Dancing in the Dark (22 page)

On Boxing Day Flo moved the furniture into the middle of the room and distempered the basement a nice fresh lemon. It needed two coats and she was exhausted by the time she had finished and stood admiring her handiwork.

The room had brightened up considerably, but the blackout curtains looked dead miserable. She raided upstairs and found several sets of bronze cretonne curtains, which she hung over the blackout. The place was beginning to look like home.

Home! Flo sat on one of the lumpy chairs and put her finger thoughtfully to her chin. She had a home, yes, but she hadn’t got a life. The idea of spending more nights alone listening to the wireless made her spirits wilt, and she didn’t fancy going to dances or the pictures on her own. Having two sisters not much older than herself meant she’d never gone out of her way to make friends.

Bel was the closest to a friend she’d ever had, but Bel wasn’t much use up in Scotland. Of course, she could always change her job so that she worked with women of her own age, but she felt honour-bound to keep the business going for Mr Fritz.

“I’ll take up voluntary work!” she said aloud. It would occupy the evenings, and she’d always wanted to do something towards the war effort. “I’ll join the Women’s Voluntary Service, or help at a rest centre. And Albert said there’s even women fire-fighters. I’ll make up me mind what to do in the new year.”

Next day, Sally and Jock whizzed in and out, but Flo didn’t mention that the Fritzes had gone because Sally might have felt obliged to stay—and you could tell that she and Jock couldn’t wait to be by themselves. The day after, Mam came into the laundry to see how she was and Flo said she was fine. She didn’t want Mam thinking she regretted leaving home, because she didn’t. She might have experienced the most wretched Christmas imaginable, but she’d willingly go through the whole thing again rather than live in the same house as Martha.

More than anything, she couldn’t stand the idea of anyone feeling sorry for her, though by the time New Year’s Eve arrived, Flo was feeling very sorry for herself.

A party was going on across the square, a pianist was thumping out all the latest tunes: “We’ll Meet Again”, “You Were Never Lovelier”, “When You Wish Upon a Star . . . ” In Upper Parliament Street, people could be heard singing at the tops of their voices. There’d been little in the way of raids since Christmas, and no doubt everyone felt it was safe to roam the streets again. She switched on the wireless, but the disembodied voices emphasised rather than eased her sense of isolation. She contemplated going early to bed with a book and a glass of sherry—there were only two bottles left—but ever since she was a little girl she’d always been up and about when the clocks chimed in the New Year. She remembered sitting on Dad’s knee, everybody kissing and hugging and wishing each other a happy new year, then singing “Auld Lang Syne”.

I could gatecrash that party! She smiled at the thought, and a memory surfaced: Josie Driver, God rest her soul, had once mentioned ending up on St George’s Plateau on New Year’s Eve. “Everyone was stewed to the eyeballs, but we had a dead good time.”

Flo threw on a coat. She’d go into town. At least there would be other human beings around, even if she didn’t know them, and they could be as drunk as lords for all she cared. She hadn’t been a hundred per cent sober herself since finding that sherry.

The sky was beautifully clear, lit by a half-moon and a million dazzling stars, so it was easy to see in the blackout.

Music could be heard coming from the Rialto ballroom and from most of the pubs she passed. People seemed to be enjoying themselves more than ever this year, as if they had put the war to the back of their minds for this one special night.

When she arrived in the city centre it was far too early, and her heart sank when there wasn’t a soul to be seen on St George’s Plateau. What on earth shall I do with meself till midnight? she wondered. She began to walk slowly towards the Pier Head, aware that she was the only woman alone. The pubs were still open—they must have got an extension because it was New Year’s Eve.

She paused outside one. She could see nothing, because the windows had been painted black, and there was a curtain over the door, but inside a girl with a voice like an angel was singing, “Yours Till the Stars Lose Their Glory”, as it had never been sung before.

Flo stared into the black window, seeing Tommy O’Mara’s reckless, impudent face gazing back at her, his cap perched on the back of his brown curly hair. Their eyes met and her insides glowed hot. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him! “Nobody understood how-much we loved each other,” she whispered.

“D’you fancy a drink, luv?”

She turned, startled. A young soldier was standing beside her, twisting his cap nervously in his hands. Lord, he was no more than eighteen, and there was an expression on his fresh, childish face that reflected exactly how she felt herself: a look of aching, gut-wrenching loneliness.

She’d like to bet he’d never tried to pick up a girl before, that this was his first time away from home, the first New Year’s Eve he hadn’t spent within the bosom of his family, and that he was desperate for company. She also saw fear in his eyes. Perhaps he was going overseas shortly and was afraid of being killed. Or perhaps he was just afraid she’d turn him down.

The girl inside the pub stopped singing, everyone thumped the tables, burst into enthusiastic applause, and Flo was hit with an idea that took her breath away. She knew exactly what she could do as her contribution towards the war.

“What a nice idea, luv!” she cried gaily. “I’d love a drink. Shall we go in here?”

Millie

“Are you the Tom who gave her the lamp?” I’d always imagined Flo’s friend being as old as Flo herself.

“ ‘Sright. I got it her in Austria.’

I sat in the armchair, resentful that Tom O’Mara was occupying my favourite spot on the settee, his feet back on the table. “What were you doing in Austria?”

“Skiing,” he said abruptly.

He looked more the type to prefer a Spanish resort full of bars and fish-and-chip shops, I thought. I said, “I’ve always wanted to ski.”

“I didn’t know Flo had these.” He ignored my observation and picked up the newspaper cuttings. His fingers were long and slender and I imagined . . . Oh, God! I did my best to hide another shiver. “That’s how me grandad died,” he said, “On the Thetis.”

“Do you know much about it?” I asked eagerly. “I keep meaning to get a book from the library.”

The gran used to pin me ear back about the Thetis. She had a book. It’s at home. You can have it, if you like. I’ll send it round sometime.”

“Thanks,” I said. A pulse in my neck was beating crazily, and I covered it with my hand, worried he’d notice. What on earth was happening to me? Usually, I wouldn’t give a man like Tom O’Mara the time of day. I glanced at him surreptitiously and saw that he was staring at the lamp, oblivious of me. I almost felt a nuisance for having interrupted his quiet sojourn in the flat. There was little sign that a party was going on upstairs, just a muffled thumping as people danced, and music that sounded as if it came from some distance away. “How come you knew, Flo?” I asked.

“She was a friend of me dad’s. I knew her all me life.”

“Would it be possible to meet your father? I’d love to talk to him about Flo.”

“ “Would it be possible to meet your father?” “ he repeated after me, in such a false, exaggerated impersonation of my accent that I felt my face redden with anger and hurt. “Christ, girl, you don’t half talk posh, like you’ve got a plum in your gob or something. And you can’t talk to me dad about anything. He died fourteen years ago.”

“Is there any need to be so rude?” I spluttered.

Our eyes met briefly. Despite my anger, I searched for a sign that he didn’t despise me as much as he pretended, but there was none. He turned away contemptuously.

“People like you make me sick. You were born in Liverpool, yet you talk like the fucking Queen. I think it’s called ‘denying your roots’.”

“A day never goes by when I don’t remember my roots,” I said shortly. “And there are people around who could have a great deal of fun with the way you speak.” I stared at him coolly, though cool was the opposite of what I felt. “I came down for some peace and quiet, not to be insulted. I’d be obliged if you’d go.”

Before he could reply, there was a knock on the window and James called, “Are you there, Millie?” He must have been looking for me, and someone, Charmian or Herbie, had suggested where I might be.

“Coming!” I stood, aware that Tom O’Mara’s eyes had flickered over my body, and felt exultant. My ego demanded that he found me as attractive as I found him, not that it mattered. He was an uncouth lout. Anyway, there was no likelihood of us meeting again. He could keep his book on the Thetis, I’d get one for myself. In my iciest voice, I said, “I’ve got to go. Kindly put the key on the mantelpiece when you leave. Goodnight.”

For James’s sake, I decided reluctantly to give Flo’s flat a miss the next afternoon. I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to leave after refusing to see him all the previous week. Bel and Charmian would be expecting me, I thought wistfully, though I really should get down to clearing things out—and I still hadn’t found out about the rent. I was anxious to speak to the landlord and pay another month before the flat was let to someone else, if that hadn’t happened already. One of these days I might turn up and find the place stripped bare. The rent book was bound to be among Flo’s papers, but I hadn’t even discovered where her papers were kept.

“This is nice.’James sighed blissfully as we lay in bed in each other’s arms after making love for the third time.

“An unexpected treat. I thought I’d be sent on my way ages ago.” It was almost three o’clock.

“Mmm.” I was too exhausted to reply. I felt guilty and ashamed. James wouldn’t feel quite so happy if he knew that every time I closed my eyes he turned into Tom O’Mara.

He nuzzled my breasts. “This is heaven,” he breathed.

“Oh, darling, if only you knew how much I love you.”

I stroked his head and said dutifully, “I think I do.”

“But you never tell me you love me back!” he said sulkily. He pulled away and threw himself on to the pillow.

“James, please,” I groaned, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“You’re never in the mood.”

I leaped out of bed and grabbed my dressing gown. “I wish to God you’d give me some space,” I snapped. “Why do you keep nagging me to say things I don’t want to say, to feel things I don’t feel?”

“Will you ever say them? Will you ever feel them?” He stared at me forlornly.

I stormed out of the room, “I can’t stand any more. I’m going to have a shower and I’m locking the door. I expect you to be gone when I come out.”

When I emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later there was no sign of a contrite James begging forgiveness. No doubt he would telephone or come back later, in which case he wouldn’t find me in. I got dressed quickly in jeans and an old sweatshirt and raced down to the car. It was already growing dark and I couldn’t wait to be in Flo’s flat where I knew I would find the tranquillity I craved.

It wasn’t to be, but I didn’t mind. I was unlocking the front door when Bel Eddison appeared in her leopardskin jacket. “I thought I heard you. I’ve been helping Charmian clear up after the party. We were expecting you hours ago.”

“I was delayed. Come and have some sherry. Why weren’t you at the party? I looked everywhere for you.”

“I had another engagement.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of sherry, but me and Charmian have been finishing off the bottles left over from last night. I’m not exactly steady on me legs.” She staggered into the basement and made herself comfortable on the settee.

“Charmian can’t come. Jay’s going back to university in the morning and she’s still sorting out his washing.”

I turned on the lamp and poured us both a drink. I noticed Tom O’Mara’s key on the mantelpiece. As the lamp began slowly to revolve, I said, “I met the man who gave her that last night.”

“Did you now.” Bel hiccuped.

“He told me how his grandad died, and you said Flo was in love with someone who was lost on the Thetis. I wondered if they were one and the same person.”

“I said no such thing, luv,” Bel remarked huffily. “I said, ‘Draw your own conclusions,’ if I remember right.”

“Well, I’ve drawn them, and that’s the conclusion I’ve reached.” I felt that I’d got one up on Bel for a change.

To my consternation, the old woman’s face seemed to shrivel, her jaw sagged, and she whispered hoarsely, “Flo said, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do if Tommy’s dead. Me life’s over. I’ll never love another man the way I loved him.” The thing is, he was a right scally, Tommy O’Mara, not fit to lick Flo’s boots. It sticks in me craw to think she wasted her life on a chap like him.”

I hoped Bel wouldn’t be angry, but I had to ask, “Last night, Tom talked about his gran. Does that mean this Tommy was married when . . . ?”

Bel nodded vigorously. “She was the last girl in the world to go out with a married man, but he spun her a tale. He was such a charmer. He told me he was single.”

“You mean, you went out with him, too?” I gasped.

“Yeh.” Bel grimaced. “I never let on to Flo, it would have killed her, but I’d been out with him twice just before the Thetis went down. Some men aren’t happy unless they’ve got a string of women hankering after them. Tom O’Mara’s another one like that. He was a nice lad once, but he’s grown up without his grandad’s charm. A woman would be mad to have anything to do with him.”

“I agree about the lack of charm. I found him very rude.” I would have liked to know more about Tom O’Mara, but Bel might have thought I was interested when I definitely wasn’t. Well, I told myself I wasn’t.

“Would you like some tea or coffee to sober you up?” I asked instead.

“A cup of coffee would be nice, but only if it’s the instant stuff. I can’t stand them percolator things. Flo’s got one somewhere.”

For the next few hours we chatted amiably. I told her about my job and my problems with James, and she told me about her three husbands, describing the second, Ivor, in hilarious detail. Before she left, I asked where Flo had kept her papers.