When We Danced at the End of the Pier

by Sandy Taylor

  I left the church feeling hopeful. I was glad that we’d come. Now all I had to do was wait for the Blessed Virgin Mary to come up with the goods. I hoped we didn’t have to wait too long.

  Since Jack had spoken those two words I had been bursting with happiness. Maggie said it was like I’d developed some kind of awful illness and I was scaring potential customers away by walking up to them with a weird sort of grimace on my face.

  ‘It’s not a grimace, it’s a smile.’

  ‘Well, it’s a very weird sort of a smile.’ Maggie screwed up her face and started walking towards me looking like something from another planet. ‘That’s how you look,’ she said. ‘It’s putting people off.’

  I finally told her all about Jack and how he was the only boy for me, otherwise she would have thought that I was going soft in the head.

  ‘You’ve been in love with him for how long?’

  ‘Just the eight years.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Maureen, please don’t tell me you’ve never been out with another boy?’

  ‘Never,’ I said. ‘My heart belongs to Jack.’

  ‘But how can you be sure if you haven’t tried another boy?’

  ‘What do you mean, tried another boy? It sounds as if you’re talking about a new brand of soap.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t you want to kiss another boy?’

  I made a face. ‘I’d rather be boiled in oil. How many boys have you kissed then?’

  ‘Plenty,’ said Maggie, grinning. ‘I love kissing boys.’

  ‘Well, I’m saving myself for Jack.’

  ‘But is Jack saving himself for you?’

  I thought about it and said, ‘Probably not but it doesn’t matter, because he always comes back to me.’

  ‘I don’t know whether you’re a complete idiot or a saint.’

  ‘I’m a saint, Maggie. You are working with a saint.’

  Maggie looked at me kindly. ‘I just hope you don’t get hurt, Maureen, because you deserve to be happy.’

  ‘And I will be,’ I said. ‘There are some things in life, Maggie, that are worth waiting for, and Jack’s one of them.’

  Thirty-Six

  It was almost Christmas but this year it didn’t feel very Christmassy. Everyone was talking about the likelihood of a war with Germany. Everywhere you went, people were putting in their own two pennies’ worth. I’d go into a shop and then I’d be kept waiting for ages while the shopkeeper held court from behind the counter. If you were desperate for a couple of sausages then you became part of a captive audience while the butcher bestowed on you his invaluable opinion on what was going to happen next. You either stared at his mouth opening and closing or the row of dead pigs hanging behind him. All in all, buying sausages wasn’t going to be the highlight of your week.

  Brenda and I both had Wednesday afternoons off, so we decided to do some Christmas shopping. I didn’t spend so much time with my little sister these days because she was always with her best friend, Molly. They went everywhere together. Molly was a lovely girl and I was happy that Brenda had found such a good friend.

  As Brenda grew up she remained the sweet funny girl that she had always been. She was scared of thunder and lightning, so on those stormy nights I would feel her crawling into bed beside me and cuddling into my back. I liked feeling her there.

  We decided to have a cup of tea in Wade’s department store before we started our shopping.

  ‘Who are you going to buy for?’ I asked Brenda.

  ‘I want to get something nice for Mum,’ she said. ‘And Molly.’

  ‘Why don’t we buy something for Mum between us, then we will be able to get her something really special?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Brenda.

  ‘Well, I want to get a present for Jack, Nelson and Monica,’ I said.

  ‘What about Aunty Marge?’

  ‘That would be nice, we can get her something between us as well.’

  The waitress came across carrying a tray. She was wearing the familiar Wade’s uniform of a black dress with a white apron tied around her slim waist and a little white cap on her head. She looked smart and pretty.

  ‘Christmas shopping, are you?’ she said, putting cups and saucers down on the table in front of us.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But we thought we’d have a cup of tea first.’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t come to a better place than Wade’s,’ she said proudly. ‘I find other tea emporiums very sub-standard by comparison.’

  The girl was trying to speak in a posh voice but every now and then she would slip up and you just knew that she probably came from a council estate just like us but, as Jack was always saying, it didn’t do any harm to try and better yourself.

  ‘Would you like to partake of one of our scones?’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘Just the tea, thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Have a nice day then,’ she said, picking up the tray and walking away.

  ‘Tell me if I ever start talking like that,’ said Brenda.

  I grinned at her. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  We finished our tea and headed for the shops.

  ‘I wish we had a record player,’ I said.

  ‘I bloody wish we had a record player as well.’

  ‘Language, Brenda,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry, but I do wish we had a record player. Molly’s got one in her front room, it’s lovely. It looks like a piece of furniture and her mum is always polishing it.’

  ‘Is Molly’s family rich, then?’

  ‘I don’t think they’re rich but I’m pretty sure they’ve got more money than we have.’

  ‘The rag and bone man’s got more money than we have, Brenda.’

  'I suppose so.'

  ‘It’s just that Mum loves that record by Artie Shaw called “Indian Love Call”. I’d love to have bought it for her for Christmas but there’s no point if there’s nothing to play it on,' I said.

  'Don’t you just hate being poor, Maureen?’

  I caught hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘We’re OK.’

  ‘Of course we are,’ she said, smiling.

  We made our way to Woolworths, where stuff was cheap and you could get almost anything for a few pennies. The counters were piled high with Christmas ornaments and gifts. At every counter Brenda chatted to the assistants she worked with.

  ‘We’re never going to get anywhere at this rate,’ she said as we left one counter.

  I laughed. ‘It’s the cheapest place in town so we’re just going to have to do the best we can. Have you any idea what you’re going to get for Molly?’

  ‘Red lipstick,’ said Brenda, grinning. ‘Molly loves red lipstick.’

  We walked over to the cosmetics counter and Brenda picked the brightest red lipstick she could find. It was called Hawaiian Sunset.

  ‘I bet it’s never been anywhere near Hawaii.’

  ‘Would Monica like a lipstick?’ said Brenda.

  ‘I’m going to get Monica and Jack a book, they both love reading.’

  ‘How much can you afford for Mum’s present?’ asked Brenda.

  ‘About three shillings.’

  ‘We’ll be able to get her something great for six shillings.’

  ‘Now, how about Aunty Marge?’ I said.

  ‘A tea strainer,’ said Brenda. ‘Uncle John stood on it and it’s all squashed.’

  ‘A bit like two doors down’s dead dog,’ I said, grinning.

  We headed for the kitchen counter and chose a tea strainer that came with a little dish.

  ‘What about Mum?’ asked Brenda.

  ‘Let’s go to the bookshop first, then we’ll have a good look round for Mum’s present.’

  We walked along, passing all the shops. Christmas lights twinkled in the windows and shone out over the grey pavements. It was still early but it was already starting to get dark. We pushed open the bookshop door and the little bell jangled above our heads. It
was lovely and warm inside and the air was filled with dust and must and old books. It never failed to amaze me how much I had grown to love this old shop. The thought that I might have ended up in a factory made me shudder.

  ‘Couldn’t keep away?’ said Maggie, smiling at us.

  ‘I’ll have you know we’re customers and expect a bit of respect from the paid help,’ I said, grinning at her.

  ‘Get you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Well, you know where the books are, so carry on.’

  Just then Mrs Bentley came in from the yard. ‘I swear those two think they’re going to win the war single-handed. Hello, girls,’ she said as she noticed us. ‘What brings you here on your day off?’

  ‘They are customers,’ said Maggie, making a face. ‘Apparently they want some respect.’

  ‘And so they should,’ said Mrs Bentley.

  ‘And how are you?’ she asked, smiling at Brenda.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Bentley. Still working at Woolworths.’

  ‘When I think of you, Brenda,’ she said, smiling, ‘I always think of that sweet little girl in the squeaky pushchair.’

  ‘And when I think of you,’ said Brenda shyly, ‘I always think of a very kind lady who gave us help when we needed it.’

  ‘So we will always think of each other kindly,’ said Mrs Bentley.

  ‘Always,’ said Brenda.

  ‘Now, Maureen, who are you buying books for?’

  ‘Jack and Monica,’ I said.

  ‘And how are they?’

  ‘Jack is working hard at the university and Monica is working at the golf-ball factory. She used to work in a different factory but it turned her fingers orange.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘It wasn’t, that’s why I persuaded her to leave.’

  ‘So they both like to read, do they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what are they interested in?’

  ‘Jack likes anything to do with Hollywood and Monica likes anything to do with rich people,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Well, I think you’re in luck where Monica is concerned. Only this morning someone came into the shop and sold us a book about the fashion designer Coco Chanel. I imagine she was pretty rich. It’s a lovely book with beautiful photos of all her designs. Do you think that she would like that?’

  ‘I think she would love that.’

  ‘Good. Maggie, would you mind wrapping it up for our customer? And don’t forget to take off the staff discount.’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Bentley,’ said Maggie, winking at me.

  I went over to the bookshelves and took out a book about Rita Hayworth. I’d been looking at it for weeks and I knew that Jack would love it. I gave it to Maggie and she wrapped it up for me.

  Mrs Bentley picked up her coat that was draped across the chair. ‘Where are you off to now?’ she asked.

  ‘We want to get something nice for Mum,’ I said. ‘Me and Brenda are putting our money together so that we can get her something special.’

  ‘Hannington’s have some lovely things,’ said Mrs Bentley.

  I could feel my face getting red. I didn’t want to tell her that we didn’t have enough money to shop in Hannington’s. Maggie came to our rescue.

  ‘The stuff in Hannington’s is pretty pricey, Mrs Bentley,’ she said.

  ‘Which is why I have an account there,’ said Mrs Bentley, smiling. ‘If we smile very nicely at the shop assistant, we may get a small discount. I was just about to go there myself. Shall we go together?’

  I looked at Brenda, who nodded.

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  We said goodbye to Maggie and made our way along Western Road, then we cut through the side streets until we came to the beautiful building that was Hannington’s department store. Me and Brenda gazed up at the tall structure. It was four stories high with beautiful windows; the stonework was powdery blue like the sea when the sun shone on it. I felt very small standing there – our sort shopped in Woolworths, not Hannington’s. Brenda slipped her arm through mine.

  Mrs Bentley was already walking through the doors. She turned back and saw us standing there like a couple of store dummies.

  ‘Chop, chop!’ she said, smiling at us.

  ‘Come on, Brenda,’ I said. ‘It’s only a bloody shop.’

  ‘Language, Maureen,’ she said.

  Mrs Bentley strode ahead of us as if she owned the place. I’d noticed that rich people did that. It didn’t matter what they looked like. They didn’t have to be dripping in diamonds and pearls to get noticed, there was just something about the way they held themselves that said ‘I’m rich’. Whereas poor people spent their time apologising for breathing. It wouldn’t matter what you dressed me and Brenda in, you’d still know that we came from See Saw Lane and we were skint as old boots.

  We hurried after her, trying not to draw attention to ourselves.

  ‘Now,’ she said as we caught up with her, ‘what did you have in mind for your mother?’

  ‘Just something nice,’ squeaked Brenda.

  ‘How about a nice woollen scarf? Do you think she’d like that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Now, do you mind if I ask what your budget is?’

  Brenda looked at me blankly.

  ‘She wants to know how much money we’ve got,’ I whispered.

  When we were sat in Wade’s having our cup of tea, six shillings had sounded like a fortune but suddenly it didn’t sound like very much at all. I cleared my throat. ‘Six shillings,’ I said.

  ‘I think we’ll find something lovely for that,’ she said.

  I must have looked relieved. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes, the scarf counter is just over there by the lifts, you go and have a look and I’ll speak to an assistant about the discount.’

  We went over to the counter that was selling beautiful woollen scarves and gloves. We could tell that they were way out of our price range. There were no prices on anything. In Woolworths everything was labelled so you knew right away whether you had enough money to buy it. Suddenly Mrs Bentley was behind us.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely?’ she said, picking one up. ‘Feel how soft they are, girls.’

  I picked up a pale lilac scarf; I’d never felt anything so soft in my life. I would have loved to get it for Mum, she deserved something as lovely as this but I knew we couldn’t afford it.

  ‘That’s a good choice, Maureen,’ said Mrs Bentley. ‘It’s a beautiful colour and it will go with almost any outfit.’

  My mum didn’t have outfits, she had skirts and jumpers for in the week and a blouse for best.

  ‘And how about some gloves to match?’ said Mrs Bentley.

  Brenda had this frantic look on her face and I could feel sweat gathering under my armpits.

  I swallowed the bile that was making its way up my throat. ‘Mrs Bentley?’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t mean that we had six shillings each, I meant we had six shillings between us.’

  ‘You’re forgetting the discount, Maureen. Now, shall we say the lilac scarf and the matching gloves?’

  I nodded – I didn’t know what else to do.

  ‘Now, do you have any more gifts to buy?’ said Mrs Bentley.

  ‘Not in here,’ said Brenda quickly.

  Mrs Bentley laughed. ‘Why don’t you explore and I will see what I can do about that discount?’

  Brenda and I walked away from her as fast as we could.

  ‘Bloody hell, Maureen,’ said Brenda, ‘it’s going to have to be one hell of a discount!’

  ‘We should have got Mum something in Woolworths,’ I said.

  Mrs Bentley was walking towards us, smiling. She had a bag in her hand, which she handed to me. ‘Six shillings exactly.’

  I handed her the six shillings. ‘We have to go.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said, smiling. ‘Happy Christmas, Brenda.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Bentley.’

  We left the store as fast as we could. I was clutching the bag t
ightly to my chest, afraid that any minute someone would yank it out of my arms. We hurried along the street, not speaking until we got to a bench outside Timpson’s the shoe shop.

  ‘What did you make of that?’ I said after I’d got my breath back.

  ‘Well, all I can say,’ said Brenda, ‘is that it makes no sense to give rich people money off things when it’s us they should be giving discounts to.’

  ‘I’m not convinced about the discount thing,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go home. I’m freezing.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Even though the threat of war was hanging over us, we had a lovely Christmas. I always missed Daddy on Christmas morning. I missed the way that he was always up first. I missed the way he couldn’t wait for me and Brenda to wake up and come downstairs – I think he was more excited about Christmas Day than any of us. Me and Brenda still had the dolls’ house that he had made out of Uncle John’s apple box and the pieces of furniture he’d glued together from his fag packets. Christmas would never be quite the same without him.

  We may have left the Catholic Church, but every Christmas since Daddy died, Brenda and I made our way there and we knelt in front of the Nativity and we lit our candles. I prayed for two doors down’s dead dog, I prayed to the Baby Jesus to take care of my daddy, and I prayed for my good friend Nelson, who might have to go to war.

  We walked home in the cold morning air, calling out a merry Christmas to the people we passed. As we passed Jack’s house I remembered Nelson, on a Christmas morning long ago, cold and wet on the doorstep. He had looked so sad and alone that day that my heart had broken for him. I hadn’t known what was going to happen to him and I was so scared. It had seemed like a terrible thing to learn that he had to go and live in the home for destitute boys but it was there that he had found kindness and his life had gradually got better. I was proud of Nelson.

  Mum loved her lilac scarf and gloves. She put on the gloves, wrapped the pretty scarf around her neck and waltzed around the kitchen, laughing.