‘I can do this!’ Clara exclaimed. ‘Mam taught me. Come on, Benny.’
Benny grinned with pleasure. ‘Modern lasses, eh?’ He winked at their surprised companions. Out on the dance floor he said, ‘Am I not supposed to do the asking?’
‘I’d have fallen off me perch and died waiting for you to ask,’ Clara snorted.
They careered round the room knocking into other dancers on the crowded dance floor. As they passed the orchestra, Clara glanced up at Frank, but he was too absorbed in the music to notice them.
‘You’ve got two left feet,’ she complained as they rejoined their companions.
‘Thought I was supposed to lead,’ Benny countered.
‘Might have helped if you knew the dance.’
A waltz struck up and the elderly Major Lockwood pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Allow me,’ he said with a short bow to Clara.
She accepted at once, while Reenie dragged Benny off to dance with her. The Major glided spryly round the floor holding Clara at a respectful distance and soon she was moving with the same assurance. The romantic music filled her with longing. They swept past Frank and this time she thought she caught his attention. She smiled and saw his eyes widen in surprise. The dance came to an end all too soon.
‘Thank you,’ she said to her elderly partner. ‘That’s the best dance I’ve ever had.’ He chuckled with pleasure. Not to be outdone, Benny pulled her on to the floor for another waltz.
‘What is it with these older men?’ he teased.
‘Maturity, style, good manners,’ Clara answered, suppressing a smile.
‘Is that all?’ Benny replied. ‘Then I’ve nothing to worry about.’
‘Ability to dance — ouch, my foot!’
Benny spun them against the flow of the other dancers without seeming to notice. ‘Will you be my lass?’ he asked abruptly.
Clara’s insides lurched. She caught sight of Frank over Benny’s shoulder, the light catching his strong features and blond hair. To her he was perfection, as handsome and unattainable as a Greek god. She tried to laugh off Benny’s offer.
‘I’m too young to be courting. Dad would have a blue fit.’
‘Your da likes me,’ Benny insisted. ‘Always asks for me to cut his hair when he comes in.’
‘Mam thinks you’re wild,’ Clara told him.
‘I am.’ Benny laughed. ‘Wild about you.’
‘Very funny,’ Clara said, pushing him away at the end of the dance. ‘But the answer’s still no.’
Benny shrugged good-naturedly. ‘I can wait.’
The tea dance ended and the elderly couple left. Benny went off to pay for the pot of tea. To Clara’s delight, Frank came across to greet them, carrying his violin case.
‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘A wedding and a posh party not enough for one day?’
‘Not for us.’ Reenie grinned. ‘We would’ve come sooner if Clara and Benny hadn’t soaked each other in the sea.’
Frank gave Clara a direct look that made her turn crimson.
‘Daft, I know,’ she mumbled, ‘but we were that hot and bothered. . .’
‘Glad you’ve had a good day.’ Frank smiled, running a finger under his tight collar. ‘I’d have done anything for a dip in the sea.’
‘Can you come home with us now?’ Reenie asked.
‘Aye, I’m finished,’ Frank said. As they walked across to Benny, he added, ‘You’re a grand dancer, Clara, especially with Major Lockwood.’
She smiled in delight. ‘Ta, Frank. You know the old gentleman?’
‘He and his wife come in every Saturday afternoon. You get to know the regulars.’
‘You looked that caught up in the music, didn’t think you noticed the dancers.’
‘Only the good ones.’ Frank smiled and touched her briefly on the arm. Clara flinched.
‘You still cold?’ Benny asked in concern. ‘Take me jacket again.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Clara said quickly, hugging her arms and moving away to walk beside Reenie.
The heat had gone from the day as they made their way back on the crowded train towards the city. The men stood while Reenie and Clara squeezed in next to a couple with a tired and wailing baby. With relief they scrambled off at Byfell and walked up the street. People sat out on stools, chatting and drinking while their children chased each other up and down the lanes.
As they neared Tenter Terrace, Clara slowed her pace. She did not want to go home; she wanted this day of freedom to go on for ever. Reenie sensed her mood.
‘Come back to ours for an hour or so,’ she suggested. ‘Mam will want all the details of the wedding and you notice much more than I do.’
Oscar and Marta were sitting on a bench in their back yard listening to their gramophone. A recorded voice soared out of the back door, hauntingly beautiful. Clara stopped and caught her breath. Frank turned and for the briefest of moments they held each other’s look. The music swelled and died back.
‘Makes the back of me neck tingle,’ Clara whispered. ‘What is it?’
‘Songs of the Auvergne,’ Frank answered, still watching her.
‘The music of angels,’ Marta sighed.
‘Prefer Count Basic, mesel’.’ Benny made a trumpet noise and broke the mood.
‘Come, children and tell us everything!’ Marta bustled around getting them drinks and handing out pieces of meat pie and boiled eggs. Oscar put on another record and wound up the gramophone.
‘Schumann,’ he beamed proudly, limping back to his seat.
As Reenie had predicted, Marta quizzed them on all the details of the wedding. When she asked about the trip to the beach, no one mentioned Clara and Benny’s high jinks in the sea.
‘You have a good day, ja?’ She smiled.
‘Very,’ Clara nodded, swapping a look with Reenie. ‘Wish we could’ve danced more.’
‘Consider it done.’ Benny mimicked Vinnie’s deep drawl as he sauntered over to the back door. They heard him shuffling through the box of records. There was a scrape and a hiss. Oscar sucked in his cheeks in alarm.
‘Don’t scratch it!’
Benny came out dancing with an imaginary partner to a lively polka. He grabbed Clara’s hand and they swirled round the back yard, Clara giggling with embarrassment. Frank held out his hands to Reenie.
‘Let’s show them how it’s really done,’ he challenged. Brother and sister polkaed round in perfect time. Oscar chuckled and Maria insisted on their dancing too. They shuffled round at a sedate pace. When Benny went to put on another record, his mother called for a waltz. Over the call of children’s voices in the street beyond, the music of Strauss filled the warm evening air.
Swiftly, Frank reached for Clara’s hand. ‘I’m not Major Lockwood, but I won’t crush your toes as much as Benny.’
Clara could not believe her luck as Frank swept her into the waltz, his hand cupping hers, holding her close. She almost forgot to breathe. She stared at their feet, concentrating too hard on the steps.
‘Look up,’ he murmured, ‘and trust your partner.’
In a minute they were moving as one, flowing together with the music. Clara’s heart thumped at twice its usual speed. She glanced up into his face. His blue-eyed gaze went through her like an electric shock, but she could not look away. Frank smiled and warmth flooded through her like sunshine. She had never felt so alive. She wanted to dance right out of the cramped yard, down the street and off into the unknown. If only this one dance could go on for ever.
But it stopped all too soon. For a moment they stood holding each other, smiling, and Clara wondered what Frank was thinking, longed to know if he felt anything at all for his sister’s friend. Then he gave a mock bow and let her go. Clara turned to see the rest of his family watching them.
No one said anything. Then Benny abruptly laughed.
‘Don’t let Vincent Craven see you dancing with Clara like that.’
Clara blushed. Reenie tutted. ‘Stop
going on about Mr Craven — you’re like a stuck record. Clara doesn’t find it funny.’
Benny looked contrite. ‘Sorry.’
‘Ja,’ Marta nodded. ‘He means nothing, Clara. Just always joking, joking.’
Benny brightened. ‘Who’s for a game of cards?’
As the shadows lengthened, they went indoors. Oscar lit a lamp and got out the chess board, challenging Frank to a game. The others played cards and the conversation flowed backwards and forwards between the two tables.
Clara was reluctantly thinking she should be going home when a noise erupted in the street below. A man was shouting incoherently. There was a hammering on the shop door. The chatter stopped. Reenie and Clara exchanged looks of alarm; their first thought was the vagrant.
‘. . . come out! . . . Leizmann! ... in there?’ The man let out a stream of drunken abuse.
The battering on the door began again. Clara saw the fear on the faces of Reenie’s parents and remembered Frank telling her of attacks on their shop. Was this how the attacks started, with some drunken reveller causing a disturbance in the street on his way home? Benny went to the window and peered out.
‘It’s Mr Magee,’ he said in astonishment. ‘Can hardly stand up.’
Clara froze. Her father’s belligerent voice rang out.
‘. . . got my bonny? Leizmann! . . . fight yer . . . Boche!’
She went hot with shame. What on earth possessed him? She stood up quickly. ‘I’d better go; I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Frank said at once.
‘Me an’ all.’ Benny rushed to follow him.
From the top of the stairs, Clara watched Frank unbolt the door. Harry swayed in front of him. Frank caught and steadied him, but he shook him off.
‘Where is she? Where yer hiding her?’
‘No one’s hiding her, Mr Magee,’ Frank said evenly. ‘Clara’s with Reenie. They’ve had a grand day.’
‘No right! Should’ve been with me — with her own people,’ he raged. ‘Clara! Get down here now! You don’t belong here.’ He pushed at Frank. ‘Get out me way.’
Frank blocked his attempt to enter. ‘Not in your state, Mr Magee. We’ll bring Clara home.’
‘Aye,’ Benny said hotly, pushing forward, ‘don’t speak to us like that — and in front of the lasses.’
This maddened Harry more. ‘Don’t you tell me . . !’ He took a swing at Benny.
Frank caught Harry’s arm and shoved him off the doorstep. Harry swore foully, cursing the Lewises, and came at him again. Frank dodged the swinging punch and jabbed Harry on the chin. He buckled at the knees and crumpled to the ground.
Clara dashed out. ‘What have you done to him?’
Frank looked as surprised as she was. She bent over her father. He reeked of whisky and beer.
‘Dad, are you all right?’ Clara shook him. He groaned and his eyes flickered open.
‘We’ll get him home,’ Frank said calmly. ‘Benny, give me a hand.’
The two brothers hauled Harry to his feet and hoisted his arms round their shoulders.
‘Canny punch, Frank,’ Benny said in admiration as they staggered forward.
Clara followed, engulfed by shame. She could not blame Frank for his action, but it just compounded her father’s humiliation and hers. If she had not stayed out so long, none of this would have happened. Now terrible things had been said that could not be forgotten. She had no idea her father harboured such feelings towards the Lewises.
Halfway down the street, a car turned the corner and dazzled them in its headlamps. It stopped, engine still running. Patience jumped out of the passenger side and rushed towards them.
‘Harry! My God, what’s happened?’ she demanded.
‘He’s had a few too many, that’s all,’ Frank grunted.
‘Our Frank sorted him out,’ Benny boasted. ‘He was mouthing off about me dad — calling us all Boche.’
Patience looked aghast. ‘You hit my Harry?’
‘He was saying terrible things, Mam,’ Clara defended Frank.
‘You’re the cause of this,’ Patience berated her. ‘You should have been home hours ago. You know how we worry.’
Vinnie appeared. ‘Put him in the car, lads. I’ll get him home. Sure he meant nothing by it. Just a little worried about young Clara,’ Vinnie smiled. ‘I told him not to worry, but Clara’s very precious to him.’ He turned and held out a beckoning hand to her. ‘Come on, lass, come to your mam. You missed a good party, running off when you did.’
Harry was helped into the passenger seat; Patience pushed Clara into the back and climbed in after her.
‘Thanks, lads.’ Vinnie shook the brothers by the hand. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’
Frank nodded.
‘Come to the fight on Saturday; I’ll give you ringside seats if you like.’ He slid behind the wheel and waved them off.
As they turned and drove off down the street, Clara regretted that she had not said a proper goodbye or apologised for her father. She waved, but it was probably too dark for them to see.
‘Your dress is stiff with salt,’ Patience fretted. ‘And look at the state of your hair. Where’s your hat? What have you been up to? I tell you, Clara, I don’t want you spending so much time with those people. What’s wrong with your own family? Aren’t you happy with us?’
Her mother sounded so tearful that Clara bit back her protest. She was too tired to argue. To her surprise, Vinnie spoke up for her.
‘Don’t be too hard on the lass, Patience,’ he murmured. ‘She’s just young.’
Clara’s gratitude at his defending her was tinged with annoyance that he still saw her as an immature girl.
Her father stirred in the front seat. He gulped as if he would be sick. Then, abruptly, he began to weep.
‘I did it for you, lass,’ he sobbed, ‘I did it for you.’
‘Did what?’ Clara asked, upset by his weeping.
But nobody answered.
Chapter 5
Summer, 1931
Clara got up at first light and dressed quickly in her hiking trousers and shirt. She had a rucksack already packed the night before with a picnic and a waterproof jacket (a second-hand one from the market). She did not want to wake anyone. Patience would plead with her to stay and keep her company.
‘Your father will be off down to Craven’s drinking half the afternoon,’ she would complain. ‘We can take a trip up the park or Jesmond Dene if you want to walk.’
Clara splashed her face with cold water. She used to love Sundays at home — best day in the week. But that was before the terrible slump when her father had started drinking heavily and betting on anything that moved. It was madness, of course, with nearly three million people on the dole. But the worse business got, the more Harry chased the impossible.
‘Just takes the one big win,’ he would insist when Patience begged him tearfully to stop.
There had been a terrible row the night before. Harry had been brought home hardly able to climb the stairs after a big match at Craven’s. Two of Vinnie’s men had hauled him up to the flat and dumped him on the landing.
‘Don’t think I’m going to tip you,’ Patience had cried at them, prodding Harry with a disdainful toe. ‘Ask Vinnie who’s going to pay me rent next month if he takes any more money off him!’
‘Shurrup, wom’n,’ Harry had slurred, trying to rouse himself but failing.
The men had gone without a word while Patience and Harry had a slanging match. Finally Patience had stormed into her bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. As she had done countless times before, Clara had gone and fetched Jimmy down from the attic and together they had helped their father on to the sitting-room sofa, taken off his boots and covered him with a rug. He was snoring in seconds.
‘It’s not Mr Craven’s fault,’ Jimmy said defensively. ‘Dad just makes a fool of himself.’
At fifteen, Jimmy was taller than Clara though still lean. His fresh-faced looks were marred by spots, his blue ey
es watchful. He had left school the previous year and worked as a paper boy for a shop that sold to the shipyard workers. The job had lasted two months. The shipyard was closing, the newsagent had gone bust and Jimmy was out of work along with increasing numbers of Tynesiders.
Yet Jimmy baulked at working in Magee’s. ‘Lass’s work,’ he called it, preferring to hang around the boxing gym cadging cigarettes from the older boys. Craven’s was the one business that seemed to be thriving in Byfell. Not only did it attract large numbers to big fights, it also showed talking films. Craven Hall provided a few hours of escapism for the hard-pressed locals. In fact, Vinnie Craven was doing so well he had bought a bankrupted garment factory and started up a local garage.
Half the time, Clara did not know where her brother was. She was too busy trying to keep the shop going with her worried mother. These days they would sell anything: cheap, cut-price clothing and second-hand goods. Magee’s was more like a pawnshop than a fancy goods store now.
‘Why do you always stick up for Mr Craven? He could stop Dad betting money he hasn’t got,’ Clara sparked back.
‘He tries,’ Jimmy declared. ‘He thinks the world of me dad — get sick of hearing him say how he was a war hero and one of Byfell’s best boxers. And look at him now — a useless drunk.’
‘Don’t speak about him like that,’ Clara said.
She looked pitifully at Harry snoring on the sofa, his face bloated and purplish with drink, the rest of his body shrinking like wizened fruit. Her father was looking old. He had changed so much over the past three years, turning moody and argumentative, taking offence where none was meant. Gone was the cheerful man who had beaten them up in the morning to cook their breakfast and sing lustily while stirring the porridge.
Her parents’ love for each other had withered too. There was a constant tension as if they could hardly bear to be in the same room. Very occasionally, if Patience coaxed Harry to stay at home and not drink, there were days when they laughed again and went to bed early. Despite their private war, they both managed to keep up a cheerful appearance in the shop to their dwindling number of faithful customers.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 6