Angel of the North (26 page)

‘That’s good, surely,’ Marie soothed her, keen to make amends. ‘You might get some of your money back. You might get your ring back, if he hasn’t already sold
it.’

‘I don’t think we’ll get anything back. And Monty might just put all the blame on me. And if it gets to court, my name will be mud, all over Hull. George will hear a lot of
things that will put him off me for the rest of his life. It’ll be a disaster, and as far as the money’s concerned, we’ll get nowhere.’

Marie shook her head. ‘What a hero your Monty is, Nance. You threw everything away for him, and that’s how far you can trust him. But don’t despair just yet. If he tries
putting all the blame on you, he’s lying. Your mother can testify to that; he waltzed off without paying his rent, remember.’

‘There’s something else,’ Nancy said. ‘I’m overdue. If I’m pregnant, I might just as well kill myself.’

Here’s half a dozen eggs for you,’ Marie told Aunt Edie the following Friday, standing in her tiny backyard. ‘Uncle Alf sent them. I borrowed Danny’s
bike to go and see Mam, and called there on the way back.’

George’s eyes lit up. ‘Boiled eggs for tea then. Make a nice change. Then a rhubarb pie tomorrow, maybe.’

‘They’ve got a couple of elder trees; the clusters of flowers are as big as saucers, and I thought: I’ll have a few of them, they’re just ready to make some of that
elder-flower champagne my mother used to do. Then I thought where will I get the sugar, now it’s on ration, and where will I get the lemons? And then where will I get the time? So I’ve
abandoned that idea.’

‘How are they getting on with your Alfie? Has he settled all right?’

‘Yeah, he’s settled in the school there, but he’d rather be in Hull. Uncle Alf nearly came a cropper the other day, skating on marbles he’d left on the kitchen floor.
They found a mouse in a shoebox he’d punched full of air holes in his bedroom the other day; he told them he was keeping it for a pet. He didn’t keep it long after Auntie Dot found it,
though. And they can’t sit down for two minutes before he’s pestering them with, “Wanna play battleships?” She says it’s as much a catch phrase there as “Mind my
bike” and “Can I do yer now, sir?” are on the wireless.’

‘Sounds as if he’s driving them mad.’

‘That’s what they say, but underneath, I think they love it. Alf says he’s brought the house to life. And I know what they mean. I really miss our Alfie; I used to get many a
laugh out of his mischief. Lads are sometimes funny without meaning to be, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t know,’ Aunt Edie said. ‘George was always a good boy. I never had any trouble with him at all. How’s your mam?’

‘She’s a bit better. Sister says they might discharge her next week, if she keeps it up. But, you know, you can change your mind about having her here if you’re not sure you
can manage. The Elsworths will make her welcome.’

‘No fear of that. I’m looking forward to having her. She’ll be good company for me, somebody nearer my own age.’

‘She might be too poorly to be good company, Aunt Edie, but I’ll come and help you with the work: washing and ironing, and everything. And I’ll go and fetch any shopping you
want. I’ll give you her ration book, as well. As long as you’re sure.’

‘I’m certain, and I can manage most of the work, don’t worry about that. You could do something for me, though, if you wanted.’

‘What?’

‘I wish you’d teach George to dance. He should be getting out, among people his own age, instead of sitting in the house with me.’

‘Oh, now she’s going to have your mother for company, she wants to push me out of my own home,’ George joked.

Marie jumped up. ‘On your feet, then,’ she said. ‘We’ll start with a quickstep.’

But after half an hour of having her feet trampled on, Marie gave it up. ‘You’ve got two left feet, George,’ she said.

‘He’s never had the time for much going out, that’s what it is, and the concrete’s not a proper dance floor, it’s not slippy enough,’ Aunt Edie said.
‘He’ll never learn to dance on that. He’d do better on a proper dance floor. And there’s no music. Why don’t you take Marie to a dance hall, George, where she can
teach you properly?’

George’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s not a bad idea of yours, Mother. I fancy a decent night out, and I’m sure it would do you good, Marie. Forget your troubles for a bit. Have
a bit of fun.’

Marie strongly suspected that if George went to any dance hall, Nancy would be invited as well. Marie had no relish for playing gooseberry, especially with things as dicey as they were between
those two. ‘I don’t know what Charles would think to that,’ she demurred. ‘We’re supposed to be getting married on his next leave.’

Aunt Edie’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘Well, you’d just be dancing partners. There’s no harm in that, is there?’

‘Come off it, Marie,’ George scoffed. ‘I’ve seen you out dancing without Charles before, and I’ve seen him without you. Come on, I want to learn. What do you
say?’

‘Well, if you’ve seen us, you obviously have been to dance halls, so why haven’t you learned?’

‘I didn’t go often enough, and when I did I was always one of the chaps who stand at the bar, hoping to get the last waltz with some pretty girl and take her home. That’s how I
started courting Nancy.’

‘Huh!’ his mother snorted. ‘Let that be a lesson to you then, and be a lot more careful who you get tangled up with in future. It’s just a shame Marie’s spoken
for.’

‘Come on, Marie, it would do you good, take you out of yourself. It’s Saturday tomorrow. There’ll be dances on at the Fulford, or Beverley Road Baths. And there’s a
charity dinner dance on at the City Hall, proceeds to the Lord Mayor’s Homeless Fund. I’ll take you to that, if you like. It’ll do you good to get out.’

‘That’s hardly the place to teach anyone to dance, and the tickets will be too expensive,’ she said. ‘And I could do with getting something out of the homeless fund,
never mind putting money I can’t afford into it.’

‘You wouldn’t be putting money into it, I would.’

Marie’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. No scrimping here. It sounded as if it really might be jam tomorrow, and that tomorrow might actually come. George had given a firm promise of jam,
nothing vague about it.

‘I haven’t got anything to wear,’ Marie protested, and then realized that she had. She had Margaret’s dance dress. Not over-posh for a Lord Mayor’s dinner dance,
but it would pass muster. And to abandon her worries for the space of an evening of good food and toe-tapping music was too tempting to resist. The place would be packed with people out to enjoy
themselves – not Charles, not the partner she would have chosen, but very passable substitutes in the shape of foreign servicemen, all themselves probably sorely missed by the sweethearts and
wives back home: charming Poles; polite Canadians; tall, tanned Aussies; men dressed in unfamiliar uniforms, speaking with unfamiliar accents from every corner of the globe. She wouldn’t lack
for partners, and many of them would have fascinating stories to tell.

She would go. It would certainly take her mind off her troubles, if only for an evening.

The buzzing night life of the bomb-blasted city struck Marie as bizarre. Incredible, really. It had never ceased to amaze her, since the first really serious air raids had
started. Hull wore both the comic and the tragic mask at the same time. Bombs rained down destroying everything in their path, razing people’s homes to the ground, killing people, maiming
people, destroying everything they owned but the clothes they stood up in and sometimes even them, and the city picked itself up and danced on. The dance halls were usually packed with young
people. And now homelessness itself was the occasion for a grand dinner dance at the City Hall, so that the better-off could go out and have a lot of fun and get a glow of satisfaction at the
thought of all the good that their enjoying themselves was doing for the bombed-out worse-off, who patently were not enjoying themselves – or hadn’t been. Though bombed out herself,
Marie had every intention of forgetting her troubles for an evening and enjoying herself as much as the next person. Amid all the grief, misery and devastation, people could dine and dance their
feet off not only without conscience, but almost feeling it a duty, since they were doing it for the sake of the homeless. For the price of a ticket they could hobnob with the great and the good of
the city, bask in their approval, and get their money’s worth in sheer pleasure. ‘Enjoy yourself while you can’ seemed to be the general feeling, and most people were doing just
that, for fear the next bomb might ‘have their name on it’.

Marie sat at the table surrounded by the wreck of the dinner, drinking coffee and listening to the band, and watching the scene. Nancy was there, as Marie had known she would be, and she was not
at all sorry to have left George to trample on Nancy’s feet. They were just out of sight among the throng of couples when she felt a tap on her shoulder. ‘Do you come here often?’
a familiar voice behind her asked.

‘Terry! Fancy seeing you here!’ She turned, suddenly horribly conscious of the fact that she was wearing Margaret’s dress.

He recognized it and smiled, but made no comment. ‘Aye, just fancy. I didn’t expect to see you out so soon.’

‘Nor did I. I got knocked about a bit, didn’t I? I’m still black and blue and sore in places, but I’d still be black and blue and sore if I’d stayed in the house,
wouldn’t I? So I might as well be out. And being out takes your mind off things.’

‘Is your young man with you?’

‘No, Chas is away with the East Yorkshires. I’m here with George Maltby.’

His eyes widened. ‘George Maltby that was courting Nancy Harding?’

‘That ghost you saw on Spring Bank? Yes, George Maltby that
is
courting Nancy Harding – just. She’s here as well, and she didn’t walk through the wall,’
Marie said, and burst into laughter at the look on his face.

‘She’s . . .?’

‘Yes, she’s alive. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.’

‘Let me take you for a dance, and tell me now.’

‘What about your partner? Won’t she mind?’

‘I haven’t got a partner. One of my mates and his wife came and dragged me out. They reckoned it would do me good.’

‘What a coincidence. Well, then, you’re on. Just be careful not to hold me too tight. My ribs won’t stand it.’

‘Mind my ribs. Is that a variation on “Mind my bike”?’

She laughed at that catchphrase from one of those comedy shows that lightened the dark days of war. Margaret’s husband was refreshing company. He was every bit as good a dancer as Chas,
and he had a sense of humour. As he whisked her round the dance floor, Marie gave him the gist of Nancy’s tale, discreetly leaving out her latest bad news.

‘He’s not much of a dancer, is he?’ he commented, as they passed George and Nancy on the dance floor.

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Marie grinned. ‘Nancy had a job to drag him out dancing before, but since she came back he’s taken it into his head he ought to learn.
Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. Nancy hardly ever got to a dance at all unless she came with me and Margaret. Now his mother’s egging him on as well; she had him trampling all over
my feet yesterday.’

The music came to a stop, and they stood looking at each other, waiting for the band to strike up again with the next dance, and then Marie saw Nancy and George, back at their table.

‘Shall we sit this one out? Go and join them?’

‘If you like. I’ll go and get us a drink.’

Marie pulled out a chair beside George and Nancy. ‘How’s the dancing going, you two?’

‘He’s definitely getting the hang of it, aren’t you, George?’ Nancy said, smiling adoringly up at him.

Marie just managed to keep a straight face. George’s dancing was atrocious, and before her flight to London, Nancy would have made some crushing witticism at his expense, but crushing
witticisms belonged to the pre-Monty era. Getting back into George’s good books was her main objective now.

Terry was soon back with the drinks. The two men had been casual acquaintances for years. Although George’s standing as a qualified engineer now put him on a higher social plane than
Terry, he didn’t put on any side with him. Since the start of the blitz, the firemen had had the status of gods in Hull.

‘Not many women here without a male escort tonight, are there?’ George commented. ‘Although I suppose formal dinner dances are a different proposition to most hops. I used to
be amazed at the number of women the few times I used to come, out dancing while their husbands were away in the Forces. I used to wonder what they would say if they could see them, cavorting with
any Tom, Dick or Harry.’

‘Or George, or Terry,’ Terry laughed.

‘Not this George,’ George frowned. ‘I don’t believe in messing about with other men’s women. That’s not my style, at all.’

‘It’s not obligatory,’ Terry said. ‘Some people are just out with their friends for a bit of innocent fun, strange as it might seem.’

‘And there’s a fair proportion not just out with their friends for innocent fun,’ George scoffed. ‘They’re out on the prowl, looking for men – Yanks, Poles,
Canadians, anything that falls in their path. Dances are the best happy hunting ground ever invented.’

Terry laughed at that, then with a wink at Marie and Nancy said: ‘Well, maybe you’re right. If Margaret hadn’t been out on the prowl with these two, I’d never have met
her, and she gave me the happiest few months of my life.’ His face lost its smile, and he added, quite seriously, ‘I’ll never find another Margaret, that is a certainty, but one
day I might be lucky enough to bump into another gem, out on the prowl.’

‘That’s different,’ George said.

Terry’s smile returned. ‘I’ll take Nancy for a turn round the floor, then, shall I? If you don’t mind taking Chas’s woman.’

George stiffened. ‘If you like.’

They watched them go, then George led Marie onto the dance floor. ‘I’m sorry about his wife, and everything,’ he said, ‘but I can’t stand people who twist
everything you say. I wasn’t talking about him and Margaret, I was talking about people who do the dirty on people. That
is
different.’