to see her new grandchild.

  Belle, however, was entirely different. She was never away. More’s the pity, Dena thought at times. Day after day she would pop in to give advice, or, more accurately, to check that Dena was doing things properly and issue a lecture if something didn’t quite suit.

  At first, following the shame of b
eing made to look ridiculous before everyone, Belle hadn’t spoken to her for weeks, but when the baby was born she simply hadn’t been able to resist coming to view her first grandchild and had fallen instantly in love with baby Trudy.

  ‘Has Kenny been to see her yet?’

  Dena shook her head. ‘I doubt he will.’

  ‘He will if I tell him to.’

  It was a day or two later, perhaps at Belle’s instigation, Kenny finally came to see his child. He stood and gazed down at her as she lay in the pram.

  ‘Well, what do you think of your daughter? Isn’t she beautiful?’ Dena tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice, needing him to fall in love with her on sight, as she had. Perhaps that would make everything right between them. She wanted him to see how the curl of her fingers were utterly captivating; to marvel at her shell-like fingernails; the twist of her blonde curls; the pout of her tiny rosebud mouth. To see that was the most a beautiful smile and not wind, and how bright and beautiful were her lovely blue eyes.

  ‘Babies all look the same to me.’ He turned to Dena with that all too familiar self-pitying expression on his face. ‘I came to ask if you’re ready to forgive me yet, and name the day.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to think about all of that just yet, Kenny.’

  He pouted. ‘There’s other girls would be glad of such an offer, I can tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘I’m sure they would. But look at me. I’m a mess. Like a fat plum pudding. Give me a chance to recover from the birth at least.’

  The second time he called she asked him more pointedly, ‘Do you still see Maureen?’