Time Goes By (12 page)

‘No, of course not,’ said Sally, thinking that the explanation had been a long time coming.

‘So I thought I’d ask you out later on in the week, and then … well … there was all this awful business with Pamela, and I just couldn’t think about anything else.’

‘It’s all right, Phil, I understand …’

‘Anyway, I’ve enjoyed tonight, Sally. It was just what I needed. Thanks for coming and for being such a good listener. But I would like to see you again, and I promise I’ll be in a more cheerful mood. What about Saturday evening?’ Sally felt her heart sink; she had already had a feeling about what was coming next.

‘I remember you telling me that you enjoy those big musicals,’ Phil went on. ‘Well, they’re showing
State Fair
again at the Imperial on Saturday. A
few years old now, I know, but it was one of my favourites at the time; Jeanne Crain and Dana Andrews, they were wonderful singers.’

‘Yes, and Dick Haymes,’ said Sally. ‘It was one of my favourites too. But I’m sorry, Phil, I can’t manage Saturday. I’ve already promised to go out with somebody.’

The smile on Phil’s face vanished, to be replaced by a look of surprise, then disappointment, even a trace of annoyance. ‘With … a man, do you mean?’ he asked.

It would have been easier, perhaps kinder, to lie, but she knew she couldn’t do so. ‘Yes, it is … actually,’ she replied.

‘So … who is it, then? Anybody I know?’

She was tempted to tell Phil that it was none of his business, but he was already in quite a vulnerable state of mind and she didn’t want to hurt him any more. ‘No, you don’t know him,’ she replied. Well, he didn’t, not really, except perhaps by sight. ‘I’ve been out with him a couple of times. Nothing serious,’ she added. ‘But it wouldn’t be right …’

‘No, I can see that,’ he said. ‘I’ve left it too late, haven’t I? Just my luck! I might’ve known this would happen.’

‘I’ll see how things go,’ said Sally, feeling rather uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to come out with Phil this evening after all. ‘As I
said, it’s not as though this is a serious friendship; I’ve not known him very long …’

‘It’s OK, Sally,’ Phil said, a trifle abruptly. ‘There’s no need to explain; I understand the way things are. Now, drink up, and we’ll get away before they throw us out. I don’t want to get caught up in the confusion in the car park at closing time.’

Sally drank the last of her gin and lime, and Phil hurriedly finished his half pint. They spoke very little on the way home. She felt uneasy about the situation. What, at first, had seemed a pleasant sort of evening was ending under a cloud.

‘Goodnight, Sally,’ Phil said, as he pulled up outside her door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ It was obvious that he didn’t want to sit around chatting; there was nothing more to be said.

‘Goodnight then, Phil,’ she replied. ‘And … I’m sorry, really I am.’

‘Forget it …’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll get over it. Cheerio, then …’ He drove off hastily, scarcely giving her time to close the car door.

S
ally had enjoyed her visit to the cinema with Albert, far more than she had anticipated. They had gone to see a rerun of one of the Ealing Studio comedies,
Kind Hearts
and
Coronets
, which was showing at the Dominion cinema in Bispham. It was a film that neither of them had seen the first time round and they both enjoyed it. Sally was surprised to hear Albert chuckling quite openly at times. At their first meeting she had come to the conclusion that he was something of a sobersides; but she was gradually changing her mind as she came to know him better.

It seemed there was more to Albert Leigh than met the eye. She had also gained the impression, at first, that he may have been a little self-conscious about his lack of formal education, compared with her own. She knew he had left school at fourteen,
as had many lads of his age, and had gone to work straight away in his parents’ boarding house. His prowess as a chef had been largely due to his own efforts. He had watched his mother, an excellent cook, at work, and he had learnt a lot from recipe books. His army service too, in the catering corps, had added to his experience. By and large, though, he seemed unwilling to speak much about his time in the army. Maybe he felt rather guilty that he had not taken part in any real fighting; but she guessed it was more to do with the fact that his wife had died round about that time.

In other directions, too, he was self-taught. She had imagined that, in his own home, he was very much a pipe and slippers and daily newspaper sort of man, when he was not hard at work in the kitchen, of course. But she learnt that the newspapers were not his only reading matter. His taste in literature was wide-ranging and by no means lightweight. He enjoyed the works of Somerset Maugham, A. J. Cronin and John Steinbeck. Sally mentioned that she had read, quite recently, the two books by Lloyd C. Douglas that had become very popular:
The Big Fisherman
and
The Robe
. Her comment had received a frosty reception.

‘Religious, aren’t they? I’ve got no time for ’owt—’ he corrected himself hastily, ‘for anything like that.’

‘They’re good stories, though, the sort that anybody might enjoy,’ she told him, half apologetically.

‘I’ve no time for any of that mumbo-jumbo,’ he went on. ‘I’ve never set foot inside a church since … since my wife died. If that’s God for you, then you can keep him.’

‘Yes, I suppose I understand,’ she replied. ‘One is tempted to wonder, at times, what it’s all about.’

She didn’t tell him, as she might have done, that she had wondered why Martin had had to be killed … but then thousands of young women must have felt exactly as she did. She had changed the subject quickly. She knew that Kathy went to Sunday school, and Sally had occasionally seen the little girl in church with her aunt. She, Sally, was not a regular attender; she went from time to time with her mother and would, if asked, call herself a Christian.

One thing that had surprised her was when Albert told her that he had, at one time, loved ballroom dancing. She supposed it was something that both he and his wife had enjoyed, and that he had not felt inclined to dance since he had lost her.

She had been somewhat taken aback, therefore, when he had said, following their visit to the cinema, ‘Would you like to go dancing on Saturday night, Sally?’

‘Well … yes, that would be very nice,’ she
replied. ‘Where are you thinking of? The Tower, or the Winter Gardens?’

‘I was thinking of the Palace, actually,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice homely ballroom, from what I remember, and they have old-time dancing there as well as the modern sort. I used to dance a pretty nifty veleta.’ He smiled; he had smiled more often that evening as they grew more used to one another.

They were sitting at the time in the lounge bar of one of the seafront hotels, to where they had walked after their visit to the cinema. Albert had, once again, ordered a taxi to take them to the cinema and would, no doubt, order one for their journey home.

Sally noticed that Albert was not slow in knocking back a pint. He was already into his second one while she was still sipping at her port and lemon. She guessed that he might be quite a heavy drinker when he was with the darts team at his local, and that he was used to speaking in the vernacular of the ordinary man. She noticed that he moderated his fairly broad Lancashire accent when he was with her and tried to act in a more gentlemanly manner. Not that it mattered greatly to Sally. Her father was pretty much the same sort of man: Lancashire born and bred and proud of it. Bill Roberts had learnt to talk ‘posh’, as he called it, as befitted his position as manager of a gents’
outfitters, but could easily revert back to his more familiar accent and dialect.

Sally told Albert that she would be very pleased to go to the Palace. They decided they would go, first of all, to the first-house variety show, and then follow this with dancing in the ballroom. The Palace building, on Bank Hey Street, with its front entrance opening on to the promenade, was a multi-purpose building. It housed a cinema, a theatre, known as the ‘Palace of Varieties’, and a ballroom, as well as various bars, seating areas, cloakrooms and kiosks. It was a very popular venue, especially on a Saturday evening. So that was the date that Sally had referred to, the one that had prevented her from accepting Phil’s offer.

She was not altogether sure how she felt about that. Disappointed, she supposed, if she was honest with herself. She liked Phil very much; he was nearer her own age, of course, and was more her sort of a person really than was Albert. But a promise was a promise. She had accepted Albert’s offer to go dancing and, in a way, she was quite looking forward to it. She hoped that Phil would not sink into a depressive state again. He had had a severe shock with the death of his former fiancée and seemed to be taking a while to recover.

But with regard to that, it soon seemed as though she was flattering herself. When she encountered him at school the following day he
was cheerful and friendly and appeared not to bear any ill will that she had refused his offer to take her out. She did not refer to it again; and she could console herself that maybe it had done him good to talk to her, even though they could not take their friendship a step further.

‘That fellow of yours must be loaded,’ remarked Sally’s father as she awaited Albert’s arrival in a taxi, again, on Saturday evening. ‘Taxis everywhere! I don’t know …’

‘He’s not my fellow, Dad,’ she replied. ‘He’s just a friend, and I don’t think for one moment that he’s all that wealthy. He has a hotel, as you know, and I think it does quite well, but there’s a lot of competition in Blackpool. He’s only ordered a taxi because, well, I suppose he thinks it might not be very gentlemanly to take me on the bus.’

Sometimes they had famous stars appearing at the Palace Variety theatre, singers such as Anne Shelton or Vera Lynn, or comedians like Arthur Askey or Jimmy Edwards. That night it was the Andrews Sisters who were topping the bill, along with the comedian Frank Randle, who was very popular with Blackpool audiences, and Wilson, Keppel and Betty, a trio dressed as Egyptians – two men wearing red fezzes and a somewhat scantily dressed lady in the centre – who performed a sand dance. They, too, always went down well
with audiences. The rest of the acts consisted of a conjuror, a ventriloquist, another lesser known comedian and his stooge, and a soprano and baritone duo who sang love duets.

Sally had seen Frank Randle before and was not impressed with his portrayal of a drunk, guzzling from a whisky bottle. His catchphrase, ‘I’ll be glad when I’ve had enough of this!’, had most of the audience in fits of laughter, but Sally could not do with drunkenness in any shape or form. It seemed to her that Albert was not very impressed either.

‘He goes down a treat with the hoi polloi,’ he whispered to her, ‘but I can’t say he’s a favourite of mine. Sorry about this, Sally, but it’s always the luck of the draw at the Varieties.’

Sally enjoyed the chirpy and cheerful Andrews Sisters, though, singing their bright and flirtatious little songs, ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, ‘It’s Foolish but it’s Fun’ and ‘An Apple for the Teacher’, which caused Albert to nudge her elbow and grin. And she was impressed by the duettists, Mervyn and Maria, virtually unknown, but deserving, she thought, of a higher billing. It was obvious that the audience appreciated their performances of ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs’ and ‘I Can Give You the Starlight’. Ivor Novello’s melodies always brought a lump to Sally’s throat, so she was in a mellow, quite sentimental frame of mind
when the show came to an end, and Albert took hold of her elbow to lead her upstairs to the ballroom.

The Palace building was remembered by many of the older Blackpool residents as the ‘Alhambra’. It had opened with that name, and was also known as ‘The People’s Popular Palace of Pleasure’, in the early part of the twentieth century; but following a financial crisis it had been bought by the Tower Company and renamed simply as the ‘Palace’.

The ballroom was smaller than that of the Tower or the Winter Gardens, and had a more intimate and friendly ambience. It was, however, just as opulent as its rivals, the interior of the Palace having been fashioned in the style of the Italian Renaissance. Gilded pillars and curving balconies led the eye up to the frescoed ceiling, with its brilliant chandeliers. The seats were of red plush, and the highly polished parquet dance floor was a geometrical design of wooden blocks of mahogany, oak and walnut. At one end was a stage for the small orchestra that played for the dancing, alternating with the Wurlitzer organ.

Sally had opted to wear a summery dress that evening as the weather was warmer. As they had travelled to the theatre by taxi and would, presumably, be returning in one, there had been no need for her to wear a coat. Such an article of
clothing could be rather a nuisance; it involved leaving it in a cloakroom whilst you were dancing, and then queueing up to retrieve it afterwards, and hoping that you could find the little pink cloakroom ticket. Her dress was one of her favourites, a Horrockses cotton with black and white polka dots on a pink background, with a full skirt and the waistline accentuated by a black shiny belt. With it she wore black patent leather shoes with heels that were suitable for dancing – not too high and not too low – and a small matching black bag, that she could sling over her arm and would not be too intrusive whilst she was dancing, completed her ensemble. Over the dress she was wearing a white lacy cardigan in fine wool that her mother had knitted for her.

The old-time dancing was in full swing when they entered the ballroom. They took to the floor for a military two-step followed by a veleta. She discovered that what Albert had told her was true; he was a very nifty dancer, light on his feet and his lead was easy to follow. By the time they had also danced the ‘Gay Gordons’ and a Saint Bernard’s Waltz, Sally was glad to agree with his suggestion that they should adjourn to a nearby bar for a refreshing drink. She was pleased to see that he ordered a shandy for himself, just a small one, rather than his customary pint of bitter, and so she had the same.

‘Well now, are you enjoying yourself?’ he asked.

‘Yes … yes, I am, very much,’ she replied, smiling at him.

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ said Albert. ‘I am too. It’s ages since I danced, and I’m pleased to see I’ve not forgotten any of the steps.’

‘I don’t think you forget things you learnt in your youth,’ said Sally. ‘I can’t remember when I first learnt to dance; at church hops, I suppose. But they seem ingrained into your memory, like poetry that you learnt at school.’

‘Mmm … yes … “I wandered lonely as a cloud …”’ quoted Albert. ‘I left school when I was fourteen, but I can still recite that poem word for word. And we learnt “the quality of mercy is not strained”. I remember struggling with that, though, I don’t think I can go much further. Shakespeare, isn’t it? Though I’m blessed if I can remember which play.’

‘
The Merchant of Venice
,’ said Sally. ‘Yes, we learnt that as well. It’s a favourite passage with English teachers.’

‘I must bow to your superior knowledge,’ said Albert, slowly bowing his head to her.

‘I just stayed at school a few years longer, that’s all,’ said Sally, with a dismissive shrug, ‘and I took English at a higher level to get into training college. Anyway, never mind all that … Thank
you for suggesting that we came dancing, Albert. It was a jolly good idea.’

She was surprised, indeed, at how much she was enjoying the evening. Albert seemed much more relaxed and at ease with her, as she was beginning to be with him. And the close proximity to him whilst they were dancing hadn’t worried her at all. He had, so far, made no move to kiss her goodnight when they parted or even to hold her hand. She was wondering how she would feel about that. Most men were inclined to make a move in that direction sooner rather than later. She didn’t think she would mind too much.

So when Albert said, ‘We must do this again soon, seeing that we are both enjoying it,’ she answered quite readily, ‘Yes, I would like that.’

‘We’ll be getting busier at the hotel very soon,’ he went on, ‘but, as I’ve said before, the boss has to be allowed some time to himself, and so has my sister, of course, especially now she’s got her gentleman friend.’

He explained that their busiest time of the day, as it was in most hotels and boarding houses, was at lunchtime, usually referred to in the north as midday dinner. It was then that they served the main meal of the day. High tea at five-thirty was a much simpler meal.

‘So I can usually get away early evening,’ Albert explained. ‘We will be engaging girls to help with
the washing-up, and we have a very competent lady starting soon as a waitress and general help; at least my sister seems very taken with her. She gave us a hand at Easter time, and she’s tackling the bookkeeping as well. You probably know her, come to think of it. Mrs Morris – Sadie, she’s called – her little girl is in your class with our Kathy.’