Dancing in the Dark (8 page)

“I won’t breathe a word,” Flo assured him. “I’d already decided to keep you a secret.”

“A secret! I like the idea of being the secret man in Flo Clancy’s life.” His brown eyes sparkled. “How about another drink before we go?”

“No, ta.” The port and lemon had already gone to her head.

“I’ll just have another quick pint, then we’ll be oft.”

It was dark when they went outside. The sky glowed hazy orange where the sun had set, but was otherwise dark blue, almost black. They wandered hand in hand through the Mystery, the noise of the traffic behind growing fainter, until nothing could be heard except their feet on the grass, the slight rustle of the trees, and Tommy’s musical whistle.

“What’s that tune?” Flo enquired. “I can’t quite place it.”

“ ‘Dancing in the Dark.’ Have you never heard it before?”

“I couldn’t remember what it was called.”

He began to sing. “ ‘Dancing in the dark . . . ’ C’mon, Flo.” He grabbed her by the waist and twirled her around.

Flo threw back her head and laughed. “ ‘Dancing in the dark,’ ‘ they sang together.

They stopped when two men walked past and Flo shivered. “I forgot to bring a cardy.”

Tommy put his arm around her shoulders. “You don’t feel cold.” He placed his hand on the back of her neck.

“You feel hot. Your neck’s sweating.”

She wasn’t sure if she was hot or cold. Her body felt as if it was on fire, yet she shivered again. Tommy’s hand pressed harder on her neck as he began to lead her towards a tree not far away. He pushed her against the broad trunk and took her in his arms. “I’ve been thinking of nothing else but this for days.”

A train roared past on the furthest side of the park, the engine puffing eerie clouds of smoke. Flo thought about Dad, who’d been knocked down on that very same railway line, but not for long: Tommy’s lips were pressed against hers and she felt as if she was being sucked into a whirlpool. Her head spun and she seemed to be slipping down and down and down. She came to briefly and found herself lying on the damp grass with Tommy bent over her. He’d undone the front of her dress and his lips were seeking her breasts, his tongue tenderly touching her nipples. Flo arched her back and almost screamed because the sensation was so wonderful.

She knew what was to come, she knew it was a bad thing, but she could no more have stopped him than she could have stopped the sun from rising the next morning.

Tommy was pushing up her skirt, pulling away her underthings. There was the sound of her stockings tearing and she felt his callused hand between her legs. He was groaning, murmuring over and over, “I love you, Flo,” and she could hear other little breathless cries that she realised came from her own throat. All the while, she was running her fingers through his thick dark curls, kissing his ears, his neck . . .

He felt so big when he entered her, and it hurt, but the hurt soon faded and turned into something else, something that no words had been invented to describe.

It all ended in a wild, feverish explosion that left them shaken and exhausted, and with Flo convinced that the only reason she’d been born was to make love with Tommy O’Mara.

“Jaysus, Flo!” he said hoarsely. “That was the best I’ve ever known.” After a while, he began to pull her clothes back on. “Get dressed, luv, else you’ll catch cold.”

Flo touched his sensually curved lips with her finger, feeling the love flow from her heart right down her arm.

“I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you, girl.”

There was the faint murmur of voices upstairs: Martha and Sally were awake. Flo leaped out of the chair to take them up a cup of tea. On the way to the back kitchen, she did a pirouette. She’d always been happy, but nowadays she was so happy she could bust—and it had all begun that night in the Mystery when she’d danced in the dark with Tommy.

She and Sally had a wonderful day in New Brighton.

They went on every single ride in the fairground, even the children’s ones. Sally complained afterwards she felt quite sick, though it was more likely caused by the fish and chips followed by a giant ice-cream cornet with strawberry topping. She recovered swiftly on the ferry back when they clicked with two sailors who invited them to the pictures. “Why did you turn them down?” she grumbled, on the tram home to Wavertree.

“I didn’t fancy that Peter,” Flo replied. In fact, both sailors had been quite nice, but she was meeting Tommy at eight o’clock. Even if she wasn’t, she would have felt disloyal going out with another man.

“I quite fancied Jock.” Her sister sighed. Sally was neither plain nor pretty, a bit like Dad with her neat brown hair and hazel eyes. She hadn’t had a date since the one with Brian Maloney, almost two months ago.

Flo felt bad about the sailors. If it hadn’t been for Tommy she’d have gone like a shot. “You gave Jock your address, Sal. He might write,” she said hopefully.

“And where are you off to?” Martha demanded that night when Flo came downstairs ready to go out.

“I’m going to see Josie.” Unknown to Josie Driver, she and Flo had become the greatest of friends since Tommy had appeared on the scene. She met Josie twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. Josie would have been surprised to learn she was thinking of becoming a nun and needed someone in whom she could confide her deepest, most intimate thoughts while coming to such a major decision.

Martha’s eyes looked suspicious behind her thick glasses. “Why do you need a red bow in your hair just to see Josie?”

“I bought the ribbon in New Brighton,” Flo replied haughtily.

“It looks very nice,” Albert Colquitt said, from the table where he was having his tea.

“I think so, too,” Mam concurred.

Martha gave up. “Don’t be too late.”

“Have a nice time,” Flo called, as she slammed the door.

Albert had just bought a wireless and everyone was staying in to listen to a play, Mam armed with two bottles of Guinness to “build her up”, although she’d been feeling better since the weather had improved. Flo shuddered to think of her sisters sitting in the parlour on Albert’s bed-settee.

What a way for two young women to spend a bank-holiday evening!

“I like your bow,” said Tommy.

“I like your tie,” Flo sang.

“I like your face, your eyes, your lips. I like every single little thing about you!” He picked her up and spun her around until they both felt dizzy and fell, laughing, on to the grass, whereupon he began to kiss her passionately.

“It’s still broad daylight,” Flo murmured.

“So it is.” He kissed her again and caressed her breasts.

“We might get arrested and it’d be in the Echo.”

“Would that matter?”

“Not to me it wouldn’t,” Flo giggled, “but me mam wouldn’t be pleased and our Martha’d have a fit. Nancy wouldn’t like it either.”

“Nancy would just have to lump it.” Nevertheless, he sat up and smoothed his unruly curls.

Flo had never told him she’d seen Nancy. One day when she knew he was at work she’d set out for Clement Street, off Smithdown Road. It was a respectable street of small two-up, two-down houses. The windows shone, the steps had been scrubbed that morning. Flo paused across the road opposite number eighteen.

So this was where he lived. Nancy must take pride in her house. The curtains were maroon cretonne, upstairs and down, and there were paper flowers in the parlour window. The front door and the window-sills were dark green, freshly painted. Flo’s heart missed a beat—had he painted them? She’d never ask because she didn’t want him to know she’d spied on his house.

She walked up and down the street several times, keeping a close eye on number eighteen in case Nancy came out to clean the windows or brush the step. After about half an hour, when she was about to give up, a woman carrying a shopping basket came towards her from the direction of Smithdown road. Flo knew it was Nancy because she looked exactly like the gypsy Tommy had said she was. She was outstanding in her way, the sort of woman that would be described as handsome. Her skin was the colour of cinnamon, her eyes as black as night, and she had a big beaked nose and glossy black hair drawn back in a cushiony bun at the nape of her thin neck.

“Mercy me!” Flo muttered. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the woman disturbed her. And what peculiar clothes she wore to go shopping! A flowing black skirt, red satin blouse and a brightly embroidered garment that wasn’t quite a jacket and wasn’t quite a shawl.

The two women passed. Flo had no idea if Nancy glanced in her direction because she kept her own eyes fixed firmly on the ground. After a few seconds, she turned and saw the colourful figure cross the road and go into number eighteen.

In the Mystery, Tommy got to his feet and reached down to pull her up. “We’ll come back later when it’s dark. And then . . . ” His dark eyes smouldered and Flo’s tummy did a cartwheel.

“And then . . . ” she whispered. Then they would come as close to heaven as it was possible to get on earth.

She told him about the sailors because she wanted to make him jealous and he duly was. “You belong to me, Flo Clancy,” he said angrily. “We belong to each other till the end of time.”

“I know, I know!” she cried. “I wouldn’t dream of going out with another man when I’ve got you.”

He looked sulky. “I should hope not!”

In the pub, he informed her that the submarine he’d been working on, the Thetis, was taking its first diving exercise on Thursday. “Some of the shipyard workers are sailing with it, but my name wasn’t on the list. You get extra pay, at least ten bob.” He looked wistful. “I would have gone for nothing.”

“Never mind.” Flo was keeping a close eye on the sky outside. She wasn’t bothered about the Thetis. All her concentration was centred on how swiftly night would fall so they could go to the Mystery and make love.

The Fritz family had been to Anglesey for Whit, a regular haunt, and Mr Fritz didn’t return to the laundry till Thursday when the children were due back at school.

He’d bought a camera, there was one exposure left on the roll, and he wanted a snapshot taken of him with his girls.

Later that morning, Mrs Fritz came bustling along to take it. It was the first of June and a perfect day for taking photographs. The weather had been brilliantly sunny all week.

The six women trooped outside, excited. “You stand by me, Flo,” Mr Fritz hissed. “It’s an excuse to put my arm around you. I want a record of that smile. It’s always been enough to dazzle the strongest eyes, but lately it’s not just a smile, it’s a miracle.”

Mrs Fritz stationed her plump body in the middle of the street. “Try and get the sign in over the door, Stella,” her husband shouted, as everyone shuffled into position.

“Say cheese!” Mrs Fritz called.

“Cheese!”

There was a click. “All done!”

“If it turns out all right, I’ll order a copy each.” Mr Fritz squeezed Flo’s waist and whispered, “I enjoyed that.”

Flo knew he was only joking, because he adored his sweet little wife and eight children, but she hoped no one had noticed—Josie was always complaining that Flo was Mr Fritz’s favourite.

The rest of the day passed in a dream, as the days did since she’d met Tommy. She lived for Monday, lived for Friday, then lived for Monday again. They would have met more often, but he didn’t like to leave Nancy while she felt so poorly.

Six o’clock came and she made her way home, still immersed in her dream, and scarcely noticed the crowd that had gathered on the corner of the street next to hers until she reached it.

“What’s up?” she asked.

A woman grabbed her arm. “There’s been a terrible accident, girl. Haven’t you heard?”

“What sort of accident?”

“It’s some ship, a submarine called the Thetis—it’s trapped underwater in Liverpool Bay and they can’t find its position. There’s over a hundred men on board.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Flo crossed herself. At first she felt relieved that Tommy hadn’t been on board, but concern followed quickly for the men who were. She could think of nothing more horrific than to be trapped beneath the sea in a vessel she imagined being shaped like a big black fish. “They’ll be rescued, won’t they?” she said anxiously.

An elderly man butted in. “Of course they will, luv.

I’m an ould salt meself, so I know Liverpool Bay’s no more than twenty-five fathoms deep. They’ll have them men up in no time.”

When she got home Mam and her sisters had already heard the bad news. Martha was wondering if they dared invade Albert’s room and turn on the wireless.

“It’s not been declared official yet,” Mam said. “So far it’s just rumour.”

“You mean it might not have happened?” Sally looked hopeful.

“Oh, it’s happened all right.” Mam shook her head sadly. “Mrs Cox’s nephew works in Cammell Laird where everyone knows full well there’s been an accident.

Women have already started to collect outside to wait for news of their men. It’s just that nothing’s been confirmed, so the news won’t have reached the wireless.”

It wasn’t until ten o’clock that the plight of the Thetis was conveyed to the nation by the BBC. One hundred and three men were on board, fifty of them civilians. The Admiralty assured everyone concerned that rescue ships were on their way and there was every hope the men would be saved.

“I should think so!” Flo said indignantly. “It’s only twenty-five fathoms deep.”

“How much is that in feet?” Martha asked Albert, as if men automatically knew everything. Albert confessed he had no idea.

There was a search for Dad’s dictionary, which had conversion tables at the back. Twenty-five fathoms was 150 feet.

In bed that night, Flo was unable to get the trapped men out of her mind. She tossed and turned restlessly.

“Are you awake, Flo?” Sally whispered.

“Yes. I can’t stop thinking of those men in the Thetis.”

The neither.”

Martha’s voice surprised them because she usually slept like a log, despite the metal curlers. “Let’s say a silent prayer. Remember that one ‘we learned at school for shipwrecked mariners?’

Eventually the sisters fell asleep, the words of the prayer on their lips.

When they woke next morning the Thetis came straight to mind. The weather was lovely, gloriously sunny, and it seemed incongruous and unfair that those safe on land should be blessed with such a perfect day in view of the disaster unfolding beneath the sea.