The Fleethaven Trilogy (126 page)

But for Ella, now, it was no longer enough.

‘Rob’s asked if he can take you to a dance next Saturday
in the town,’ her grandmother said the following week, her
tone already indicating that she might agree. Ella’s hopes
soared.

‘A dance? Me?’ Ella’s wide eyes were incredulous. ‘But
I can’t dance.’

Esther laughed. ‘Neither can he, but he ses now it’s
something called . . . Now what did he call it, Jonathan?’

‘Er . . .’ Her grandfather wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully.
‘Jeeving, was it?’

Ella giggled. ‘No, Grandpa, jiving. I’ve seen it on
Janice’s telly.’

‘Ah yes, that was it. Jiving.’ He smiled at her. ‘Me and
your grannie thought you deserved a bit of fun. You’ve
been a good lass this week, helping . . .’ He glanced
towards Esther as if willing her to back him up. Ella, too,
looked at her grandmother.

‘That’s right.’ Esther nodded. ‘Ya’ve worked hard helping
us get the hay in with ya grandpa bein’ a bit under the
weather.’

Ella smiled, went to her grandmother and kissed her
cheek.

‘Go on with you, ya daft ’aporth,’ Esther said, but she
was smiling and the pink tinge on her cheeks showed
Ella that her unexpected action had pleased her grandmother.

Then suddenly, Ella’s face fell. ‘Oh, I can’t go. I was
forgetting . . .’

The other two looked at her. ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘I . . .’ she began, and stopped. She had been going to
say she had no pretty dress to wear, but such a remark
would be tactless after they had been generous enough to
give permission, even if, as she suspected, it had been her
grandfather who had done the persuading.

‘I – er – I’ll have to wash my trousers quick, that’s all,’
she faltered.

‘Trousers! You can’t go to a dance in trousers for
heaven’s sakes,’ Esther began and then stared at Ella. ‘Oh.
Oh, I see. You haven’t a dress other than ya school dresses,
have ya, lass?’

‘Well, er, no, Gran.’

Esther looked towards Jonathan, who, standing up, said
firmly, ‘Then it’s high time the girl had, Esther.’

Much to Ella’s surprise Esther smiled coquettishly and
said, with feigned meekness, ‘Yes, Jonathan.’

Ella watched as he crossed the space between himself
and his wife, kissed her forehead, patted her behind and
went, still chuckling, from the kitchen.

‘Well, lass, if we’ve to mek you a dress afore Saturday
night, we’d best get cracking.’

Ella could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘Do you
mean it, Gran?’

Esther nodded. ‘Get ya mam’s sewing machine up on to
the table in the living room whilst I go and ferret amongst
me bits and pieces upstairs.’ She came down a few
moments later carrying a length of white nylon and what
looked like a roll of fabric. ‘This’d make you a pretty
blouse, and look . . .’ she pulled out the roll and there
seemed to be yards and yards ‘. . . I bought this last summer
thinking I’d mek mesen a dress for Sundays. But I’ve never
got round to it. If ya like it, lass, ya can use this.’

The material was iced cotton, roses on a white
background.

‘It’s lovely, Gran. But what about a pattern?’

The look on her grandmother’s face was comical. ‘Ah,
now there you’ve got me. The only patterns I have are for
my age group. Hardly suitable for a sixteen-year-old. Tell
you what, you can bike into the town and go and choose a
pattern you like. One for a blouse and one for a skirt.’

Excited now, Ella said, ‘Can I get one of those that
sticks out? She spread her hands round her thighs. ‘They’re
slim at the waist and hips and then sort of puff out in a
full skirt. Janice had one on last week. It was lovely.’

‘Don’t they need some petticoats underneath, though?’

‘Oh yes.’ Ella’s face fell. ‘Probably. I never thought of
that.’

‘Well, have a look on the material counter in Reynolds.
When you’ve chosen your pattern, ask the assistant how
much of that stiff net you’d need to make an underskirt
with several layers.’

‘Can’t you come with me, Gran?’

Esther stared at her for a moment and then said slowly,
‘Do you know, lass, I think I will.’

Their shopping spree into Lynthorpe was one of the
happiest times Ella had ever spent with her grandmother.
They returned home loaded with patterns, pink net for an
underskirt and black ribbon to bind the rough edges of the
net.

‘Right then, lass. Ya’d better get to work.’

Though Esther had taught Ella to sew almost from the
time she had come to live at Brumbys’ Farm, she had never
tackled anything so complicated as this. Under her grandmother’s
guidance the fabrics were cut and Ella began to
sew the pieces together, carefully following the instructions
accompanying the paper pattern, assisted – or rather
hindered – by a playful Tibby.

‘Don’t do that, Tibs,’ Ella said, when the cat stuck his
claws through the thin tissue of the pattern. ‘You’ll tear it.’

She could not be cross with Tibby for long: she was too
thankful to see how quickly he had recovered from his
injury.

‘What’s baste mean, Gran?’ Ella asked, poring over the
instruction sheet. ‘I thought you did that in cooking?’

Esther laughed. ‘Big tacking stitches, I think.’

Soon the white nylon blouse, a wrap-over at the front
to form a V-neckline, with three-quarter length sleeves,
began to take shape. The skirt was a snug-fitting basque
over her slim hips and then gathered at about hip level to
‘puff out’, as Ella put it, into an almost circular skirt at the
hem. With the layers of net she made an underskirt,
carefully sewing the black ribbon round and round the
hem.

‘There should be a little gadget that fits on to the
machine to help you keep the hems even,’ Esther advised.
‘Look in the little box at the side of the machine. It might
be there.’

Ella took off the metal lid and scrabbled amongst the
bobbins and attachments. ‘Is it this one?’

‘No. That’s for putting a zip in.’

Again she poked about and her fingers touched a tiny
object at the bottom. She picked it up and, holding it out,
asked, ‘What’s this key for?’

Esther stared at it. ‘I don’t know. Probably it locks the
machine. Leave it in there, anyway.’

So Ella dropped the key back into its hiding place and
went on searching for the machine’s gadget.

‘That’s the one.’ Esther pointed. ‘Now, take the presser-foot
off and fit that one. You’ll find it much easier to keep
a straight line.’

Late that night, Ella was still hand-sewing the hem
round the circular skirt. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.
Esther came and stood in front of her. ‘You go off to bed,
lass. I’ll finish that for you.’

‘Are you sure, Gran? You have to be up early too.’ In
fact, her grandmother always rose at six every morning,
sometimes even earlier in summer.

Esther smiled. ‘Go on with you. I’ll finish it.’ She took
the skirt from Ella, sat down and spread it across her knees.

For a moment Ella watched her grandmother’s fingers
working the tiny, almost invisible, stitches. ‘I can see where
Mum got her talent for sewing from now,’ she murmured
and Esther looked up to meet her gaze.

‘Aye, well,’ she said softly. ‘I suppose skills like this get
passed down the generations. It was my aunt taught me,
though at the time I didn’t thank her.’ Esther fell silent and
bent over her work.

Ella kissed the grey hair on the bowed head and turned
swiftly away before either of them should feel embarrassed.
’Night then, Gran – and thank you.’

When at last Ella tried on the finished blouse and skirt and
stood before the mirror on Esther’s sideboard in the front
parlour, standing on tiptoe to see as much of herself as she
could, she could hardly recognize her own image. She
smoothed her hands down the nylon of the blouse; she was
even beginning to get curves in the right places and the full
skirt emphasized her tiny waist. She twisted from side to
side feeling the skirt and petticoats swish, but her gaze
never left the mirror.

Esther said, ‘It looks very nice, love. But you’ll never be
able to go on Rob’s motorbike in that.’

‘Oh no, Uncle Danny’s taking us, Gran, and fetching us
home. My golden coach, you know. I shall feel like
Cinderella!’

‘Well, just like Cinders you’ll have to be home by
midnight.’

‘Midnight! Oh, Gran,’ Ella flung her arms around the
older woman. ‘
Thank
you. I didn’t think you’d let me stay
that late.’

‘Well, as you’re going with Rob, and Danny’s fetching
you in the car, I don’t mind now and again.’

Ella could hardly believe the sudden change in her
grandmother. But then at Esther’s next words, the girl
understood a little better.

‘I got to thinking the other night when I was sewing ya
skirt. Mebbe ya grandpa’s right and I have been a bit hard
on you, lass. That – that because me own childhood was –
well – tough, perhaps I don’t know how to have fun and
I’m stopping you.’

‘Oh Gran,’ Ella whispered, ‘why don’t you have some
fun too? You could you know.’

‘Oh no, not me. I don’t need that sort of fun. As long as
I’ve got ya grandpa, that’s all I need.’

She hadn’t meant it to sound the way it came out, Ella
knew, but what her grandmother said was perfectly true;
Esther needed no one in her life except the farm and
Jonathan. She needed no one else, not even her granddaughter.

Ella, holding her breath, waited for the familiar hurt to
come. Strangely, although there was a sense of sadness, the
pain was not so acute. Perhaps because the young girl was
on the threshold of womanhood and knew, now, what it
felt to love a man, just maybe Ella was beginning to
understand that one person – the love of one’s life – could
be enough.

She sighed deeply. If only Rob . . . she dreamed. Ella
shook herself and then, just for once, allowed herself a
smug smile. At least he was taking
her
, and not Janice
Souter, to the dance.

On the Saturday evening, dressed in her finery, Ella tiptoed
into her grandparents’ bedroom. Her grandfather had gone
to bed early.

‘Don’t fuss, Esther,’ he’d said. ‘I’m a bit tired, that’s all.
I just need an early night and I’ll be as right as rain in the
morning.’

Ella lifted the latch on the door and whispered,
‘Grandpa, are you awake?’

‘Course I am, love. I’m only resting. Come in and let me
have a look at you.’

Though it was not yet quite dark outside, two candles,
one on the narrow mantelpiece and one on the dressing
table, lit up the room, sending shadows dancing across the
ceiling.

‘My, you do look pretty, lass. Now, be a good girl and
maybe your grannie will let you go again, eh?’

‘I will,’ Ella said, willingly giving him her promise. As
she twirled around to make her skirts swish, she caught
sight of the row of silver-framed photographs on the
mantelpiece, the light from the candle flickering over them.
She stood still and bent to look at the one of her mother in
WAAF uniform.

‘Do you think . . .’ she asked wistfully, ‘Mum would
think I look – nice?’

Gently, Jonathan’s deep voice reassured her, ‘She’d
think, and quite rightly, that she has a beautiful daughter.
Now, no more sad memories, love. Off you go and enjoy
yourself. It’s what your mum would have wanted.’

She was about to turn away, when she caught sight of a
photograph almost hidden at the back of the others.
Bending closer she saw it was of a young man with dark
curly hair, dressed in an old-fashioned uniform. She almost
gasped aloud, but when she turned to look at her grandfather,
he was lying back against the pillows with his eyes
closed. She glanced back once more at the photograph and
then quietly tiptoed from the room, closing the door.

For a moment she stood on the tiny landing at the top
of the stairs, her mind in a whirl. Why on earth had her
gran got a picture on her bedroom mantelpiece of the same
man as Rob’s Grandma Eland had on her sideboard? In
fact, if she were not mistaken, it was another copy of
exactly the same photograph.

From below, she heard her grandmother call, ‘Danny’s
here in the car, Ella.’ And as excitement at the thought of
the evening ahead claimed her, she ran lightly down the
stairs, her new skirt billowing out around her, and
promptly forgot all about the mystery.

As he held open the car door for her, she saw the admiring
glance Rob gave her. ‘Hey, you do look nice. I’d almost
forgotten what you look like in a skirt,’ he teased, and
ducked smartly out of the way as she aimed a playful blow
at him. She climbed into the back seat and spread her skirts
carefully about her. Rob got into the front seat beside
Danny and the car moved out of the yard. Through the
back window Ella saw Esther, standing in the doorway to
watch them go, still dressed in her apron, sleeves rolled up
above her elbows, her day’s work not yet finished.

Pushing away a tiny sliver of guilt, Ella smiled and
waved and then, deliberately, she turned her thoughts to
the evening ahead.

The dance floor felt as if it were vibrating beneath her feet.
They had heard the music loud and reverberating, even
before they’d climbed the stairs to the upper floor above
the café. Ella gasped as the music from the live group hit
them, almost physically. Before them was a mass of
gyrating bodies, swirling skirts and writhing legs and arms.

‘Come on, Townie,’ Rob shouted in her ear, ‘let’s show
’em how.’

Ella swallowed. Janice had been giving her jiving lessons,
but the reality seemed so fast.

Rob dragged her into the throng and before she knew
what was happening she was twirling round, Rob catching
her hand each time and sending her spinning in the
opposite direction, jiving just as Janice had taught her. Ella
soon forgot to be self-conscious, whirling faster and faster
until her head was dizzy, hearing nothing above the blaring
music.