When We Danced at the End of the Pier Read online

  When We Danced at the End of the Pier

  A heartbreaking novel of family tragedy and wartime romance

  Sandy Taylor

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Epilogue

  A Letter from Sandy

  The Girls from See Saw Lane

  Counting Chimneys

  Also by Sandy Taylor

  Acknowledgments

  To Mammy, Maureen O Connell

  and to my Daddy John Goldsmith

  A rainbow round my shoulder.

  One

  Brighton, 1930

  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.’

  Two

  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.

  Three

  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.’