‘Oh, about the same size as yours,’ she said airily, and presently she and Clem set off in the direction of the dining rooms.
The meal was an unqualified success but the conversation had not gone as Clem had planned. When it came to the point, he had simply been unable to tell Lizzie how he felt about her, which was ridiculous, considering how he had longed to do just that. What was more, she looked so deliciously pretty sitting opposite him at the small table, with her long, golden plait falling across one shoulder and her eyes sparkling every time they met his, that he should have had no difficulty in telling her how lovely she looked. Instead, unfortunately, he found himself telling her of the plans to leave the butty boat at Burscough so that
the two of them could manage
The Liverpool Rose
unaided.
‘It will be a good deal quicker and there’ll be other advantages, such as a lighter load for Hal and less trouble getting through the locks,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘What’s more, we shan’t need to employ a lad and I was worrying about that, remembering how Geordie let us down.’
‘Ye – es, but . . .’ Lizzie began, then flushed to the roots of her hair and bent over her plate once more, allowing the sentence to finish in an embarrassed mumble.
Greatly daring, Clem reached across the table and took her hand in his. Then, as she continued to look downwards, he reached out the other hand and tilted her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes. ‘Lizzie, I know what you’re thinking but . . . would it be so terrible, to be married to each other, I mean?’ he said gently. ‘It isn’t that there’s no alternative because I could tell Priddy and Jake that we weren’t willing, that we’d rather take both boats and employ a young feller to help. I’ll do that if it’s the only way to keep you aboard,’ he added, with a flash of such understanding that Lizzie actually tightened her grasp on his hand. ‘Look, I’m not asking you to make up your mind right here and now, but I am suggesting that we stop thinking of each other as – as two crew members, and start thinking about being – oh, damn it, I don’t want to upset you, but as something a bit closer, like. Will you try to see it my way, Liz?’
‘I’ll try,’ she murmured. ‘And I know how badly you want to stay aboard
The Liverpool Rose
so . . .’
‘That
isn’t
why I want us to marry,’ Clem said angrily, feeling the hot colour flood his face. ‘Damn it,
Lizzie, why do you make it so hard for me? All I want is . . .’
But at this point they were interrupted. ‘Was it you asked for more tea?’ a voice said, and the little waitress who had served them plonked a large hot water jug down on the table between them. Clem, hastily letting go of Lizzie’s hand, glanced around him and realised that his raised voice had attracted a good deal more attention than he wanted. The couple at the adjoining table were listening unashamedly and so was the family group at the table beyond that. He sighed and gave Lizzie a reluctant grin. ‘We can’t talk here, with every bloody fool stretching their ears and goggling at us,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s drink this bloody tea and get back to the court. Perhaps we can talk easier there.’
Sally had been right, Lizzie reflected, making her way down the stairs in her friend’s blue taffeta dress later that evening. She thought it was extremely generous of Sally to have lent what was clearly a new dress, and the little satin slippers which went with it looked charming, though they were far too tight for Lizzie and caused her some pain. But it was worth every pang when she saw Clem’s face as she entered the kitchen. She had combed out her long, blonde hair, gathering up the sides and securing them on the top of her head with a length of blue satin ribbon, and letting the rest ripple down her back, nearly as far as her waist. Clem’s eyes told her she was looking her best.
In one way it was lovely to be looked at with such startled admiration, but when he took her arm as they left the house, she realised, with some dismay, that he was no longer treating her like his old friend Lizzie.
His gentle touch on her elbow seemed to imply that she was a fragile thing, to be treated with every care, and this might work against the new relationship which she was almost sure they both wanted.
Geoff and Sally had followed the two of them into the roadway and now the four young people stood at the tram stop, discussing the evening ahead, until, that was, Geoff began to describe the various moves by which his team had won the football match. It soon appeared that Clem had been a keen footballer before he joined
The Liverpool Rose
and the two young men began to discuss the game so enthusiastically that Sally and Lizzie were able to exchange a few words in undertones.
‘Has he asked you yet?’ Sally hissed. ‘When you came back from having your tea, there was me mam, me dad and Geoff all listening to every word so I didn’t like to ask. And when we was changing, Mam kept popping in and out with jugs o’ water and clean towels . . . so tell me now, quick! Has he asked you?’
‘Not exactly, but we did talk about getting married,’ Lizzie murmured. ‘It’s awfully awkward because neither of us wants to push the other one into doing anything rash, but we’re going to have to think about it because . . .’
But here the tram arrived and the four of them, and a great many other young people, all bound for the Grafton Rooms on West Derby Road, scrambled aboard. None of them managed to get a seat and Lizzie was glad she was not wearing the satin pumps but carrying them in a paper bag; as it was, her booted feet got trodden on several times as the crowd surged to the tram’s motion and she was glad enough to leave the vehicle when Sally indicated they had reached their destination.
It was exciting, going to a dance after so long, and to her surprise and pleasure, Lizzie found that a number of girls she had known at school and in the factory were present. They greeted her enthusiastically, wanting to know what she was doing now, and were visibly impressed when she introduced them to Clem, making Lizzie realise afresh how very good-looking he was.
Making their way into the ballroom, the four of them managed to get a tiny table and chairs right against the dance floor and were soon watching as the evening commenced with an exhibition tango. The wonderful dresses and the exotic, swooping movements mesmerised Lizzie but she became aware that Clem was not similarly impressed. He was looking worried and, as the dance ended, leaned over and hissed urgently in her ear: ‘I don’t think I could do that, Lizzie. My God, I never realised dancing could be so . . . so . . .’
Lizzie giggled. She knew exactly what Clem meant and had herself felt quite embarrassed by the abandon with which the dancers had behaved, but she assured him that this was an exhibition dance, and would not be indulged in by ordinary people like themselves.
Clem looked relieved. When the tango dancers left the floor and the band struck up a waltz, Geoff got to his feet and held out a hand to Sally and soon they were whirling round the floor, Sally’s feet following the movements of Geoff’s effortlessly while the tassels on the hem of her dress flared out to show her silk-clad knees.
All around them, other couples had taken to the floor and Lizzie waited impatiently for Clem to follow suit. But he looked as though he was stuck to his chair
by the seat of his trousers and made no attempt to rise. Then a young man in matelot uniform approached them, very stiff and correct, and asked Lizzie if he might have the pleasure of this dance. Lizzie cast an agonised look at Clem but realised that she could not refuse without seeming extremely rude and got reluctantly to her feet. So she found herself in the matelot’s arms, being whirled expertly round the floor, while Clem, red-faced, sat and watched.
Clem had never felt quite so helpless because the truth was, from the moment the dancing had started, he had realised he simply dare not take Lizzie on to the floor. Having had no personal experience and going on what he had seen at the cinema, he had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that all a man had to do was hold a girl in his arms and walk slowly forward, while she walked slowly backwards. He had had no idea, until this very evening, that one’s feet were supposed to perform complicated movements in unison while one’s upper half remained relatively still.
The exhibition tango had not only frightened him, it had also shocked him. The way the man bent the woman backwards until they were both almost horizontal he thought downright immoral, and he had been mightily relieved when Lizzie assured him that ordinary people did not indulge in this intimate behaviour when dancing. However, as soon as Geoff and Sally had taken to the floor, Clem had seen, with horror, that he had had no idea of the intricacies which his feet would be asked to perform. Fortunately he was not wearing clogs, but not even his best shoes could help him in his present predicament. He was, in fact, completely stymied; if he asked Lizzie to
dance, he would make a complete fool of both of them, and if he did not ask her, that bleeding, impudent matelot would undoubtedly annexe her for the rest of the evening because Lizzie was easily the prettiest girl present and the matelot – Clem ground his teeth – was a handsome chap and an expert performer of the waltz.
He sat there in an agony of indecision. Should he get up and simply leave? Or should he try desperately to practise his non-existent skills with one of the plain little wallflowers who sat around, clearly hoping for a dance? He could crush their toes with impunity, but suppose his victim simply abandoned him in mid-dance, having suffered enough at his hands – or rather – feet?
He was still pondering the matter when a hand descended on his shoulder and a voice said in his ear: ‘Wharra you doin’ here, eh, Clem? I ain’t never seen you in a ballroom. I allus thought you had two left feet.’
Clem glanced instinctively down at his feet then up at the speaker. It was Jenny Finnigan and a group of friends, all of whom he recognised from the canal. Grinning sheepishly, he admitted that he had come here under false pretences since he had not realised that dancing was such a complicated matter. ‘I dunno what Lizzie will think of me,’ he ended gloomily, ‘asking her to come dancing and then not liking to take to the floor. I reckon she’ll probably never speak to me again. Still, there you are, if you can’t dance, you can’t.’
But Jenny Finnigan was not having any such defeatist talk. ‘Rubbish!’ she said roundly. ‘Gerroff your bum, Clem Gilligan. I can teach you a waltz in ten minutes flat and a slow fox-trot in even less. As for
the other dances, the modern ones, you’ll pick them up easy as easy, just you see.’
Clem tried to resist but Jenny had not spent her life hefting cargoes and heaving on locks for nothing. She dragged him on to the floor, placed his left hand in her right, and his right arm about her waist, and began to show him how it was done. At first Clem was so nervous that he scarcely listened to her careful explanation of what his feet should be doing. Then, suddenly, it was as though they began to move in time to the music of their own accord and he was listening to Jenny’s voice in his ear, obeying her instructions and enjoying – actually enjoying – moving around the floor in perfect rhythm with a pretty girl in his arms.
When the music ended, he would have returned to his table and Lizzie, but Jenny prevented him. ‘They’ll play a slow fox-trot next,’ she said authoritatively. ‘You’ve got a good sense of rhythm – I reckon balancing on the deck of a moving canal boat probably helps – so it won’t take long for you to get the fox-trot by heart. But if you’re so keen on Lizzie Devlin, why didn’t you ask her to teach you?’
He was spared the task of answering her by the band striking up and the two of them moved away, much more slowly and languorously, and Clem found it easier to follow Jenny’s footsteps this time. Once more he began to enjoy himself, and when she repeated the question answered honestly that he had not thought anything which looked so complicated could be taught so easily.
‘Well, you know now,’ Jenny said. ‘I s’pose you and she is going to get hitched? There ain’t a soul on the canal who don’t think it’s time you done the decent thing by her, Clem.’
Once he would have taken offence at this rather heavy-handed teasing, but now he just grinned. As soon as he and Jenny parted, he decided he would dance with his dear Lizzie and somehow turn the conversation back to marriage. With their arms about each other and their bodies so close, surely she would be more receptive to the idea?
But this time when the fox-trot ended the band began to play a quicker, livelier tune, which Jenny informed him was a Charleston. ‘You might as well learn this while you are about it,’ she said, and the two of them struck out on to the dance floor once more. Then Clem shook his head firmly.
‘If looks could kill, we’d both be stretched out dead on the floor,’ he said wryly. ‘Remember, I asked Lizzie to this place and didn’t have the courage to explain that I’d never danced in me life so she must be wondering what on earth I’m up to.’ He patted Jenny’s shoulder, smiling down at her. ‘You’ve been a real pal. I shan’t forget it, and I hope you’ll dance at me wedding.’ And with these brave words he went across to the little table where Lizzie, Sally and Geoff were just standing up, presumably to take part in the Charleston.
Geoff led Sally on to the floor but Clem went straight to Lizzie and took both her hands in his despite the fact that she was glaring at him in cold fury. ‘I’m sorry, Liz. I should’ve explained that I’d never actually danced before,’ he said frankly. ‘I knew that if I asked you to have a waltz, I’d only trample on your toes and ruin Sally’s satin slippers. Besides, there was the matelot . . . and then Jenny offered to show me the steps and. . . and . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t mind you dancing with Jenny Finnigan, that’s your privilege,’ Lizzie said airily.
‘Only since you asked
me
to come with you tonight, I kind of expected that you’d dance with me as well.’
‘I would have! I’ve explained . . .’ he said wildly. ‘I was a fool, I should have admittted I couldn’t dance and asked
you
to teach me. Only I didn’t think . . . I guess it would’ve made me feel small, asking you to show me dance steps. Oh, Lizzie, I’m really sorry, honest to God I am.’ He gripped her hands harder than ever, gazing down into the brilliant blue of her eyes. ‘Why do I always do things wrong? I seem born to put my foot in it. Can you forgive me?’