Oddly enough he felt as if he’d saved her life and began to see himself as a hero; next helping one old woman, complete with parrot in a cage, down into the shelter. Bernie didn’t feel in any great danger himself out in the open like this. He saw himself as indestructible and was almost revelling in the excitement of it all: the massive explosions like giant fireworks, walls tumbling before his very eyes, even the screams that came from the less fortunate making him feel brave and powerful.
Besides, it was common knowledge that plenty had been killed outright in their own cellars, so nowhere was truly safe, not in this war.
But he still had his bit of business to attend to so, not wishing to have his disguise tested, he slipped quietly away down a back alley. Nobody saw him go. The air was thick with dust; the smell and taste of fear and death almost tangible. The streets seemed to be piled high with stuff: abandoned bicycles, chairs, tables, clocks and clothing spilling out of rooms ripped open to the four winds, like doll’s houses with the fronts lifted off. He even found a fur coat in one garden, a bit moth-eaten but likely to fetch a few quid. Bernie helped himself, filling the hand cart he’d brought with him and trundling his booty back to Cumberland Street. This would be the easiest money he’d ever made.
‘Here, what am I supposed to do with this lot?’ Cora wanted to know. ‘Haven’t we got enough lumber?’ She indicated the accumulated pile of junk that already took up half the back yard.
‘Throw a tarpaulin over that. Put it in the Anderson shelter. Whatever you think best, only keep it safe till I have time to dispose of it properly, at the right price. It’ll only arouse suspicion if I do that too quickly.’
‘Oh aye, everything must be kept safe, everything except your wife.’
He flung out one hand and smacked her across the face. ‘Shut your mouth, woman. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’ Seb and Sam, seeing their mother so abused, opened their twin mouths and let out a loud wail of protest. ‘And shut them brats up an’ all.’
He stormed off in a rage, banging the back door after him so hard, it rocked on its hinges. Cora took what satisfaction she could from how daft he looked in the tin helmet and ARP overalls, both of them several sizes too small for his substantial girth. Happen Jess was right and she was daft to put up with such treatment. Surely she deserved better? Then she bent to comfort her children.
‘It’s all right, Mam’s not really hurt. Come on my little loves, how about a chip butty?’ And gathering her children to her bosom she gave them a cuddle.
When Jess came home she did a double-take the minute she clapped eyes on her aunt. ‘What have you done to your face, Cora?’
‘I walked into t’pantry door, didn’t I? Never look where I’m going, me.’
Jess opened her mouth to express her disbelief at this tale, then spotted the wide, frightened eyes of the twins and thought better of it. ‘Put your feet up then, I’ll make a brew.’
‘Eeh, you’re a good lass.’
As Jess handed her aunt the cup she said in low voice that the twins wouldn’t hear, ‘You don’t have to put up with this. Tell him you’ll leave him if he ever hits you again. Tell him you’ll not be used as a punch bag.’
Cora gave her a blank look. ‘I don’t know what your talking about love. Eeh, is that an Eccles cake you’ve fetched me?’
Back at the bomb site Bernie had hit a snag. He’d met up with a genuine ARP Warden in the form of Clifford Simmons, who would have done better to stop at home at his bakery, in Bernie’s opinion. In his confusion, he took off the too small helmet, then put it back again.
‘Good to see you carrying out your civic duty, Mr Delaney,’ Mr Simmons said, trying to disguise the surprise in his voice.
‘Aye, well, you have to do your bit, eh?’ Cornered, there seemed little else to say. Nor could he protest when Simmons, as the senior officer, took control and started issuing orders.
‘Take it steady now Delaney, anybody could be buried under this lot, and keep a sharp eye out for looters,’ Mr Simmons told him. ‘If you spot any, tell that sergeant over there.’ He indicated a small group of soldiers picking through the rubble.
‘What’ll they do?’ Bernie asked, though he doubted he’d much care for the answer.
‘They’ll clap them in t’clink, assuming they haven’t dealt with them first.’
‘What d’you mean, dealt with them?’
Mr Simmons lifted up his hand and forming it into the shape of a gun, pointed it at Bernie. ‘Bang, bang.’
Strangely enough, Bernie didn’t spot a single looter, but he did spend the rest of the afternoon and evening pulling half mangled bodies out of the rubble and learning, for the very first time, exactly what war was all about.
Bernie revised his plans and discarded the ARP uniform. Rooting among ruins for dead bodies was not his line of work at all. The very next time the siren sounded, he went to find his sister-in-law. Lizzie was on her way down to the municipal shelter. With Jess more often than not at the mobile canteen there was little pleasure in being in the Anderson Shelter on her own, nor sitting under the stairs with Cora who complained all the time about her smoking.
Bernie said, ‘Hold on Lizzie lass, I’ve got a little job for you,.’
‘What’s that Bernie love? You know I’d do owt for you. You only have to ask.’
‘Course you would, and I think you’ll enjoy this. We’re going to pop out for a bit, just you and me. Do a bit of salvage work as you might say. How would you mind pretending to be my wife for the afternoon, girl? At least, that’ll be our story should anyone make enquiries what we’re up to?’
‘Eeh, I’d like that, Bernie, I really would.’ She didn’t ask what it was they’d be up to. Lizzie was too pleased and excited to be included in his schemes, and to be called his wife no less!
They’d hardly reached the end of the street when the all-clear sounded. It was nothing but a false alarm after all. ‘Drat!’ Bernie felt the coil of anger he always seemed to have inside of him these days, tighten even more. He was so unlucky. He’d done well out of the war early on, using the profits he’d made from the sale of coupons to buy a couple of run-down properties. One a pub on Deansgate which had been badly damaged by bombs, the other a small house on Rice Street which he let out to two old dears who were terrified of him so never got behind with the rent. But the income was much less than he’d hoped, and he was desperate for more brass. His pockets had grown dangerously thin of late.
‘Do we have to go in the shelter now, Bernie love?’ Lizzie asked, and looking into her once lovely grey-green eyes he saw confusion there. She was no longer certain which sound meant the alert and which peace. Lovely Lizzie was losing her grip. The doc had always said the booze would be the death of her, one way or the other.
‘No, we’re all right, love. We can still go. Come on, shake a leg. We should be able to find some pickings somewhere, eh? If we look hard enough. And aren’t you my little jackdaw with an eye for anything that glitters?’
Lizzie giggled, girlishly. ‘Ooh Bernie, you say the daftest things.’ She linked her arm into his and was secretly delighted that he didn’t brush her off, as he so often did when they walked out together in public. Perhaps she was winning him over, after all.
Bernie would have linked arms with the devil incarnate if it guaranteed making a bit of brass.
They headed out towards Bury Old Road - which to Bernie’s way of thinking seemed a more likely spot than Castlefield or Ancoats, looking for all the world like a man and his wife out for an afternoon stroll. Taking care to keep well away from the ARPs, the pair trawled several bombed-out sites, though none of them particularly recent ones. They found a bottle of hair oil, a cameo brooch, a pair of ivory cufflinks and a few packets of tea which Lizzie got very excited about.
Opting on the side of caution, Bernie insisted that she weep copious tears into her hanky while they searched, just in case anybody should see them and start asking questions. If that happened, they could claim it
was their house, or that it belonged to their daughter, whichever seemed appropriate and they’d popped back to look for something. Of course, there was always the risk that someone who knew the real occupants of the property would happen by, but it was a chance worth taking.
In the event they weren’t troubled by anyone and apart from emptying a few gas meters, found little of any value among the rubble. Compared with Harry and Bert, their success rate was low, finding more old shoes, empty handbags and battered photo frames than anything else. But then the lads had rooted round during an actual raid, while the iron was still hot, as it were. Now the trail had gone cold, and they’d just have to wait for the next one.
Nor did Bernie believe that his sons had handed over everything they’d salvaged from the ruins. Young Harry was too canny, and Bert didn’t have the brains to disagree. Bernie could only hope that Churchill didn’t end the war quite as soon as promised, so that he’d have enough time to make the fortune he’d promised himself.
He certainly wasn’t for giving up, oh dear me no. No one could ever accuse Bernie Delaney of being a quitter.
Jess couldn’t believe her bad luck. It seemed sadly ironic that for months now she’d been hoping against hope that she’d find Steve Wyman again, perhaps playing in a band at some dance hall or other. To come across him in such circumstances was truly heartbreaking. She’d dreamed he might ask her to dance and hold her close once more. She’d even made up exciting little conversations between them, except that this time she’d get to tell him her name, and a carefully edited version of her life and situation. Naturally, in the dream, he found her absolutely fascinating and asked to see her again. She pictured them slowly dancing the last waltz together to the tune of Dancing in the Dark with the lights in the ballroom spinning around them.
She practised harder than ever with the trumpet, trying to justify depriving him of his precious instrument. I’ll Be Seeing You became one of her favourite tunes. Tears would roll down her cheeks as she played I’ll be looking at the moon but I’ll be seeing you.
Even now, despite their meeting going all wrong, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, expecting to find him around every street corner; dreaming that she would indeed see him in all the old familiar places.
The reality was that they’d simply enjoyed one dance. Nothing more.
Jess had been relieved when he wasn’t waiting for her when she’d left Mr Yoffey’s shop that day. Yet at the same time oddly disappointed. He must not have recognised her, which just showed what a poor impression she’d made on him at the dance. It was several months ago now, of course, so he’d had plenty of time to forget all about her. Nor was he there the following week when again she called with payment, although old Mr Yoffey admitted he had spotted a young man hovering about outside the previous day.
‘You won’t tell him my name, will you?’ she begged, suddenly concerned that he might still be angry with her. ‘Or where I live?’
‘I look like a man with no brains? Would I do such a hair-brained thing?’
Strangely, Jess felt disappointed by his vehemence when really she should be relieved. ‘I’ve been thinking about that trumpet. Perhaps I should return it after all, since it was important enough for him to hand over all the money he possessed to get it back.’
‘Poof, that young man simply likes to have his own way, I am thinking. That is how he saw it, as a game, a competition to be won. He couldn’t bear to think of someone getting one over on him. I know the sort. You keep the instrument, little one. It is yours now.’
And remembering how nasty he’d been, and how Steve had threatened her before walking out, Jess tucked the trumpet under her arm and decided that Mr Yoffey was probably right. She’d keep it after all.
But she couldn’t stop thinking of Steve Wyman. The only solution seemed to be to continue attending the dances as if nothing untoward had happened, even though much of the pleasure seemed to have gone out of them for some reason.
Leah remarked upon her gloom. ‘Cheer up and smile for goodness’ sake.’
It was with some relief when one night at the Plaza, Jess spotted Tommy. His presence was like a breath of fresh air and she quickly introduced him to Leah as her favourite cousin, which he found amusing.
‘I know what you mean our Jess, but it’s not strictly true that nobody can find our Harry and Bert lovable. It’s hard to reckon but somebody might, but they’re each walking out with a girl.’
Jess was all ears. ‘Are they really? Good heavens. No wonder I haven’t seen much of them lately, and what a relief that has been. They must be saints, these girls, whoever they are.’
‘Or hard up,’ Tommy laughed.
As Jess saw Tommy casting shy, sidelong glances at her friend, she turned to Leah to explain. ‘Tommy is the only Delaney who believes in doing his bit for the war effort. Harry and Bert are both bone idle and only out for themselves, while Tommy here is a fire-watcher.’
Tommy grinned. ‘Aye, I’m the only one daft enough to put myself in the firing line, though I will be even more soon. I’m hoping to join the army by the end of the year. Can’t be worse than sleeping on a camp bed in some freezing warehouse or other, waiting to play football with incendiaries.’ Then he regaled them with a funny story of trying to get water up from a bucket with a stirrup pump to put out a fire. ‘It would have been quicker to chuck the bucket of water on it.’
Leah was roaring with laughter. ‘Why didn’t you then?’
‘Regulations. Anyroad, we didn’t have any water left.’
‘What a war!’ They were all laughing by this time, then seeing his bright, adoring gaze Leah sighed and gave one of her soft, enticing smiles. ‘You can dance with me, if you want to.’
‘Oh, I want to all right.’
‘But you have to ask properly.’
Tommy grinned. ‘Can I dance with you properly then?’ He took the laughing Leah on to the dance floor and Jess never clapped eyes on her again for the rest of the evening, which left her feeling more depressed than ever.
Unbeknown to Jess, the dance with Tommy lasted no more than a few moments before they were rudely interrupted. ‘Hello Tommy lad, who’s this little chick you’ve picked up? Does she know that you’re only just out of short trousers?’
‘Leave off. Don’t push your nose in where it’s not wanted.’
‘I reckon we should let your lovely partner here be the best judge of that.’
Leah found herself looking into a roguishly handsome face with a square cut jaw, grey laughing eyes and close cropped, almost black hair with just the hint of a curl. Broad shoulders and a powerful chest gave way to slim hips and long, interesting legs. Hanging on to his arm with feverish tenacity and clawing red finger nails, was a girl with bleached blonde hair and a sulky expression on her thin, pale face. And no wonder. He exuded confidence and bonhomie. There surely wasn’t a girl in the room who wouldn’t have been delighted to be seen on his arm, and the way he was eyeing her up made Leah’s stomach clench in a thrill of excitement. He was, to her mind, utterly gorgeous!
‘Perhaps you should introduce us, Tommy.’
She could sense his reluctance as he swiftly and carelessly introduced the newcomer as his eldest brother. ‘This is our Harry.’
So this was the devilish Delaney who Jess was constantly going on about? Obviously she didn’t appreciate his potent sex appeal, since he was her cousin. Leah found herself utterly entranced and put up a hand to tidy a wayward strand of hair, all of a sudden acutely aware of her own appearance. Drat it, why hadn’t she worn her new blue silk with the dazzlingly low cut neckline instead of this old green linen number. But then that might have been too daring and frightened him off. But he clearly found her attractive, judging by the way his gaze was devouring her. The butterflies in her stomach started up a clog dance in pure ecstasy. Maybe Harry was exactly what she’d been waiting for, someone to put some zest and passion into her life, bring an edge of excitement to it.
Gripping her
firmly around the waist, Tommy attempted to steer Leah back into the melee of the other dancers. Harry, however, had taken a fancy to her and had no intention of letting her go.
‘Why don’t we exchange partners for this one, eh Tommy lad? You take Dotty here, and I’ll give - Leah is it? What a pretty name. I’ll take Leah on a merry little spin around the dance floor.’
Yes, Leah thought with wry amusement. I bet you’ve led many a girl a merry spin. At eighteen Leah was longing to be more grown up, to try out some of these adventures she heard the other shop girls whispering about, some of them younger than herself. ‘Sounds good to me,’ she said, somewhat breathlessly, trying not to feel guilty at the shaft of disappointment that flared in Tommy’s eyes. Why the hell shouldn’t she swop partners? Harry looked infinitely more interesting.
Once in his arms she could feel his magnetism, sense other girls eyeing him up and envying her. He was, in Leah’s opinion, one of the handsomest men in the room. Why had Jess never mentioned that simple fact? Was she so blind to her cousin’s masculine charms? Leah suddenly felt all girlish and shy, quite unlike her normal self, and absolutely lost for words. Harry had no such problem.
‘So you’re our Jess’s friend, from the tea room, eh?’
Leah nodded, wanting to kick herself for her own silent inadequacy. Why should a man have this effect upon her just because he was good looking? Admittedly he was a few years older than her, and very full of himself. But then she liked a man with an air of self-assurance; a man with authority who knew where he was going in life. Clearly the bottle blonde he’d abandoned was less than pleased at being dumped on his younger brother. Leah couldn’t help but think that she’d got the best of the bargain.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ The charcoal grey eyes were laughing at her, even as he pulled her closer in his arms, smoothing a hand up and down her spine which sent little shivers of excitement pulsating through her.
‘No, of course not. I was just thinking that I ought to be finding Jess. She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.’
Dancing on Deansgate Page 15