‘Oh, but that would be dreadful, to be driven from a job you love because all your profits are being stolen from you. That’s appalling! He’s not getting away with this. We have to do something.’
‘What can we do?’
Dena frowned. What indeed? Hadn’t Kenny already proved the depth of his desire for vengeance? Not only had he wrecked her work room and destroyed all the new designs for her fashion show, he’d also destroyed her relationship with Carl. And look what he’d done to Winnie?
She was fortunate that Joan and her crew were willing to start all over again on very little pay, but there seemed to be nothing she could do to win back Carl. To risk annoying Kenny further could result in even more mayhem and mischief being wreaked on all their heads.
Yet what was the alternative? To allow Kenny to continue to bully and shove folk around? Not if she had any say in the matter.
Dena stiffened her spine and her voice took on a new firmness. ‘There’s always strength in numbers. We need to call a meeting of all the stall-holders involved, and none of the Garside family should be invited.’
Winnie’s eyebrows shot up in utter disbelief. ‘You’d never manage it, not in secret. Belle would be sure to get wind of such a meeting. She sees herself as Queen of the market now, and she’d view any alternative group as a sign of rebellion. She wouldn’t like that one little bit and be certain to take retaliation. Haven’t you heard of these new fines and suspensions she intends to inflict on folk? She might even decide to turn us off altogether, and let our pitches to newcomers. Folk won’t want to take the risk of losing their livelihood. There are other risks too, particularly for you.’
‘You had the courage to stand up against Kenny, why shouldn’t I?’
‘I’m saying folk are afraid the Garsides will fight dirty.’
‘Then I must make sure that they don’t. I refuse to stand by and do nothing when people are being bullied, particularly when I might well be the cause of Kenny’s nasty campaign. He’s gone too far this time.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
The meeting was held in Winnie’s front parlour one night after the market closed. The little room was packed with stall holders, some of whom were more than a little sceptical about the wisdom of taking on such a fight against the Garsides. However, no one was in any doubt that they wanted Kenny stopped.
‘Question is,’ said Jimmy Ramsay, rubbing one hand over the stubble of his broad chin. ‘How do we set about it?’
‘We should all refuse to pay. We should call his bluff,’ Alec said.
The two Misses Higginson visibly trembled. ‘And what if he robs us all, or sets fire to the place?’
A small silence before Dena chipped in. ‘He may be a bit wild, but even Kenny wouldn’t go that far.’
‘How can you be sure, Dena?’
She couldn’t. There had been a time when she’d thought she knew and understood Kenny. Now she wasn’t quite so certain. He was behaving very oddly, as was Carl, who was deliberately avoiding her, gone off into one of his huffs, making it very plain it was all over between them.
Lizzie Pringle cleared her throat, then suggested in her gentle voice that they should also consider Belle’s role in all of this. ‘Belle must have known what he was about because someone supplied him with the capital to set up in business selling those burglar alarms. I would guess they were meant simply as a cover for his less edifying business dealings. And since Kenny brought pressure to bear on us all to make us vote for Belle, was the election even legal?’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Alec. ‘It certainly wasn’t fair.’
‘Yes, but Belle has some good ideas nevertheless,’ Sam Beckett put in. ‘This market needed a shake-up and she’ll certainly give it that.’
There was much more discussion in the same vein, with everyone talking at once, somebody pointing out that Sam would be bound to take Belle’s side, since he was sharing her bed. Sam took great exception to this, fervently denying the accusation, and heated words were exchanged until Molly Poulson pounded one fat fist on the table and shouted for order.
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. We can talk round and round in circles for hours but we have to stand firm. Together! That’s the vital thing. Otherwise, Kenny will keep on upping the ante and we’ll be helpless.’
‘We wanta no dictators here,’ shouted Marco Bertalone, getting very excited. ‘We have hada too many of those already. We wanta no more.’ His round, doe eyed wife, who scarcely spoke a word of English but recognised when her husband was getting agitated, briskly shushed him.
Alec agreed. ‘Marco’s right. That’s exactly how Kenny is behaving, like some tin-pot bloody Hitler. We haven’t fought a war to be dictated to by some slip of a lad in our own back yard.’
That did it. A vote was taken and the result was unanimous. Belle might have some good ideas for the market, amongst her more radical proposals, but she had won the election unfairly. Consequently, it must be declared null and void and a new one held.
As for Kenny, a small delegation was appointed, comprising Jimmy Ramsay, Alec Hall, and Dena, (who absolutely insisted she be included) who would undertake to clearly explain to him that security was no longer an issue. No further protection payments would be made. Not by anyone.
‘Not even us,’ said Clara Higginson on an unusually brave note, and without even checking with her sister Annie first.
A cheer went up all round and the meeting was declared closed.
Belle was not at all happy about the decision, and absolutely refused to go along with it was made clear that she hadn’t, in fact, won the election fair and square; that no one was happy about it, not even her most stalwart supporters.
Jimmy Ramsay told her in his calm, authoritative way that she had no alternative. ‘We have to hold another election, Belle, otherwise we’ll have nothing but trouble from now until Kingdom Come. We can hold it same time next month. That gives any alternative candidates ample time to get their act together, but there’s no reason to hang around any longer than that. The important thing is that it must be seen to be carried out fairly. You would be wise therefore, to have a quiet word with that young lad of yours, and curb his over-enthusiasm.’
‘I never interfere with my boys.’
‘Aye, you do,’ Jimmy continued, puffing out his considerable chest. ‘You boss ‘em around something shocking, so don’t deny it. We’ll have no more being messed about, Belle. No more. You bring young Kenny to heel, or others may do it for you.’
And she had to be content with that.
Kenny was less amenable when it was forcibly pointed out to him that now everyone had bought their burglar alarms, and new security measures were being brought in, no further payments would be made to him.
‘You’ll regret it,’ he shouted, losing his temper.
‘I don’t think so,’ Alec said. ‘We’ll all stand by each other, should any unexpected trouble occur. We’ve agreed to take turns and keep watch until a new security guard has been appointed. Joe Southworth had that one right, at least.
Dena rested a quiet hand on Kenny’s arm. ‘You must accept this, Kenny. It’s called progress. And people don’t care to be bullied.’
‘Don’t you start!,’ he shouted, almost spitting in her face, then stormed away, though not before picking up one of Alec Hall’s most expensive guitars and smashing it against the wall.
Leaping to her feet in shock, she would have run after him but Alec prevented her. ‘Leave it, Dena. He’s just in a paddy because he hates to lose. We’ve made our stand.’
The day of the fashion show finally arrived and despite all the difficulties they’d had to endure, the new designs were ready. Dena, with the help of good old Joan Chapman and her stalwart crew, had managed to salvage something out of the mess. Anything which hadn’t been too badly damaged was painstakingly taken apart and put back together, sufficiently repaired to at least pass muster for the show. A new one could always be made later if the design was sold.
But most were too far gone for such remedial measures and every ruined dress, skirt, blouse or coat had been carefully remade.
Dena thought it all an absolute miracle and knew she could never have succeeded without the help of her friends. Barry had scarcely been away since Winnie had come home from the hospital, helping to nurse her as well as minding Trudy for much of the time.
‘You’re an absolute star,’ Dena would tell him, but he’d simply grin and place a plate of hot dinner before her.
‘Eat! You need to keep your keep your strength up, girl.’
The models were all lined up ready, picked from her regular, and most attractive, customers. They were a lively group of girls, plus two older women, who were excited about the thrill of modelling Dena’s clothes, even if they were a bit nervous about their first time on the catwalk.
They spent all day getting the rooms ready. Abe had lent her a length of carpet, second hand but well brushed and with a lovely beige pattern that didn’t clash with any of the dresses. Chairs were arranged along each side and refreshments provided for afterwards. Now that she was almost recovered, Winnie had put herself in charge of those, albeit with Barry’s help.
There’d been a little tussle over that at first, since both Dena and Barry thought it was too soon after her operation only a few weeks before, but Winnie had been adamant.
‘Personally I’d prefer a nice meat pie or a pasty myself, but I thought we’d go for something a bit more sophisticated. I can manage to chop squares of cheese and pineapple chunks and stick ‘em on sticks, if I sit up to the table. And I thought we’d have fancy little sausages and some of Fanny Craddock’s gourmet canapés. What do you think?’
‘We’ll let you organise the food only if I do all the running around,’ Barry said. And so it was agreed.
‘It all looks wonderful, Winnie. Thank you.’
‘We make a good team,’ Barry said, a twinkle in his eye.
‘You’re getting a bit above yourself, lad. Look at me, stuck in this thing like a flipping invalid.’
‘You are an invalid. At least we can control you in that thing.’
Winnie had been so determined to attend the show that Barry had borrowed a wheel chair and insisted she could only attend if she agreed to stay in it. Much against her will, Winnie had conceded defeat, but the arguments between them continued, though largely in good spirit.
So she sat up very straight, ordering everyone around, smartly attired in a knitted suit with her hair neatly brushed and no sign of the old woolly bob cap.
Dena’s own suit was in zingy lemon linen with a box jacket and pencil skirt, teamed with stiletto heeled shoes in the palest cream she could find. She’d even elected to wear a tiny pill-box hat and gloves to match, to give herself confidence.
Half an hour before the show was due to start Dena was a bag of nerves, quite certain that no one would come. ‘How many tickets have we sold? Have we sold any at all? Of course, people might just have bought a ticket out of good manners, to be polite, with no intention of coming at all. Oh no, look, it’s started to rain. Now everyone will decide to stay at home and watch Emergency Ward Ten instead.’
‘Dena love, shut up. Stop getting your knickers in a twist. There you are see, your first customer.’
By seven, the time the show was meant to begin, the room was packed and still people were coming in. They had to borrow extra chairs from the next room to accommodate them all.
There was Belle right at the back, and beside her sat Kenny. Good heavens! He wasn’t the only male in the room, several women had brought their husbands, no doubt with cheque books to hand, but the sight of him put her momentarily off her stroke. She could see Jimmy Ramsay, Sam Beckett and Alec Hall, all there to offer support.
Even Miss Rogers had come alone. She gave Dena’s hand a little squeeze as she took her seat. ‘Turning up in your life again, though I hope not like a bad penny.’
Dena laughed. ‘Of course not. I’m delighted to see you.’
There was no sign of Carl.
When everyone was at last settled, Dena took her place at the podium, heart pounding. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Dena welcomed everyone to her first fashion show.
And they were not disappointed. There were some wonderful clothes on show. Several sheath dresses, and some cut into the fashionable princess line with boat shaped necks. Jazzy skirts and neat little tops. Play-suits and shorts, sun-dresses in bright floral cotton and her trademark daisy skirts and Capri pants in a kaleidoscope of colours.
The local press were there, dazzling everyone with their flash cameras as they snapped pictures of the outfits.
Dena had made some of her favourite duster coats out of crisp sail-cloth, with dresses to match. For these she chose a colour scheme of canary yellow, ice blue and pale straw. She also produced an identical style of coat in silk brocade in jewel colours which she called opera coats. She’d so longed to make them that first Christmas, now she had.
‘Perfect for that special occasion.’
Out came a model in a stunningly different day dress that made the audience gasp. It was a waistless chemise which Dena informed everyone with great authority would be the coming thing. She was taking the gamble that waists would be less of a feature by next season. The range was neatly styled in muted, pastel shades with straight cut necklines.
‘And here we have one or two trapeze line dresses for those of you wishing to be even more adventurous. I believe long swinging skirts are now history and skirts are creeping shorter and shorter, girls. Which could be fun for the gentlemen.’ This brought forth a flurry of laughter.
Tiny waists were still a feature in her evening wear and there were lots of glamorous, feminine, low necked, and boned strapless dresses in taffeta or satin. There were several strappy cocktail dresses in blues and soft pink chiffon, a killer scarlet number that would make anyone look like Diana Dors, plus a selection of smart little black sheaf dresses which could be worn anywhere.
The piéce de resistance was a strapless ball gown divided into four alternating sections of peach and ivory silk.
Dena thanked everyone for their support and closed the proceedings with an admission: ‘I would have loved to have concluded my first show with more ball gowns, and with a bridal gown, but there simply hasn’t been time. And to be honest I wasn’t certain I possessed the necessary skills to do proper justice to something so important. Next time perhaps.’
There were cheers along with the rapturous applause, and it seemed everyone had far more confidence in her skills than she had in herself.
Oh, but Dena was thrilled with her success and the accolades came thick and fast.
‘That was wonderful! Marvellous. So exciting! Well done, Dena.’
Several reporters asked if they could interview Dena later and the girls all trooped out again in their final outfits to take their share of the praise. Joan too, who’d spent all evening dressing them and running around back stage in a lather of terror that something might go wrong, was brought out and made to take a bow. She was flushed with pride, her short hair standing on end, no doubt from much combing with agitated fingers. And Joan’s sister, stationed by the door collecting tickets, was now busily engaged taking orders. It was all so exciting, and as everyone agreed, a huge success.
‘Wasn’t that wonderful?’ Dena said, as people finally began to make their way home.
Winnie hugged her tight. ‘It certainly was. What a little champion.’
They’d rolled up the carpet and swept the floor, all the clothes were packed away in their cardboard boxes ready for collection in the morning, and the models, far too excited to go home, had gone off for a brandy and Babycham at a nearby pub, chattering happily over their success. Some were even considering a new career. Joan and Winnie had gone along with them, urging Dena to come too but she was still embroiled in her last interview.
Laughing, she waved them off. ‘I’ll be with you shortly. I’m sure we’re nearly done here.’
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br /> Ten minutes later she’d said goodnight to the last reporter, then took one final look around the Co-operative rooms, making certain that everything was in order before securely locking the big double doors.
It was past nine o’clock and dark outside, save for the orange glow of the street lights but it was only a short walk to the pub just a few yards along the street. Dena chuckled to herself. From the sound of it, they were having something of a party in there.
The figure stepped out in front of her quite without any warning. ‘Hello Dena!’
‘Kenny!’ Dena stopped in her tracks, surprised and a little alarmed.
‘I thought you might need a bit of help carrying your stuff.’
‘N-no thanks, I’ve left most of it to be collected in the morning. I can manage, thanks.’ She made to walk past him but he stopped her with the gentlest of touch on her arm.
‘I liked your show. It was brilliant.’
‘Thank you. I was surprised to see you there. Didn’t think it would be your sort of thing.’
‘I wanted to see what it was you’d been doing all these months; what had taken up so much of your time.’
Dena stifled a small sigh. Surely he wasn’t still showing signs of jealousy. Would his resentment towards her never end? She forced a smile. ‘Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting the rest of the team for a quiet drink and a bite of supper. See you, Kenny,’ and this time she did walk right past him. She could see the door of the pub standing ajar, light streaming out, and had very nearly reached it when he grabbed her.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dena came round in the pitch dark, with not even street lamps to lift the gloom. But by the smell of the damp and rotting vegetation, she guessed at once where she was. Down by the canal, where this whole sorry mess had begun over four years ago.
Kenny was hunkered down, propped against an old stone wall a few yards away. ‘Sorry I had to hit you, Dena. It was the only way. You’d never have come with me willingly, I realised that.’
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