Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  He left then without another word, but inside he was livid. He’d almost had her in the palm of his hands. He’d seen her weakening, still wanting him, aching for him to kiss her like he used to. Then the shutters had come down, just like before. Who the hell did she think she was preaching to him about getting a job? He got enough of that at home from Carl.

  And then he remembered the idea that had come to him weeks ago. Maybe this was the moment to give it a try.

  The first person Dena told about this exciting new development was Miss Rogers when she came round on her next visit. ‘And you say it was Kenny Garside who persuaded her?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘How surprising. The very young man she was determined you stay well clear of.’ Miss Rogers was sitting with Trudy on her knee, letting the little girl pull all the things out of her big leather handbag. ‘But I’m pleased for you, of course I am, Dena, since I know how much it means to you to be on good terms with your mother. But don’t have too high expectations,’ was the social worker’s cautious response.

  Dena said nothing to this, but she was thoughtful. It was strange, in a way, that it had been Kenny who’d been the one to persuade her to call round.

  Miss Rogers continued, ‘Alice isn’t an easy woman, as we well know, and with a volatile personality. You’re doing so well on your own. Look at Trudy. She’s absolutely blooming. You’ve made a marvellous mother, Dena. I’m so proud of you. And you’re doing well at your job. I’d hate to see you risk spoiling what you’ve achieved.’

  Dena looked into the woman’s steady gaze. This plain, unprepossessing, busy-body social worker was the real person she should thank for what she had. Miss Rogers had made certain that no one would be allowed to take away her baby. No mean achievement.

  Dena said, ‘don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not half so stupid or gullible as I once was.’

  At this, Miss Rogers actually smiled. ‘That’s not a description I would ever have levelled at you, Dena. Naïve, rebellious perhaps, but neither gullible nor stupid. Be on your guard, that’s all I’m saying. Your independence was hard won, hold it fast.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Security was always a problem at the market, and the market hall had been broken into on a number of occasions in recent months, with several of the stalls either burgled or vandalised.

  ‘Crying shame it is when people work hard all their lives to make a modest living, only to have it stolen from them.’

  This complaint had come from Sam Beckett when he’d found his cash register had been jemmied and all his float gone. Kenny had to agree with him, although Sam hadn’t lost nearly as much money as he intended to claim back from the insurance. Kenny knew this for a fact, since Sam’s hard earned cash was now floating and jingling in his own pockets.

  ‘What you need,’ Kenny advised, ‘is someone to keep an eye out for trouble, to tip you the wink should any dodgy characters start nosing around.’

  ‘If only,’ Sam said.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind keeping a lookout for you,’ Kenny offered. ‘I’m considering setting myself up in a little business. A sort of security firm like. Would you be interested? My fees would be very reasonable.’

  Sam looked thoughtful. ‘How much are we talking about?’

  Kenny told him and he blenched. ‘By heck, that’s coming it a bit strong.’

  ‘I could give you a discount, since you’re me first client, and friendly with Mam like. How many tools did you lose the other night? How many spades and drills and shovels could you afford to lose each week, rather than pay for proper security?’

  ‘Too many,’ Sam grumbled, then after a thoughtful pause. ‘All right, I’m prepared to give you a month’s trial, with the discount you mentioned. See how you go on.’

  High on this first success Kenny went straight over to the Misses Higginson’s millinery stall. The two maiden ladies had been broken into twice lately and were almost hysterical with fear, so were more than happy to sign up for Kenny’s little scheme.

  The Bertalone’s too were keen to join since their best ice cream maker machine had been badly damaged. Besides, they knew better than to cross swords with the Garsides.

  Alec Hall wasn’t interested, not until the market hall was again broken into a few nights later and he suffered three smashed guitars and a broken trombone.

  ‘Pity you didn’t sign up sooner,’ Kenny said, with a sad shake of his head. ‘No one else was done.’

  ‘Funny that,’ Alec agreed, a tinge of suspicion in his voice, but he paid up without any further argument. All most satisfactory.

  Kenny had always been jealous of Carl; his mother’s favourite son, being the eldest. At least he’d been the favourite once. She wasn’t quite so pleased with him now that he’d given up the driving and settled on to the outside market, not even happy that he seemed to be doing well. But then she’d always been a bit snobby about the stalls outside while she lorded it in here.

  But Kenny intended to catch his brother up, even to overtake him. He’d be rolling in dosh soon, earning far more money by doing nothing, than daft honest Carl would ever make from working all hours God sends on his poxy household goods stall. Serve him right!

  ‘I hope we’re doing the right thing, trusting Kenny Garside to act as a security agent for our stall,’ the elder Miss Higginson said to Sam Beckett a week or so later when she saw him hanging up an array of coal scuttles over his stall.

  He turned to smile reassuringly at her, if with a somewhat vague detachment. ‘You’ve had no trouble lately, have you Miss Higginson?’

  ‘Oh no, none at all.’

  ‘Well then, it seems to be working. We can only give him a try.’

  ‘But his charges are so expensive. I’m not sure we can afford to keep up the payments for too long.’

  ‘I’m not prepared to pay him a penny,’ Winnie Watkins chipped in, not wishing to be left out of this bit of gossip. ‘And wouldn’t advise you to, neither. Not that it’s any of my business.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I’m afraid it’s too late. We already have. But my sister Clara thinks it should be Joe Southworth’s job to deal with security issues,’ pursing her prim mouth with disapproval. ‘But he does nothing. I’m not sure he’s quite up to the mark any more, are you?’

  Sam could see a customer hovering and was anxious to escape. Once started on some hobby horse or other, Annie Higginson’s complaints could turn into an endless litany.

  Alec Hall strolled over, hands in pockets and a deep frown marking his handsome features. ‘I share your disquiet, Annie, but we must tread softly with that young man. He could well be genuine, having turned over a new leaf, as it were. All we can do is give him a fair trial and hope for the best. If we’re not satisfied after three months say, we can all agree to stop.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that would be splendid. Absolutely splendid,’ Annie Higginson agreed.

  Winnie remarked that he wouldn’t even get three weeks out of her, but with nothing more to be said on the matter and the market hall door already unlocked, they each hurried away to their respective stalls.

  Alice did call again one Wednesday, just when Dena was getting ready to go to work. ‘I’m not stopping,’ she said, looking round for somewhere to sit. ‘Is this your only chair? I suppose it will have to do then, though it doesn’t look very comfortable. Have you got the kettle on?’

  Alice sat ramrod straight in the chair, not bothering to take off her hat and coat and doing her utmost to look uncomfortable. Dena prayed Winnie wouldn’t mind if she was ten minutes late for once and rushed to make tea. Drat, she didn’t have a single biscuit in the place.

  ‘It’s just as well you’re not stopping because I’m on me way to work,’ Dena said, as pleasantly as she could. ‘Tuesday is my day off, so if you could come on that day in future, it would be better.’

  ‘For you maybe, but not for me. Tuesday isn’t convenient,’ Alice said. ‘I always do my baking on a Tuesday.’

  ‘Baking? You�
�ve taken up baking?’

  ‘We have to eat.’

  ‘Of course.’ An awkward pause while Dena tried to picture her mother baking. It was not a scene she was familiar with. Even when she was younger Alice had much preferred to buy her bread and cake from Mr George the baker. ‘Couldn’t you do your baking on another day, Wednesday perhaps?’

  ‘I do my shopping on a Wednesday. That’s why I’m here. Thought I could kill two birds with one stone if I used this market for a change, and pop in to have a cuppa with my daughter at the same time. I thought you could perhaps point your old mother in the way of a few bargains. Of course, if I’m in the way . . .’

  ‘No, no, not at all.’

  Alice peered into the cup Dena handed her, just as if she expected to find tea leaves floating on the top, or a smear on the crockery. ‘Bit mean with your milk, aren’t you?’ Dena added a drop more.

  So that’s what she represented to her mother: a chore to be squeezed in between the butcher and the candlestick maker. Dena tried not to show her hurt. ‘You know this market as well I do, having used it for years. I doubt I could spot a bargain half so well as you. You never seemed to miss a trick.’

  ‘Aye, well it takes a sharp eye and a skill for haggling, at which I’m an expert.’ Alice took a sip of the tea and pulled a face. ‘This isn’t best Yorkshire.’

  ‘No Mam, I can’t afford best Yorkshire.’

  Alice sniffed. ‘Don’t tell me you can’t afford biscuits either?’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve run out.’

  ‘Never were much of a housekeeper and you’ve clearly not improved with practise. We have decent shops in Chorlton. To be honest I don’t bother much with markets these days. Cheap nasty places markets are, full of riff-raff and cabbage leaves all over the place. Oh, wanting to be off, are you? I don’t know why I bothered coming at all. Well, don’t let me stop you, if you’d rather be with your lover-boy.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to work, I’ve just told you. And he’s not my lover-boy.’

  ‘It’s poky in here. How do you stand it?’ and with scarcely a pause for breath, ‘So he chucked you then, that chap of yours?’

  Dena was tugging on her coat, brown eyes downcast so that her mother couldn’t see how upset she was. She should have known better. Alice hadn’t changed a bit, still taking her biggest satisfaction in finding fault and criticising.

  Not once had she even asked how Dena was coping, or, more importantly, how Trudy was. She hadn’t even glanced in the direction of the pram where, thank goodness, the baby was sleeping peacefully for once.

  ‘Actually, I chucked him. I left Kenny Garside standing at the alter if you must know, and serve him right.’

  ‘Why, what did he do?’

  ‘I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’ Dena picked up her bag of sandwiches, her heart heavy. ‘I’m sorry to rush you but I’m late already.’

  Alice slammed the mug down on the kitchen table. ‘Pardon me for being such a nuisance,’ and headed for the door.

  ‘Aw, Mam, don’t go off in a huff. I’ve told you, Tuesday is my day off. I’d have more time for a chat then. I’m sure we could get on better if we just gave ourselves the opportunity.’

  I’ve told you, Tuesdays aren’t convenient.’ On which note Alice sailed out of the room, the feather on her hat just skimming the door frame as she left.

  The next time Dena opened the door it was to find Kenny standing there, a huge bunch of wilting chrysanthemums in his hand. She stifled a weary sigh. As if she didn’t have enough trouble with her mother, here was yet another problem that wouldn’t go away. ‘Not today, Kenny, please. I’ve nothing more to say to you.’

  ‘But you owe me after what I’ve done for you, getting your mam talking to you again. You could at least appear grateful.’

  He marched into the bedsit over to the kitchen table and slapped the flowers down right in the middle of a length of sunshine yellow cotton fabric stuck all over with different patterns of daisies, cats and parakeets. He picked one up and twisted it this way and that, poking at it with his finger. Dena removed the flowers and stuck them in a jam jar.

  ‘You really don’t have to do this. In fact I’d prefer it if you didn’t.’ Then she took the pattern from him and carefully pinned it into place before starting to cut it out.

  Kenny watched, lower lip stuck out in a pout, saying nothing.

  ‘I am grateful for your help, Kenny, truly I am. The trouble is that Mam and me just can’t seem to hit it off. She did come round to see me again, only the other day but – oh, I don’t know – maybe I didn’t handle it very well. I was in a rush to get to work. I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. That’s all you ever think about these days,’ Kenny grumbled. ‘Bloody work!’

  ‘Don’t swear in front of Trudy.’

  ‘She’s bloody asleep.’

  ‘Kenny! Anyway, my work is important to me! And I have a child to raise all on me own now.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’

  Dena said nothing but went back to her cutting, not wishing to have him start on her apparent defection all over again.

  Kenny gazed entranced at her slender arms, her nimble fingers, the way her breasts wobbled delightfully as she moved, and felt that familiar, delicious ache in his groin. Why couldn’t she see that he needed her. Right now!

  Dena was saying in falsely bright tones, ‘Mam might surprise me and come round again one afternoon. I live in hope. I do appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Kenny, really I do, although that doesn’t mean I have to marry you for God’s sake!’ She glanced up at him, wry amusement in her lovely chestnut eyes. ‘You surely didn’t think I’d sleep with you out of gratitude, did you?’

  His face was a picture and for a moment Dena was stunned, for he clearly had thought that. But then she recognized the dangerous glitter in his eyes, how his mouth drooped into that all too familiar self-pitying pout and quickly changed her wry smile to one of sympathy.

  ‘I’m sorry, really I am.’ He took a step towards her but she held up one hand, palm outstretched. ‘Come no closer, Kenny. I mean it, it’s over between us. I’ve told you this a thousand times and I think it would be best if you didn’t call any more.’

  In her other hand, he noticed, she held a pair of scissors, so Kenny decided it would be sensible to obey this command, at least for now. Yet he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat.

  ‘You’re tired, that’s what’s wrong with you. It’s all this sewing you’re doing. Why do you want to spend every minute of your time on this rubbish? You’ve got a good job with Winnie, isn’t that enough? Why make more work for yourself?’

  Dena looked away, concentrating on cutting out her pattern, trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze; keeping her voice deliberately light in tone. ‘Because I’m ambitious. I mean to go places. I certainly don’t intend to spend my entire life in this poky bedsit.’

  She glanced about her at the muddle, every surface piled high with finished, or part finished garments, bolts of fabric lying about the floor so that to move anywhere you had to squeeze between bed, sewing machine and a huge old play pen that Barry Holmes had got for her and which took up most of the centre floor space. Then she smiled kindly at him. ‘Find yourself another girl, Kenny. That would be for the best.’

  There was a warm flush on her cheeks, a moistness to her mouth for all it was set firm. He watched, fascinated, as she pushed back a stray strand of hair. She’d had it cut again, he noticed, in that cropped, sophisticated style he didn’t like. Despite her words, Kenny couldn’t believe she’d rejected him so completely, that there was to be no chance of a quick bit of the other, which was indeed what he’d been hoping for in weeks. He’d been working himself up to it ever since he’d called on Alice to help get him through the door again following the last time Dena had banished him.

  But he’d no intention of giving up.

  In his mind he could see himself pushing her down on to that damn table
amongst her blasted patterns, shoving his throbbing penis into her. He’d tie her to the table with the tape measure and pound into her till she screamed for mercy. That would show her how she was entirely his, to do with as he pleased.

  He thought about this for a moment, revelling in the throbbing in his loins. And then slowly he became aware of how forlorn and pathetic he must appear, standing before her, unwanted and rejected. All his efforts had got him nowhere, nowhere at all.

  Oh, but he’d have her in the end, see if he didn’t. She couldn’t escape him that easy.

  In the weeks following, Dena made a dozen or more skirts which sold steadily on the stall, then she moved on to Capri pants, all in different colours from palest pastel to strong primary colours such as turquoise, tangerine or coral. She made some halter tops to go with them, boleros and cropped tops with scoop necks that showed off the midriff, and with summer coming they sold well.

  Winnie provided a rack for the clothes, which stood in front of the fabric stall and customers would come time and time again to see what Dena had made this week.

  She used the cabbage rose cotton sateen to make a full skirted shirtwaister with a wide matching fabric belt, pointed collar and three-quarter sleeves with turn-back cuffs. It sold the moment she hung it on the rack and so Winnie got her to make more in glorious florals, leaves or green ferns, candy striped or fresh looking gingham checks. Diamond trellis checks and spots were also popular, some of which she made into dresses with scoop necks and little capped sleeves.

  She would often see girls wearing the skirts or dresses she’d made at the dances she still attended with Gwen, whenever Barry was available to baby-sit; or else out and about around the market on a Saturday afternoon. It made her feel proud to have made such an impact on local fashion.

  The new styles with full skirts needed support to make them look good and paper nylon petticoats became fashionable, particularly now that skirts were shorter, stopping just below the knee. Dena again went round the Manchester warehouses and bought in several different rolls of net in bright rainbow colours of pink, blue, green and mauve. These she made up into tiered bouffant petticoats which swirled the skirts out delightfully, although they did prick somewhat and needed an underslip to make them comfortable to wear. Nevertheless they made a girl feel like a prima-ballerina and Dena was by this time spending every spare moment working on the machine.