Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Sara was overwhelmed by her friend’s genuine enthusiasm. ‘I - I couldn’t possibly expect…’ she stammered.

  ‘We would have to ask Papa,’ Domenica said cautiously.

  ‘Then will you ask him for me?’ Rosa pressed her sister. ‘Please, Domenica.’

  Domenica was doubtful about inviting an outsider to such an important family occasion; after all, they hardly knew Sara and they knew her family even less. But Domenica wanted her young sister to enjoy the day, too. Having been away from home herself, she could see the restricted life at Pit Street was sometimes lonely for her sister. Soon she would be married and gone for good, Domenica thought, and deep down she was glad Rosa had found a friend to take her place, even if Sara was not from their community.

  ‘I’ll ask him,’ Domenica conceded with a smile and squeezed her sister’s hand.

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’ Sara was breathless at their generosity. ‘I’d love to come.’

  Just then a woman called her name and Sara recognised Hilda Kirkup walking past them on the arm of a tubby red-cheeked man whom she took to be Wilfred. Hilda, in high-heeled shoes, towered over him by several inches.

  ‘Are you enjoying the dance?’ she asked Sara. ‘I heard you were coming with our Raymond.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sara laughed. “Cept I haven’t danced yet. He’s nattering about football over there.’

  ‘Lads!’ Hilda exclaimed. ‘My Wilfred’s just as bad, that’s why I’m hanging on to him. Isn’t that right, Wilfred?’ The fleshy-faced man grunted. ‘I’ll send Raymond over, don’t you worry,’ the boy’s aunt promised as they moved on.

  Her words must have galvanised Raymond because, just before the interval, he limped dramatically to the table and asked her to dance. Sara felt wonderful, spinning around, feeling the skirt of her dress brush her bare legs as they moved amateurishly in a quickstep. Concentrating hard, she did not see Joe watching her from his position by the wall.

  Sara appeared to have turned from a gauche girl into a lively young woman before his eyes, Joe pondered in amazement. Before, he had always seen her in darned clothes or gabardine, her hair hidden in a green beret like a schoolgirl. But now he could see the plumpish curves of her sixteen years, flattered by the green and white dress and swaying in Raymond’s awkward hold. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, molten and glinting like liquid gold under the ballroom lights. Her green eyes sparkled with devilment; there was no other word to describe the look that lit her whole face, Joe thought with mounting interest.

  His previous attempt to flirt with her had been half-hearted, but now he would ask her for the next dance, he determined, no matter what Domenica might say. His sister was forever badgering him to find a nice Italian girl with whom to settle down, but he felt in no hurry. He would have his fun first, and at that moment he could think of nothing more entertaining than dancing with Rosa’s spirited friend, Sara.

  But as he detached himself from the group of young men by the door, the interval was announced. Paolo caught his eye. With a reluctant glance in Sara’s direction, Joe followed his brother into the supper room to help serve the ices.

  When Sara and Raymond returned to their seats, Domenica and Sylvia had gone to help the Dimarco men and only Rosa and Granny Maria remained.

  That’s finished me for the night,’ Raymond groaned. ‘It’s harder work than footy.’

  ‘Your leg’s sore?’ Rosa asked in concern.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Sara pushed him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with his leg that a few more dances won’t put right. He was fit enough to skive off work and enter the bicycle competition this afternoon.’

  ‘He mustn’t overdo it, Sara,’ Rosa said, her pretty face creasing in concern.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Raymond muttered, embarrassed by the attention. ‘Let’s go and get some grub.’

  They joined the queues in the supper room and piled plates high with paste sandwiches and slices of corn beef pie, hard-boiled eggs and sweet tomatoes and took a plateful out to Rosa’s grandmother. To quench their thirsts, they drank cupfuls of the homemade lemonade on offer. Later they went back for ice-cream and jelly, but to Sara’s disappointment Joe was nowhere to be seen. How could he have left so early? she asked herself gloomily.

  The dancing recommenced and the vast hall grew hot and airless as more revellers took to the floor and latecomers streamed in from the surrounding pubs.

  Sara bullied Raymond through two more dances and, while they muddled their way through a waltz, she suggested, ‘Ask Rosa for the next one. She’s only danced with Paolo and Joe seems to have left without dancing with anyone.’

  ‘Paulo said Joe’s taking the empty tubs back home,’ Raymond said, treading on her shoe.

  ‘Ah-ya! Watch me foot,’ she protested. ‘Well, he’s not hurrying back, is he? So let’s forget about Joe Dimarco. Give Rosa a dance, Raymond - you’d make her night.’

  ‘Give over,’ he blushed. ‘What would the old grandmother say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Sara coaxed. ‘You’re just asking her for a dance not her hand in marriage.’

  ‘Maybe I will…’ Raymond mumbled.

  There was a break for the announcement of raffle prizes and much sniggering from the ranks of boys when Raymond went up to collect a cheap necklace of sparkling beads and a bracelet to match. He stuffed them in his pocket and retreated, crimson-faced to the corner table.

  ‘Suits your colouring!’ Pat Slattery called out, amid guffaws of laughter.

  As the band struck up for the final part of the evening, Sara gave him a nudge. ‘I’ll sit this one out,’ she said and fanned her face with her hand.

  Raymond cleared his throat. He felt goaded by the ribald remarks of his mates and was going to show them he could dance with one of the beautiful, remote Dimarco girls. So far there was no sign of Normy Bell or Scotty to intimidate him and Raymond felt brave.

  ‘Would you like to dance, Rosa?’ he spoke to the table.

  Rosa glanced at her grandmother for permission. The white-haired woman nodded gravely and her sister said, ‘Go on. We’ll have to go home after this. We promised Papa to be in before the parlour dosed.’

  Rosa glanced at Sara, who was nodding encouragingly too. She stood up and took Raymond’s hand, feeling a thrill to be asked to dance by someone who was no relation of hers, even if it was just pale-faced Raymond with his funny remarks. She was grateful to Sara for allowing her to dance with her partner.

  Soon she was lost in the crowds on the polished wooden floor, shuffling around with her heavy-footed partner. He joked about his dancing expertise and made her laugh. Rosa felt quite light-headed as the music pulsated around them, drowning out the chatter of the dancers. For the first time in her life she felt grown up, no longer a youngest daughter or little sister, but a young woman at a carnival dance being paid admiring attention by a passably handsome boy in a hand-me-down suit. He was younger than she or Sara, but Rosa felt a stab of envy that Sara had found a boy as nice as Raymond to take her out. How would she ever meet anyone while she was cooped up at home every day? Rosa wondered with impatience.

  The waltz ended and the moment of exultation passed. Reluctantly, Rosa allowed the rest of her family to lead her away.

  ‘Come and see me in the shop next week,’ Sara told her.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosa promised, picking up her cardigan. ‘And you must call round at the house - anytime.’

  ‘Ta, I will,’ Sara smiled.

  As the others said goodbye and Granny Maria bustled them towards the main door, Rosa turned and called shyly, ‘Thanks for the dance, Raymond.’

  He nodded. ‘Ta-ra, Rosa.’ His cheeks under his auburn hair were flame-coloured. A moment later she was gone into the night.

  Raymond and Sara looked at each other, both overcome by a mood of anti-climax. Sara looked at the large clock above the stage; it indicated half-past ten.

  ‘I’ll have to go soon,’ she sighed. ‘He’s not coming back is he?’ She did not have to explain whom she
meant.

  ‘Probably had to help his dad in the cafe,’ Raymond tried to ease the disappointment. ‘They’ll be busy tonight.’

  ‘He’s not bothered about me; you don’t have to be nice about it.’ Sara gave a sad smile.

  ‘You’re a right one!’ Raymond cocked his head. ‘You ignore Joe when he’s here and moan about him when he’s not. How’s he supposed to know you fancy him?’

  ‘Who says I fancy him?’ Sara tried to sound unconcerned.

  Raymond just laughed. ‘Here…’ He dug his hand in his pocket, hating to see her glum,’… you have the necklace.’

  Sara was touched by his gesture, but refused to take it. ‘You give it to Rosa,’ she pushed it back. ‘She thinks you’re canny, I can tell.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Raymond swallowed. Sara nodded.

  Just then there was a commotion at the door and Sara saw a group of lads forcing their way past the doorman. They were swaying with drink and one with a cropped head and a squint nose was shouting at the elderly attendant. Their mood was ugly and a menacing air blew in like a draught to the stuffy hall. With shock she recognised her cousin Colin looking belligerent among the troublemakers. Sara saw Raymond visibly pale.

  ‘Is that them - the lads who beat you up?’ she asked. He nodded.

  ‘But Colin’s with them,’ she said nonplussed. ‘You don’t mean to say…?’

  ‘Aye,’ Raymond whispered, stiff-faced. ‘Your cousin was there that day.’

  ‘Never!’ Sara said aghast. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Knew it would upset you,’ Raymond answered.

  ‘Oh, Raymond, I’m sorry - I’m so ashamed that a cousin of mine -’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Raymond said, his throat painfully dry. He was only glad the Dimarcos had left.

  But Sara was filled with revulsion that Colin had been part of such a brutal attack. As the band leader announced the next number, Normy spotted Raymond and came lurching across. Sara felt a sick tightening in her stomach as Raymond, clearly swallowing his fear, stood up.

  ‘Where’s Dimarco?’ Normy asked, his face savage.

  ‘Not here,’ Raymond said, facing his intimidator squarely.

  ‘Tell him we’ll have him,’ Normy snarled, making Sara shiver with fear. She caught Colin’s look, but he glanced away awkwardly and she knew what Raymond had said was true. How she despised her cousin! He was no better than her bullying Uncle Alfred.

  But Raymond stood his ground as a group of pitmen led by Wilfred Parkin migrated towards them, sensing trouble.

  ‘Joe Dimarco could have you anytime,’ Raymond answered with derision, filling out with confidence as he realised help was coming. Sara tensed and stood up beside Raymond as Normy Bell leered forward and spat at him.

  ‘Scabbing bastard!’

  A moment later, Wilfred and Pat Slattery had Normy by the arms and Sara watched dumbly as the drunken aggressor and his mates were forcibly jostled from the hall by the older men.

  Raymond felt himself shaking, but did not want to betray his relief to Sara. For several minutes they just stared as the protesting youths were ejected through the swinging doors.

  ‘Oh, Raymond,’ Sara whispered with a shudder, touching his arm, ‘you were that brave. What terrible lads!’

  Raymond felt a flush of pride at her words, as his fright lessened. ‘They’re not worth the bother,’ he grunted.

  ‘Should we warn Joe?’ Sara asked anxiously.

  Raymond experienced a twinge of disappointment to see Sara’s pretty face pucker in concern for Joe instead of him. ‘Joe can handle himself,’ Raymond answered stiffly. Then, not wanting her to worry, he added, ‘And they’re no threat, the state they’re in.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Sara gulped.

  ‘Haway, let’s dance,’ Raymond brightened, feeling bold after his stand against Normy Bell. ‘It’s a progressive. That way we don’t get stuck with each other for the whole dance.’

  ‘Suits me,’ Sara laughed and nudged him, thankful that the moment of tension was passed. For all his boyish slimness and joking nature, Sara was impressed by the spirit Raymond had shown, while she had clamped up with fear. She slipped an arm through his as he led her on to the dance floor.

  The hall was a seething mass of people and Sara’s spirits soon revived as she passed in the huge chain from partner to partner. Raymond gave way to chubby Wilfred Parkin, whom she thanked for intervening and he was followed by a middle-aged pitman with black creases of dirt in his neck. Two further strangers came and went, then wiry Pat Slattery took her hand and swung her about with a bashful grin. To her surprise, Sara recognised her next partner as the freckle-faced sailor, Frank Robson, who had sat beside her on the bus when she had first arrived in Whitton Grange. He was dressed in his naval uniform and looked boyishly handsome as he smiled at her.

  ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re on leave again?’ Sara queried, with a smile.

  ‘Family bereavement,’ Frank explained, his face sobering. ‘My aunt in Stanhope.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sara said, noticing the black band on his upper arm for the first time.

  ‘Ta,’ Frank replied. ‘Aunt Flo always liked a good dance, so I knew she wouldn’t begrudge me a couple of hours before I rejoin the ship.’ He took a deep breath. ‘How are you settling in?’

  ‘Canny,’ Sara answered, not going to add to his problems by telling him how difficult she had found adapting to this dirty town.

  ‘You’re looking well on it,’ Frank told her, giving her a final polka before passing on.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sara smiled bashfully.

  She turned to find herself facing Joe Dimarco. She heard Frank say goodbye and her own voice wishing him good luck on his ship, but she was only aware of the feel of Joe’s arm slipping behind her back and his other warm hand grasping hers. He must have come in the back of the hall when all eyes were on the troublemakers at the main entrance.

  He regarded her with dark eyes, his hair tousled over his perspiring brow. ‘I may not be a sailor in a fancy uniform,’ he said as he twirled her, ‘but you’re stuck with me now.’

  Sara was engulfed in relief to see him unscathed, but would not say so.

  ‘Thought you weren’t bothering to come back,’ she reproached.

  ‘So you noticed I’d gone?’ Joe grinned with pleasure.

  ‘Raymond noticed,’ Sara pouted, unable to look into his dark eyes without betraying her nervous excitement at his sudden reappearance. ‘And that awful Normy Bell’s been in here looking for you, too.’

  Joe laughed, unconcerned. ‘I got trapped in the cafe,’ he explained. ‘There was a rush when the pictures finished. I slipped out when Paolo got back - said I’d left something at the hall.’

  ‘Oh, what was that?’ Sara asked, struggling to appear calm when her heart hammered like the band drums.

  ‘A bonny lass,’ he said and turned her again. She felt the queasiness of failure grip her insides; he probably meant Olive Brown.

  ‘Better go and find her, then,’ Sara said with a lift of her chin and prepared to meet her next partner, who was moving towards her. But Joe did not let go.

  ‘Pass on,’ he told the confused man. He shrugged and shuffled round them.

  Joe grinned at Sara’s astonished face. ‘The bonny lass I left was dancing with a skinny lad too young for her - with two left feet and a limp.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Sara challenged him with her green eyes and mimicked his own words, ‘So you noticed did you?’

  ‘How could I not see the most beautiful girl in the room, bellissima?’ He leaned towards her and brushed the word against her hair. Sara had no idea what it meant, but it sounded romantic. The strength drained from her knees.

  The dance finished and they stood close, still holding on to each other. A waltz was announced and Joe pulled her to him as they set off across the dance floor without a word exchanged. The heat of bodies pressed about them and a saxophone oozed sensu
ous music, wrapping them in the melody.

  Sara relaxed against Joe’s shirt, her cheek resting on his shoulder and felt his arm tighten around her waist, squeezing her to him. She closed her eyes wishing the moment could go on for ever, savouring the bitter-sweet smell of perspiration and aftershave, and the closeness of his strong body which was causing her stomach to turn somersaults.

  The saxophone wailed to a halt and immediately broke into a jazzy quickstep. They stepped apart but Joe held on to her hand. The clock showed it was quarter to eleven.

  ‘I have to go home now,’ Sara told him without enthusiasm. ‘My uncle says I’m to be in by eleven.’

  ‘I’ll see you home,’ he said, which was just what she wanted to hear.

  ‘But what if Normy Bell’s waiting for you?’ Sara said doubtfully.

  ‘We’ll go out the back way.’ Joe squeezed her hand.

  Returning to the far table, Sara picked up her cardigan as Raymond arrived. Joe told him he would see Sara safely to her uncle’s house. The younger boy did not hide his relief at being rid of the responsibility, diving off with a hurried goodbye to join his mates. He had no wish to be teased further about lasses that evening.

  Hurrying down the back steps into the cool of the night, Sara felt Joe’s arm reach around her as the dark enveloped them.

  ‘This way,’ he murmured, pulling her further down the street.

  ‘That’s not the way home,’ Sara answered with a twinge of apprehension.

  ‘I know a short-cut through the dene,’ Joe coaxed. She peered at his shadowed face as they passed under a street lamp. His dark eyes were challenging.

  ‘I must be back by eleven,’ Sara insisted stubbornly. He laughed softly and gripped her tighter.

  ‘Are you frightened I’ll turn into a rat, Cinderella?’ he joked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sara answered, a gurgle of nervous laughter rising in her throat.

  ‘Well, here’s your glass carriage, princess,’ Joe pulled her to a halt by the kerb. ‘This’ll get you home fast enough, won’t it?’

  Sara gawped at the dark shape in the roadway. It was Joe’s motorcycle. ‘You want me to ride on that?’ she exclaimed.