Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  He was playing in the band. She hadn’t noticed him at first, not until they’d circled the dance floor once and come closer to the small stage. Now she looked up straight into his eyes, almost as if she’d known he was there all along. He was playing the saxophone and she sensed the wrong note he played, even without hearing it. His gaze seemed to burn into hers, searing into her soul and all she could think was: Oh, why did he have to be here? Why did Steve have to see her like this, in the arms of another man? She felt giddy with misery, trembling in every limb so that she missed a step and would have stumbled had not Doug caught her, taking the opportunity to draw her closer into his arms.

  ‘Are you tired? Would you like to rest?’

  She said that she would and they left the floor. Jess gladly accepted the lemonade he bought for her. ‘It’s probably the heat, almost an Indian summer.’

  ‘Would you like to go home?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine now. Let’s dance again.’ A sort of recklessness had come over her. No matter how difficult, she really mustn’t run away. Perhaps it was no bad thing that Steve had seen her with Doug. If she could get through the next ten minutes or so, it might convince him that it was finally over between them and leave her alone. After that, it would surely get easier. Even broken hearts mended eventually, didn’t they?

  Suddenly he was there beside her. Having abandoned his saxophone to come looking for her, he was telling a red faced, angry looking Doug that this was an Excuse-Me and it was his turn now to dance with Jess.

  He’d fixed the dance deliberately, Jess knew it. Fortunately, this thought didn’t occur to Doug and he graciously, if reluctantly, relinquished her.

  It was as if she’d been waiting for him. They came together with an ease that was heartbreaking. Her hand captured warmly against his chest, his arm about her waist where it seemed to fit perfectly, holding her close so that she could follow every fluid movement of his body, anticipate his next step as every good dancer should. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, every beat of his heart.

  ‘Is that him, the bloke you’ve dumped me for?’

  ‘It’s not like that at all.’

  ‘Are you saying we can get back together then? You know, of course, that I love you.’

  She could hardly see him for the shimmer of tears in her eyes. He loved her! He’d said those precious words which she had so longed to hear. But it was too late. Far, far too late. Bernie Delaney had made sure of that.

  She shook her head in numb misery.

  ‘I can’t let you go, Jess.’

  ‘You must,’ and suddenly she realised the band was playing I’ll Be Seeing You.

  Steve pulled her close in his arms and began humming the words softly into her ear. ‘In all the old, familiar places, that my heart and mind embraces. . . I’ll find you in the morning sun and when the night is through, I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.’

  Jess could bear no more, she tore herself from his arms and ran blindly from the floor, not pausing for a second even when he called out her name, causing heads to turn as the other dancers watched her departure in open-mouthed wonder and dismay.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was Doug who caught up with her at the bus stop, most insistent that she tell him what had caused her distress. ‘Did he hurt you? He was in the band, wasn’t he? Musicians are the lowest of the low, I’ve always thought. Didn’t I say it wasn’t a respectable place for you to be?’

  ‘Don’t say such things, Doug. I’m a musician too, remember? And I’m OK. Really I am. It wasn’t anything Steve did, it was me. I suddenly came over all funny again. The heat under all those lights, I expect.’

  ‘All women get in a state. They need a man to sort them out. I’ll always be here to look after you, if you want me to. Don’t you fret about that.’

  Jess flushed, alarmed by his proprietorial air, and this over-simplification of love. It was Steve she needed, not Doug Morgan. And Steve she’d just walked out on.

  Jess could take no more. Her mind was spinning, her heart physically aching, just as if someone were squeezing all the life out of it. ‘Take me home please.’ She ran up the steps of the bus on to the top deck and sat mute throughout the entire journey, cooling her forehead against the bus window.

  Oh, why couldn’t it have been Steve who had followed her to the bus stop? she thought, knowing she was being unreasonable. She’d left him stunned and hurt on the dance floor, where he would have to go back on stage and play the next number as if nothing amiss had taken place at all.

  By the time she parted from Doug at the corner of Deansgate, guilt over her coolness towards him that evening was already beginning to surface and when he told her he planned to buy tickets to take her to the Hallé orchestra the following Sunday to hear them play Verdi’s Requiem at the King’s Hall, she felt quite unable to refuse. It had been unkind and foolish of her to dance with Steve when she was supposed to be with Doug, and stupidly dangerous. She politely accepted the invitation and quite genuinely expressed her gratitude for a delightful afternoon, struggling to look pleased and happy, as if she were thrilled by his offer, although she really didn’t care one way or the other.

  It was Steve Wyman she wanted. But if she couldn’t have Steve, what did it matter where she went or who she went with?

  Leah had convinced herself that it would be a temporary situation, that she would eventually be able to make Harry see the error of his ways. She’d tried desperately to show him how wrong it was to steal, while doing her utmost not to upset him. None of her ploys had any effect. He would either storm off in a fury and, she suspected, take his revenge by sleeping with one of the barmaids, or he would lash out and hit her. She saw now that all Jess had told her about Bernie Delaney must have been true since his son was every bit as bad. If only she’d known before she’d agreed to marry him, or rather, if only she’d listened to Jess’s sound advice.

  Leah kept hoping that she could change him, that because of his love for her, he would treat her better. But he never did.

  There was a madness in him, a sickness almost, a part of him that she couldn’t reach. It was as though he had to destroy everything that came his way, and her with it. Leah knew she’d changed. She was no longer the carefree, adventure loving girl she’d once been. Now she felt tired and depressed all the time, jumpy and nervous. She weighed every word before she uttered it, was careful not to anger him with a joke when he wasn’t in the mood for laughing, or any comment he might construe as criticism.

  She always made sure that she looked nice when he came upstairs to the flat, expecting his tea to be ready on the dot of six. Today, the minute she arrived home from work, Leah dashed around tidying the place up, straightening cushions, wiping every speck of dust away because Harry was oddly fastidious, considering his background and how untidy Cora was. She wanted everything to be lovely, for him to smile and appreciate her efforts to please him. To be happy and kind to her, to be the man she thought she’d married.

  ‘Do you like my new dress?’ she asked, when he walked through the door an hour later. Leah knew she looked good, with her hair all freshly washed and shining. She’d even bought a new pink lipstick on Campfield market, and Harry himself had provided the silk stockings.

  He had a glass in his hand which he didn’t set down, even when she put her arms about his neck to give him a kiss. ‘Did you get it?’ he asked.

  ‘Did I get what?’ She drew away, knowing exactly what he was referring to. Leah kept hoping that one of these days he might forget to ask, or think better of this dreadful scheme and agree that she didn’t have to steal any more. So far, she must have taken well over fifty pounds from her father’s shop, little by little, and he hadn’t even noticed. At least, not a word had been said.

  Every day when she arrived at the tea room, she half expected him to angrily confront her with the knowledge of her betrayal, almost wished that he would, so that she could tell Harry the game w
as up, and this terrible nightmare would be over at last.

  Harry was watching her with eyes as hard as flint, furious that she continued to defy him. There were more days when she brought nothing home, than those when she did. At the same time he was savouring the scent of her soft, fair hair, noticing how her breast rose and fell in breathless little gasps. He was keenly aware of the sway of her hips against his crotch when she kissed him. Pulling her roughly towards him, he lifted her skirt and slid his fingers down inside her stocking top, stroking her leg, enjoying how her eyelids fluttered closed as his circling progress homed closer to their target.

  ‘I can make you do owt I want.’

  ‘Oh yes, Harry, you can, you can.’ It was always best to agree with him. However much she might loathe herself for it afterwards, it was safer that way.

  ‘And you like that, don’t you? I know you do. Go on, say that you like me to give the orders. Go on, say it!’

  ‘I like you giving the orders, Harry.’ A voice in her head shouted that this wasn’t true. She hated being used by him. Hated it. Hated him! But he was pushing her down on to the rug, ripping her new dress in his eagerness to remove it, and Leah was deeply afraid.

  Later, when he’d enjoyed her to the full and she’d handed over two crisp white five pound notes, as instructed, Harry decided that all things considered he was really very pleased with both himself and his marriage. Not only did he have full control of a delightful, obedient little wife, but also had a hold over his dear cousin, which he could put into effect at any time that he chose.

  In her desperation, Leah went to see Cora for advice, explaining at length about the sorry state of the club, and pouring out all her troubles. ‘I know he says money’s tight and that there are debts, but surely there must be some other way. He’s let out all the rooms, save for a couple which he uses for drunken customers who are incapable of getting home. But that’s not enough, he says. I suggested he ask Jess to hold a dance there, but he won’t hear of it. How can I make him see that it’s wrong to ask me to steal from my own parents?’

  ‘Our Harry doesn’t see it in that light. Your pa has plenty, and he’s family, so why shouldn’t it be shared round a bit? Anyroad, he’s a lost cause is our Harry. I can do nowt. I wouldn’t know what to suggest.’

  Cora scratched her head in puzzlement, the grey strands of wiry hair tightly bound in their usual curling pins, as if in preparation for some future event which never seemed to arrive. Yet she was taking greater pride in herself these days, since her suppers had proved to be such a feature at Jess’s dances. Although that didn’t quite extend to personal hygiene as there still emanated from her the sour smell of sweat, or, as Cora herself dubbed it, ‘honest toil’.

  Leah was gazing at her mother-in-law, horrified, not quite able to take in that Harry’s own mother was apparently going to sit back and do nothing to help. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me all this before?’

  ‘Would you have listened? Folk generally don’t, once they’ve made up their minds to do something. I certainly didn’t, and I were warned about Bernie by everyone who knew him. Didn’t our Jess say owt?’

  ‘She said Harry was the worst of the lot.’

  Cora cackled with laughter, which Leah thought astonishing, considering it was her own son they were talking about. ‘Aye, that about sums him up. You’ll have to get canny, as we’ve all learned to do. Pretend your doing as he says, but actually please yourself. That were generally the answer with our Bernie.’

  ‘And where is he then, your Bernie? No sign of him yet?’ Leah asked, sighing with exasperation as she realised she was getting absolutely nowhere. Cora didn’t understand at all about Harry. He was a very difficult man to refuse anything, partly because she was coming to fear his temper, and also, to her shame, because she loved him and still hoped that she could change his nasty ways. She hated having to come and beg for help like this, hated the sour smells in this house, the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. How could Jess tolerate living here? And in the front room, comatose on the horse-hair sofa, was Lizzie, her drunken sot of a mother. What a household!

  ‘The longer he stays away the better,’ Cora said, then levering herself out of her chair grabbed the kettle and offered another cuppa, though they’d had two already.

  ‘No thanks, I’d best be on my way, Harry doesn’t like me to be late home. You won’t say anything about our little chat, will you? Promise?’

  ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned, living in this family all these years, it’s to hold me tongue.’

  The trip to the orchestral concert did not start off particularly well. To begin with Doug failed to acquire tickets for the Hallé and took her instead to a comic operetta put on by a local amateur operatic group. It wasn’t to Jess’s taste, but she steadfastly sat through an hour and a half of the dullest music imaginable delivered by buxom middle-aged ladies who really shouldn’t be attempting to reach those high notes. Just before the interval Jess began to feel slightly queasy and slipped out to the powder room for a cool glass of water. By the time she returned, Doug had bought her a brandy, certain that she was in need of one and quite put out when she refused.

  ‘No, I can’t – I mustn’t. I don’t drink spirits, thanks all the same.’

  ‘You still look very much below par to me,’ he told her. Perhaps you shouldn’t have come. Is it something you’ve eaten, do you think?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Women are so delicate, aren’t they? You really should take better care of yourself.’

  Jess bridled. ‘I’m not in the least bit delicate,’ she protested, stoutly ignoring the small, chiding voice at the back of her head. ‘Anyone can be ill, men as well as women. In fact, a man always panders to illness far more than a woman does.’

  ‘Oh no, men are much stronger, bound to be, since they have to earn an honest crust by the sweat of their brow in order to keep their families.’

  ‘I really don’t see it that way at all. There’s no reason on earth why women shouldn’t do exactly the same thing, as they are doing every day in this war.’

  ‘Well yes, but only because they have to. It’s easier for men as they do it so much better. They’re more savvy, and once the war is over the women will be able to relax and return to the hearth, where they belong.’ He smiled at her as if he had just offered her the key to paradise.

  One look into her fierce brown eyes told Doug he’d made a bad mistake, yet could think of no way to back-track and still stick to his principles. Consequently, he dug himself deeper into the pit that yawned before him. ‘Men know what’s what, do you see? Been out in the world longer, protecting their womenfolk. They have the better education, generally speaking, and more intelligence, so they’re the ones who must make all the decisions.’

  Jess was struggling to maintain a proper degree of politeness in the face of these inflammable remarks. Hadn’t she heard very much the same sort of piffle from Harry and Bert. It really wasn’t important, yet she couldn’t bring herself to let them go unchallenged. ‘And it’s the role of women to go along with those decisions, is it? Not that I agree men are more intelligent than women, you understand.’

  Doug couldn’t fail to notice that the expression on her face had become thunderous, He was vaguely aware he could be stepping into dangerous territory, but how could that be when he only wished to please and protect her? There’d be time enough later to smooth the edges from her temper and teach her to see things in the proper way. She was young yet.

  ‘Don’t let’s quarrel. I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. The second act is about to begin and I never meant to spoil the evening for you. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘Of course, it was only a difference of opinion. Only please don’t call me sweetheart, I don’t care for it. All right?’

  ‘Whatever you say sweetheart. Whatever you say.’

  Leah watched, appalled, as her father rolled up the notes and thrust them into his pocket, his face so set with anger it made her
shake. ‘No, Leah, it’s no good. I’ve paid her what wages she’s owed, though she doesn’t deserve them, and she’s been given her marching orders. There’s an end to the matter.’

  ‘But how can you be sure that she’s guilty?’

  He slammed the till drawer shut, causing it to give a loud, startled ring. ‘Because I never had any problems with money going missing until that girl started working for us. I’ve told her that I won’t employ anyone dishonest, any little madam who thinks she can help herself by dipping her greedy, grubby little fingers into my till.’

  Only Leah knew for certain that the new girl, little more than sixteen and at this precise moment running off down Deansgate in floods of tears having been sacked on the spot, dismissed without a reference, was entirely innocent.

  ‘This can’t go on,’ she told Harry when he came in later for his supper. ‘It must stop. Now! An innocent young girl has lost her job because of me, because of you and your greed. I’ll not steal for you again. Ever!’

  Harry’s jaw tightened with fury, a white line of anger forming about his compressed mouth. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. You’re my wife and I’m in charge here.’

  ‘No, you damn well aren’t,’ she screamed back at him. ‘I’ve told you. It’s over. I love my dad. God knows why I stole from him in the first place, but now it’s over. Got that? Finished!’ For a brief instant she felt good. Jubilant! Triumphant even. Perhaps if she’d stood up to him before now, things wouldn’t have got so bad.

  And then he hit her.

  Leah fended off the blows as best she could, getting to her feet every time he knocked her down, determined to defy him. Finally she was forced to stay down, lay curled in a tight, protective ball while he gave her what he called ‘a good pounding with his big heavy boots.’

  They both knew that in future she would do exactly as he instructed, steal whatever he told her to steal, once he’d knocked all the fight out of her.