Northern Girl (14 page)

Hannah, lightening up a bit, responded, ‘Well, ah hope you two are goin’ ter get on better than yer did
before yer went away, cause yer used ter fight like cats an dogs.’

‘Well, only because she had to have her own way all the time,’ Tom joked.

‘As ah remember it, yer were as bad as each other. Stubborn as mules, the pair of yer!’

‘Aye, well a lot’s happened since then, Mam. Maybe we’ll have both grown up by now, eh?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Hannah said with a sigh of resignation.

‘Aye, we will that,’ said Tom, as he made for the stairs. ‘I thought I’d go and get myself changed and ready for tonight’s episode, if you don’t mind, Mam!’

‘Get on with yer,’ Hannah grinned.

As Tom approached the Scout hut, not even the band could drown out the sound of clattering feet on the wooden floor. ‘Sounds more like a herd of elephants than the Gay Gordons,’ he said to a stranger, who, hands in his pockets, was pacing around outside the hut.

The chap nodded without replying as Tom walked past. Inside the hut, the sound was deafening as Tom dodged between the youngsters who were stomping around with little idea of the right steps. Checking his watch, he edged through to the far end of the dance floor in an endeavour to find Jessie, who was nowhere to be seen.

He stood on tiptoe to see above the bobbing heads, and was pleasantly surprised to spot two of his mates, George and Harry. He made a beeline across the room towards them. George, his mate since school days, had
joined the navy at about the time that Tom had gone into the army, so they’d not seen each other since the outbreak of the war. And as for Harry, he’d been a conscientious objector – and had taken plenty of stick for it according to his da.

George, seeing Tom, raised his hand excitedly above the bouncing throng to beckon him over. Tom acknowledged him just as eagerly, waving as he pushed his way through. As he made his way across the hut he not only had to dodge the dancers, but the bairns, who squealed with delight as they slid haphazardly across the floor. It didn’t seem a very good idea to let youngsters in, but perhaps if they weren’t allowed, then parents who had no one to mind their bairns couldn’t go, either.

Tom, George and Harry greeted each other with clumsy bear hugs and over-enthusiastic back-slapping.

‘Welcome home, mate!’ shouted George over the din.

‘Have a pint, lad?’ questioned Harry, gesturing to make himself understood.

‘Aye, I could do with a pint, thanks, Harry. I’m parched,’ Tom shouted.

Tom and George watched the dancers while Harry went to the bar. ‘When did yer get back, like?’ George asked suddenly, trying to make himself heard above the band, who were now well into a barn dance.

Before Tom could answer, Harry arrived with the drinks, and Tom gratefully gulped his pint, exclaiming, ‘I needed that!’ At a lull in the music he said, ‘You haven’t seen Jessie on your travels, have yer?’

George shook his head. ‘No, mate, ah haven’t.’

Harry shook his head, too, then asked, surprised, ‘You two still on then, are yer?’

Tom shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows, mate?’ The band started up again before he could elaborate. ‘Look, it’s impossible to talk in here,’ he yelled. ‘How about we all meet up in the working men’s club through the week, and have a proper catch-up, eh?’

‘Aye, mate, that’ll be grand,’ both George and Harry shouted in unison.

Then Tom, looking around again, mouthed, ‘Better go and see if Jessie’s outside. See you later, lads, and thanks for the pint.’

When he’d gone, George and Harry looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Nowt changes with Tom and his women, then,’ Harry shouted to George.

‘Nah, yer right there! Lucky bugger!’ George raised his glass, grinning his approval.

As Tom made his way back towards the exit to look outside, the five-piece band stopped momentarily, before going into their own version of ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’, which cleared the dance floor immediately. Tom noticed with amusement how all the single youngsters scuttled to opposite sides of the room, with the boys standing on one side, and the girls seated on the other, each one hoping that she’d be approached to do the slow dance.

God, he remembered it so well! First off, there’d been the sheer embarrassment of wandering over to a bonny lass, more often than not seated next to one that you’d not look at twice, even on a dark night. But the plain
one would have her backside off the seat almost before you got there, and she’d be ready and willing, until you took the hand of the bonny one, leaving the other looking embarrassed.

How God-awful cruel it all is, he thought. And here it is still going on with the next lot! He was relieved when he got to the door. ‘Hell, I couldn’t hear myself think in there!’ he said to the girl behind the counter at the cloakroom.

He stepped outside, and was just about to light a cigarette, when he heard what sounded like a squeak coming from the side of the Scout hut. He stood still for a moment, listening. When there was nothing, he struck the match. Then, on hearing a scuffle, followed by a familiar female voice yelling, ‘Get yer ’ands off me yer bloody bastard, or ah’ll ave yer guts fer garters.’ Tom threw the match down and ran round the side of the hut, straight into the lass whose voice he’d have recognized anywhere. She flung her arms around him without even looking up to see who he was, so keen was she to escape from the bloke following close behind.

Tom, having taken in the situation, held the lass tightly, pressed himself to the side of the hut, and stuck his foot out, bringing the bloke to the ground with a crash. Cursing repeatedly, the fallen man tried to get up, only for Tom to push him back to the ground. Meanwhile the girl, released by Tom, jumped inside the doorway.

Tom had the bloke pinned down under one knee now,
and said furiously, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

His victim spluttered, ‘Sh … she’s me girlfriend, man! An’ she thinks she can chuck uz just like that! No bloody explanation. “Just ’ad enough,” she said, an’ that’s it!’

Tom loosened his grip slightly, recognizing the silent, pacing bloke he’d spoken to on the way in. He said through gritted teeth, ‘Ah thought you were up to no good when ah saw you earlier, you bastard. Well, no matter what the situation is, there’s no excuse for acting like a bully. I’m not surprised she wants to chuck you. Best thing you can do is bugger off home, before I really show you what’s what.’

The man scrambled to his feet, and bolted.

Tom looked round to where the lass was standing shivering. He brushed his hands over his jacket and trousers and smiled at the pretty blonde clippie from the bus. ‘Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here, then!’ He smiled broadly.

In a mocking tone she answered, ‘Bloody ’ell! Ah know ah said ah hoped ter see yer sometime, but this is the limit!’ Then, with genuine gratitude, she added, ‘But ta fer getting me out of trouble like that.’

Tom laughed as he questioned, ‘
Was
he your feller, then?’

‘Well ah’d been out with ’im a couple of times, so ’
ee
thought ’ee was. And look at me dress now, all crumpled! And it’s brand new, first time ah’ve worn it.’

Tom, glanced at the dress, which showed a bit of
petticoat just beneath the hem, either because of the scuffle, or maybe because it was the fashion, who knew? ‘It’s lovely,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure it’ll come up like new when you iron it. Anyway, never mind the dress, I think you could do with a drink. I know I could. There’s a bar up the top end of the hut, if you want to make your way across the dance floor.’ He looked at her. ‘We’ve met twice now, and I haven’t even asked your name yet.’

Feeling a bit calmer now, she smiled. ‘Well, ah’m Maisie, and who might you be? Apart from me knight in shinin’ armour?

Tom took a bow. ‘Sir Tom at your service, madam.’

Giggling, she took his hand, and he led her through the throng of dancers now making an effort to do the Saint Bernard’s Waltz. As he crossed the room, he couldn’t resist joining in the stamping.

By the time they reached the bar, Maisie was giggling uncontrollably. She asked for a dry sherry.

‘A brandy would do you more good in the circumstances, but you can’t get hold of the stuff,’ he complained, handing her the glass with one hand, and picking up his beer with the other. Then, seizing the opportunity while most people were up dancing, they grabbed two empty seats by the makeshift bar, where it was just possible to hear each other speak.

Tom gave a cursory look round, and Maisie, noticing this, asked intuitively, ‘Were yer meetin’ somebody?’

‘Well, yes, sort of. It’s a bit complicated, like.’

‘Must be a girlfriend, then?’ Maisie answered.

‘Yes and no,’ Tom said. Then seeing Maisie’s puzzled look, he explained. ‘I have something to do, and I’m not looking forward to it one bit.’

‘Is it anything like what ah’ve just done?’

‘Aye, it’s exactly like what you’ve just done.’

‘Well, it might be better if ah’m not around when yer do it, then. Ah think ah should go. Ah’m not really up fer dancing now, anyhow. So, look, ah can’t thank yer enough fer what yer did,
Sir Tom
,’ she said with a smile. ‘But ah’m gonna go now, an leave yer ter yer deed.’

‘Will you be all right for getting home, then?’ Tom asked.

‘Oh aye, ah’m not far from ’ere. So don’t worry about me! Ah’m just grateful yer were around when yer were.’

Tom looked at her, impressed by her classiness, and answered, ‘Any time, Maisie, any time.’ Then he added regretfully, ‘Another time, another place, eh?’

‘Yes, another time, another place, Tom.’ She understood his meaning, and was still gripping his hand in readiness to say goodbye, when, from nowhere, a profusion of red and purple taffeta landed in front of them. The dishevelled dress flounced into place, revealing a slim body with hands placed firmly on hips. From somewhere behind the mass of dark curls came a loud, venomous voice, ‘Well, Mister Tom bloody Dawson! Let’s see how yer get yersel’ out a this one, then!’

‘Jessie!’ he exclaimed.

As the train pulled into Victoria station, Dominic, who’d been struggling to pull his case out of the luggage rack, bent down and peered through the window, only to find his view obscured by steam billowing from the engine. Reaching up to the rack again, he yanked at the case until it fell to the floor with a thud. Bending down to pick it up, he took another look through the window, and for a fleeting moment, between the wafts of steam and the silhouetted people rushing along the platform, imagined he saw a red coat, the red coat! Feeling a pang of excitement now, and with eyes squinting against the steam, he was certain he saw a flash of red disappearing out of view. He leapt off the train.

He was weaving through the passengers as they dispersed in different directions, when there ahead, and there was no mistaking her, was the girl from the boat, struggling with her valise. As his pace quickened he
wondered if she was English. Even though she had the look of a French girl it wasn’t always easy to tell these days. Panting, he caught up with her, and decided to try English first, asking between laboured breaths, ‘May I help you with your valise, mademoiselle?’

Still walking quickly, she glanced sideways and smiled in recognition, before answering in French, ‘Your English is very good, monsieur, but no thank you. I am heading over there.’ She nodded towards a café. ‘I have half an hour to wait for my connecting train.’ She glanced at him again and asked, ‘Are you catching another train too?’

Dominic, relieved she was a compatriot, answered in rapid French, ‘Oh yes, possibly more than one. I’m not altogether sure, to be honest. All I know is I have to get a taxi to take me to King’s Cross station, because I’m travelling north.’

‘It sounds as though you need a coffee more than me! You are welcome to join me if you wish.’

‘I would like that very much, er …?’

‘Oh, pardon, I am Yvette.’ She paused momentarily, then added, ‘Yvette Marchant.’

‘Dominic Pelletier at your service,’ he replied, holding the door to the café open for her. Once inside he led the way to a table by the window and asked, ‘Is this OK?’

‘Oh yes, I don’t care where it is, as long as I can sit down,’ she said with a sigh, then, as if talking to herself, she went on, ‘I always take too much with me when I travel. Why do I do that? I never learn.’

‘Ah, you travel frequently, then?’ Dominic
questioned, while trying not to stare at her too much. He thought her incredibly beautiful.

‘Not really, but I have been to England a few times now.’

Dominic raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘To visit a friend.’

Fleetingly he wondered if it was a girl or a boyfriend that she was visiting. He glanced towards the counter, and seeing a cake on display, he asked her, ‘Would you like a piece of gateau with your coffee?’

‘Oh, certainly I would,’ she replied as if the very question was ridiculous. As he approached the counter, he turned to look at her, and she smiled.

Dominic came back with the two coffees, and then returned to the sullen-looking woman behind the counter, and tried to charm her into cutting two large pieces of the cake. At first, the woman wasn’t amenable. But for some reason, when she saw Yvette at the table looking on so eagerly, she relented, and in a strong cockney accent said, ‘Oh, go on with yer then, me duck, but don’t blame me if yer feel a bit tom after it. It’s very sweet.’

He glanced at her enquiringly. She was about to explain when she thought better of it, and instead said, with a crooked smile, ‘Look here, yer’d better get this cake over ter yer girl there, she’s looking a bit desperate, if you ask me!’

They both looked over at Yvette and smiled, and as Dominic handed over a shilling he said, ‘You are right, madame. Thank you, and keep the change.’ As Dominic walked back to the table, Yvette almost leapt up with
pleasure at the sight of the cake. He laughed and said, ‘My younger sister would be just the same!’