Putting on the Style

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Aye, sorry, you’re right,’ and he looked thoughtful for a moment.

  ‘Anyway, I’d best be off, I’m late as it is,’ and she tucked the fluffy eiderdown up to Trudy’s chin, took off the brake and set off again through the slush.

  All the stalls, both inside and out, were trimmed with fairy lights. A Christmas tree forty feet high stood on the corner of Champion Street where the Salvation Army gathered to sing carols. The strains of Hark The Herald Angels Sing or Silent Night, mingling with the more rousing notes of Chuck Berry singing Roll Over Beethoven, or Rock With The Cavemen by Tommy Steele.

  Today, Father Christmas was to make an appearance on the market, and Dena intended taking Trudy along to meet him and get a present along with all the other children. Assuming she could sneak an hour off from Winnie’s stall. There never seemed a minute even to snatch a cuppa.

  This morning Dena felt exhausted before ever she started work. She’d been up till three in the morning finishing off half a dozen little toreador jackets in scarlet satin, then Trudy had woken up with yet another tooth coming through and neither of them had got any sleep after that. She was still grizzling even now.

  Christmas had been her busiest time so far, churning out party dresses, skirts and blouses as fast as her fingers could operate the machine. She would have loved to have made some of the new swing opera coats in brocade but she really didn’t have the time. Maybe she could make some cotton duster coats instead for the spring. She’d seen a picture of one in Vogue.

  They now had two racks in operation and neither seemed to stay full very long. Repeating on favourites while trying to put out something new and fresh each week was Dena’s greatest challenge. She just didn’t have enough pairs of hands.

  Yet despite her exhaustion she was loving every minute of it. Over-worked she may be, but she was at least earning a good wage and keeping her child without any help from anybody. And her little pot of savings was growing rapidly, so what if some folk did still turn their noses up when she passed by? Others, the young girls who were her main customers, would always smile and give her a cheery wave.

  ‘Hi Dena. I’ll be in on Saturday.’

  ‘Are you getting some more of those patchwork skirts in, Dena? My friend’s got one and I love it.’

  Life was fun.

  Trudy was only fifteen months old, too young yet to fully appreciate entirely what was going on, but Dena meant this to be a good Christmas for her, for them both. Alice had not invited them over to Chorlton for Christmas dinner, and if an invitation came now, at the last minute, Dena would refuse it.

  She’d already made her plans. She would roast a chicken which they would have with some of Mr Ramsay’s best chipolata sausages, along with Brussel sprouts, roast potatoes and chestnut stuffing. She’d made a plum pudding, saved hard for weeks and bought a few presents for Trudy’s stocking including a wooden truck she could hold on to when she started walking.

  There wasn’t enough room for a tree in the bedsit but Dena had got a cheap box of crackers so they could have fun pulling them together, and each wear a silly hat as they ate their Christmas dinner.

  This morning, over coffee, Dena asked Winnie if she’d like to come over and share the dinner with them. The flare of pleasure in her grey eyes warmed Dena’s heart but just as quickly it faded again.

  ‘Nay, I can’t do that, what about Donald? He’s not good with people, likes it best when we’re on us own. I’d ask you over to my place but . . .’

  ‘That’s all right. I don’t mind.’ Dena thought for a moment. Winnie’s obsession with hanging on to her husband as if he were still alive created untold problems. ‘How about later in the day, when Donald takes his nap. Could you pop over then, to see Trudy open the present you’ve bought for her, and to have a glass of sherry and a mince pie with us perhaps? I’ve got some in specially.’

  Twin spots of colour bloomed on Winnie’s round cheeks. ‘Eeh, that’d be grand. I’d like that.’

  ‘Donald won’t mind? I mean, he’s a World War II hero, isn’t he? And you must be so proud of him.’

  A slight pause before Winnie answered. ‘No, Donald won’t mind. He’d be pleased that we were such good friends. We are friends, aren’t we Dena?’

  Dena put her arms about the soft plump little body. ‘We are indeed. You gave me a job when I was down, and when nobody else would give me the time of day. And we work well together, don’t you think?’

  Dena was pleased that Winnie was coming over, but even if she and Trudy did have to spend much of the day alone, she meant to ensure that her baby had a wonderful time.

  Christmas Eve dawned and once again Dena was late for work, having overslept following yet another marathon sewing session, this time making a few last minute frilly aprons, head bands and Juliet caps for people to buy as presents. She was almost running as she trundled the big old pram through the slush, Trudy whimpering unhappily. The pile of finished sewing was wrapped in an old mackintosh balanced precariously on top of the rainproof apron and just as Dena was negotiating the pram up the steps into the market hall, the whole lot slid off and dropped right into a pile of slushy snow.

  ‘Oh no!’ Dena leapt to snatch it up but in doing so forgot to set the brake and the big pram began to roll away from her. She made a grab for the handle and in her haste and exhaustion tripped over the parcel and fell flat on her face in the snow.

  The pram was picking up pace, racing over the slippy ground towards the road and now Dena was screaming and shouting for all she was worth. Some people glanced across at her, puzzled but made no effort to help her up, others ignored her, or didn’t even hear as her cries were drowned by the noise of traffic, the chatter and shouts of market traders, and the sound of Guy Mitchell Singing The Blues.

  The pram reached the edge of the kerb, tilted off it and lurched into the road, Trudy now stunned into shocked silence by the speed of her ride. A large green bus was heading towards it and to her horror Dena saw that at any moment the pram, and her child within it, would be smashed to pieces.

  And then, like a miracle, there was Carl. He was running, shoving and pushing his way through the crowds, quite brutally in some cases and folk were yelling after him. Dena too was on her feet and starting to run, even though she hadn’t a hope of reaching the pram in time.

  It might all have happened in a split second but it felt as if time had switched into slow motion and really she wasn’t moving at all but still stuck fast in the huge drifts of snow.

  Carl reached the pram just as the bus rounded the corner, snatched hold of the handle and swerved it perilously to one side as it raced past, brakes squealing, big wheels spraying passers-by with a great sheet of filthy slush and ice.

  Carl was covered in the stuff, not that Dena paid him the slightest attention as she snatched up her terrified child and smothered her with kisses. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry sweetheart. Mummy shouldn’t have let go of that big nasty pram. Oh, why didn’t I put the brake on? Why did I bother about that silly parcel of sewing?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Carl dryly remarked, brushing ice from his jacket. ‘And a thank you would not be inappropriate at this point.’

  Dena stared at him, seeing him properly at last, the great globs of ice and snow stuck in his hair and splattered all over his clothes, noting the scratches on his face and hands where he’d bumped and knocked into things.

  She was filled with shame. ‘Oh, Carl, how can I begin to thank you? I couldn’t possibly find the words. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You saved my baby’s life!’

  Then still with Trudy pressed tight to her breast she leaned close and kissed him gently full on the mouth.

  It was meant simply as a friendly gesture, he could tell, but her mouth was warm and still trembling from shock. It felt moist and vulnerable beneath his own and he found himself parting her lips very slightly, lingering over the taste of her. Jerked to his senses by some inner voice of caution, he broke away, wanting to deny the emotion burning w
ithin him, yet knowing he could not. It blazed from his eyes, pulsated through every nerve in his body.

  As leaping shards of desire roared through him like a furnace, Carl realized that in one small moment of intimacy, everything between them had changed for ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Dena was wrapping Christmas presents later that evening when there came a knock to her door. Her heart jerked and for a moment she couldn’t quite catch her breath. It must be Carl. Had he come to apologise for responding to her kiss of gratitude like that, or to remonstrate with her for causing the accident in the first place?

  Of course it had turned into quite the opposite of a simple kiss of thanks. She could still feel the warmth of it spreading through her like fire, even now.

  Dena glanced across at Trudy, sound asleep in her cot. All sign of the sewing, including the machine, had been tidied away in preparation for Christmas Day and she’d planned to have an early night.

  Now, smoothing down her skirt, she went and opened it. Kenny stood on the landing, grinning at her with a Santa Claus hat on, and his arms full of parcels.

  ‘Merry Christmas. I’ve fetched your Trudy her presents.’

  It was on the tip of Dena’s tongue to say that she was his Trudy too but stopped herself just in time. She had no wish to remind him of this fact right now. Nor did she wish to invite him in, so she simply smiled, holding out her hands. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There’s one from Mam too, some clothes I think, and the big one is from me. It’s a doll. Little girls like dolls, don’t they? I got it cheap from Leo’s toy stall.’

  Dena hid a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. It’s Christmas after all. Carl didn’t contribute. But that’s my brother all over. Said he’d see to his own presents, but don’t expect him to do anything. He’s far too mean. I’ve got a present for you too. Can I come in?’

  Dena shook her head, keeping the door half closed as she struggled to hold on to the parcels. ‘Sorry, no. Trudy is asleep and since tomorrow is going to be an exciting day for her, I need her to have a good night’s sleep. Besides, I’m pretty whacked myself. I’ve worked my socks off these last few weeks.’

  Kenny pouted. ‘Well, when can I give it to you? I hardly see you these days. I should be the one looking after you. If only . . .’

  Dena let out a weary sigh. ‘Don’t start this now, Kenny.’

  ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf, got myself a job, just like you asked me to. And I could help you with yours. I’ll do anything, run errands for you, drive you to the warehouses. I’m getting a car, a Ford Zephyr. Or I could look after you here, cook, wash up. I’m good at washing up.’

  ‘Stop it, Kenny. I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine on my own.’ She started to close the door but he put his foot inside to stop it from closing.

  ‘How about the dance on New Year’s Eve then? Barry says you’re going with a friend. And who might that be?’

  ‘Gwen has got tickets for us. I’m going with her. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  His cheeks fired red. ‘Aye it is. You should’ve said.’

  ‘Why should I? I don’t have to ask your permission to go dancing with a friend.’

  ‘I’m your fella. You’re my girl. How many times do I have to remind you of that simple fact? You should be going to the dance with me, not your daft friend.’

  Dena bridled at his tone, as well as at the insinuation that he was in control of what she did or who she saw. ‘And I’ve told you a thousand times that you are not my fella, and I am not your girl. Not any more! But I’m not starting an argument standing at my own door on Christmas Eve. Good night, Kenny.’ And seeing that he’d removed his foot in his agitation so that he could jig about in his crepe soled shoes, she quietly closed the door in his face.

  His fist instantly pounded upon the panel and Trudy stirred and whimpered in her sleep. ‘Let me in, Dena. I want you to open my present now!’

  ‘Kenny,’ Dena hissed through the closed door. ‘Stop this at once and go away. You’ll wake Trudy.’

  She heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs, and breathed a deep sigh of relief, but in her heart she knew that he would be back. He always was. Kenny didn’t seem able to accept that she had a life of her own. He was jealous of her friends, of the time she spent on her sewing, even of Trudy. The more she resisted him, the more he seemed to want her.

  What his reaction would be if he ever learned that she and Carl had kissed in that intimate way, really didn’t bear thinking about.

  Christmas Day was a perfect, sunny, happy family day, even if there were only the two of them to share it. Dena tried not to think about how different it could have been if she’d had a proper family, or what Alice might be doing in Chorlton. She hadn’t come round with a present, or even a card but her mother had made her choices and there was little point in complaining about it. No doubt she would call again, if and when it suited her to do so.

  Dena helped Trudy to open her presents, laughing when she spent more time playing with the paper and boxes than the top and bricks she’d bought her, and the large doll that Kenny had brought round. Later she took her for a walk around the deserted market. It looked so sad and neglected with all the trestles folded away and the canvas flapping forlornly in the breeze. But it would be buzzing with life again just as soon as the holiday over. That was what she loved about it. The colour, the noise, the bustle.

  And the people, of course. More and more of them were speaking to her now, forced to do so since they wished to buy her lovely clothes. Dena knew in her heart that although her life might not have turned out quite as she’d hoped, she was happy.

  On her return she found a small parcel sitting on her doormat. It was another present for Trudy, this time from Carl.

  It was a beautiful little silver bracelet and Dena was stunned, not having expected anything. She really couldn’t make him out. Most of the time he could barely find it in himself to be polite to her, or say a good word on her behalf. Then that kiss – now - a present for Trudy. What was going on? And more importantly, how did she feel about it?

  Later in the afternoon Winnie appeared, all spruced up in a pillarbox red dress and a dab of lipstick. She looked quite different, younger and slimmer without her several layers of woolly cardigans, and her soft brown hair all fluffed up instead of hidden beneath the dreadful bob cap, revealing a glimpse of the pretty young girl she must once have been.

  She played with Trudy for a while then when the little girl had been put down for her nap, Dena poured out two glasses of sherry and they sat down for a cosy chat.

  They talked about the stall and Christmas trade, and the success of Dena’s little sideline.

  ‘I need more space.’ Dena suddenly blurted out. ‘I can no longer cope with doing the sewing in this tiny bedsit, and I need more help. Looking after Trudy and helping you on the stall, as well as doing all the sewing on my own, is all getting a bit much.’ She sat on the edge of her bed and tears began to run down her cheeks. Perhaps it was the strange combination of happiness and loneliness on this special day, her extreme tiredness, or the accident that had very nearly happened yesterday, or simply the sherry, but she felt suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. Dena put her face in her hands and began to cry.

  Winnie was dumbfounded. Never, in all her life had she seen Dena give way to tears, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

  ‘Nay, lass, don’t take on. I’m sure we can sort something out,’ and she put her arms about Dena and rocked her gently, comfortingly, just as a mother would.

  When the tears subsided, Winnie dabbed at her cheeks with a clean white handkerchief. ‘Could you manage to work in my stock room? I know it’s right up there on the top floor of the market hall, a bit out of the way like, but happen we could organise it better and make some space for you in there. Maybe buy another machine and find someone to help. How does that sound?’

  Dena was staring at the older woman in wonder. �
�That sounds marvellous. Would you be prepared to let me do that?’

  Winnie brushed away another tear and smiled. ‘Ay, lass, it was the best thing I’ve done in years the day I took you on. Working with you has been right champion. You’re like a daughter to me now. And I reckon you’ve only just started. You’re going places, a blind man could see that. Come on, let’s drink to a new beginning and a successful future.’

  Dena was laughing, her gloom and despair gone in a trice, the burst of happiness she’d felt earlier came soaring back, restored by youth and Winnie’s faith in her, and she raised her sherry glass to the toast.

  It was over her second glass of sherry that Winnie began to talk about Donald. ‘We met at the Ritz right at the start of the war. He was with a group of his mates, all airmen on a break between missions, and the first time he asked me to dance he was a bit the worse for drink. I told him to sober up before he dared ask me again.’ Winnie smiled at the memory. ‘Well, he was back in ten minutes, eyes focused, his hair wet through from the ducking he’d given himself under the cloakroom tap and doing his best to look as sober as a judge. You had to laugh. Course, I agreed, and in the space of one dance we fell in love. Before the night was out he’d asked me to marry him and I’d accepted.’

  She paused, emotion blocking her throat and for several moments couldn’t speak.

  ‘We were so young, just turned twenty-three. I’ll be forty next year and I love him as much now as I did then. More. We only had a few months together as man and wife but I’m grateful for what we had. He was a very special man.’

  Winnie looked at Dena then, a challenge in her gaze as for the first time she admitted the truth, speaking of Donald in the past tense. Dena said nothing, simply stretched out a hand and squeezed Winnie’s hard.

  ‘We tried for a family but I had a miscarriage then lost one stillborn. He was a boy and I called him Jeffrey, though he was never christened. We coped with all of that then one day Donald went off into the wide blue yonder, just another mission, he said. But it proved to be his last.’ Again she paused, the sherry glass forgotten in her trembling fingers. Dena set it safely to one side, overwhelmed by the thought of all that grief.