Try a Little Tenderness

by Joan Jonker

  ‘Daft as brushes, both of yer.’ Jenny’s voice was full of laughter. They hadn’t half cheered her up. ‘Now, gentlemen, would yer kindly unhand me before I become shopsoiled goods? And tell me, pray, what are yer doing down here?’

  ‘It’s our night for jazzing and we’re going for the tram.’ Mick plucked up the courage to take hold of Jenny’s arms and held them aloft. With exaggerated movements he spun her around, singing, ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’

  Ho, ho, John thought, I’m not standing for that! Barefaced cheek, that is. ‘Excuse me,’ he tapped Mick on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate, but this is an Excuse Me waltz.’

  Mick stood still but held on tight. ‘Only if the young lady is willing.’

  ‘To save any argument,’ Jenny said, trying to free her hands, ‘John can have three spins, and then ye’re even. After that I’m on me way, ’cos Janet will wonder where I’ve got to.’

  As John pushed him aside, Mick whispered, ‘I don’t wish yer no harm, mate, but I hope yer trip and break a flippin’ leg.’

  John winked in answer before he reached for Jenny, a look of pure bliss on his face. ‘It was five spins he had, so don’t be trying to short-change me, Jenny Nightingale.’

  Jenny counted aloud and stopped dead on five. ‘Now yer can walk down to me mate’s with me.’

  ‘I don’t suppose, like, that yer could bring Janet out, could yer?’ Mick ventured as they walked in line. ‘Then we could have a dance in the street, save going all the way to Seaforth.’

  ‘Some hope you’ve got, Mick Moynihan. Her mam would have yer life.’

  ‘Yer could always ask her mam, too!’ John was wishing the Porters lived the other side of Liverpool so the walk would last all night. ‘She could chaperone yer, or even join in if she wanted.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea, mate!’ Mick felt as though he was walking on air. ‘I bet Mrs Porter can do a mean quickstep.’

  Jenny was having a fit of the giggles. ‘Why not ask the whole street and we could have a party? Mr Porter can knock out a tune on his comb, so we’d have music, as well.’

  ‘And I’m pretty good at whistling,’ John said. ‘Mind you, yer wouldn’t know whether to do a quickstep or a tango, but who cares?’

  ‘I can hum, if that’s any good.’ Jenny was laughing when they stopped outside the Porters’ house. ‘And I can click me tongue, as well.’

  Mick’s laugh was loud. ‘All we need is someone on the spoons and we’ve got a full orchestra. I bags being the conductor.’

  ‘Oh no, matey, I’ve got yer down as the band’s singer.’ John’s shoulders were shaking with laughter. ‘I’ll be whistling me head off while I’m dancing with Jenny, and you’ll be on the stage belting out a nice smoochy song.’

  ‘What’s this about a smoochy song?’ No one had heard the door open and they were surprised to see Martha Porter standing on the step, arms folded and a huge grin on her face. ‘Come on, tell us about this smoochy song, I like the sound of it.’

  ‘I think yer’d better ask me mate,’ John said. ‘He’s the singer.’

  ‘John Hanley, ye’re a coward,’ Jenny told him, wagging a finger. ‘It was you what said it.’

  Mick tilted his head to the side and weighed up Janet’s mother, before saying, ‘I said I bet yer can do a mean quickstep, Mrs Porter, am I right?’

  ‘I’ve had me moments, lad, but they were a very long time ago. The best I could manage now would be a slow waltz.’ Her laugh was loud and hoarse. ‘In fact, it would have to be so bleedin’ slow we’d be standing still.’

  Janet’s head appeared over her mother’s shoulder. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Jenny, the unpleasantness with her sister forgotten, was in a playful mood. ‘The boys want to invite us to dance in the street, Jan. We’ve sorted the music out, with yer dad on the comb, you and me humming and clicking our tongues, John whistling and Mick singing. But we haven’t got anyone to play the spoons.’

  Martha doubled up. ‘Oh dear, that’s tickled me fancy.’ She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Mr Wilkinson, down the street, he’s got a ukulele, shall I go and drag him out?’

  Bill towered behind his mother and sister, and when he saw Jenny standing with the two lads, he squeezed between them and joined the trio on the pavement. ‘You ain’t going anywhere, Jenny Nightingale. I’ve been waiting for yer so I could win back those ten matchsticks yer cheated me out of the other night.’

  ‘You fibber! I never did no such thing! You’re the one who cheats, hiding cards under the tablecloth so we won’t see.’

  ‘He’s pulling yer leg, queen,’ Martha said. ‘Take no notice of him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Janet agreed, ‘he thinks he’s funny but he’s a pain in the neck.’ She nudged her mother. ‘Mam, didn’t yer say I could go dancing with Jenny when we’re fifteen?’

  Martha tutted. ‘Don’t push yer luck, Janet. I said I’d think about it, as long as yer had someone to walk yer home.’

  Mick and John spoke in unison. ‘We’ll walk them home, Mrs Porter.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll go with them and make sure they come to no harm. I can’t let me kid sister walk home in the dark.’

  Mick and John exchanged glances which said it wasn’t his kid sister’s interest he had at heart, it was Jenny’s. And the look wasn’t lost on Martha. ‘It’s bad luck to plan so far ahead,’ she told them. ‘Something always turns up to throw a spanner in the works. There’s a few months to go yet, so leave it be until then.’

  ‘We’d better scarper,’ Mick said, ‘otherwise they’ll be playing the last waltz by the time we get there.’ The lads waved goodbye, then after a few steps, they turned. Mrs Porter and Janet had vanished indoors, and Bill had his hand on Jenny’s elbow as she mounted the steps.

  ‘I think we’ve got some competition there, Mick,’ John said, ‘and it’s going to be stiff competition.’

  ‘Ye’re telling me!’ If there had been a stone handy, Mick would have kicked it the length of the street. One rival was bad enough, but two? ‘And he’s got luck on his side being Janet’s brother. It’s a big plus, that is. We won’t be in the meg specks.’

  ‘I’d fight him, if he wasn’t so big,’ John said, hands dug deep in his pockets. ‘But he’s built like a flippin’ house.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve got no worries there, ’cos there’s two of us. I’ll hold him while you batter hell out of him.’

  ‘Oh aye, soft lad! Put muggins here in front of him, while you stand behind, all nice and safe? You are definitely not on, mate! I’m as fond of me teeth as you are,’ John chortled. ‘Tell yer what, eh? We’ve got five months before Jenny’s birthday, so it’s you and me against Bill Porter. But the day she’s fifteen, it’s every man for himself.’

  Celia was waiting at Everton Valley when Laura dashed up, out of breath with running. ‘Have yer been waiting long?’

  ‘Only about two minutes.’ Celia linked arms. ‘Where would yer like to go?’

  ‘I don’t mind, it’s up to you.’ Laura looked sideways and her heart dropped. Celia was dressed up to the nines, as though she was going somewhere special, and here was she in a tattered old coat. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere posh ’cos I’m not dressed for it. Me frock is all right, but this coat is shabby.’

  ‘Laura, with a face and figure like yours, who the hell is going to look at yer clothes?’ Celia gushed, smiling into her face. ‘When yer’ve got the looks and the personality to go with it, kid, clothes don’t matter.’

  If Laura had been older, with a bit more experience, she might have noticed that the smile wasn’t genuine, neither were the words. As it was, she believed what she wanted to believe and preened with pleasure. ‘I’m saving up for a new coat, I should have enough in two or three weeks.’

  ‘Anyway, where do yer want to go?’ Celia asked. ‘The pictures or a dance?’

  ‘Ooh, I’d like to go to a dance, but don’t forget, I’ve got to be home by eleven so I can’t go t
oo far away.’

  ‘There’s a dance at Spellow Lane, over Burton’s, the Thirty Bob Tailor’s. It’s only a couple of stops on the tram, and if we leave at half ten, yer’ll be home in plenty of time.’

  ‘Yeah, okay. But I can’t dance so I’ll have to sit and watch.’ When they had crossed the busy road and stopped by the tram stop, Laura eyed Celia up and down. ‘Me grandad must be good to yer with money, yer always have something different on.’

  ‘He’s not a bad old stick. He knows I like going out, and as he’s always too tired, he gives me the money to go where I want to.’ Celia changed the subject. She wasn’t going to tell Laura that the money Joe gave her was for housekeeping, but hardly any of it went on the house. She wanted clothes and enjoyment, and it was his own fault for not giving her more when she’d tried to wheedle it out of him. But the less said about that to his granddaughter, the better. She was trying to trap Laura, not the other way around.

  When the tram came, Laura got her purse out to pay her fare, but Celia brushed her hand aside. ‘This is my treat for yer birthday.’ She handed the conductor the coppers and waited for him to turn the handle of the ticket machine which hung from his shoulders by a leather strap. With the tickets in her hand, she turned to Laura and asked casually, ‘Would yer like to go for a drink before we go in? There’s a pub right facing the dance hall.’

  Laura shook her head vigorously. They were in Walton now, not that far from where her grandad lived, and it was too risky. He was the one person in the world she had any feelings for, and she knew in her heart she was doing wrong by seeing his wife behind his back. And if he found out and told her mam, she’d get a hiding. Anyway, look what happened the last time she went in a pub. That experience still gave her shivers when she thought of it. ‘No thanks, Celia, I’d rather not.’

  ‘I’m not fussy meself, kid,’ lied Celia, who could drink most men under the table. ‘Drink gives me a headache.’ She felt disappointed that her plan hadn’t worked, but there was plenty of time. She’d make a friend of Laura, use her until she had enough on her to shatter the life of the family-loving Mary Nightingale. At first Celia wanted to get her own back on Mary for the row they’d had, and for the slap on the face. But gradually she became obsessed, blaming Mary for everything that was wrong in her life. Like being married to a man more than twice her age who wasn’t fun any more. She’d married him for a meal ticket, thinking he would be a soft touch, but the novelty had worn off. And because that man was Mary’s father, then Mary was to blame.

  ‘Isn’t this our stop?’ Laura asked, peering through the window of the tram. ‘The conductor has just shouted Spellow Lane.’

  Celia, still deep in thought, stared at her blankly for a couple of seconds. Then she remembered where she was, and why, and scrambled to her feet. ‘D’yer know, kid, I was miles away! If you hadn’t been here I’d have ended up at the terminus in Fazakerly.’

  ‘Me tummy feels as though it’s full of butterflies,’ Laura said, as they passed through the entrance and began to climb the stairs. ‘Yer won’t leave me on me own, will yer?’

  ‘Of course I won’t! Anyway, how can yer be on yer own in a hall full of people? And I’ve told yer, with your looks they’ll be falling over themselves to dance with yer.’

  Once again Celia pushed Laura’s hand away when she tried to pay for her own ticket. ‘The treat’s on me tonight, kid.’

  Shaking like a leaf, Laura followed Celia to the cloakroom. After handing their coats over they were given a ticket which Celia told her to hang on to until they were going home.

  Then came the moment when Celia pushed open the door to the dance hall. It was crowded with couples dancing to the strains of a slow foxtrot, and some of the tension left Laura as she told herself she wouldn’t be noticed in this crowd. She could just sit down and watch, and try to pick up a few points on how it was done. Then tomorrow night her and Cynthia could have a go.

  Laura was walking ahead of Celia to where she had spied two empty chairs, when she heard someone saying in a loud voice, ‘Hello there, sweetheart, where’ve yer been hiding yerself? I missed yer last week, it wasn’t the same without yer.’

  Turning her head out of curiosity, Laura saw a man with his arm around Celia’s waist, smiling down at her. He seemed very familiar, as though he’d known her a long time. But he shouldn’t be holding her like that, he must know she was a married woman.

  Celia could feel herself being watched and waved a hand towards the chairs. ‘Go and sit down, kid, I won’t be long. Charlie’s an old friend of mine.’

  Before turning away, Laura glanced at the man’s face and decided she didn’t like him. Nor did she like the way he was looking down the front of Celia’s low-cut dress. But it wasn’t any of her business and she was probably being daft. You couldn’t tell what a person was like just by looking at them. So Laura took her seat and turned her attention to the dancers. Some of the couples were really good, and it was a pleasure just to sit and admire. One day she’d be able to dance like that and the men would be fighting to dance with her.

  The music came to an end and Laura noted how the couples clapped before leaving the floor. Some stayed with their partners, ready for the next dance, while others returned to their friends who were sitting on the chairs minding handbags. There were more girls than boys, and that pleased Laura. Her and Cynthia wouldn’t look out of place tomorrow night. But she’d have to buy a pair of proper dance-shoes, all the girls were wearing them. Most of them were silver, with thin straps and very high heels, and they didn’t half look nice.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, kid, but Charlie’s a very old friend.’

  Laura turned to see Celia sitting beside her. ‘Yeah, it looked like it too, the way he had his arm around yer.’

  ‘Oh, don’t take no notice of that, Charlie’s like that with all the girls.’ Celia patted Laura’s hand. ‘He’s a real ladies’ man, but harmless enough when yer know how to handle him.’

  ‘D’yer come dancing often, Celia, and are yer any good at it?’

  ‘That’s two questions in one, Laura. Let’s see, which one shall I answer first?’ Celia took her time answering, hoping the plan she’d hatched with Charlie worked before the questions got too personal. It was when the band struck up that she answered. ‘I don’t come very often and I guess me dancing is just about average.’

  ‘Would yer take me for this dance, then? I wouldn’t feel so daft about making mistakes if I was with you.’

  Celia grinned. ‘Yer don’t need me, there’s a boy making a bee-line for yer.’

  Laura looked up in dismay when a male voice asked, ‘D’yer want to dance?’ The boy was about eighteen and not bad-looking. Any other time Laura would be fluttering her eyelashes, but right now she was worried about standing all over his feet and making a fool of herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she croaked, ‘but I can’t dance.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, kid!’ Celia said. ‘This is Gary, and he won’t mind teaching yer a few steps, will yer, Gary? She’s got to learn sometime.’

  Gary grinned, showing a set of even white teeth. Charlie had asked him to dance with the girl as a favour, so he could be with Celia. And Gary had reluctantly agreed to have one dance with her. But looking down at her now, he realised he was the one getting the favour. She was a real good-looker, this one, it would be a pleasure teaching her to dance. ‘Come on, the floor is crowded, no one will notice. I’ll walk yer round until yer get used to it.’

  Laura looked up at him and her apprehension began to fade. Tall, slim, blond and blue-eyed, what more could you ask for? She bent to put her handbag under the chair before standing up. ‘Don’t say yer weren’t warned.’

  There was a smile on Celia’s face as she watched them take the floor, the smile of a victor. Good old Charlie had come up trumps once again. Now she could disappear for a while. But she’d have to be careful or the whole thing could backfire on her. So she waited until Laura’s attention was focused on her partner’s feet, then hur
ried out to the foyer where Charlie was waiting. He was holding his overcoat ready to wrap around her shoulders, and grunted, ‘I hope she’s not with yer next week, this is bloody ridiculous.’

  As she was hurried through the entrance door and into the street, Celia’s voice was sharp. ‘Hey, yer can cut that out. She’s here for a purpose, and right now she’s more important to me than giving you yer little bit of pleasure. So don’t start yer moaning or I’ll be back in that dance like a shot.’

  ‘All right, sweetheart, keep yer hair on.’ Charlie, hurrying her to the nearest entry, knew what a bitch Celia could be when she wanted, so he kept his voice soft. ‘It’s just that I want to be with yer as long as I can.’

  ‘Gary said he’d keep her busy for ten minutes, so that’s all the time yer’ve got.’ Celia leaned back against the wall. ‘So yer’d better get a move on, lover boy, hadn’t yer? Otherwise I’ll be leaving yer in the middle of the game, and yer wouldn’t be a happy man if I did that, would yer?’

  Laura didn’t think anything of it when Gary asked her to stay on the floor for the next dance. In fact, she didn’t think of anything, her head was in the clouds. He’d told her she was getting on really well, that she was a born dancer with natural rhythm and had the body to go with it. And Laura lapped it up. In no time at all she’d be as good as anyone on the floor.

  When the music stopped, the singer with the band said there would be a five-minute break before the next dance, which would be a rumba. ‘Ooh, I’m not even going to attempt that.’ Laura cast her eyes around the room. ‘Where’s Celia got to?’

  ‘She’s probably gone to the toilet,’ said Gary, who’d had his eyes peeled for the last five minutes. ‘She won’t be long, so stay and talk to me.’

  When Celia did put in an appearance, quickly followed by Charlie, Laura was too full of her own importance to make a connection. ‘I didn’t half do well, didn’t I, Gary?’

  ‘Yeah, she was brilliant. Took to it like a duck to water.’