Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  And in defiance, Lizzie went out all the more.

  Jake tried, but couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head that the elder brother who he’d always looked up to, who’d fed and cared for him after their parents were both dead and gone, had kept him out of institutions as a nipper and been his saviour and mentor, did, in some mysterious way, know his own wife better then he. And, once planted, suspicion that there was something going on between his brother and his wife, began to grow and fester.

  By the time Jake went off to war, the accusations, the blame and the misery had done their worst. Since she was deemed to be guilty, Lizzie had made up her mind that she might as well be and had given up the fight.

  Coldness and increasing distance chipped away at whatever affection she’d once felt for the man she’d so hastily married, and she was a woman who needed warmth and easy comforts. Finding herself alone, she’d let Bernie into her bed and revelled in the excitement, the danger of it. Meanwhile the drink she consumed to blot out the few remaining pangs of guilt, gradually robbed her of every last shred of self-esteem and the remnants of her judgement. Bernie had said that she was no good. Jake had believed him. Therefore it must be true. Between the two of them, they had destroyed her.

  Jess lifted the spluttering kettle from the hob, poured a drop into the teapot, swirled it about to warm it then emptied the water down the sink before brewing the tea. Next, she fetched Mrs Simmons’s mince pies from the tin in the larder where she’d put them for safe keeping days ago on Christmas Eve, and laid them carefully on a plate. She set this with the two mugs on a tin tray: the one with the picture of the funny little Bovril cow on it.

  If ever they’d both been in need of something tasty, this was the moment. They’d had nothing to eat all day save for a slice of toast and dripping, and Lizzie had hardly touched hers. If Jess had the time and energy to think about it, she’d probably find that she was really very hungry indeed. She didn’t even dare to imagine how wonderful roast goose might taste, never mind the home made Christmas pudding Mrs Simmons would have been sure to provide, smothered in brandy sauce.

  ‘Here you are Mam. Can you sit up? Do you want me to hold the cup for you?’

  Lizzie looked upon her daughter with brimming eyes. ‘Eeh lass, what would I do without you? I’d be like a bobbin with no thread. I’m not fit to be a mother. Nor to kiss the ground you walk on.’

  ‘Don’t start getting maudlin, Mam. Your stone cold sober, remember? Buck up and see what Mrs Simmons has sent you, with the compliments of the season.’

  Lizzie looked at the mince tarts in wonder, then her mouth went square and she began to cry in earnest, nose running and words spluttering out between gasps of tearful self pity.

  ‘Look at me, forced to take hand-outs now. What a failure I am! I’m no use as a mother. I could never manage to bake such delicious pies myself if I lived to be a hundred.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to when Simmons’s can do it for you. Come on Mam, eat one at least.’

  Lizzie was thinking that no doubt Jess could easily manage to bake such treats but then that lass could turn her hand to anything she’d a mind to. For all she was a quiet, unassuming sort of girl who lacked confidence in herself, she was no fool. Intelligence shone out of those soft brown eyes of hers which so silently and shrewdly seemed to weigh up what was what in the world, and a stubborn strength in the way she’d taken over the running of their little house, preparing the meals as if she were the mother and not the child.

  And if sometimes she adopted a sharply moralising tone, making Lizzie feel even more incapable, at least she possessed her father’s warm, loving heart as well as a natural charm.

  Fortunately, the lass wasn’t plain but quite attractive in a quiet, unadorned sort of way. Lizzie thought that she could have the chaps buzzing about her like bees round a honey pot, if only she’d put her mind to sparking herself up a bit. A dab of lipstick and powder would do wonders for that pale complexion for a start, and she could tidy that messy bird’s nest of a hair-do for another. But then Jess wasn’t the sort to show off or be flashy.

  Unlike her mam, Lizzie thought with a self-satisfied smirk. The guilt she’d been suffering from seconds before was all but gone as she began to worry about the state of her own face following Bernie’s mishandling of her.

  What a temper that man had. What passion!

  How much had the lass seen? Did she know who the two men were? Unsure how to handle the situation, Lizzie snatched up her grubby handkerchief, hung her head and took refuge in more tears.

  With great patience and diplomacy, Jess finally calmed Lizzie down sufficiently to persuade her to eat half of one of the tarts. Lizzie loudly protested that her face ached too much to manage any more, so Jess finished off every last crumb of the remaining three without a trace of guilt. After that, she settled her mother down for the night, refilling her hot water bottle, bringing her a glass of water and another couple of Aspirin, tucking in the bed clothes before finally falling into bed herself, utterly exhausted. No doubt Mrs Simmons would have done much the same little acts of kindness for Leah.

  Chapter Four

  A day or two later Bernie came round, clearly on his way back from The Donkey, and, having acquired a skin full, was even more full of himself than usual. He deposited himself with a bump in the only decent chair and let out a great burp, patting himself on the chest as if he’d achieved something momentous.

  ‘So what’s wrong with you?’ The expression on his brutish face was one of carefully composed innocence. ‘The holidays are as good as over, so it’s time to get up and do a bit of business. The fresh air will do you good.’

  He was dressed even more flashily than usual, it being Christmas, in a loud, green checked suit with a white silk muffler about his neck in place of a tie, which exactly matched the handkerchief that flopped, dandy-fashion, from his breast pocket.

  Jess instantly protested. ‘What sort of business? She’s not well enough to go out.’

  He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and glowered at her from beneath bushy brows, spiteful little eyes taking in at a few darting glances a quick inventory of every item in the room before settling reflectively upon Jess herself. A smile crooked the corner of his moist mouth, causing a dribble of spittle to trickle down onto his chin. ‘Are you suggesting that I don’t have your mother’s best interests at heart?’

  Jess wanted to throw up whenever she looked at him, and wouldn’t have been in the least surprised had a snake’s forked tongue flickered out from between those thick, blubber-like lips. His skin always appeared shiny and slick with sweat, and he was fond of combing thin strands of brown hair that curved over his bald pate with short, stubby fingers. He was doing it now as he watched and waited for her reply.

  ‘Well, do you?’ Jess challenged him. ‘You never think of anyone but yourself.’

  ‘What did you say?’ he mildly enquired, cupping one hand behind his ear. ‘You’ll have to say it again. I’m not sure I heard right.’

  ‘You heard right enough.’ Jess could feel her heart pounding behind her rib cage. She really didn’t know where she was finding the courage to stand up to him like this. She must be mad, or maybe her brain was turning to mush. And then she recalled how it had been this man’s great, podgy fists that had battered poor Lizzie to a pulp and she knew where she found the strength.

  Perhaps this was as good a moment as any to tell him to leave her mother alone; to follow Doc Lee’s advice and warn Uncle Bernie that if her mam continued drinking and carrying on in this fashion, she’d be a goner. Surely then he’d see sense and let her alone.

  Unfortunately, Lizzie chose precisely that moment to make an appearance. She’d no doubt heard Bernie’s voice and thought it best to come down. She’d put on her best frock and done her best with her face and hair but still looked as if she’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring with her hands tied behind her back.

  Her brother-in-law glanced up at her and raised bushy
brows in an affectation of surprise. ‘By heck, that’s a proper shiner. Which of your lover boys gave you that then?’

  Lizzie judiciously made no comment. Jess moved at once to the hob and poured boiling water into the tea pot. It was a poor solution to their troubles, but tea was all they had. That and a stale half loaf fit only for toast.

  Bernie wasn’t in the mood for such niceties. ‘Get your coat on,’ he ordered, jerking his chin in the direction of the understairs cupboard where he knew it hung behind the door. ‘Don’t pour one for either of us, we’re off out. Like I say, there’s a bit of business I want your mam to do for me.’

  Lizzie put a hand to her face. ‘But my bruises. What’ll folk say?’

  ‘They know to keep their noses out of my business. Put some pan-stick on, it’ll be right enough.’ So saying, he picked up her handbag from the table and tossed it to her. Lizzie did as she was bid. By the time she’d caked her face with the orange-tinted powder and daubed her lips with scarlet lipstick, she looked like a sad and garish circus clown. But her eyes warned Jess to say nothing and do nothing as she meekly followed Bernie from the house.

  He led Lizzie up Dolefield and along Bridge Street towards Deansgate so that he could avoid passing his own house on Cumberland Street, where he might be spotted by Cora. He kept a firm grip on her wrist as a reminder on who was in charge. Not being too sure about how much of events from the other evening Lizzie could remember, he’d already decided to make no further comment about it. Least said, soonest mended, wasn’t that what folk said? She’d probably been too drunk to realise who had hit her, though there was still one small matter to be cleared up.

  ‘I reckon you’ve stepped a bit out of line, Lizzie girl. And need a nudge back. Wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘You know I meant no harm, Bernie love. I was only having a bit of fun.’

  ‘Course you were. But we can’t have you pleasing yourself when and where you have it, now can we? You seem to forget who’s in charge here. This chap what you’ve been seeing, Jimmy somebody or other? Quite a generous sort is he?’

  Lizzie cast him a sideways glance through spiky lashes gummy with sleep and the Vaseline she’d quickly put on to tart herself up for him, and waited to see what he would say next. She feared Bernie the most when he sounded at his most reasonable.

  ‘Brought you presents, I shouldn’t wonder. Paid for your tricks, eh?’

  ‘Only the odd packet of fags Bernie, nowt special.’

  Bernie gave her a fierce shake, making her teeth rattle, shoving her down a back alley where they wouldn’t be disturbed. His grip on her arm was tenacious and Lizzie whimpered with fear.

  ‘If you don’t want any more bruises to add to the ones you already have, you’ll let me be the judge of what’s special, right? He could’ve been useful to me, had you shown the good sense to introduce us. These sailors get about, pick stuff up from foreign ports. But you kept him to yourself, which disappoints me greatly. I thought I could rely on you better than that, girl.’

  ‘Oh, you can Bernie, you can. Like I say, we were just. . .’

  ‘Having a bit of fun. Aye, so you said. Like I say, I’ll decide when you can trip the light fantastic, assuming you deserve to, right? It comes to something when I’m forced to follow you to find out what you’re up to. That’s not good, Lizzie, not good at all. I don’t like it, you know what I mean?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Bernie. I really am. I meant no offence. I’d’ve seen you all right, you know I would, if he’d given me anything worth sharing.’

  ‘You’d have seen me all right? That’s a laugh. Would you indeed?’

  ‘You’ll not hurt me again, will you Bernie love?’

  ‘We’ll have to see just how sorry you are, won’t we? Whether you’re going to be a good girl from now on.’ Well lubricated with beer, he was feeling a bit randy so after a quick glance to make sure they weren’t about to be interrupted, Bernie unbuttoned his flies, pushed up her skirt and thrust himself into her, giving her a good pounding.

  ‘Stop whining,’ he growled, when she complained he was banging her head against the brick wall.

  It gave Bernie malicious satisfaction to see his brother’s once gloriously attractive wife brought so low. He liked to make her beg while he did as he pleased with her skinny, worn out body. And it gave him great satisfaction to know how it would enrage Jake if and when he ever found out what he was up to. Loyal as Bernie was to Cora, he greatly resented the fact that it was his wimp of a brother who had nabbed the beauty. He was the one who should’ve had the best looking girl, just as he should have the most money and the best of everything, since he was the eldest and the one who had suffered the most. He deserved it.

  It was over very quickly, and while Lizzie fussed about making herself presentable, Bernie lit up a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs as he considered the situation. It had been hard graft for years keeping body and soul together. Mind, he’d soon recognised that working for others was a mug’s game and had started siphoning off a bit extra into his back pocket here and there, though he’d been careful not to overdo it so that he didn’t get caught.

  They’d managed to survive due entirely to his clever skills but Jake had never shown proper gratitude, not in Bernie’s opinion. He’d taken it all for granted, even daring to criticise his style of operation, making himself out to be whiter than white. Now he’d turned himself into a tin pot hero by volunteering to join up, and was apparently in line to be made sergeant.

  But what did Jake know about anything? He could barely remember the hard days before his parents had taken sick. Being only six at the time, ten years younger than himself, Jake could barely remember the beatings their dad had given them, the days when they’d lived on scraps from other folks’ dustbins because there was no work to be had, or the times Mam had taken the two boys out begging on the streets. Bernie had wept very few tears when they’d died.

  Since then, everything had always seemed to fall neatly into Jake’s lap. He’d done well at school, was liked by all his teachers and never got the strap. What’s more, he had a stunning musical talent which won him any number of friends and applause, then he’d landed himself a good job before marrying the best looking bird around. Serve him right if she’d turned out to be the most troublesome.

  He watched with interest as Lizzie bent over to adjust her stocking tops and suspender for she still had a nice pair of pins on her, even if the rest of her did look a bit well used. He licked his lips in anticipation at what lay ahead at the end of the evening. He’d have her again later, at a more leisurely pace this time. Lizzie was always more imaginative after she’d been knocked about a bit. Women needed to be sharpened up now and then. Did them a world of good. In the meantime, he dragged his attention back to the business in hand. ‘Now then, this Jimmy, he frequents the Top Hamer on Byrom Street, did you say?’

  Lizzie smoothed down her skirt and nodded.

  ‘And he’s worth a bob or two. He does usually carry a wad, right?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why d’you ask, Bernie love? What is it your going to do?’

  Bernie shook her again and this time his grip on her wrist was so tight Lizzie thought it might cut off the blood supply to her fingers. ‘When it’s your turn to ask questions, I’ll let you know. All right?’

  ‘Yes Bernie.’ She wondered if she dare tell him he had a smudge of her scarlet lipstick on his cheek, and decided against it.

  ‘It’s time this Jimmy character paid for the bother he’s caused. I hope you’ve learned your lesson to do as you’re told, girl.’

  He took her straight to the pub and there was Jimmy, sitting with his chums as usual. Lizzie heartily wished that for once he’d stayed on board his ship and got on with the maintenance work or whatever it was they were berthed here for.

  ‘Now all you have to do is get him on his own and persuade him to buy you a drink. Bernie slid a small packet into her hand. While he’s getting it, you slip this into his. It should qui
eten him down nicely. Got it?’ He tapped the side of his nose with a nicotine stained stubby finger and winked at her. ‘You can leave the rest to me.’

  Lizzie wanted to ask what it was exactly, what effect it would have on her lovely Jimmy, and what Bernie intended to do after that, but she didn’t dare. One glance into the frost pale eyes and she could only silently nod. It’d be a broken cheek bone next time if she disobeyed him, she knew that for certain.

  ‘Put on your best smile girl. We don’t want him to suspect owt, now do we?’

  It all worked with terrible predictability. Jimmy was delighted to see her, instantly offered to buy her a drink and didn’t notice as she slipped the powder into his beer while he was away at the bar. He drank his ‘Mickey Finn’ without a trace of suspicion, too occupied in showing his concern for the state of her face and explaining why he’d thought it best that he make a run for it the other night, in the hope of saving her further suffering, and before the police were called and things turned really nasty.

  Lizzie smiled and nodded at his excuses, thinking how weak men were and feeling a nudge of regret that Jimmy should be as much of a let down as all the rest. It didn’t take long for him to lose the thread of the conversation and Bernie came in just as he slid into unconsciousness.

  The pair of them half carried him out the door, laughing and joking as if he were simply the worse for the booze. Once safely around the corner in a back alley, Bernie propped him against a wall and stripped his pockets bare. He was indeed carrying a thick wad of notes, along with a gold watch and a cigarette lighter. Bernie stowed them all away in his own pockets, then as Lizzie bent to check if he was all right, grabbed her arm and pulled her away.