When We Danced at the End of the Pier

Book 0: Brighton Girls Trilogy

by Sandy Taylor

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Brighton, 1930: Maureen O'Connell is a carefree girl, but war is looming and life will never be the same again. Jack and Nelson have always been dear friends to Maureen. Despite their different backgrounds, they've seen each other through thick and thin. The candle Maureen's always held for Jack burns bright, but just as she's found love, war wrenches them apart. With Jack no longer by her side and Nelson at war, can Maureen look to a brighter future?

Release date: March 31, 2017

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 360

Sample

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting in the tree – I think it was a long time cos my leg was going numb from trying to balance on the branch. I wriggled about a bit and peered through the leaves; the boy was still there. He was concentrating very hard on lining up the tin soldiers. A line of green and a line of blue, opposite each other, ready for battle. His hair was yellow like margarine. Every now and again he would brush it out of his eyes and the sun would catch it, making it dazzle. I didn’t think much of boys, most of them were scruffy and smelly and they laughed too loud and called you mean names when you walked down the street. I knew this boy wouldn’t be smelly or loud, this boy would smell of strawberry jam and lemons and nice things. I wanted to stay there forever watching the boy. He was wearing a blue jumper and grey shorts. I just knew that if he turned around, his eyes would be as blue as his jumper. He looked older than me but it was hard to tell as I couldn’t see his face. Just then my younger sister Brenda came running down the garden.

‘Maureen,’ she shouted. ‘Daddy says for you to come indoors.’

I put my finger to my lips and beckoned her over. Brenda was six, two years younger than me. ‘Tuck your dress into your knickers,’ I whispered. She did as she was told and I reached down and helped her up into the tree.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, settling herself on a branch.

‘Shush,’ I said. ‘I’m looking at him.’ I parted the leaves so she could see into next door’s garden.

‘Why?’

‘I like him.’

‘Daddy’s made a stew,’ she whispered.

Just then, a woman came out of the house next door. ‘Jack,’ she shouted down the garden. ‘Nelson’s here.’

I tried the name out. ‘Jack,’ I said.

‘Jack,’ said Brenda softly.

I watched the boy run down the garden towards Jack and kneel on the grass beside him. Nelson’s hair was brown, in fact everything about him was brown, including his jumper. Nelson was an ordinary boy. He wasn’t a bit like Jack. He wouldn’t smell of strawberry jam and lemons, Nelson would smell of boy. Anyway, who calls their kid Nelson?

‘And we’ve got bread for dipping,’ said Brenda. ‘Dada told me to fetch you in.’

I ignored her and carried on watching the two boys. They were making noises like guns going off. ‘Bang, bang, bang,’ they went.

‘Surrender or die!’ cried Jack.

‘Surrender yourself!’ shouted Nelson.

I watched as Jack jumped on him and they started rolling around on the grass.

‘The stew smells lovely,’ said Brenda.

‘Go and eat it then,’ I snapped. ‘No one’s stopping you.’

Brenda didn’t move.

Just at that minute Jack’s mum shouted from the back door. ‘Lunch is ready, boys.’

I watched as they left the soldiers and ran into the house, jostling each other and throwing punches. It felt as if the sun had gone out. I felt as abandoned as the toy soldiers lying in the mud.

‘Now, where are my girls?’ It was Daddy come looking for us.

We giggled.

‘Is that two little birds up in that tree or is it my angels?’

Brenda started climbing down. ‘It’s not birds, Dada, it’s me and Maureen.’

‘Well, so it is,’ he said, scooping her up into his arms.

I jumped down and ran to him.

‘Daddy,’ I whispered.

He crouched down so that he was on my level. ‘What is it, darlin’?’

I cupped my hands around his ear. His cheek felt warm and bristly and he smelled of Senior Service and the margarine he smoothed on his hair to make it shine.

‘He’s wonderful,’ I whispered into his ear.

‘And who would that be?’

‘It’s the boy,’ said Brenda, very seriously. ‘Maureen likes watching the boy.’

‘A boy, eh? Aren’t you going to be your daddy’s sweet face any more?’

‘His name’s Jack, Daddy.’

Daddy nodded. ‘Well, I hope he’s got good prospects.’

‘What’s prospects?’

‘Well, I hope he’s got a good job and he can support you properly.’

‘He’s just a boy, Daddy. I don’t think he’s got a job,’ I said.

‘He’ll have to get one at once then, won’t he? Perhaps we should send him down the mines.’

I started giggling. ‘You’re a silly-billy.’

‘My name’s not Billy. Is my name Billy, Brenda?’

‘No, Dada, your name’s Dada.’

‘Go to the top of the class, Brenda O’Connell. Or you can jump on my back.’

Brenda jumped up onto his back and I held his hand as we walked towards the house.

I could smell the stew as he opened the back door and my mouth watered.

‘There’s bread for dipping, Maureen. Isn’t there, Dada? There’s bread for dipping!’

‘Big doorsteps of it. I made it this morning, just for my girls.’

I giggled. ‘No you didn’t, Daddy, you got it from the baker’s shop.’

‘Whoops, you caught me out! You should be a detective.’

Brenda was looking at him, wide-eyed. ‘Can I be a detective too, Dada?’

‘Of course you can, my love.’

‘What’s a detective?’ she asked.

He ruffled her hair. ‘A bit like a policeman.’

‘I don’t want to be a policeman.’

‘Then you won’t be. Now, let’s eat our stew on the back step, eh?’

I didn’t want to eat my stew on the back step – I didn’t want the boy to see me dipping my bread.

I crossed my fingers behind my back. ‘I’m cold, Daddy, can I eat my stew in the kitchen?’

Daddy put his hand on my head. ‘Are you sick, love?’

‘No, just a bit cold.’

‘Then we’ll all eat our stew in the kitchen.’

Actually I was quite hot. The late morning sun streaming through the kitchen window and the stew were making me feel even hotter.

‘You’ve got a red face,’ said Brenda, dribbling gravy down her chin.

Daddy felt my head again. ‘I think that you should stay indoors for the afternoon.’

‘Oh no, Daddy, I’m not sick, really I’m not.’

‘Are you sure?’

I jumped around the kitchen a bit to prove I was OK. ‘See, Daddy, I’m not sick at all.’

‘Well, as long as you’re sure but I think your mum would have kept you in.’

‘But you won’t, Daddy, will you? You won’t keep me in.’

‘You have me wrapped around your little finger.’

I sat back down at the table and spooned the stew into my mouth. I loved my daddy’s stew, it was thick and tasty and lovely. It had bits of meat in it that got stuck between your teeth and big chunks of carrot; blobs of white fat floated on the top. I took a big piece of bread and dipped it into the gravy. Then I watched as the bread turned soft and brown.

‘I like this house, Daddy. Do you like this house?’

‘It’s a fine house, Maureen, and tonight you and Brenda can have a lovely bath in a proper bathroom. Isn’t that just the best thing?’

‘Oh yes, Daddy, it’s the best thing.’

‘Now, why don’t you two eat up your stew and go and explore your new surroundings?’

Me and Brenda scraped our bowls clean with the bread and ran outside. I climbed the tree and looked into the garden next door but the boy wasn’t there. Maybe he was playing in the street.

I jumped down. ‘Come on, Brenda, let’s explore.’

All the houses on the estate looked exactly the same except for the colour of the doors. Some were green and some were blue, ours was blue. We’d only moved here yesterday. Uncle Fred had loaded all our stuff onto a barrow, then Daddy had lifted me and Brenda up on top of the furniture. We’d clung on for dear life as the barrow rumbled through the streets. Our old house was in Carlton Hill and the street was made of cobbles; it was a wonder me and Brenda had any teeth left by the time we got to See Saw Lane. If I’d known about the boy next door, I would have walked and not turned up sitting on top of a chest of drawers.

As we’d turned into See Saw Lane I’d felt a bubble of excitement in my tummy.

‘This is See Saw Lane, Brenda,’ I’d said. ‘This is where we are going to live.’

‘This is a very special day, isn’t it, Maureen?’

I’d put my arm around her shoulder. ‘Very special,’ I’d said, smiling down at her.

There were some kids playing in the street. One of them stuck their tongue out at us as we passed.

‘Charming,’ I’d said.

‘Charming,’ said Brenda.

We’d eventually stopped outside number fifteen. Daddy had helped me and Brenda down off the chest of drawers. We’d stood on the pavement and stared up at the house.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ whispered Brenda. ‘Are we really going to live here, Maureen?’

‘This is our new home,’ I’d said. ‘It belongs to us and we are going to live here forever.’

‘Don’t you want to go inside and explore?’ Daddy had said, lifting bits of furniture down onto the pavement.

‘I’m just putting it into my heart,’ Brenda had said very seriously.

My little sister came out with the strangest things but it was just the way she was and we all loved her for it. ‘Is it in your heart now?’ I’d said gently. ‘Shall we go inside?’

Brenda had nodded and I’d taken her hand in mine. ‘Come on then.’

We’d walked up the path; the blue front door was open and we went inside.

We stood in the little hallway. There were doors leading off it and a staircase in front of us. Brenda’s eyes were like two saucers as she’d gazed around her. ‘It is perfectly beautiful, Maureen,’ she’d said.

‘Yes, it is,’ I’d answered. ‘Perfectly beautiful.’

Daddy and Uncle Fred were struggling through the door with our old brown couch.

‘Is this as far as you’ve got?’ said Daddy, smiling at us.

Brenda had looked up at him. ‘I want to remember everything, Dada,’ she’d said.

‘And you will, my love,’ he’d said. ‘We will all remember this day.’

‘Because it’s special?’ said Brenda.

‘Because it’s special,’ said Daddy.

Uncle Fred had put the couch down with a thump. Sweat was running down his big fat face and he was glaring at us. ‘We’ll be all bloody day at this rate,’ he’d said.

Daddy winked at us. ‘Best get on.’

‘Best had,’ I’d said, grinning at him.

Mum had come into the hallway. ‘Come and see my beautiful kitchen, girls.’

We’d followed her through a door at the end of the hallway. The room we entered was twice the size of the kitchen we’d had in Carlton Hill.

Mum was running her hand lovingly over a shiny new cooker and smiling at us. She looked so happy I thought my heart would burst. My mum deserved a nice big kitchen and a lovely new cooker. I’d suddenly felt like crying and I didn’t know why. Brenda noticed that my eyes were full of tears.

‘It’s the beautifulness of it all, Maureen,’ she’d said very wisely. ‘Beautifulness can make you cry sometimes, don’t you think?’

‘I think you’re right, Brenda,’ I’d said, wiping my eyes.

‘This isn’t a day for crying,’ said Mum. ‘This is a happy day.’

‘Yes, but happiness can take you like that, can’t it?’ said Brenda.

Mum and I had looked at each other and shaken our heads.

She had walked across to Brenda, knelt down in front of her and took her face in her hands. ‘Promise me you’ll never change, my baby girl,’ she’d said.

‘I’ll try not to,’ said Brenda.

Mum had taken her coat from a hook on the wall. ‘Now I have to go to work.’

But I didn’t want her to go to work. I wanted her to stay here in her beautiful kitchen. ‘Do you have to?’

‘I do indeed, otherwise my ladies would have to clean their own houses and that wouldn’t do, would it now?’

‘Why wouldn’t it?’ said Brenda.

‘Because they haven’t got the hands for it.’

‘Do rich ladies have different hands then?’ said Brenda.

Mum had spread her hands out in front of her. ‘I think that they probably do, love.’

‘Imagine that,’ said Brenda.

‘But I’ll be back in time for tea. Now, why don’t you both explore upstairs? Me and your daddy will have the front bedroom and you can fight over the other two.’

We’d kissed Mum goodbye and raced up the stairs two at a time. Mum and Daddy’s room looked out over the street, another room looked out at the side of next door’s house. The third bedroom looked out over the back garden and this was the one that I wanted.

‘Bagsy this one,’ I’d said.

‘OK,’ said Brenda. ‘I don’t mind which room I have, because they are all very lovely.’

‘Thanks, Bren.’

I looked down at the long back garden. It had a proper lawn and a little path leading down to a wooden shed. In Carlton Hill we’d only ever had a yard and the only shed we’d had was a dirty old coal-hole. There was a beautiful big tree with thick branches that hung over the fence into the garden next door. I’d stood at the window, looking out over all the gardens of all the houses in See Saw Lane and I’d felt something wonderful was about to happen. I’d felt suddenly as if my life was about to change.

I didn’t like my Uncle Fred. I didn’t like the way he talked to my daddy; it made me feel bad inside. He was always telling him to get a job. He gave me and Brenda pennies for sweets but I knew it wasn’t because he liked us, it was because he knew that Daddy didn’t have any spare pennies to give us himself. I gave my pennies to Daddy for his Senior Service.

Aunty Vera was my mum’s sister and she was married to Uncle Fred. I didn’t like her much either. She was always moaning and gossiping about the neighbours, saying this one or that one were no better than they should be.

She said my mum was a saint for putting up with my dad. Sometimes I’d overhear them talking in the kitchen.

‘You should leave him behind, Kate,’ she was telling my mum. ‘You should move into that new house on your own with the kids. That man of yours is neither use nor ornament.’

‘He’s the children’s father,’ Mum had said.

‘Pity he doesn’t provide for them then.’

‘He’s not able to, Vera.’

‘According to him.’

‘He’s tried, he has tried.’

‘Well, my Fred says he’s a disgrace.’

‘Sorry, Vera, but according to your Fred, half the people in Brighton are a disgrace, so give it a rest, eh?’

I went to bed that night with a bad feeling in my tummy. I didn’t want to leave my daddy behind. If my daddy didn’t move to the new house then I wouldn’t bloody move either.

I loved my daddy. He was the best daddy in the whole world but sometimes being around him made me feel sad and I didn’t know why. It was just a feeling in my tummy, like I needed to run to the lavvy. Sometimes it felt like I was grown-up and he was the child, especially when Uncle Fred and Aunty Vera came round. Uncle Fred would get all puffed up with self-importance and tell Aunty Vera to show Mum the new necklace he’d bought her or the new coat, or the new shoes or the new bloody country, and Mum would smile and say, ‘Very nice, Fred.’

Then Daddy would walk out of the room and I would be sad again because my daddy was sad, because he couldn’t buy nice things for my mum. I knew that if he had money he’d buy her beautiful things and she’d look better in them than Aunty Vera, because even though Aunty Vera was my mum’s sister she was lumpy-looking with horrible thin hair and thin lips. But my mum was pretty, everyone said she was pretty and that she could have picked any man she wanted, and she wanted my dad. So stick that where the sun don’t shine. ‘Bugger Uncle Fred, bloody, bloody bugger! Sorry, dear Lord Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary, but bugger Uncle Fred.’

I thought my Uncle Fred looked like an under-ripe tomato, sort of yellow and red and patchy. I decided that even when Uncle Fred died, hopefully of something awful and painful and lingering, I would never light a candle for him in the church and I made Brenda promise she wouldn’t either. Even though I always lit a candle for two-doors down’s dog who got stood on by the milkman’s horse. I always lit a candle for that poor dog even though we weren’t that well acquainted, because I’d laughed when I was told he’d got stood on by the milkman’s horse and I’d been filled with guilt ever since. I mean, whichever way you look at it, it’s not a great way to end your days, is it?

Aunty Marge was Mum’s other sister. She was married to Uncle John and I loved them both very much. They didn’t have any children of their own so they spoiled me and Brenda something rotten. Aunty Vera said that Aunty Marge was barren, whatever that meant. Mum said better to be barren than to produce the fat lump of humanity that Vera had managed to push out. I guessed she was talking about my cousin Malcolm, who was a horrible boy and best avoided at all costs. Mum said it amazed her that Malcolm had been the best swimmer, which amazed me because I knew for a fact that he couldn’t swim. Someone pushed him into the canal at Shoreham once and a passing boat had to fish him out and Aunty Vera had kept him in bed for a week.

Aunty Marge and Uncle John ran a fruit stall near Brighton station and sometimes when they were busy, like Easter and Christmas, Daddy would help out and Uncle John would give him some money and a pouch of baccy. Every Sunday evening they would bring round a wooden crate filled with the fruit and veg that was about to go off. Mum said we would likely all starve to death if it wasn’t for Marge and John. Dad had said, ‘I would never let that happen, Maureen,’ and Mum had slammed the larder door.

One day, when Mum was crashing and banging round the kitchen she said, ‘You’ve got three fathers, Maureen, and none of ’em bloody work.’

I didn’t ask her to explain because when my mum was crashing and banging around the kitchen it was better to keep your trap shut. But if I had three fathers, where were the other two? I didn’t know anyone who had three fathers.

I used to think about it when I was in bed and try to figure out who they might be. I liked the coalman who always pinched my cheek and left a black smudge on my face. Sometimes he gave me a Fisherman’s Friend that tasted rotten, but it was kind of him to give it to me. He said it helped to get the phlegm off his chest. I didn’t fancy having a father with phlegm on his chest. The other possibility was Mr Chu the tallyman but I think my skin would have a more Oriental sheen to it. I discounted the rag and bone man who smelled something awful and the milkman who had sticky-out ears.

I worried about it a lot but I didn’t share my worries with anyone, not even Brenda, because if I had three fathers, God only knew how many Brenda might have had and I didn’t want her to have to worry about it. And then I realised that my mum had been telling me the truth: I really did have three fathers.

There was the one who was gentle and kind and wise and took me and Brenda to the park. Who held our hands at the water’s edge and showed us how to skim stones over the water, who made up stories at bedtime, who played silly games with us and let us ride on his back. Then there was the daddy who shut himself in the bedroom and wouldn’t come out. The one we heard screaming out in the night, making me and Brenda cling to each other under the covers. Then there was the one who scared me. The one who laughed too loud and walked too fast so that we couldn’t keep up with him. The one who threw Brenda up in the air and caught her but didn’t realise how frightened she was and wouldn’t stop throwing her even though I was yelling at him. The one whose laughter turned to tears and who hugged us too tight and cried like a baby and kept saying, ‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’

I had three fathers and none of ’em bloody worked.

My dad pretty much brought me and Brenda up, on account of the fact that he couldn’t work and Mum had to go cleaning for the rich ladies. The three of us did everything together. When Brenda was very little we’d push her all the way along the seafront to the lagoon. Uncle John had found a pushchair up the council tip and cleaned it up. It worked pretty well except for the squeak but we got used to that. Sometimes, if I was tired on the way home, I would sit in the pushchair with Brenda on my lap. We spent a lot of time down the lagoon because it had a sandpit and some swings and a slide. If Daddy had any money he would let us ride on the little railway and ring the bell. There were two lakes, a big one and a little one, and running between them was a path. Me and Brenda and Daddy would lie flat on our stomachs and stare into the water at the crabs. Some boys caught the crabs by dangling string with bits of bacon on the end. We preferred watching them swimming about. Brenda used to whisper into the water, ‘Don’t touch the bacon.’

Behind the lagoon was our favourite beach. To get to it you had to slide down a stone wall then jump onto the pebbles. I loved it best when the tide was out – I loved the way the sun shone on the shiny sand and the way the water trickled its way back to the sea. We would take off our shoes and socks and giggle as the wet sand squelched between our toes.

Daddy would often tell us stories about his childhood in Ireland. He came from a small town called Youghal, which he pronounced as Yawl. He had nine brothers and sisters but only two of his sisters remained in Ireland. His elder sister, Mary, would write to Daddy and Daddy would read the letters out to us.

‘The rest of them are scattered to the four corners of the earth,’ he said. ‘But I stayed as long as I could because, to me, there was no finer place in the world.’

‘I wish me and Brenda could go there,’ I said.

‘I wish you could too. We would climb the hill together.’

‘What hill?’

‘There’s a grand big hill beyond the town that I used to climb when I was a boy. I’d stand on the top as if I was the King of the Castle and look down over the River Blackwater below me. I never tired of climbing that hill and looking down on that river.’

‘Couldn’t you go back?’ I asked.

‘Now where would your daddy get the money to be going across the Irish Sea? And why would I want to leave you and your sister and your mammy?’

I remembered wishing that I could get some money so that Daddy could climb the hill again and look down on the river.

Those were the long summer days by the sea when the sun warmed our skin and the blue sky went on forever.

Come autumn, we would play in the park. Daddy would gather the fallen leaves into piles and we’d jump into them, making them fly all over the place. Then Daddy would jump in and throw great handfuls of leaves up in the air so that they tumbled round our heads. Reds and oranges and browns, clinging to our clothes and tangling our hair. We’d walk home through the park and listen to the crinkly leaves crunching beneath the wheels of the pushchair.

In the winter we’d wait for the bad weather, the wind and the rain. Then we’d put on our raincoats and head for the seafront. This was the best game. The three of us would stand by the railings holding hands and we’d wait for the tide to bash against the sea wall, then run backwards, screaming, as the foamy white water sprayed onto the promenade.

In the springtime we would walk for miles across the Downs, picking the wild flowers and chasing the dirty sheep. The pushchair was useless on the grass so Daddy would carry Brenda on his back. We would walk to the top of the Devil’s Dyke and look down over the valley to the little villages below us. Daddy would lie down on the grass, smoking his Senior Service fags and then he would go to sleep while Brenda and me made daisy chains that we put on our heads. When Daddy woke up, he would say, ‘What has happened to my two little girls? Someone has replaced them with two princesses.’ Then we’d jump on him and roll around on the grass.

Those were the seasons of our life, just me and Daddy and Brenda. Most of the time it was lovely and we were happy together. Brenda was a good little girl. She rarely cried or got upset, she didn’t get a pain in her stomach at some of the things that Daddy did; she loved him and trusted him. Brenda was nicer than me, she was better for Daddy than I was. My little sister just accepted him. She was too young to judge him or to be embarrassed by him but sometimes I think he saw himself through my eyes and that wasn’t any good for either of us. Like the time we were on the top deck of a tram going along the seafront. Sometimes when Daddy had worked for Uncle John he would take us on the open-top tram for a treat. We always ran up the stairs to the top deck, we didn’t care a bit what the weather was like. We’d hang over the side and let our hair blow around our faces. There were lots of posh houses along the seafront and Daddy would make up stories about the people that lived there.

‘See that little girl playing in the garden, girls?’

We both stared at the little girl.

‘Yes, Dada?’

‘Well, she’s a poor little orphan girl sent to live with her rich aunt and uncle.’

‘Are they kind to her, Daddy?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, for they had no children of their own. They cherished her.’

‘Cherished,’ said Brenda softly. Brenda liked new words and once she heard one she would use it for weeks, even when it didn’t make sense.

As the tram pulled away, I twisted round in my seat to look back at the little girl.

We were looking down into the posh people’s gardens when Daddy rang the bell to make the tram stop. We had never got off at that stop before, but I helped Brenda down the stairs while Daddy got the pushchair.

‘Where are we going?’ I said.

‘Wait and see,’ said Daddy, winking at me.

We walked back along the road until we came to a large white house. Daddy opened the gate and started to push Brenda and the pushchair up to the front door. I hung back.

‘What are you doing, Daddy?’ I hissed. ‘Come back.’ I felt sick to my stomach because I hadn’t noticed anything odd about my daddy that day. I thought he was my normal daddy but there he was, pushing Brenda up the path of the posh white house.

Oh my God, he was ringing the bloody doorbell.

Nobody answered. ‘Come on, Daddy,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

Then the door opened and a man stood there, glaring at us. He had a big fat belly that flopped over the top of his trousers and he kept licking his lips as if he still had some dinner left on them.

Daddy tipped his forehead as if he was wearing a hat, which he wasn’t, and said, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, sir, but I was wondering if—’

The man looked at my daddy as if he’d just crawled out from under a stone.

‘What?’ he said. ‘What?’

‘It’s about the dolls’ pram, sir,’ said Daddy.

‘Who are you?’ . . .