The Girl in the Pink Raincoat Page 3

  As the minutes ticked away towards the announcement, the pub began to fill. As usual there was plenty of noise from the vault, but the few women in the snug talked quietly among themselves, or listened with half an ear to a talk, ‘Making the Most of Tinned Food’, on the wireless. At eleven fifteen the pub fell silent, and moments later the prime minister, his voice tired and sad, began: ‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Office…The British ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note… I have to tell you now that no such answer has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany…’

  In the vault someone swore and in the snug someone sobbed. Then the National Anthem blared out, too loud after Chamberlain’s sombre tone, and startled some of the listeners. Next to Sarah a woman stood up, then another and another, and from the vault came the sound of singing. Soon everyone was on their feet and joining in. As the last note died away there was a sudden ear-splitting noise and everyone froze. Billy was the first to realise what was happening. ‘It’s the air-raid siren! We’re being bombed. Get into the cellar quickly!’ Everyone found their wits and their voices, running and pushing to get downstairs to the safety of the pitch-black shelter.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Mam, are you sure there’s enough hot water to rinse my hair?’ Gracie asked for the third time, as she sat in the tin bath in front of the fire.

  ‘Aye, of course there is. I’ve told you already.’

  ‘But I want it to be really shiny.’

  ‘You’ve used enough of that coal tar soap, but we’ll give it a final rinse with vinegar. That’s as much as we can do.’ Sarah took the pan of water off the stove and tested the temperature with her elbow. ‘Right, cover your eyes.’ She poured it over Gracie’s head. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘In my eyes!’ cried Gracie.

  ‘Ach, well, the next one’ll wash it out.’

  When Gracie’s dark hair was squeaky clean she stepped out of the bath and her mother handed her the warm towel from the fireguard. Then there was the painful ritual of teasing out the knots and tangles. Finally Gracie, in her candlewick dressing-gown, took her book and sat in front of the fire to dry her hair.

  It took her nearly as long to decide what to wear on her first proper date with Jacob because she had no idea where he would take her. On a Sunday night not everywhere was open and it was quite likely plenty of places would be shut because of war being declared. She hoped they might go dancing and kept imagining what it would be like when he held her in his arms. Or they might go to one of the better pubs where they could spend the evening getting to know each other better. In the end, she decided that her navy dress with the peter-pan collar would look smart wherever they ended up.

  She stood in the kitchen doorway and asked, ‘How do I look?’

  Sarah put down the book she was reading and smiled. ‘Lovely, and your hair’s so shiny.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Gracie, ‘I think we overdid the vinegar ‒ I keep getting a whiff of it.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Sarah. ‘Once you’re out in the fresh air it’ll go.’

  *

  Gracie caught the bus to Piccadilly and went to stand outside Lewis’s department store. There were several people on their own, just like her, and she watched each one as their date arrived, imagining their stories: the accountant with the shorthand typist who hadn’t known each other long; the factory worker and the shop girl who had saved up almost enough to get married; the couple in their thirties, married, but not to each other.

  The minutes ticked by and she began to wonder if he was waiting at one of the other entrances. She was about to walk round the corner to see if he was there when she spotted him running across the road. He was frowning as he dodged a bus. His tie had blown over his shoulder and his hair had fallen forward. In one graceful movement he pushed it back. Then he saw her and his smile made her catch her breath.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re still here,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I had to help my uncle—’

  ‘It’s all right. I knew you’d come.’

  He nodded and looked pleased. ‘Come on then, it’s not far.’

  She hoped he might take her hand or, at the very least, offer his arm, but he did neither. He was more concerned about the outbreak of war and talked non-stop all the way to Shudehill. ‘We’ll be bombed for sure,’ he told her. ‘Next to London, Manchester is one of the biggest industrial cities, with its aircraft factories, engineering works, food-processing plants, you name it – everything needed to supply the armed forces. And, as if that wasn’t enough, my uncle’s worried about his business.’

  Gracie looked at him. ‘But he makes raincoats.’

  ‘Yes, but the factory is owned by a German family.’

  ‘You mean—’

  ‘If we’re lucky we’ll get some abuse, maybe a brick or two through the factory windows, but who knows what’ll happen when the fighting starts?’

  Gracie was shocked. ‘But your family’s been in the city for such a long time, nobody could think they supported Hitler, especially when Jewish people are fleeing Germany because of the way they’ve been treated.’

  ‘Ah, Gracie, not everybody has a heart as kind as yours.’ His mood seemed to lift. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, and took her hand. ‘I like your hair.’

  At the top end of Shudehill they stopped outside a narrow four-storey building with a façade of brown glazed tiles. ‘Here we are,’ he said, and Gracie had just enough time to look up at the pub sign – the fearsome, swarthy face of a man with a jewel in his ear, wearing a huge turban and, below it, ‘Turk’s Head’ painted in gold. It was packed inside with the sort of rough-and-ready types her mother wouldn’t have approved of, and Jacob read the disappointment on her face. ‘Don’t worry, it might look a bit seedy but I’ll get us some drinks and then we’ll go upstairs.’ He left her to go to the bar.

  With the smell of drink, the swearing and raucous laughter, Gracie began to feel uncomfortable. A man in the corner, puffing his pipe, caught her eye and beckoned her over. She quickly looked away. Jacob had seemed so respectable, why would he bring her to a place like this? She noticed a sign on the wall ‘Rooms upstairs’, glanced at the door and thought about leaving, but then he appeared at her side and handed her a glass. ‘I got us some lemonade; I hope that’s all right. Let’s go upstairs.’ He took her arm, but she pulled back. ‘What’s the matter? I promise you’ll enjoy it.’ Then he saw the look on her face and understood. ‘Oh, Gracie.’ He laughed. ‘You didn’t think…’

  ‘What’s upstairs, Jacob?’

  His face lit up. ‘Just the most wonderful music you’ll ever hear and some dancing, if you like, but I have to say I’m not much of a dancer.’

  The room was dimly lit by candles stuck in green bottles on each small table. At one end there was a raised stage with an upright piano, a snare drum and a microphone. In front of it was a small dance-floor. Several people were already seated, and Gracie was pleased to see that, in contrast to the bar below, they were chatting quietly. She was reassured to see some well-dressed women among them. A few men acknowledged Jacob as he led her to a table near the stage.

  ‘You’ve been here before?’ asked Gracie.

  ‘I’m here most Sunday nights. It’s one of the few places where you can listen to jazz in Manchester.’

  At that moment a spotlight lit the stage and the pianist and drummer took their places. They were followed by a thick-set black man, carrying a trumpet, who drew enthusiastic applause. Jacob leaned towards Gracie and whispered, ‘Leroy Skinner ‒ he’s the nearest thing you’ll get to Duke Ellington this side of the Atlantic.’ Gracie had never heard of Leroy Skinner and had no idea who Duke Ellington was, so she said nothing.

  The applause died down, the piano played an introduction and the snare joined in. Leroy moved to the beat, with one hand tapping the trumpet against his leg, the other softly clicking his fingers. He licked his lips, brought the trumpet to his mouth and blew. It was a so
und such as Gracie had never heard. It reverberated inside her, and each note that followed was so unexpected that at first she couldn’t discern a tune. But still she was drawn to it. Jacob leaned towards her, his breath on her ear. ‘Just relax and let the music take you.’ Slowly what had seemed like discord emerged into discernible patterns, changing like a kaleidoscope in her brain. The tunes came and went, and she wondered how she had lived twenty years without ever hearing music like this.

  In the interval Jacob left to get them some more lemonade while Gracie went to powder her nose. She studied her face in the cracked mirror on the windowsill: her skin was flushed, her eyes were bright, and she couldn’t help smiling. There would be dancing after the interval.

  Jacob was talking to some lads around his age when she came back. She would have joined him, but as soon as he saw her he left them.

  ‘You didn’t have to leave your friends,’ she said.

  ‘I know, but I just want to be with you.’ He moved his chair closer to hers. ‘Tell me, did you really like the music?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And would you come here with me again?’

  ‘Of course.’ Gracie saw the tenderness in his eyes. ‘I’d go anywhere if you asked me.’

  At that moment the performers returned to the stage and this time they were accompanied by a woman in a tight-fitting black dress and black evening gloves who went straight to the microphone. Leroy counted them in and, on cue, she began to sing, in a husky voice, ‘Dream A Little Dream Of Me’.

  ‘Will you dance?’ asked Jacob.

  Gracie had been to the Ritz and other ballrooms plenty of times with her friends. She liked the lively dances; the foxtrot and the quickstep were best. If a lad liked you he would choose a slow dance, but you had to be careful because some of them just wanted to touch you in a way they shouldn’t.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Gracie, and gave him her hand.

  He held her close, but there was gentleness in his touch. She rested her head against his shoulder and they moved together to the slow rhythm of the song. Her fingers were on his neck and she wanted to stroke it. She felt his hand on her back and longed for him to caress her. He stepped away a little and she looked up to see him smiling down at her. ‘How am I doing?’ he said.

  ‘Fine, so far, but I’ll have to make sure you get more practice.’

  He laughed and swung her around just as the music ended, then pulled her close to him and held her for a moment.

  *

  The light was fading when they left the Turk’s Head. ‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

  ‘About twenty minutes up Oldham Road. I could run it in fifteen minutes and get there before it’s completely dark.’

  ‘Or I could walk you home and we’d have another twenty minutes together.’

  ‘But you’ll be in the dark then.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He patted his pocket. ‘I’ve a torch to light my way and the memory of dancing with you to keep me company.’ He took her hand and they set off. ‘So, what do you really think about jazz?’

  ‘I love it,’ said Gracie. ‘I’ll never forget tonight.’

  ‘I remember when I first went to a jazz club,’ he said. ‘It was when I lived in Berlin, and my father took me. I must have been about sixteen. That sort of music was very popular in Germany, but the clubs are probably all gone now. I don’t know…’

  They walked a while in silence, and Gracie thought about Jacob coming to live in England. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What was it like to leave your home and come to a strange country?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy,’ he said. ‘People are wary of you. You might look different, sound different, and all you want to do is to fade into the background. You keep your head down, try to become invisible.’

  ‘And do you forget the place you left behind?’

  His voice was strong. ‘Never. You carry it with you. You’ll always be different, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  When they reached Pearson Street Gracie stopped. ‘I live just down here. You don’t need to see me to the door. There’s still a bit of light.’

  Jacob looked about him and pulled her into a nearby shop doorway. She felt his arms around her, sensed the dip of his head as he bent towards her. His kiss was warm and gentle on her lips. His hands caressed her, then suddenly his kiss was urgent and Gracie felt her stomach tighten with the pleasure of his body against hers.

  ‘Eh-up! What’ve we here?’ They quickly pulled apart. ‘Well, if it ain’t our Gracie with a fella in m’shop doorway.’

  Gracie grabbed Jacob’s hand and pulled him out into the street. ‘Sorry, Billy, we were just—’

  ‘Aye, lass, I know what you was doin’.’ He put his key in the door. ‘Watch out your mam doesn’t catch you.’ They could still hear him laughing when the door was locked and bolted.

  ‘I’d better go now,’ said Jacob, and stepped back from her. ‘I really enjoyed the evening.’

  ‘So did I.’ Gracie desperately wanted to be kissed again, but she knew it would be wrong to reach out to him.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and thank you for tonight.’ But Jacob had already turned away and she didn’t catch the words he called over his shoulder. The whole evening had been wonderful… the music, his kiss… She had thought he liked her, but it was as though he couldn’t get away from her quickly enough.

  She ran all the way to her front door and let herself in. The light was on in her mother’s bedroom and she went in to say goodnight.

  Sarah put aside her book. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ she said.

  Gracie told her about the jazz club and the music.

  Sarah pulled a face. ‘Doesn’t sound like a respectable place to me.’

  ‘Oh, but it was. The people there weren’t rough at all and Jacob knew some of them.’

  ‘And what about Jacob?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A Jewish lad whose family owns a factory, he sounds well-to-do. I’d have thought he’d be going out with girls, you know, like himself.’

  ‘Mam, I’ve been out with him once. We’re not getting married or anything.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right, then. Just don’t let yourself down. You know what I mean?’

  Gracie rolled her eyes. She knew quite well what her mother meant. ‘Yes, Mam.’

  Chapter 5

  The more Gracie thought about it, the more annoyed she became. The evening with Jacob had been lovely, but at the end he had spoiled it by rushing off, just because Billy made one of his silly jokes − and that was exactly what she would say to him when she got the chance.

  She clocked in on time on Monday morning and went to change into her overall. She had just come into the cloakroom when someone was saying, ‘Bloody nuisance having to carry it everywhere with you.’

  ‘But handy to keep your lipstick in,’ said someone else. It was then Gracie noticed that on every peg around the room there hung a cardboard box.

  ‘Oh, Hell’s bells,’ she shouted. ‘I’ve forgotten my gas mask.’

  ‘You’d better go home and get it,’ they told her.

  ‘What ‒ and lose an hour’s pay? I don’t think so.’

  When they went through to the factory floor, Maria didn’t waste any time in questioning Gracie as they set up their machines. ‘So how was your date with, em… What was his name again?’

  Gracie smiled. ‘You’ll not catch me out like that.’ She began to thread her machine.

  ‘Well, tell me all about it – the whole story.’

  Gracie pulled the thread through the needle and, without looking up, she said, ‘It was nice. We went to a jazz club, had some lemonade and a couple of dances. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all? But what about after that? Did he walk you home? Did he kiss you?’ Maria pouted and made a kissing sound.

  Gracie took an unstitched sleeve from the pile a
nd lined up the seam. ‘Yes and yes.’

  Maria’s eyes opened wide. ‘And how was it?’

  ‘It was nice,’ said Gracie, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Is that it? Nice? I thought you’d have lots to tell me.’

  Gracie shrugged her shoulders, pressed the pedal on her machine and it roared into life.

  As the morning wore on she kept a lookout for Jacob, but he didn’t appear and neither did Mr Rosenberg. ‘Why are there no bosses around this morning?’ she asked Maria, at tea break.

  ‘I heard they’re out drumming up business,’ said Maria. ‘There’s talk of clothes rationing and there’ll probably be a rush to buy before it’s introduced. They’ll want to step up production to sell as many as they can before then. The commercial traveller is going all over Lancashire and Cheshire. Mr Rosenberg is down at the cloth wholesaler’s placing an order.’

  ‘And what about Mr Jacob, where’s he?’ asked Gracie.

  Maria looked around before leaning over to her. ‘He was supposed to be in charge, but then he had to go to London. I heard Ma Rosenberg say it was family business.’

  Gracie was so disappointed that Jacob had gone away. At Heaton Park he’d said he had worked in London. What if he’d gone back there to work? She might never see him again.

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Maria.

  Despite the turmoil in her head she gave her brightest smile and kept her voice light. ‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  The morning wore on and, without any supervision, the production slowed. There was a fair amount of chatting, coming and going to the lavatory and nipping into the yard for a crafty fag, but nobody took more advantage of all three than Charlie and his mate Ernie. At dinnertime in the yard Gracie told the story of the evacuees leaving home, describing how, when they’d lined up, they’d sung ‘the saddest song you’ve ever heard’ as they marched away.