Dancing in the Moonlight (7 page)

The beginning of the year had seen nearly 500,000 people over the age of sixty-five receive their first state pension of ten shillings a week, but that was no benefit to her da and the lads,
Lucy reflected. The bad winter, which had continued into March with blizzards sweeping the North in the middle of the month, had meant her da hadn’t worked since well before Christmas, and
the lads’ shifts at the shipyard had dried up too. Their combined dole money barely paid the rent and bought food for the table, and now, in the middle of a cold, wet April, she’d
pawned everything that hadn’t already been sold.

For weeks she’d cooked oatmeal gruel and broth from boiled-up marrow bones and pearl barley for their main meal; the rest of the time it was bread with a scraping of dripping, unless the
lads managed to snare a rabbit or hare in the fields, but with so many folk in the same boat the pickings from the countryside and the beaches had dwindled. Likewise any driftwood or washed-up coal
or coke for the range; even the hedgerows had been stripped bare of twigs and blown-down branches and rotting logs.

All winter she’d comforted herself with the thought that things would be better once the warmer weather arrived. The lads could fish; there were cockles, mussels and shrimps to be had then
too, along with crabs. Her mother had shown her how to clean and cook crabs and to be wary of their gills, which, being toxic, could kill. She’d refused to dwell on the inescapable truth that
the rest of the unemployed in the town would have the same idea. She had needed to keep her spirits up for her da. He’d been in a deep depression for months. On dole days when he had to stand
in line with his hand out – as he put it – everyone in the house had learned to tread on eggshells. Ernie and Donald often visited the refuge in Villiers Street Institute, where the
unemployed gathered to play cards or dominoes, but as the institute also served as a distribution centre for charity for the men, her da refused to go near it.

Lucy sighed softly. It was her birthday today, but all she felt was despondency and crushing guilt. The evening before, for the first time in her life, she’d argued with her da, and over
the bread knife of all things. The knife was a good one with a fine carved handle, her parents had bought it when they were first wed, and she’d pawned it for a few pence. There’d been
nothing in the house to eat besides a little flour and yeast and half a cup of dripping, and with the money she had bought four penn’orth of fatty bacon pieces, along with two big onions and
a few carrots and turnips and some spotted potatoes that the grocer had thrown in for a ‘scrappy pudding’, as her mam had always called it, using some of the flour and most of the
dripping for the crust. With the rest of the flour, a little dripping and the yeast she’d baked two loaves of bread. It was two days till dole day, but the food would have to be eked out till
then.

She had given Ruby and John and the twins a mug of the hot water the pudding had been cooked in before they’d all sat down for the evening meal together, hoping it would fill the
children’s empty bellies a little. It had held the flavour of the pudding and it had wrenched her heart to see the way they had gulped it down, relishing every mouthful. All four looked pale
and wan and had had constant coughs and colds during the winter. She didn’t have to worry about keeping the twins quiet when her father was home any more; they rarely had the energy to play
for more than an hour or two and were content to sit close to the warmth of the range. When Ruby and John were home from school they did their chores without complaint and then joined Flora and
Bess by the fire. Lucy was often aware of four pairs of eyes in too-thin faces watching her as she worked.

She had torn one of the loaves into eatable chunks and spread each with the merest scraping of dripping and placed this in the middle of the table, before dividing half of the pudding onto eight
plates and calling the family to dinner. Her father had no sooner seated himself at the head of the table when he’d pointed to the plate of bread. ‘What’s that?’

She’d stared at him, genuinely puzzled. ‘Bread and dripping.’

He’d made an irritable sound in his throat. ‘I know that, I’m not stupid. I’m askin’ why it looks as though an animal’s bin at it.’

Her nerves had been stretched to breaking point for weeks. She was always hungry; she often went without so that Ruby and John and the twins could eat, and the daily struggle to feed a family of
eight out of nothing and find fuel for the range, which was their only source of warmth and means of cooking, had taken its toll. Ruby’s coat had been hers, which she’d cut down to fit
her sister, and she’d made do with her shawl when she had to leave the house all winter. She was at her wits’ end; she couldn’t sleep for worrying about what would become of them
all, and her da was complaining about the
appearance
of the bread? Something snapped. ‘I did the best I could without the bread knife,’ she said, her tone one she had not used
before. ‘What does it matter how it looks, if it tastes all right?’

‘Don’t talk to me like that, m’girl.’ Angry colour had flooded Walter’s face. ‘And where’s the bread knife? It was here this mornin’.’

‘I’ve pawned it.’

‘You what?
’

For once she wasn’t intimidated or anxious to placate him. ‘We needed to eat and the bread knife was the only thing of any value to pawn. I’ll retrieve it as soon as I
can.’

‘You dared to do that without asking me?’

‘When have you been interested in what I’ve pawned, or what I’ve had to do to provide food for us?’ Lucy had now risen from her chair, her face as white as her
father’s was red. ‘You don’t say a word to me or anyone else for days. It’s like the slump has only affected you, but it hasn’t. We’re all feeling the same,
except we get on with it, whereas you—’ She stopped, aware she had said far too much.

For a moment silence reigned, deep and heavy. She watched her father’s eyes leave her and move over the rest of his family. They lingered longest on the twins. Flora and Bess had long
since lost the plumpness of babyhood, their dark eyes too big for their small pinched faces, but he stared at them as though seeing them for the first time. Then he stood up and walked over to the
food cupboard, opening it and gazing at the empty shelves for what seemed like a lifetime to Lucy, who was now awash with guilt. Then he turned, stony-faced, and reached for his cap. Stuffing it on
his head, he left the house, ignoring her agonized ‘Da, wait.’

And now it was morning and she was fifteen years old. Lucy stared up at the discoloured ceiling, which didn’t look so bad in the dim dawn light filtering through the old, thin curtains.
Flora was snuggled into her side, and next to her in the double bed Ruby was fast asleep with her arm round Bess.

Gently, so as not to disturb her sisters, Lucy carefully slid out of bed and pulled her petticoat and dress over her shift, shivering in the freezing air. Flora had instinctively burrowed into
Ruby’s body under the blankets, seeking the source of warmth like a tiny animal. One advantage of being crammed into the bed like sardines in a can was that they were rarely cold.

Pulling on her thick woollen stockings, which had been darned so many times she’d lost count, Lucy tiptoed out of the bedroom holding her boots in one hand. She had waited up for her
father until gone two in the morning the night before, but he still hadn’t returned home before she’d gone to bed. Ernie and Donald had kept her company until midnight, trying to
reassure her that their da wouldn’t do anything silly such as jumping off the Wear Bridge. More than one desperate Wearsider had taken this way out. Nevertheless, she was overwhelmed with
relief when she saw him sitting staring into the glow of the fire as she entered the kitchen.

‘Oh, Da, I’m sorry.’ She flew to him and he stood up and drew her into his arms. ‘I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was stupid
and—’

He stopped her gabble by putting a finger on her lips. ‘Don’t, lass,’ he said quietly, ‘Everything’s goin’ to be all right, I promise. Mebbe it needed
somethin’ like last night to open me eyes. These are different times we’re living in, an’ different laws apply. You either sink or you swim, that’s the truth of it,
an’ no beggar’s goin’ to help you unless you help yourself. Right and wrong don’t come into it no more.’

Lucy stepped back slightly and looked up into her father’s tired face. This didn’t sound like him. These were not his words.

‘Here, lass.’ He reached into his pocket and drew out some notes, stuffing them into her hand. ‘Go an’ buy the bairns some grub, good grub, all right? An’ coal for
the range and lamp oil. We’re nearly out, did you know? There’s nowt but a few drops left.’

‘I know,’ said Lucy dazedly, looking down at the money. Raising her eyes to his, she murmured, ‘Where’s this come from, Da? What have you done?’ He looked so much
older this morning and it frightened her.

‘Done?’ He gave a strange bark of a laugh. ‘I’ve done nothin’ yet. This is on account, as you might say. There’s a little job me an’ the lads’ll
do tonight, lass, but I’ll say no more about it. For now’ – he flexed his shoulders – ‘I’m goin’ to get some kip.’

‘Da, please take this back to wherever you got it.’ She caught his sleeve. Whatever this job was, it wasn’t legal if it had to be done at night and he wouldn’t tell her
any details. ‘We’ll manage, we will. I’m sorry for what I said, but I was tired, that’s all. I shouldn’t have taken the bread knife to the pawn without telling
you.’

Walter put his rough callused hand over hers, but he was staring into the red coals of the fire again when he murmured, ‘It was a bonny day when we bought that knife. We’d gone to
the Michaelmas Fair on the old town moor, we’d only bin wed but a week or two. Your mam spotted it an’ she said’ – he shook his head, his eyes rheumy – ‘she said
it’d make the house a home, a fine bread knife. So I bought it for her, although it took every penny we had an’ we couldn’t go on any of the rides or buy a bag of chestnuts like
we’d planned. But your mam didn’t mind. I can see her now, walkin’ round that fair clutchin’ the knife wrapped in brown paper an’ lookin’ so beautiful she fair
took my breath away.’

Lucy felt worse than ever. ‘Oh, Da, I shouldn’t have taken it.’

‘No, hinny, no.’ Walter came back to the present and smiled gently at her. ‘You did what you had to do, lass, that’s all. An’ it’s time I started doin’
the same, high time.’

‘Da, this job—’

‘No, lass.’ He patted her hand resting under his. ‘Ask no questions an’ you’ll be told no lies, cos it’s better you don’t know. That way, if owt should
go wrong – not that it will, mind, but if it did – you can say hand on heart you knew nothin’, all right? I’m off to me bed, but I wouldn’t say no to a nice bit of cod
when you go shoppin’.’

Lucy stood staring at the notes in her hand for a few minutes after her father had left the kitchen. She wasn’t cold and yet she was shivering inside and it had caused a sickly feeling.
Her da had been nice to her, the nicest he’d been in a long time, and yet she would have given the world to go back to yesterday before she had pawned her mother’s bread knife. There
was something about him this morning – she didn’t know how to explain it to herself, except that he seemed smaller somehow, kind of defeated. She walked over to the deep stone sink set
under the kitchen window and stared out into the back yard. The sky was low and grey and even as she watched, it began to rain, a solid icy sheet that came straight down and bounced on the stone
slabs. She bent her head and began to cry soundless tears.

An hour or two later, when Ernie and Donald roused themselves, Lucy heard her father call them into the front room. When they eventually made an appearance in the kitchen they were as
noncommittal as her father had been about the impending job and she could get nothing out of them. It remained the same for the rest of the day. She did the shopping and got the bread knife out of
pawn, along with two or three other things, returning home to begin her housewifely duties, but with a heavy heart.

At six o’clock they all sat down to dinner – cod, as her father had requested, with plenty of mashed potatoes and vegetables and rice pudding to follow. The youngsters’ eyes
had nearly popped out of their heads when they’d seen this feast, and her father and Ernie and Donald had eaten with every appearance of enjoyment. Lucy had finished her food, but it had
tasted like sawdust in her mouth. At seven o’clock she’d sent Ruby and John and the twins to bed, and at eight her father and the lads had left the house.

She was sitting with her head in her hands at the kitchen table when Jacob’s knock came at the window. He came round most nights, ostensibly to play cards with Ernie and Donald, but she
knew this wasn’t the real reason, although nothing had been said. Lucy’s heart leapt as it always did when she heard his rat-a-tat-tat.

On leaving school, Jacob had gone to work for the blacksmith in Southwick, with whom he’d had a Saturday job since he was a young lad, and although the pay was poor and the hours were long
and hard he knew he was lucky in the present climate. Abe Williamson and his wife were childless and had always had a soft spot for him; furthermore Jacob always worked diligently and quickly, and
stayed on when necessary until the job was done. But tonight he had made sure he got away on time; it was Lucy’s birthday.

She stood up when he entered the kitchen and he glanced round, saying, ‘All alone?’

Lucy nodded, and he tried to keep the elation from showing on his face. It wasn’t often he had her to himself; in fact he couldn’t remember the last time. ‘Happy birthday,
Lucy,’ he said softly, reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out a small velvet box.

She stared at him, utterly taken aback. Everyone had forgotten it was her birthday, everyone except Jacob. ‘You remembered.’

‘Of course I remembered. Open it then.’

It wasn’t so much what he said, but the look in his deep-brown eyes that made her blush. Shyly she took the little box and opened it. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘It’s
beautiful, Jacob. Really beautiful.’ The thin silver chain with a tiny heart hanging from it was not of the best quality, but to Lucy it was the most exquisite necklace in the world.