Dancing on Deansgate

by Freda Lightfoot

  Jess saw Doug quite often after that and he proved to be a pleasant enough companion, a kind man doing his utmost to please her. She should be grateful as he’d quite taken her mind off her longing for Steve. At least she told herself that he had. It seemed an age since she’d seen Steve that last time at Belle Vue, though it could only be a few weeks.

  ‘You’re very good to me. I’m sorry if I’m not quite myself at the moment,’ she said one evening as they turned from Bridge Street down Dolefield towards Cumberland Street. They’d been to the Odeon to see Gene Kelly in For Me and My Gal and Jess had simply loved the music. She couldn’t wait to try out After You’ve Gone on her trumpet, though she thought Oh, You Beautiful Doll mightn’t be so easy to play. She’d even allowed Doug to hold her hand for a while in an effort not to think of Steve. A ploy which hadn’t quite been the success she’d hoped for as she’d sat there wishing her life wasn’t in this dreadful mess.

  Time was passing, and she still hadn’t resolved her problem.

  When she’d first found out about the baby, she hadn’t been able to take it in. It hadn’t seemed real. Now she felt sick all the time and, try as she might, couldn’t seem to get the worry out of her mind as fear struck to the heart of her. What on earth was she going to do? Never in her wildest imaginings had she seen herself as the mother of an illegitimate child. The finger of scorn had always followed Lizzie. Jess had never meant to suffer in the same way, let alone be in a worse situation. She might scold herself for not making practical arrangements, for not finding some sort of solution, whatever that might be, but the truth was that she didn’t want this baby. She loathed the very thought of it. How could she possibly feel happy about it when it had been foisted upon her in such a dreadful way.

  But she certainly wasn’t going to make herself feel any better by ignoring Doug. She should be paying proper attention to her escort, out of good manners, if nothing else.

  ‘I enjoyed this evening very much. Gene Kelly is a marvellous dancer, isn’t he? I became so engrossed in the film I quite forgot to talk to you, which is unforgivable. You‘ve told me so little about yourself, apart from the fact you lost your wife and child, that is. I mean, have you always worked on the docks, for instance?

  He looked pleased by this show of interest. ‘No, I’ve moved about a bit: worked in the parcel office on Exchange station, been a coal man, rent collector, and a driver for Burgess’s Dairy once over. But I was looking for something better, something with good prospects, and I found that at the docks. I shan’t be moving again, even when the war’s over. I don’t much care for change.’

  ‘What about your parents? I’ve heard you mention your mother, is she . . ?’

  ‘She’s dead, my father too.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I hope, when the war’s over, that my dad will come home safe and sound. He’s a POW you know. I write to him all the time, though I’m not sure if he gets any of my letters. I can’t wait to see him again, I miss him so very much. He’s someone to turn to in times of trouble, isn’t he, a dad?’ A rush of tears filled her eyes and ran, unchecked, down her face. What on earth was wrong with her, blubbing like this?

  Doug tut-tutted and patted her hand, pulled a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her with great deference. ‘There, there, you don’t need your dad, sweetheart, you’ve got me. I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘You’re so good to me, Doug, so kind and gentle.’ Jess wiped the tears away, blew her nose vigorously and tried to smile. ‘You make me feel so safe. That’s why I like you, I suppose.’

  ‘Aye, course it is.’ He gave such a shy, sad smile that all her natural, warm sympathy came to the fore. ‘You can give me a goodnight kiss, if you like.’

  He looked momentarily flustered, strangely wrong-footed by the suggestion, as if she’d offered to take off her clothes and dance naked before him in the street. ‘I don’t think that would be quite right, do you? I mean we’re not walking-out, or engaged or anything?’

  ‘Does one need to be engaged, for one goodnight kiss?’ Jess asked, giving a little giggle and already wishing the words unsaid. What had she been thinking of to make such a suggestion? She must have gone soft in the head, but he looked so pathetic, so very much the small boy in need of petting by a loving mother. ‘No further, mind,’ she teased, giving him a sly wink. ‘I’m not that sort of girl.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t know how pleased I am to hear you say so,’ he said with some fervour. Then his face brightened and he looked more keenly at her. ‘Would you like to get engaged? I could buy you a ring tomorrow.’

  Now Jess was the one who felt wrong-footed. How had a mild flirtation to allow him to kiss her goodnight turn into something far more serious? She tried a little laugh, hoping to diffuse the situation. ‘My word, that’s quite a leap, don’t you think? How did we reach that stage? It’s a little early to talk of engagements. You’ve only held my hand a little, not even kissed me yet. And before a man buys a girl a ring, it’s customary for him to ask her to marry him.’

  She’d said the words flippantly, a teasing light in her eye. But she saw at once that she had compounded her mistake.

  His face was alight, so full of eagerness that for one dreadful moment she half expected him to go down on one knee and propose to her there and then in the mud and dust of the gutter. Instead he said, ‘I will ask you, if you like. May I?’

  Perversely, Jess felt a burst of irritation that he should think to ask her permission instead of simply declaring his undying love and sweeping her off her feet, as a man should. His diffidence somehow made it seem as if she had failed a test, and not him. Yet what did it matter? She wasn’t seeking either love or passion, and certainly not from Doug Morgan. Those were what you found on the shelves of Boot’s library, not in real life, not for her, not any more.

  ‘I know that this isn’t serious, Doug, that this is a silly game we’re playing, but just so that you will know in future, you must never ask a girl if you may propose to her, for how can she answer that?’ She smiled at him fondly. ‘Do you see, it would be tantamount to accepting the offer before ever you made it.’

  ‘Oh yes, I see. I hadn’t looked at it in that light.’

  ‘Anyway, the answer is no, I don’t want you to ask me, ta very much. As I said, we hardly know each other. It’s much too soon. Anyroad, I’m not sure if I shall ever marry.’

  But I’m having a baby. I need a husband. Desperately!

  He looked nonplussed and frowned, as if she’d said something that didn’t quite make sense. ‘But all women must marry. That’s their role in life.’

  Jess looked at him askance, wondering if he truly believed what he was saying or was simply trying to tease her. ‘I think women are good for one or two other things as well, besides marriage,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘Of course they are,’ Doug quickly added, seeing the pit yawn before him once more. ‘But we’d be good together, you and me, Jess. I’d give you everything you ever dreamed of: nice clothes, children, a home of your own that you didn’t have to share with your hated uncle, or your feckless mother for that matter.’

  ‘Uncle Bernie is one thing, and I loathe the sight of him, but Lizzie is still my mam and I am responsible for her,’ Jess said, eyes flashing.

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. Sorry, sweetheart.’ By heck, but she was a prickly one and no mistake. He’d really have to take care if he was ever to win her round.

  ‘And I’ve told you before, don’t call me sweetheart,’ Jess sharply responded and began to walk away, annoyed that somehow the evening had gone wrong yet again.

  Appalled by his own clumsiness, Doug set off after her at a lumbering trot. He called to her, begging her to stop and wait for him which, thankfully, she did, albeit with a weary sigh of resignation. Just as well since there was a limit even he was prepared to suffer humiliation to gain his prize.

  ‘Don’t be angry, sw. . . er, I’m sorry if I’ve caused offence love. You mean the wor
ld to me. What would I do without you? I’d be lost.’

  ‘Would you?’

  He smiled warily at her, then rubbing the sweat from his palms he grasped her small hands between his own, giving them a little pat. ‘Course I would, Jess. I’d do anything to make you happy. You’ve only to ask. I didn’t mean it about your mam. She could come and live with us, if you like. How would that be? Just say the word and I’ll spend the rest of my life being a good husband to you.’

  Jess’s eyes filled with tears, so touched was she by the genuine kindness in his tone. Wasn’t this what she needed, someone to care, someone to look after her? ‘You’d do that for me?’ she asked in awe. ‘And take on my mother too?’

  ‘If it meant you’d be happy, course I would, love.’ Doug was secretly hoping it would never come to that. Lizzie was a wild card, a difficult woman as well as a feckless layabout and a drunk. But if that’s what it took to catch her daughter, that’s what he’d do. Anyway, it needn’t be permanent. Not that he expected her to accept for one moment. He couldn’t be that lucky. And then Doug became aware that she was saying something else, something of even greater importance.

  They were seated now on a rough bit of planking down by the Irwell, and somewhere in the distance they heard the hoot of a ship, perhaps saying farewell as it went off to war. It was almost pitch black and a mist hung low over the river, sometimes parting to show the glistening black of dirty water below, sometimes enveloping them in swathes of fog. Jess could see no sign of Irwell Street Bridge a few yards upriver, could scarcely make out Doug seated beside her, let alone the expression on his face. Yet in a way, this was an advantage and she kept her gaze fixed on her own clenched hands as she launched into her tale.

  ‘What if I asked you to provide a home for more than my mother? What if I asked you to take on someone else as well?’

  ‘Someone else?’ Surely not this Aunt Cora as well, not the whole family, he thought. What had he let himself in for? ‘Who?’

  ‘A child.’

  Doug turned over these two, rather surprising words, in his brain for several long moments. ‘I’m not sure I quite understand. I thought you were an only child, with no brothers and sisters.’

  ‘No, not a child of that sort. I meant . . . my child.’

  ‘What, yours and mine you mean? Oh but I’ve already said . . .’

  ‘No, not yours and mine.’ Jess took a deep breath and told him, as gently and calmly as she could, about her uncle raping her, using the word out loud for the first time, and how she believed herself to be pregnant as a result. It couldn’t have taken more than a few moments but she felt exhausted when she was done, drained of all energy.

  A silence stretched endlessly between them.

  Doug couldn’t deny that he was deeply disappointed. He’d wanted her to be pure, chaste as the driven snow. Yet he was afraid to show his feelings for fear of losing her. At length he said: ‘I am honoured that you should share this information with me. It can’t have been easy for you.’

  ‘N-no, it wasn’t easy at all. It was a terrible thing to happen to me - to any girl.’

  She’d made no mention of Steve, of their earlier love making, because Jess had put all hope of a life with him out of her mind. That was behind her now, lost for ever. But even though they’d quarrelled a little, she’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with Doug, and it had made her see that she needed someone in her life. She didn’t want to spend it alone, with everyone pointing the finger and calling her child a bastard. So, if he could accept her conditions, what did she have to lose?

  ‘The only thing is – and I must be honest with you Doug, that I doubt I could be much of a wife to you. Being – assaulted in that way, tends to put one off – that sort of thing. To put it bluntly, it would be a marriage in name only. I very much doubt that I could ever - that I would ever want to have sex with you or – or anyone.’

  He kept his expression carefully neutral and passive, giving no indication of how much she’d startled him. This was the last thing he’d expected and yet - did it really matter?

  What good had sex ever done for him, or for his own mother who had given it freely outside of a respectable marriage? She’d used sex as a weapon against his father, chosen it in preference to her own son. No, he would willingly live without it, if necessary. That other boyfriend of hers, Steve, the musician character who she’d danced with at Belle Vue only the other week, had obviously let her down. He might well be the father of this child, and this tale of being raped by her uncle all a lie, a fantasy she’d made up to make him feel sorry for her.

  But he would never let her down. One word from him and Jess was his for the taking, what he’d long dreamed of for so long and never believed he could achieve. He would keep her like a princess in an ivory tower, all to himself. She would be entirely his.

  He very gently touched her hand and smiled kindly at her. ‘All right, Jess love. I’ll agree to that, and gladly. I’ll look after you and the baby.’

  Jess felt deeply moved by the kindness so evident in his gaze and found herself revealing even more about herself. ‘I’m not sure how I shall feel about the baby. I’m not certain I even want it. Because of the circumstances.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. You could always have it adopted.’ Doug had no wish to be a father, particularly to another man’s child, but fortunately she didn’t enquire into his feelings on this subject, and he didn’t offer an opinion. ‘I’ll gladly take care of you. I’m a simple man but harmless, as they say. I’ll certainly not hurt you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite. I shall deem it a privilege, an honour to have you as my wife.’ He smiled sheepishly at her, all too aware of her soft heart. ‘I will cherish you, Jess. If you will have me.’

  He looked so incredibly earnest that Jess found herself smiling in response and accepting his offer without the slightest hesitation. She saw him as a good, kind man, lonely and sad, who’d already experienced the pain of losing a wife and a beloved child. This war had destroyed too many lives. Didn’t Doug Morgan deserve some compassion, a little loving, just like everyone else? Didn’t she? Not forgetting the child that her uncle had saddled her with.

  If this good man was prepared to take on such a burden, what possible reason could she have for refusing him?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  1945

  The sun was shining and new life unfurling in the buds on the trees, a beautiful spring day right in the heart of Manchester, outshone only by the delight and happiness on the hundreds of faces that thronged Albert Square, all of them beaming suns in their own right. Wreathed in laughter and smiles, they reflected hearts filled with hope for a new tomorrow.

  Manchester Salutes the Allies declared the hoardings, words emblazoned over a giant V for victory sign. The war was over at last! Germany had surrendered, the Third Reich was defeated.

  Flags of the United Nations were flown, King George VI’s broadcast relayed to his loyal subjects. There were flags and bunting everywhere, pictures of Winston Churchill propped up on back yard walls. The streets of Manchester rang with music and laughter, singing and dancing. People danced everywhere, even on top of the air raid shelters, cocking a snook at the hours they’d spent confined in the musty misery within, over so many long years. Bonfires blazed, fireworks exploded and people took rides on gloriously decorated trams just so they could see all the fun.

  Later in the day, or certainly by the next morning, reality would show that little had changed. Admittedly the blackout, even the dim-out that had recently replaced it was now over for good. Lights were on again in Manchester, but there were still long queues for food, even bread. Restrictions continued, though no one was complaining as they were too used to the 4, 3, 2, 1. Four ounces of bacon, three of cheese, two ounces of tea and one egg a week, if available.

  One shilling and twopence could be spent on meat, plus another twopence on corned beef. And everyone was bored sick with Spam. Even Cora was having trouble finding enough coupons these days to pro
vide the extra fat she needed to make pies for the dances Jess still held each month at some local venue or other.

  ‘Not sure which they like best, my meat and potato pies or your music but you keep playing and I’ll keep cooking, love.’

  Jess believed that it was the dances and her beloved trumpet which had kept her sane over these long months. If it hadn’t been for her music, she thought she might well have gone mad. Right now she was playing with all her heart and soul, while the women picked up their skirts and danced, finishing with a conga from Albert Square, all along John Dalton Street and down Deansgate, singing at the tops of their voices: I’m Looking Over a four Leaf Clover.

  It was a day to be happy, a day to rejoice and look forward not back; no matter what problems may lie beneath the surface of their superficially contented lives. If nothing had quite turned out as they’d expected, at least they had survived, could breathe in the fresh air and freedom, the glorious sunshine of this precious day.

  Cora was with them, as she so often was, minding the babies. Leah had a baby girl, Susie, who was ten months old. Leah had given up working at the tea room in order to devote her attention entirely to Susie’s welfare, though she still helped out at the club. Much to the surprise of everyone, particularly his wife, even Harry had come to dote upon his daughter, and could often be found dangling her upon his knee. He had even been spotted proudly walking the baby out in her pram on Deansgate, basking in the comments of doting matrons who stopped to admire this delightfully pretty child.

  Jess too had given up her job, at Doug’s insistence, and even the Salvation Army had little need of her now. But she was content to devote her days, at least, to her child although nothing would prevent her from playing in her precious band.

  Despite being a good, kind and caring man, Doug had been a huge disappointment to her, spending as little time as possible with John, or little Johnny as he’d come to be called, the child that had brought them together. It was clearly the mother he’d wanted, not the baby, had more than once suggested that she give him up for adoption. But then why should he love a child who wasn’t his own son?