All that term, Billy worked as he’d never worked before. At school he studied Caesar’s Gallic Wars in the original, Shakespeare’s sonnets and Palgrave’s Golden Treasury of poems; mechanics, magnetism and electricity; Tudor architecture; the short stories of Guy de Maupassant; quadratic equations, Euclidian geometry and a lot of other useful subjects. His academic progress over the last year had been good and he was vying with ‘Oscar’ Wilde for fifth place in class, but at maths he was in a class of his own.
His shoe-shining activities were so profitable that he had managed not only to buy his dancing shoes and pay for lessons at Harrigan’s, but to save some money as well, and by the end of November, he had accumulated the princely sum of twenty-five pounds.
But it was in the field of dancing that he made the greatest strides and the greatest progress, moving up from novice to accomplished amateur in the space of three months. After work in the barber shop, he attended Harrigan’s every night, including Saturday, learning the basic steps and the many beautiful variations in every dance. He moved through the waltz, the slow foxtrot and
Billy Hopkins
the quickstep, and on to the more advanced South American dances - the tango and the rumba. He mastered most of the subtle movements and absorbed the techniques of the natural and reverse turns, double reverse turns, the feather, the whisk and the chasse, the drag hesitation and the backward lock. At home he studied and practised all the advice and exercises given by Alex Moore in his standard work on ballroom dancing. Billy lived and breathed dancing until his movements became smooth, graceful and effortless.
The master class, however, was held every Sunday afternoon on the rooftop of Hazlewood House by Lucy, who took all the skills he had acquired at the dance academy and tuned and refined them to the highest level, until Billy was beginning to feel that he had been dancing all his life. As she had insisted from the start, the relationship with Lucy was strictly dancing and nothing else. On their third meeting in September, Billy had presented her with two Hershey bars.
‘A GI gave me these candy bars, Lucy. They’re all yours.’
‘Are you sure? Good chocolate is so hard to get nowadays.’
‘That’s OK. He also gave me these.’
He showed her the packet of rubbers.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, frowning when she saw what they were. ‘So what? I do hope you’re not getting any funny ideas.’
‘No, no. I just thought you might be interested to know what these Yanks are like, that’s all. That’s not all he gave me.’
He showed her the nylons that Bob, as good as his word, had given him.
‘Take ’em. I have no use for them.’
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‘Look, Billy, I thought we had things straight from the very beginning. I like you and I think you’re very nice- looking and all that. But if you think you can buy me with a pair of nylons, you’d better think again, that’s all. I’m not like that. I may work in a biscuit factory but I’m not crackers. Dancing only, and nothing more, remember?’
‘OK, Lucy. But keep the nylons anyway, as a kind of fee for these lessons.’
‘All right, I’ll take ’em as sort of payment. Wait till the girls at work see ’em; they’ll scratch my eyes out. Right then, so I’d better start earning them. Let’s get to work! Slow foxtrot! My favourite dance! I want to see long, gliding, smooth steps from you. Try to make it look sort of lazy and easy.’
She switched on Victor Sylvester playing ‘As Time Goes By’ and they danced across the rooftop.
‘Keep up on your toes on the feather step and don’t forget what I told you about contrary body movement. It’s a bit like you on your bike when you turn right. Sway over to the right a bit and stay relaxed. That’s it. I’ve never known anyone to pick up dancing so quickly and easily.’
‘What do you expect from Fred Astaire?’
‘And I’ve never known anyone so modest, either.’
‘My modesty’s the thing I’m most proud of.’
Billy moved rhythmically across the floor, lightly and easily.
‘Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow,’ chanted Lucy in time to the music. ‘Now the impetus turn. Move the left foot ever so slowly to your right and forward left. That’s beautiful. We’ll make a dancer of you yet. You’ll see.’
Sunday after Sunday she added more and more refinements to his movements, until one day towards the end of November she announced:
Billy Hopkins
‘I think we’re ready.’
‘You mean for lovemaking, Lucy?’
‘Stop acting the goat, Billy.’
‘Huh! Very funny!’
‘We’re ready to enter a slow foxtrot competition at Harrigan’s next Saturday. I think we’re moving together quite nicely. It’s amazing, really, to think that you began dancing only a few months ago.’
‘That’s me, Lucy. When I go for something, there’s no half-measures. It’s all or nothing at all.’
On the evening of Saturday 27 November, Billy put on his new dancing shoes and donned his dark-blue suit - which he had paid all of ten pounds for at Reid Bros in Market Street - a white silk shirt and a spotted tie. He spent a good deal of time Brylcreeming his hair until he had the quiff just right, and another ten minutes practising throwing his cigarette into his mouth from waist height until he got it on to the edge of his lip every single time.
‘You handsome devil, you,’ he said to his reflection.
‘You remind me of that film star,’ Mam said when she saw him.
‘Which one?’ he asked, throwing a fag nonchalantly into his mouth. ‘Humphrey Bogart?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The one who’s alius with him. Edward G. Robinson.’
‘Stop taking the mickey, Mam. I need all my confidence tonight for this dance competition.’
At Harrigan’s that night, there was a good crowd and it looked as if everyone was entering the competition.
‘Don’t be nervous, Billy,’ Lucy said. ‘Half this lot’ll get knocked out in the first heat. Most of them ladies can’t even do a proper heel turn.’
‘And some of the men move like elephants,’ said Billy
OUR KID
to boost his own self-confidence.
‘The only pair to worry about is Freda Pritchard and Duggie Diggle over there, but I think we’ve got them licked.’
At nine o’clock promptly, Mrs Harrigan made her announcement through the mike.
‘And now we come to our foxtrot competition for our regular patrons. Only those who have taken lessons with us are eligible. Please attach your numbers to the gentleman’s back and take the floor for heat one.’
Billy and Lucy were given the number 17.
‘My lucky number,’ said Billy. ‘We used to live at number seventeen, Honeypot Street, Red Bank.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Lucy. ‘I thought that’s where you got bombed out.’
The Saturday-night five-piece band struck up with the song ‘I Remember You’ and the competition began. Billy and Lucy glided smoothly and effortlessly round the floor in perfect time to the music, Billy displaying a light feather step and a reverse wave with lots of contrary body movement. Freda and Duggie, numbered at 8, also swept beautifully around the room, making full use of the available space.
At the end of heat one, only six couples were called back - Lucy and Billy and Freda and Duggie among them. In heat two, Billy and Lucy began to show off their steps: the telemark, the open telemark, and the natural hover telemark, which brought a burst of applause from the spectators. Meanwhile, Freda and Duggie were giving a lovely display of light feathery dancing which brought gasps of admiration from their supporters. At the end of heat two, only three couples were brought back: Freda and Duggie, Rita and Roy and Lucy and Billy.
‘At least we’re in the first three,’ said Lucy. ‘But to win.
Billy, you’ll really have to pull out all the stops.’
The band began to play ‘It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow’ and the three couples started to float their way around the ballroom, demonstrating the most intricate and subtle steps of the slow foxtrot.
Lucy and Billy put out all their best movements which they had practised so hard and so patiently all those Sunday afternoons. Billy performed the weave, the top spin and the outside swivel with grace and elegance. He and Lucy wore easy, relaxed smiles - ‘the happy face’ - as they flowed around the floor. Billy finished with a beautifully executed impetus turn followed by hover and on into the feather step and a reverse wave. Then it was all over.
Mrs Harrigan and Lofty went into a huddle for an eternity that was all of five minutes. The crowd waited tensely for the decision. Mrs Harrigan went to her mike.
‘Here are the results of our slow foxtrot competition. In third place, number seven, Rita and Roy. In second place . . . number eight, Freda and Duggie. And our winners tonight. . .’
Her voice was drowned in the cheers of the spectators, while Billy found himself being hugged to pieces by an ecstatic Lucy.
‘WE DID IT! WE DID IT!’ she yelled. ‘Billy, I think you’re marvellous.’
‘Ah know Ah am,’ he said in his best Lancashire accent. ‘Ah’ve ’ad a reet good teacher. And come to think of it, you’re not so bad yourself, lass.’
The three couples went forward to receive their awards: a pair of small dressing-table mirrors for third, somewhat larger mirrors for second, and two superb gold-plated statues of a dancing couple for the winners.
‘Congratulations to all of you,’ said Mrs Harrigan. ‘And Billy, could I see you for a moment after this dance?’
OUR KID
For Billy and Lucy, the rest of the evening was somewhat confused, as if they were in a dream come true - which they were. Lucy clung closely to Billy in every dance.
‘I can’t believe it’s happened,’ she said. ‘After all our work! It’s paid off! And as for you, Billy, I’ve never known anyone to pick up dancing so quick.’
‘Right at the beginning, you told me I could be another Fred Astaire. I tell you this, Lucy. School, Caesar’s Gallic Wars and quadratic equations seem a million miles away.’
‘Remember what I told you, Billy? Your education’s more important than dancing. Get yourself qualified and get a good job with good money and one that’s interesting as well. How many more times do y’ave to be told, you daft devil? You can alius keep up dancing as your pastime. But don’t end up like me in a lousy, monotonous job.’
‘OK! OK! Keep your hair on. It’s just that. . . well. . . I’m so happy that we pulled it off. It’s all down to you, Lucy, and your teaching on the rooftop.’
Towards the end of that wonderful night, he went to see Mrs Harrigan in her office.
‘Billy, you’ve made such astounding progress in dancing, I’d like to offer you a part-time job as instructor/ host on the staff. The pay is three shillings per evening, and naturally, your admission to all dances would be free. Are you interested?’
‘Interested? I’ll say, Mrs Harrigan. When do I start?’
‘You can start on Monday if that’s OK with you.’
Billy and Lucy were so preoccupied, so full of their triumphant win that evening, that they failed to notice the glamorous and beautiful young girl who watched all their excited reactions with a curious, faintly amused smile on her lips. If they’d known what she had in mind, they might have paid her more attention.
★ ★ *
On Monday evening, after his shoe-shining duties, Billy managed to reach Harrigan’s just in time to start his dance-instructor job. Pretty soon he was absorbed in teaching a group of novices the steps that he himself had learned only a few short months ago.
The usual practice session followed the lessons.
‘Mr David! Mr Duggie! Mr Roy!’ Lofty called out as he circulated the room, allocating ladies to the male instructors. It sounded so strange and it took Billy a little by surprise when he heard his own name being called: ‘Mr Billy!’
It was even more of a surprise when he saw walking towards him the most beautiful girl he had ever seen outside the cinema screen. She had obviously modelled herself on Rita Hayworth, for she had the same hairstyle, the same cheekbones, the same dreamy, come-to-bed eyes and even the same kind of sultry expression.
‘Good evening, Billy,’ she said softly, with a charming smile. ‘My name’s Adele.’
‘Hello,’ said Billy, gulping, his eyes popping out of his head. ‘Nice to meet you.’
- The band struck up with ‘Sleepy Lagoon’ and the couples began to waltz around the floor.
‘One thing is obvious,’ said Billy. ‘You’re no novice. You move beautifully.’
‘Why, thank you,’ she said. ‘I have been dancing for a number of years, as a matter of fact.’
They danced on for a while. She really was exceptionally good - like a feather in his arms.
‘I specially asked for you tonight,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ he said, puzzled. ‘And why was that?’
‘I watched you in the slow foxtrot competition last Saturday. I think you’re pretty good.’
OUR KID
‘The compliments are really flying around tonight.’
‘Notice I said “pretty good”. But you could be outstanding if you went about it the right way.’
‘You think so? What is this “right way” you’re talking about?’
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but I came here tonight just to see you. Could we talk at the interval, after the quickstep?’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Fine.’
Lucy waltzed past with her novice partner.
‘Catch you later, Billy,’ she said, eyeing Adele suspiciously.
‘Right,’ said Billy. ‘See you after this dance.’
‘Who’s that girl?’ asked Lucy when they met between dances.
‘Dunno,’ said Billy, ‘but she certainly knows how to dance.’
‘Watch your step,’ said Lucy ominously. ‘She’s set her cap at you.’
‘How can you tell that, Lucy?’
‘We girls can tell. Believe me.’
At the break between dances, Billy invited Adele across to the ballroom snack bar. As they sat together talking over a cup of tea, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Lucy was engaged in earnest conversation with Roy on the other side of the room.
‘Sounds very mysterious, Adele - this wanting to talk to me,’ he said.
‘Nothing mysterious, Billy. I’ll come straight to the point. I broke up with my dancing partner a couple of weeks ago and I’m looking for a new one. I wondered if you were interested, that’s all.’
‘But you are obviously a much higher standard than I am - in fact, semi-professional. I’d say.’
‘You would soon reach the same level if you had private lessons with the right teacher.’
‘Who would that be?’
‘Frank Rogers at the Deansgate Dance Academy is one of the best in the country. He’s the north of England professional champion. I’ve been going to him for over two years.’
‘Everybody knows about Frank Rogers, but he must be very expensive.’
‘You have to pay if you want the best,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ll be here tomorrow night, and if you decide to accept my proposal, you could let me know. I should warn you, though, that when I see something I want, I go after it until I get it.’
‘You mean me?’
‘You got it - first time.’
After their chat, Adele went to the cloakroom, collected her coat and left.
When all the practice sessions for the evening were finished, the band packed up and went home and Mrs Harrigan put on Victor Sylvester records for the last half- hour. It may have been merely coincidence or the fact that Mrs Harrigan was a keen observer of her staff’s behaviour, but the record she put on as Billy and Lucy danced a last slow foxtrot was ‘Won’t You Change Partners and Dance with Me?’.
On the way home, Billy told Lucy about Adele’s proposal.
‘And are you going to take it? To be honest, I didn’t like the look of that girl,’ she said petulantly.
‘I’m very tempted, Lucy. After all, Frank Rogers is one of the top teachers in the country. And you can’t condemn the girl just because she’s glamorous.’
‘You may not agree with me, ’cos you’re just an
OUR KID
innocent little boy. But us girls can tell a baby-snatcher from fifty paces.’
‘Who’re you calling a baby, Lucy?’
‘You are, Billy, when it comes to girls.’
‘I think you’re just jealous.’
‘Me? Jealous! Right, that does it, Billy! You can bugger off with this glamour-puss.’
‘Very well, I will, if that’s the way you feel.’
‘It’s bloody unfair that after all my efforts on the rooftop, you should go off with this man-chaser.’
‘But that was our agreement, Lucy, remember? Business only. Dancing only. This could be my big chance to get into the big ballroom competitions - not just the local hop.’
‘Then you can bloody well get lost, Billy. You can piss off. And don’t come crawling back to me if it doesn’t work out with Miss Glamour Pants.’
Lucy stormed off and Billy wondered if he had done the right thing, for he’d only decided to accept Adele’s offer when Lucy had pushed him into answering.
‘Would you do something for me?’ Adele asked at their first private lesson with Frank Rogers.
‘Sure. Just name it, Adele.’
‘It’s your name. Change it. “Billy” reminds me of the tin kettle we used when camping in the Girl Guides. It also sounds like the name of a plumber or a bus conductor, not a successful ballroom dancer.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘How about Edwin, or Grant? Wait a minute . . . I’ve got it. . . Julian! That’s a lovely name. From now on, for me, you’re Julian.’
‘OK, if that’s what you want. Julian it is.’
The lesson began. Billy had thought he could dance - until, that is, he had his first session with Frank Rogers at his dance academy.
‘The very first thing we have to teach you, Julian, is how to walk,’ said Frank.
‘But I learned that when I was eighteen months old.’
‘That was toddling. This is walking rhythmically. Let’s try it in slow motion. Swing the left leg forward from the hip - heel skimming the floor, toe slightly raised. Good.
‘Now, as the left foot passes the toe of the right foot, release your left heel so that it just touches the floor. Lower your left toe so that the foot is flat on the floor.’
‘There’s more to it than I thought,’ said Billy.
‘Let’s try it with your partner. Place both hands on Adele’s shoulders and walk together across the floor. Excellent. Lightly. Move from the hips.’
The lesson continued in this fashion. Frank worked them both very hard and certainly earned the high fee of ten shillings an hour that he charged.
Towards the end of the first lesson, he said:
‘We’ll try walking together with close hip contact. Hands behind your back. Right, Julian, see if you can guide Adele around the room using hips only. Ready now. Push your hips, Adele, as if resisting. Push forward, Julian. Excellent. Now we’ll try it to music. No hands! Hips only!’
He switched on Victor Sylvester playing ‘Once in a While’ and Billy and Adele moved around the room with both hands behind their backs.
‘I’m finding this hip-to-hip business very sexy, Adele,’ whispered Billy when they were out of earshot of Frank Rogers.
‘I felt as much, Julian,’ she whispered. ‘Behave and concentrate on the dancing.’
‘One final thing before we pack up,’ said Frank. ‘I’d like to check out your hold.’
They took up their position.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re just the right height for each other. You’re going to look great when I’ve finished with you both.’
He fastened an elastic band around Billy’s right hand.
‘You have a slight tendency to splay the fingers. That elastic band should keep them together. Keep your left wrist straight. Perfect. Now let’s see your slow foxtrot.’
He switched on the record and Billy and Adele glided smoothly round the studio.
The weeks went by and Billy fell into a very busy routine - school, shoe-shining, dancing. As for Lucy, she soon recovered from her initial anger with Billy, as she found her new partner, Roy, to be a skilful dancer and an amenable person. Despite that, however, she never forgave Adele for the way, as she put it, she had snatched away her partner and protege from under her nose. Adele joined Harrigan’s staff. The two ladies were at daggers drawn every night as they stood together in the middle of the floor, waiting for novices to be allocated to them.
‘Eaten any more men lately, Adele?’ hissed Lucy.
‘Why, are you offering, Lucy?’ spat Adele. ‘That new partner of yours looks quite tasty.’
‘You keep your thieving eyes off him,’ Lucy snapped.
‘I will, Lucy, if you’ll tell him to keep his big goo-goo eyes off my breasts.’
‘My dear Adele, it’s no wonder he’s staring at ’em. It’s that bloody dress you’re almost wearing.’
‘Why, thank you, Lucy, I’m sure,’ Adele cooed. ‘I’m so glad you like it. And that C & A dress of yours is lovely too - it’s dyed really well.’
‘But not as well as your hair, Adele,’ Lucy sniffed.
‘You bloody bitch,’ Adele rasped as, adopting her fixed
Cheshire cat dancing smirk, she moved off with her stifflegged, robotic partner.
‘Yes, yes. Come on! Come on! That’s it,’ she grunted to the unfortunate learner. ‘Forward left, side right, close. Forward right, side left, close.’
‘Good. That’s very good,’ Lucy said encouragingly with her best ballroom Mona Lisa smile to her beginner. ‘And . . . one . . . two. . . three. One . . . two. . . three.’
The two couples hadn’t got far when they collided unceremoniously.
‘You clumsy bitch! You did that on purpose,’ Lucy snarled, all vestiges of her smile gone.
‘Piss off, you stupid sod,’ Adele hissed through clenched teeth, the Cheshire cat now turned to a tigress.
Each night the ladies bickered in this fashion, but meanwhile, Billy’s private lessons with Frank Rogers began to pay off and the standard of his dancing improved by leaps and bounds. One evening, Mrs Harrigan called Adele and Billy into her office.
‘I’ve noticed that you two are looking very good on the floor. I want to ask you to become our demonstrators of the slow foxtrot on Wednesday evenings; it would show our novices just how it should be done.’
‘I vowed that this would come off one day, Adele, and at last it’s happened,’ Billy said.
‘But only after a lot of very hard work and determined effort,’ she said.
That first Wednesday evening, Mrs Harrigan announced:
‘And now we have a demonstration of the slow foxtrot by two members of our teaching staff, Miss Adele and Mr Julian.’
They went into their routine - Billy now a very confident performer. As they danced around the floor, they could
hear the admiring remarks of the novice spectators:
‘See that lovely heel turn.’
‘That’s an impetus turn. I’ve just learnt that tonight.’
‘Did you notice the CBM in that reverse wave.’
‘She made a clumsy heel turn there, Roy. Did you notice?’ Lucy said happily in a loud stage-whisper.
Despite Lucy’s bitchiness, Billy was ecstatically happy that evening, dancing with a beautiful girl to the admiration of the crowd. The flattering remarks were meat and drink to him and he thought how perilously close his life had come to taking off in a different direction with Mick Scully and Vinny Buckley.
At the interval, he and Adele sat close together in the bar, enjoying the tea, the cakes, and the adulatory glances which were cast in their direction.
‘Good demonstration, you two,’ Duggie Diggle called light-heartedly from the other side of the room. ‘If ever you get fed up with him, Adele, I’m without a partner. So you know where to come!’
‘Gercha!’ said Billy genially.
‘No chance, Duggie. What happened to Freda?’ said Adele, laughing.
‘The usual story,’ replied Duggie. ‘She’s found somebody new.’
‘I enjoyed your demo, Julian,’ gushed a young female fan as she ordered a tea at the counter. ‘You and Adele look fantastic together.’
‘Why, thank you,’ said Billy.
A dark-haired, well-built youth approached.
‘Here comes another admirer, Adele,’ said Billy.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘It’s Cyprian, my ex-partner. Watch him, Julian. He’s dangerous - has a fierce temper.’
‘You - Julian?’ sneered the ex.
‘That’s right,’ said Billy.
‘My name’s Reggie,’ he snorted, ‘but she renamed me Cyprian. Didn’t like the name Reggie. “Not good enough. Too common,” she said.’
‘You’re pissed, Cyprian,’ Adele said, ‘as usual.’
‘I want to warn you, Julian, or whatever your bloody name is. Have a care. She’s all top-show. She’ll give you a new name and a new image, but as soon as she’s had enough of you she’ll throw you away like an old sock.’
‘Get back to the pub where you belong,’ Adele snarled. ‘It was the best bloody day’s work I ever did - dumping you.’
‘Same goes for me, Adele,’ he growled at her. ‘You used me - took me for a ride. Well, promised me a ride, anyway, but never came across with the goods. Watch yourself, Julian - she’ll have a ring on your finger and one on your nose if she gets her way.’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Billy. ‘Get the hell out of here. Insulting Adele and causing trouble.’
‘Or we’ll call Lofty to deal with you,’ added Adele.
‘Oh, call the bruiser, would you?’
‘Just bugger off,’ said Billy. ‘You drunken sod.’
‘Why, you bag o’ bones - you streak o’ piss, I’ve half a mind to clobber you one.’
‘That’s it,’ said Adele. ‘Lofty! Lofty! Can you come over here, please?’
Lofty detached himself from his seat near the bandstand and strode over.
‘Trouble?’ he enquired.
‘Trouble?’ said Cyprian/Reggie. ‘She’s the bleeding trouble. Miss Prick-Teaser there.’
‘Right, pal. On your way,’ said Lofty, frog-marching the unlucky Cyprian to the door. ‘And if I see you near this dance studio again you’ll go home with a black eye and a thick ear. Now - git!’
Cyprian was helped through the door with a shove that sent him sprawling outside on to the asphalt path.
‘You can see now,’ Adele said, ‘why I dumped him. He was just a brute.’
‘You were well rid of him, Adele,’ Billy said.
From that night, their romance developed apace and their necking sessions in her front room became hotter and hotter and dangerously close to getting out of control.
Adele’s front room was directly under her parents’ bedroom.
‘You’ll have to whisper,’ she said, as they went into a close embrace on the settee.
They settled down to several minutes’ passionate kissing which threatened to carry them both away to never-never land.
‘I’ll love you till the end of time,’ she said.
‘I’ll love you till each mountain disappears,’ he sighed.
‘I’ll love you till the wells run dry,’ she murmured.
‘Till hell freezes over,’ he breathed in her ear.
‘Till the deserts bloom,’ she cooed.
Billy was beginning to run out of unlikely eventualities to love her till, and so thought it best to change the subject.
‘My mother stopped breast-feeding me too early and put me on the bottle,’ he said.
‘How do you know that?’ she asked softly.
‘I’ve been trying ever since to get myself off the bottle and back on to the breast,’ he replied plaintively.
‘You’re a clown,’ she said. ‘But a lovable one.’
‘I’ve always had one big problem, though,’ he continued.
‘And that is?’ she whispered.
‘I’ve never been able to get the hang of these brassieres,’ he said, opening the buttons of her silk blouse.
‘There’s no problem here, 5 she said, cuddling into his shoulder. ‘I never wear one.’
After ten minutes, there came a knock on the ceiling.
‘It’s getting late, Adele. Time to say good night,’ her dad called.
‘OK, Dad,’ she called back sweetly. ‘Just coming.’
Given the excitement of Adele and the dancing world, all the academic stuff Billy was learning at school seemed boring and irrelevant to life and having a good time. He vowed to leave school at the first opportunity, get himself a well-paid, interesting job and continue with the lifestyle to which Adele had made him accustomed.
New Year’s Eve. Billy had big plans for celebrating this particular festivity. Everything in the garden was looking rosy. Flo’s husband, Sergeant Barry Healey, was home on leave and staying with them in the spare bedroom; at Harrigan’s there was to be a big shindig, ticket-holders only, and all their crowd would be there. At the GI barber shop, he worked until 7.30 that night, and the tips were unbelievable as the doughboys unloaded some of their dough. He had bought Adele’s ticket and his own - never mind the cost of five shillings a head, he could afford it. He had arranged to collect her around 8.30.
When he got back after work to the Gardenia Court flat, though, he sensed that something was amiss. Flo and Barry were getting ready to go out, but one look at his dad and Billy knew immediately what it was. He’d been on the booze - probably all day in the Hare and Hounds - as his way of bidding farewell to the old year. He had spent the afternoon and early evening sleeping it off and had awakened in a foul temper.
By eight o’clock, he was suffering from a mammoth hangover. Eyes glazed and bloodshot, face haggard and
drawn, he sat hunched at the fireplace with his back to everyone. He hated visitors at the best of times and he made no bones about showing it. But when he was in his cups anything could happen, and the family had found it best to make itself scarce. Every so often that New Year’s Eve he muttered incomprehensible curses and strange incantations, accompanied by weird hissing, shushing noises which sounded like a tyre being let down.
‘Bleeding strangers in the house,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Hiss-ss. Shush-sh-sh.’
‘No bleeding peace,’ he grunted. ‘Hiss-ss. Shush-sh- sh.’
Eventually Flo and Barry were ready to go out.
‘We’re going to visit Barry’s married brother. Mam,’ said Flo. ‘We’ll be back about one o’clock.’
‘Righto, Flo,’ said Mam.
‘Bleeding nuisances,’ growled Dad. ‘Hiss-ss. Shush-sh- sh.’
Billy knew there was going to be trouble. He busied himself grooming and primping himself up for the big dance. He washed and shaved carefully, having showered previously at the American Red Cross Club, applied his aftershave, dressed in his Reid Bros suit and his best white shirt. He was ready to depart to collect Adele.
Then all hell broke loose.
‘You drunken swine! You bloody great bully, you!’ Mam screamed at his dad. ‘You’ve been hissing and muttering to yourself all bloody day.’
He turned his bloodshot eyes on her.
‘Who the bloody hell d’you think you’re talking to?’
‘Hitler! Hitler!’ she yelled.
‘Hitler? Calling me Hitler?’ he snarled, thumping the table with his fist.
‘You drunken pig!’ she shouted, her blood up.
He stood up and thrust his face at her.
‘S’no wonder I get drunk. A man’s house is no longer his own. Bloody strangers everywhere I look.’
The conflict was reaching fever pitch. They were both seething and spitting hatred at one another.
‘It’s the same every holiday,’ she cried, now in tears of rage. ‘You stink the whole house out with your drinking. I’m ashamed to have visitors in the place.’
‘Then you can piss off out and sling your hook,’ he bawled.
He came at her then, grabbed her by the shoulders and thrust her up against the wall. She screamed and fought to get free from his grip. She put her arm up for protection as he raised his fist to strike her.
‘You stop that, d’you hear! Don’t you dare hit her!’ said a disembodied voice.
To Billy’s amazement, he found that the voice belonged to him.
Dad’s fist froze in mid-air. He turned and gazed at Billy in amazement.
‘Who the bloody hell do you think you’re talking to, yer cheeky little bugger?’ he growled.
But his hand was stayed.
Mam let out a long moan of utter anguish and began sobbing and wailing uncontrollably - sounding like Aunt Mona when Uncle Eddy had assaulted her. Released from the bully’s grip, she opened the front door and ran outside, still crying.
‘Wait, Mam, I’ll come with you,’ Billy shouted, all hopes of collecting Adele and all thoughts of the big dance now banished from his mind.
He sat with his mam on a low wall at the corner of Gardenia Court. She was shivering from the cold and, racked with misery, she continued to weep, tears
overflowing. Billy put his arm round her to warm her and comfort her.
‘Don’t worry, Mam, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It was the drink talking.’
‘I’ve had enough living with this pig,’ she moaned. ‘It’s the same every holiday time. He comes back from the pub stinking the place out with his beer, and hissing and snorting like a bull. I can’t stand no more of it, Billy. I’m gonna chuck meself in Union Street Canal.’
‘It’s OK, Mam. It’s OK,’ Billy consoled. ‘He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying. He’ll be better tomorrow.’
‘It’s no use carrying on, Billy. I’ve had to put up with him for years. Tonight’s the last straw. I’m gonna do away with meself. Don’t bother about me, you go off to your dance.’
‘No, Mam, forget the dance. I’m staying with you. I can always go dancing some other night. Adele will understand.’
They stayed there for over two hours, the two of them, sitting on that low, bottom-freezing wall. The moon was up and the tenements were bathed in a great white light. They sat watching the silent, smiling moon gliding through the silver-tipped clouds. In some of the flats they were holding noisy, festive parties, and Billy and Kate could hear the sounds of singing and revelry as the residents of Gardenia Court gave a liquid welcome to the New Year. At twelve o’clock, ships’ hooters and car horns sounded off in distant parts of the city, and the party- goers began their drunken rendering of‘Auld Lang Syne’.
‘Nineteen forty-four, Mam. Happy New Year!’ he said, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Same to you, son. Let’s hope we have a better year ahead of us than the one behind. And let’s hope this
drunk you’ve got for a father mends his ways.’
‘Come on, Mam,’ he said. ‘We’re going back in. He’ll have gone to bed by now, I should think. If not, and he starts again, he’ll have me to deal with.’
‘What a way to see the new year in, eh, Billy!’ she said. ‘Almost as bad as the Blitz in 1940.’
‘Well, there’s one thing about being here tonight. I’ll be the first one to open the door and I’ve got dark hair. So that should bring us good luck.’
Next morning, it was the old, old story. Dad had sobered up and was all humble and contrite, trying to win back her love - in fact, everybody’s love.
‘Happy New Year, Kate,’ he said softly. ‘And I’ve bought you this big box o’ chocolates, luv.’
But he had blown it and was due for his punishment. Sentence - one week’s fish-eye treatment. Billy hoped he would be man enough to take it on the chin. Mam looked through him with that stony-faced, unseeing stare of hers.
‘You eat ’em, Hitler!’ she said.
Once again, Billy began to feel sorry for his dad. He knew what it felt like; he’d had some of this glassyeyed, non-person torture after the stopping-out-all-night incident with Vinny Buckley.
‘Happy New Year, Dad,’ he said when he saw him.
‘And the same to you, son. Sorry about last night,’ Tommy said quietly. ‘I’ve got you this box of fifty Players.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I don’t know where you get them from with this cigarette shortage. They’re like gold.’
‘Oh, I have my little ways,’ he replied, winking.
‘You do and all. Dad,’ Billy said under his breath. ‘You daft bugger. You do and all.’
And even though Billy consulted a map of Manchester,
he never did find out where Union Street Canal was.
★ ★ ★
He saw Adele at the New Year’s dance later the following night and apologised for his failure to turn up.
‘I understand, Julian,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about it. I managed to take a taxi to Harrigan’s and I danced with Duggie Diggle most of the evening. He took me home. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, I don’t mind, Adele.’
He was lying, of course.