Dancing in the Dark (10 page)

Flo felt it was important to explain the nature of her relationship with Tommy. “My chap wasn’t married proper. We were going to get married next year.” She paused, frowning. “His wife—I mean, his sort-of-wife was outside Cammell Laird’s. You never heard such a carryon.”

“Was she the one who was shouting?”

“That’s right, Nancy. The thing is, I’m sure she recognised me.”

“Maybe she’s been following you and your bloke around?”

Flo shuddered. “Oh, don’t! Tommy would have a fit at the very idea.”

“Who?”

“Tommy. Tommy O’Mara. What’s your chap’s name?”

Bel was scowling at the teapot as she poured more water in. Her cheeks were flaming. “Er, Jack Smith,” she said shortly. Despite having refilled the pot, she leaped to her feet and paid the bill. Outside, she began to walk quickly, for no reason that a rather confused Flo could see, back towards the river.

They arrived at the Pier Head just as a ferry returning from New Brighton was docking. Children came running off the boat on to the landing-stage carrying buckets and spades, their hair full of sand, faces brown from the sun. Flo remembered going to New Brighton with Mam and Dad and her sisters. It seemed a hundred lifetimes ago. The area “was unusually crowded for a weekday.

People were staring out to sea, as if hoping to see signs of the attempts being made to rescue the ill-fated submarine.

The girls wandered across to join them.

They stood for a long while in silence, until Flo said dully, “I don’t know what I’m going to do if Tommy’s dead. I’ll never love another man the way I loved him. If they don’t fetch the Thetis up, me life’s over.”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense!” Bel’s expressive face conveyed a mixture of sympathy and impatience. “No one’s life’s over when they’re only nineteen. What about all the proper wives? Are their lives over, too? You’re dead stupid you are, Flo Clancy, letting yourself get all worked up over a chap who’s not worth twopence.”

The criticism was rather blunt and scathing coming from someone she’d only just met, but Flo was too upset to take offence. She began to cry again. “How would you know what he’s worth?” she sobbed. “Tommy O’Mara’s worth a million pounds to me.”

“I’ve never met a chap worth twopence meself,” Bel said brusquely. “When I meet a threepenny one, I’ll marry him like a shot. The trouble with you is you’re dead soft. I’m as hard as nails, me. You’ll never see me cry over a man, not even a threepenny one.” She seemed unable to grasp the extent of Flo’s despair. “C’mon, let’s walk into town. It might take your mind off things, though we’d best steer clear of Bold Street case someone from work sees me.”

It wasn’t until half past five that Flo and Bel parted.

They exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch. Flo wanted to arrive home as she usually did from work. She wouldn’t tell anyone where she’d been that afternoon.

“Good heavens, Flo!” Mam remarked, when she went in. “You’re as white as a ghost and you’re shivering. I hope you’re not coming down with a cold. Summer colds are the worst to shake off.”

“Has anything happened?” Flo demanded abruptly.

Mam knew exactly what she meant. “No, luv,” she said sadly. “According to Mrs Cox, they managed to get a hawser to the hull, but it snapped and the ship sank underwater. I went to church today to say prayers with the Legion of Mary, but they don’t seem to have done much good.”

Flo refused anything to eat. At Mam’s insistence, she went to bed after a cup of tea. She felt uncomfortable when Martha came up later with a hot-water bottle and tucked her in. Martha wouldn’t be so sympathetic if she knew the reason why her sister felt so out of sorts.

That night, she slept fitfully. Each time she woke, she was left with the memory of the same dream: she’d been wandering alone through the Mystery when an orchestra wearing full evening dress appeared before her, the sort she’d seen in films. But these were hollow, insubstantial figures -she could see right through them. They were playing “Dancing in the Dark”, and equally shadowy couples began to waltz in a circle around her. Instead of staring at each other, they gazed at Flo, unpleasant, gloating expressions on their faces. They were sneering because she was the only person without a partner. Her sense of isolation was so acute that she felt as if she was encased in a block of ice. Then the couples disappeared, the music stopped, and all that could be heard was the rustle of the trees. Flo was alone with only the moon for company.

Next morning, Mam came up with a cup of tea. “To save you asking, I just listened to the BBC and there’s no news, I’m afraid.”

Flo sat up. To her amazement there was no sign of Martha and Sally, and their bed was neatly made.

“They’ve gone to work,” Mam explained. “We decided not to wake you. It wouldn’t hurt to have the day off, it being Saturday, like, and you’d only be there till one.

I’m sure Mr Fritz won’t mind—you’ve never been off before.”

Flo was only too willing to comply. After Mam had gone, she pulled the bedclothes over her head and sobbed her heart out. She wasn’t sure what time it was when she heard a knock on the front door, followed by Mr Fritz’s voice asking how she was. “We’re all worried about her.

It’s not like Flo to be sick.” She hoped he wouldn’t say she’d been off yesterday. It seemed he didn’t, because Mam came up shortly afterwards and didn’t mention it.

“He’s a lovely man,” she said warmly. “I’m very fond of him. You’re ever so lucky, Flo, working in such a nice place.”

By late afternoon everyone was home, including Albert. Flo got up, and after tea they all trooped into the parlour to listen to the six o’clock news. In a chilling voice the announcer read a statement: “The Admiralty regrets that hope of saving lives in the Thetis must be abandoned.”

Liverpool, the entire country, was stunned. A cablegram arrived from King George VI in Canada. His mother, Queen Mary conveyed her sympathies to the grieving relatives, and Adolf Hitler sent condolences from the citizens of Germany. When this was announced in the cinema, the audience set up a chorus of boos. A fund was set up for relatives of the dead; within days it had reached thousands of pounds. The Clancy family clubbed together and managed to raise a pound between them.

Albert Colquitt added another pound and promised to take it to the collection point in the town hall.

The following Tuesday was a day of mourning. Birkenhead Cenotaph was said to be a mass of wreaths.

Fifteen thousand attended the service and five thousand workers marched in honour of the memory of those who had died.

While the country mourned and salvage work began on the Thetis, the press were asking questions. It was impossible to grasp that so many lives had been lost when only a few feet had separated the men from their rescuers. Why hadn’t experienced divers been rushed to the scene? Where was the oxyacetyline gear? A tribunal was appointed to investigate.

It wasn’t until November that the Thetis was salvaged and able to deliver her dead for proper burial. The ship was pronounced sound enough to return by sea to its place of birth in Birkenhead. At any other time, this would have been headline news, but by now the country was already in the grip of a tragedy that would result in far greater loss of life than on a single submarine. The unthinkable had happened: Great Britain was at war with Germany and immersed in the struggle to survive.

Flo Clancy drifted through the months after Tommy O’Mara died. Everyone wanted to know what had happened to her lovely smile. Mr Fritz gave her the lightest jobs, much to the chagrin of Josie Driver who turned quite nasty. Mam bought an iron tonic, which Flo took dutifully three times a day, though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Only Bel Macintyre, whom she saw regularly, knew why Flo no longer smiled. But Bel knew only the half of it. Flo had more things than the loss of Tommy to worry about.

On the first Sunday in September, a day blessed with shimmering sunshine and an atmosphere as heady as wine, Flo sat in the parlour listening to Albert’s wireless.

She heard Neville Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, announce that the country was at war and wished it mattered as much to her as it did to the rest of her family. Sally had burst into tears. “What’s going to happen to Jock?” she wept.

Jock Wilson had been writing to Sally ever since Whit Monday when they’d met on the New Brighton ferry.

He’d been back to Liverpool to see her whenever he could manage a few days’ leave.

Albert turned off the wireless. He looked grim. Martha reached across and self-consciously took his hand. Poor Mam’s face seemed to collapse before their eyes. “Oh, I don’t half wish your dad was here!” she cried.

But Flo was too concerned with her own luckless state to care. She’d scarcely noticed missing the first period, and it wasn’t until July that she had become alarmed. By the time July had given way to August and there was still no sign, she realised, with increasing horror, that she was pregnant with Tommy O’Mara’s child.

Millie

Sharp fingers of light strobed the dark ceiling of the nightclub, interlocking briefly; blue, red, green, then yellow, followed by blue again. The disc jockey’s overwrought, grating voice announced a change of record, though his words could scarcely be heard above the music booming from the huge speakers on either side of him.

In the centre of the large room, which was mainly painted black, the dancers gyrated, faces blank. Only their bodies reacted to the pounding rhythm of Joey Negro’s “Can’t Take it With You”, the sound bouncing off the ceiling and the walls.

I could feel the noise vibrating through the plastic seat and the soles of my shoes. It throbbed through the table and up my arms. Although I hadn’t danced so far, the heat felt tremendous and my neck was damp with perspiration.

Beside me, James didn’t look bored exactly, but definitely fed up. He’d been like that since we met earlier, which wasn’t a bit like him. I felt put out. After a stressful week, I’d been looking forward to Saturday and his relaxing company. The friends we’d come with, Julie and Gavin, had got up to dance about half an hour ago, though I could see no sign of them on the floor.

I put my mouth against James’s ear and shouted, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, I’m having a wonderful time.” He spoke with a sarcasm I’d never heard before. “Want another drink?”

I shook my head just as Julie and Gavin returned.

Gavin was an old schoolfriend of James, a massively built yet graceful man who played amateur rugby. He surreptitiously removed a piece of folded paper from the breast pocket of his silk jacket and emptied the contents on to the table. Three pink tablets rolled out.

“Eleven quid each,” he shouted. He pushed one towards James. “Have this on me.”

“Not tonight, thanks,’James said stiffly.

“Come on, James,” Julie coaxed. She was a pretty girl with a cascade of blonde curly hair. “You look way down in the dumps. An E will put a different perspective on things.”

“I said no, thanks.”

Gavin shrugged. “How about you, Millie? Does Miss Morality fancy changing the habit of a lifetime and popping a pill for once?”

I was tired of explaining that refusing Ecstasy had nothing to do with morality, but that the thought of not having full control of my faculties frightened me. Before I could refuse, James said angrily, “No, she doesn’t.” He looked at me, irritated at his own impatience, because he knew I would resent his answering on my behalf. “Aw, shit!” He groaned. “I can’t stand it here. I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“He’s not himself,” I said in excuse. I collected my coat and bag and James’s jacket. “We might see you later, but don’t wait.”

I pushed my way through the crowded tables and found James outside in the car park. He was already shivering without his coat. October had brought an end to the beautiful Indian summer and the temperature must have dropped twenty degrees. I handed him the jacket.

“Put this on or you’ll catch cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He forced a smile. “Sorry about that, but I’m getting too old for clubbing.”

I linked his arm as we strolled through the car park towards the rear of the club. I had no idea where the place was situated; over the water, somewhere between Birkenhead and Rock Ferry. “You’d think you were ready to collect your pension.”

“Seriously, Millie, once you reach a certain age, life has to have more to it than the nonstop pursuit of a so-called ‘good time’. Life’s got to mean something.” There was a tinge of desperation in his voice. “Oh, hell! I’m no good at explaining. It’s just that, at twenty-nine, I feel I should be doing something rather more worthwhile than prancing round a nightclub, taking happy pills.”

“Such as?” To my surprise, I found we’d reached a stretch of lumpy sand and the Mersey glinted blackly in the distance, reflecting a wobbly quarter-moon. We climbed the chain-link fence and walked towards the water.

“You’ll be annoyed if I tell you.”

“I promise, on my heart, not to be.”

“I’d like us to get married and have kids,” James said flatly. “And I’d prefer to do a job that made some sort of contribution towards society.”

Astonished, I came to a standstill on the sand. “You’d give up the garage? What would your father have to say?”

The business was to be his one day.

“Sod Fa, and sod the garage,” James said, even more astonishingly. “I’m sick to death of selling poncy, overpowered cars to idiots like myself. The job’s as worthless as my life. It’s useless, fin useless.” He kicked moodily at I a stone. “I took today off and went to Liverpool. There was a march, hundreds of dockers who’ve been turfed out by Mersey Docks and Harbour Board because they refused to sign contracts that meant worse conditions and less pay. They’ve been out of work a year. There were fathers and sons among them. Men like that are the salt of the earth. I feel so . . . so inadequate compared to them.”

We reached the water. James released my arm and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He stared into the black waves. “I’ve led a charmed life, Millie. I’ve never had to struggle for anything. Everything I’ve wanted has just dropped into my lap without my needing to ask. We’re very lucky, the pair of us.”