Afterwards, the wedding party made its way to the Cravens’ semi-detached house on Larch Avenue. It was a good twenty-minute walk from the High Street to the new estate on the northern boundary of Byfell, which looked on to fields of ripe corn. Vinnie to-ed and fro-ed giving lifts in his Albion. The Magees and Reenie were halfway there on foot and perspiring in the heat when he stopped and ordered them all to pile into the car. Harry sat in front with Jimmy on his knee while the women got in the back, and Vinnie roared up the street tooting at the staring passers-by.
Clara and Reenie were eager to see the house, having never been to the new estate. The houses were large and spaced out with saplings planted at the edge of the broad pavements; the Cravens’ had green-painted doors and window sills, leaded windows and an ostentatious stained-glass window above the entrance. Inside, the polished floors were carpeted and there were separate rooms for dining and sitting in. Food was laid out on two solid oak tables in one room and the carpet rolled back in the other for dancing.
Vinnie’s youths were taking coats and hats up to a bedroom and assembling presents on a table in the hallway.
‘Drinks in the garden,’ Dolly called as she ushered guests through the sitting room and out through a glass doorway into a small, neat garden with a steep rockery. ‘It’s called a French window,’ Dolly said proudly, catching sight of Patience’s admiring look.
A maid dressed in uniform came out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks. ‘Sherry, ma’am?’ she offered.
Patience took one. ‘The lasses can have one too, seeing as it’s a wedding.’ She nodded at her daughter and her friend.
‘Don’t worry, there’s a barrel of beer in the kitchen.’ Vinnie appeared and clapped Harry on the back. He called to one of the boys to bring Harry a pint.
Soon the garden was full of guests chatting noisily, laughing and toasting the newly-weds. Vinnie made a short speech and Danny gave a bashful reply, thanking the Cravens for their generosity in holding the wedding party.
Vinnie laughed and swung an arm round him. ‘That’s all right, bonny lad. Just make sure you win your match on Saturday, eh?’
Then Dolly ordered them to go and eat. ‘Fill up your plates and find somewhere to sit,’ she encouraged them. ‘Go on, little Jimmy, you tuck in.’
Clara and Reenie could not believe the choice of meats and pickles, sandwiches and cakes. They took their food back outside and perched on a stone wall. Jimmy joined them with a plate piled high.
‘They did Yorkshires specially for me,’ he crowed. ‘Have you been upstairs? They’ve got a toilet in the bathroom. I’ve been three times.’
Clara and Reenie burst out laughing. ‘Beats hopping across a cold yard in the middle of winter, that’s for sure,’ Reenie said.
Music struck up from inside the house from a fiddler and a concertina player hired by the Cravens. Vinnie came out. ‘Come on, girls, someone has to start the dancing.’ He held out a hand to Clara. Feeling awkward, she took it, with a warning look at Reenie not to tease her.
The bride and groom were waltzing round the small dance space. Vinnie pulled Clara close to him. She blushed.
‘I can’t waltz, Mr Craven.’
‘Nothing to it,’ Vinnie assured her. ‘Just let me lead you.’ He placed her hand on his shoulder, held her firmly in the back and set off after the newly-weds. ‘One, two, three — that’s it — step back when I step forward — two, three. Good lass. Easy, isn’t it?’
Vinnie was not much taller than her, but he had a wiry strength; she could feel it in his arms. He was immaculately dressed with expensive gold cufflinks and tiepin that had not come from Magee’s. He had a full mouth under the neatly groomed moustache, and dark mesmerising eyes. She had never been this close to him before and never noticed that his brown eyes were flecked with gold.
‘You have beautiful eyes,’ he said suddenly.
Clara flushed deeper to think he had mirrored her thoughts. She glanced away and concentrated on their feet.
‘One day you’ll be even bonnier than your mother,’ Vinnie murmured, ‘and that’s saying something.’
Clara laughed. ‘Is that why you’ve got so many lady friends — cos you flatter them all the time?’
Vinnie grinned. ‘Have I lots of lady friends?’
‘Well,’ Clara said, ‘that’s what I’ve heard.’
He chuckled. ‘Shouldn’t listen to gossip. I’m just waiting for the right lass to come along. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
Clara did not reply. She did not know how to respond to Vinnie’s flirting, for she knew that was all it was. It puzzled her why he paid her any attention when there were plenty women there nearer his age — especially the slim woman in the fur coat who had watched them take the dance floor while she sipped sherry. Earlier, the woman had let Vinnie slip off the fur coat and hand it to one of his boys. She wore a pearl-grey dress that shimmered as she moved. He had leaned close and whispered something that had made the woman laugh and brush his cheek with a long pink fingernail. All this Clara had noticed.
‘Who’s the lady in the grey dress, Mr Craven?’ Clara asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
Vinnie gave her a quizzical smile and followed her look. ‘Ah, that’s Joanie; Joanie West, the actress. She’s appearing at the Essoldo this month. Lovely dancer. Would you like to meet her?’
‘Eeh, she wouldn’t want to talk to me.’ Clara coloured. ‘But I bet Mam would.’
‘Consider it done.’ Vinnie smiled, and squeezed her hand. ‘No need to go all shy about Joanie. She doesn’t bite — and you can more than hold your own.’
‘Not on the dance floor,’ Clara giggled.
Vinnie chuckled. ‘Maybe not — but give it time. You’re just a young ’un.’
Clara felt a twinge of annoyance at this reminder of her age. She felt gauche and immature compared to the likes of Joanie West; she yearned to be older and seeing more of life. She and Reenie and Jimmy were the only young guests there. Vinnie’s flattery meant nothing; he was just trying to make her feel at home. The dance finished and Vinnie gave her one last twirl. He kissed her hand and then led her back to Reenie.
‘Haway, Miss Lewis, would you like a dance?’ He bowed to Clara’s friend.
She hesitated then nodded. Clara watched them do the Military Two-step, noticing that Vinnie talked just as much to Reenie, even though she was a good dancer and did not need telling what to do.
Afterwards, the friends watched him move around the room, chatting and laughing with his guests, never staying longer than a minute; except with Joanie West. He lit cigarettes for her which she smoked in a long tortoiseshell holder and danced with her more than anyone else. She slipped her arm through his when they stood chatting too. Vinnie steered Joanie over to meet Patience. Clara watched her mother’s animated face as she talked to the dancer. Clara told Reenie what she knew.
‘Do you think she’s famous?’ Clara whispered, fascinated by the woman’s languid poise compared to her mother’s gushing questions.
Reenie shrugged. ‘I’ve never heard of her. Just a chorus girl, I wouldn’t wonder. Speaks with a southern accent — London maybe.’
It grew too hot in the stuffy sitting room, so they went outside only to find it even hotter in the sheltered garden. It was two o’clock.
‘Wish we were on the beach now,’ Clara sighed. ‘I’m boiled.’
Reenie nudged her. ‘Why don’t we go?’
Clara stared in surprise. ‘Go to Whitley?’
Reenie nodded. ‘Aye, it’s still early. And it’s boring here — they’re all getting drunk and talking daft.’
Clara glanced around. No one was dancing anymore; it was too hot. Her father was in the middle of a group of men drinking beer and ordering the fiddler to play their favourite tunes. Patience was probably still holding forth about corsets to a bored Joanie in the dining room. The bride and Danny looked ready to leave.
‘Let’s wait till we wave them off,’ Clara suggested. ‘Vinnie
’s taking them down to the station — says they’re spending the night in Hexham.’
‘Ooh, Vinnie, is it?’ Reenie sniggered.
Clara dug her in the ribs and laughed. ‘Give over!’
Soon after, Danny and his bride left in Vinnie’s car with the guests waving them off and showering them with rice. Clara picked that moment to tell her mother she was walking back with Reenie.
‘Want to get out of these clothes,’ Clara said. ‘Can I stop over at Reenie’s the night?’
‘No,’ Patience answered. ‘I’ll need you to open up in the morning, judging by the state your father’s in.’
Clara was going to argue, but Reenie intervened. ‘That’s all right. Clara will be back later this evening.’ She pulled her friend away. ‘Let’s go before she makes us take Jimmy with us,’ she whispered.
They slipped out of the house, after a quick thank-you to Dolly. Clara had a pang of guilt about leaving Jimmy, but he was earning halfpennies collecting up glasses and refilling drinks. Joanie saw them go and gave a disinterested wave, blowing out smoke rings.
They found Benny mooching around on the corner of Tenter Terrace, waiting for them to return. His face lit up immediately.
‘Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,’ he said.
‘Surprised you’re still here,’ Reenie remarked.
Benny gave a bashful grin. ‘Thought I’d wait for you. How was the party?’
‘Got boring,’ Reenie said dismissively, ‘and too hot to spend the day indoors. Can’t wait to get out of this dress.’
‘Leave it on,’ Clara urged. ‘We’ve missed half the afternoon as it is. Let’s just go for the train.’
‘Aye, Clara’s right,’ Benny agreed, ‘and you both look that bonny in your frocks and hats.’ He winked at Clara. ‘And Mam’s made a picnic. Haway, we’ve got everything we want.’ He linked arms with the two girls, and they went down the street singing raucously, ‘“Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside!”’
Half an hour later, they were emerging from a stuffy train on to the platform at Whitley Bay and soon afterwards were joining the throngs on the beach. Men sat perspiring in jackets, their trouser legs rolled up; others had stripped to shirtsleeves and younger ones went bare-chested, turning pink in the heat.
Clara kicked off her shoes and tucked the skirt of her dress into her knickers.
‘First in the sea wins a coconut,’ she challenged and hopped across the hot sand to the water’s edge.
Hurling off his shoes and jacket, without waiting to take off his socks or roll up his trousers, Benny ran after her. He plunged in fully clothed, ignoring Reenie’s protests. Clara screamed as he splashed her with icy salt water. Recovering, she laughed and splashed back, kicking up spray. Benny grabbed at her straw hat and pulled it off. He filled it with water and chucked it back.
‘Me mam’ll kill you for that!’ Clara gasped. In a flash she scooped up water in the hat and threw it over Benny. He seized her round the waist, picked her up and dumped her in the water.
Clara shrieked at the cold. Gasping for breath, she stood up and lunged after him. He dodged out of the water. She chased him. Benny tripped, trying to avoid a small boy with a bucket, and Clara shoved him into the sea. He pulled her after him. They sat in the shallow water, panting and helpless with laughter. All the tension of the past two days over the strange man and her parents’ rowing melted away. They were both thoroughly soaked and neither cared an inch.
Reenie stood on the wet sand, clutching Clara’s discarded hat and shaking her head. ‘You’re both as daft as each other. You’ve ruined your trousers, Benny. And look at this hat.’ She waved it at them.
Benny came out of the water, dripping, and took the battered hat, plonking it on his cropped black hair. He stretched out a hand to Clara.
‘I’m not falling for that one,’ she snorted.
‘Truce,’ he said, leaning closer. She took his hand and he hauled her out of the water. Her best dress clung heavily; hair coiled round her neck, half out of its pins.
‘What a sight I must look,’ she giggled, squeezing the water out of her skirt.
‘The bonniest sight.’ Benny grinned. Before she could dodge away, he planted a kiss on her cold cheek, brazen as could be.
‘Give over!’ she said, blushing, giving him a shove.
They found a patch of beach to sit on and dry out, though the whole strand was still crowded, families reluctant to start the journey home. Only the returning tide would make them move. Clara let down her wet hair and pulled salty fingers through it.
Benny shared out the food he had brought, unwrapping a parcel of bacon sandwiches from their greaseproof paper and handing them round.
‘No, ta. I’m still full of dinner,’ Clara said.
Reenie took one. ‘I’m always hungry. Mind you, the food was lovely. Roast beef and pork and cold ham — and salads and pickles.’
‘And cream buns.’ Clara rolled her eyes in delight. ‘And a maid to serve it all out.’
‘Very posh,’ Benny smirked.
‘Aye, it was. They’ve got two inside toilets — one up, one down.’
‘Bet Craven’s got a servant to wipe his arse, an’ all,’ Benny grunted.
‘Don’t be crude,’ Reenie scolded.
Benny laughed as he munched his sandwich. ‘Ooh, one weddin’ dinner with the middle classes and you’re beginning to sound like them, our Reenie,’ he teased. ‘Vincent Craven turned your head, has he?’
She gave him a withering look. ‘No, he was too busy working his charm on Clara.’
‘No he wasn’t!’ Clara protested. ‘He danced with you too.’
‘Aye, but he waltzed with you,’ Reenie teased, ‘cheek to cheek.’
‘We didn’t. . .’ Clara went crimson.
‘Ladies!’ Benny cried. ‘Are you falling out over Vincent Craven? How can I compete?’ He jumped up and walked round them, imitating Vinnie’s energetic swagger. He flicked the end of an imaginary moustache and gave Clara a knowing smile. ‘Can I have the last waltz, Miss Magee?’ he asked in a deep voice that mimicked Vinnie’s.
Both Clara and Reenie laughed.
Benny continued in a low voice, ‘I’ve just got time before the next fight, which is going to make me a git big amount of money. Haway, Miss Magee, and make an old man happy.’
‘That’s very good.’ Clara clapped.
‘Horribly like him,’ Reenie agreed. ‘Say no, Clara, or you’ll regret it.’
Benny narrowed his eyes at his sister, ‘Hey, Bolshie Lewis, I wasn’t asking your opinion. I’ll get my lads on to you and shut you up good and proper.’
Clara remonstrated. ‘Vinnie’s not a thug — he’s a real gentleman.’
Benny winked and pulled on his moustache again. ‘That’s my lass.’ He bowed and helped Clara to her feet. They shuffled around in the sand, tripping over each other.
‘Benny, you’re getting sand on the picnic,’ Reenie cried.
Clara flopped down. ‘Aye, and he can’t dance for toffee.’
Benny sank to his knees beside them. ‘I can’t compete with Craven. Shall I throw mesel’ in the sea now?’
Clara said, ‘Not yet — buy us an ice cream first.’
‘Heartless lass.’ Benny groaned and sank on to the sand clutching his chest. ‘All you care about is your stomach.’
Laughing, Clara lay back in the sun and closed her eyes. She listened to Reenie telling Benny about the wedding and the guests. She dozed off. Reenie shook her awake.
‘Tide’s coming in.’
Clara sat up. The beach was emptying. She shivered, her dress still damp.
‘Take this,’ Benny said, wrapping his jacket round her shoulders.
‘Ta. How long have I been asleep?’
‘An hour,’ Reenie said.
‘Never!’ Clara exclaimed, standing up and brushing off sand from her dress and legs.
‘Must have been the sherry,’ Reenie said, smirking.
‘You were dreaming.�
�� Benny looked earnest. ‘Calling out in your sleep.’
‘Was I?’ Clara eyed him.
‘Aye. Sounded like a nightmare. You kept repeating the same name - Vinnie, Vinnie; oh, Vinnie!’
Clara whipped him with his jacket. ‘Benny Lewis, you liar!’
He laughed and grabbed the jacket from her, dodging out of her reach. When he offered it back, she pushed it away.
‘Don’t want your scabby jacket,’ she pouted. ‘I don’t fancy Vincent Craven and he doesn’t fancy me, so stop going on about it.’ She bent to retrieve her battered hat.
Reenie said, ‘Enough teasing. Let’s go and listen to Frank’s band.’
‘I can hardly go like a drowned rat,’ Clara said in dismay, rueing her spontaneous run into the sea. Hastily, she began to twist and pin up her hair.
‘We’ll dry off in the tea room,’ Benny declared, wrapping his jacket firmly round her. ‘Gan on, take it till you warm up. It may not be as posh as some, but it’s earned by my own sweat, not like some who make money out of the hard graft of others—’
‘Benny!’ Reenie warned.
‘I don’t care how Mr Craven makes his money,’ Clara retorted. ‘He’s a hard worker and he doesn’t have any airs and graces, and he’s canny to everyone.’
‘Regular St Vincent,’ Benny mocked.
‘Why you so against him? Your Frank’s a friend of his,’ Clara pointed out.
‘That’s true,’ Reenie conceded. ‘They met in the Young Socialists.’
‘Aye, hard as that is to believe,’ Benny grunted. ‘He’s an Old Capitalist now.’
‘Didn’t think Mr Craven was interested in politics,’ Clara said in surprise.
‘Used to be,’ Benny admitted. ‘Old Stan Craven led a strike at Byfell pit before the War, and Vincent ran a soup kitchen at the boxing hall during the General Strike.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Clara nodded. ‘I remember that.’
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 5