Shall We Dance?
A ROMANTIC SHORT STORY BY JOAN CAMERON
I fancied myself to be like Ginger Rogers – but had my Fred betrayed me?
Mrs Lennie, I’m away out,” I called down to the cook. “Chores finished, hen?”
“All finished. It’s my half day off, mind?”
“Enjoy yourself, wee Maisie,” the reply came.
I hung my apron on a nail and eagerly slipped on the mink coat before dancing up the basement stairs.
I slicked on some red lipstick and pouted.
Turning, I glanced at the big house in Park Terrace where I worked as a kitchen maid.
I couldn’t believe my luck.
My employer’s wife, Mrs Henderson, had been going to throw the coat out on account of the moth holes.
But I didn’t care about a few holes. I loved it.
I did a little twirl on the top step, loving the way the coat swished against my ankles.
I couldn’t wait to show it off. My Fred would love it.
On the top step, I stopped to gulp in a mouthful of morning air.
Instantly, I gasped.
The air was colder than the River Clyde and it brought me to my senses.
Now, frantic with agitation, I remembered.
Even though we had been walking out for two months, he wasn’t my Fred any more.
Not since last Friday, the day my friend Jinty had come knocking and told me what he had been up to.
“Away ye go. It can’t be true!” I had spluttered out, as my heart thrashed against my chest.
“It’s true.” She smiled sympathetically. “He’s met someone else.”
Fred was an honest man. He wouldn’t do that. Jinty must be joking.
But she didn’t laugh.
“If you have spoken to him, please, tell me,” I babbled. “It’s important.”
“Me and Rose saw him at the dancing . . .”
“No!” I shrieked. “Fred doesn’t like dancin’.”
“Weel he was likin’ it fine when we saw him.”
Despair and nausea filled me.
“By the way,” Jinty said.
You’ve had a lucky escape.
I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like I’d fallen off a cliff.
Normally, when Fred managed to wangle some time off from his job as a ferryman, I would meet him in Glasgow city centre.
He would be waiting for me now.
An urge seized me. Let him have a lonely wait.
But I wouldn’t be lonely. Today I was meeting the girls instead.
We would walk together – safety in numbers, Jinty said – along Great Western Road, swapping gossip.
It would cheer me up.
A squeal of brakes startled me out of my thoughts.
It was Albie Duffy, the delivery man.
I stared, feeling downright puzzled. He had already delivered the vegetables this morning.
Full of banter he had been, grinning down at me.
That was until the butler had chided us for taking too long to lug a sack of potatoes into the kitchen.
Now he had the brass neck to call again.
“Maisie!” Albie looked impossibly handsome at the wheel of his rusty brown lorry.
He whistled, looking me up and down.
“You sure look right bonnie dancing in that mink! Just like Ginger Rogers.”
I blushed and stroked the coat, enjoying the feel.
“Aye, I couldn’t believe my luck. Mrs H was throwing it out on account of the moth holes.”
“Ah, sure, it’s grand. Ye can hardly see them.”
“Why are you back so soon?” I eyed him with caution.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he made a show of carefully blowing smoke rings into the smirring rain.
“Ye off into town?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Jump up.” He patted the seat beside him. “Ah’ll give ye a lift.”
Heart pounding, I scrambled up obligingly, pushing the tangle of curls off my face.
Then I sat down, hands clasped demurely across my front, and started in surprise as Albie turned the lorry round.
“Wait, where are we going?”
“Ah’m delivering these orders to Partick,” he explained, grinning.
I tried to smile back and stopped abruptly.
This felt wrong. I was already regretting my hasty decision.
Half a dozen doubts flooded my mind.
“Partick!” I wailed. “But that’s the opposite direction!”
I bit my thumbnail.
“Fred will be waiting under the Heilanman’s, so he will,” I added.
“Flat-faced Fred?” Albie asked nonchalantly.
We laughed together conspiratorially as if that was the funniest thing we’d ever heard.
Then I felt guilty.
“Away ye go, Albie. There’s no need to be rude.”
“He’ll wait. By the living jingo, he deserves to.” Albie looked at me strangely.
He knows, I thought uncomfortably. He knows about Fred going dancing.
A sudden hatred for Fred rushed through me.
He said he loved me. Why had it gone so wrong?
I had to be strong and remind myself it was over, but my nose began to quiver with the onset of tears.
Then, to my surprise, I pulled myself together and grinned almost brazenly.
Why shouldn’t I have a drive out? Fred had betrayed me.
Right now, he would be standing in our usual spot at Central Station.
I could picture his stocky figure in his Sunday shoes, waiting for me.
I blurted all this out to Albie, who smiled at me.
“If we crack on, we might even have time for a bite to eat.”
That smile made my stomach leap.
The cab was cosy and smelled of cigarette smoke. A warmth filled me.
As we turned into Dumbarton Road, I sneaked a quick peek at him. Then I risked another.
I willed him to turn round and he swivelled suddenly.
A pair of dazzling Irish eyes were fixed on me.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, embarrassed to be caught staring.
“We’ve both got brown eyes,” he said suddenly.
I nodded, mesmerised, my face red hot.
“Yours are like hazelnuts.”
“An’ yours are as brown as ginger wine.”
My heart did that little skipping thing.
“Have ye been in service long, Maisie?” he asked in between negotiating the traffic.
I was so nervous I started to babble.
“Aye. Since I was seventeen. I got me a job in the big house in Park Circus – it’s a year I’ve worked for the Hendersons.
“Mr Henderson’s a well-to-do lawyer and Mrs Henderson’s kind to me. Every Sunday I get a half day off.
“I didn’t think I’d like it, coming down from Inverness, but then I met Fred.
“He’s from Inverness, too. He got a job on the Clyde ferries.”
“Yes, I know that,” Albie said evenly.
“Fred started calling round,” I continued. “On a wet night we talked by the kitchen range, sharing stories of home.
“I made him cups of tea with sugar.” I smiled at the thought of his big rough hands trying to grasp the small china cups.
“Where does this Fred take you?”
“We go for walks. We sometimes listen to the band at the Kelvingrove bandstand.”
“D’ye like a wee dance, Maisie?”
“Oh, yes. I love to dance, but Fred . . . well, he’s no Fred Astaire.
“The dancin’s no for him.” I paused. “Or so I thought.
“Still, we were going along fine, but then . . . Dad took ill, very ill. Just two weeks ago.
“And Fred was so good, so kind . . .”
Albie listened quietly, sympathetically, I thought, as I poured my heart out.
“Ah’m sorry to hear about yer oul fella’s illness, wee Maisie.”
He stopped the lorry and put an arm round me until I finished sobbing.
After a while, he fished around in his pocket and handed me a handkerchief.
“Do you feel any better?”
I nodded, feeling very foolish. I hardly knew him.
Mesmerised by his closeness, I leaned into him for the comfort.
But when he put his finger beneath my chin, lifting my face for a kiss, I pulled away.
“No, Albie.”
“Fair play,” he said.
He caressed my cheek with the lightest of touches.
Sweet Maisie, ye’re powerful brave. Now, listen here, girl. Ye deserve better than that eejit Fred. Stick with me.
“Ah’ll be buyin’ ye a real good mink to be sure.”
My jaw dropped open. It was music to my ears.
“See me,” he continued. “Ah’m on the up and up. Ah’ll be havin’ my own round soon.
“Plenty big houses want their vegetables delivered, an’ they’re none too fussy where they come from.
“That Mrs Fleming, at number six, now she’s a fine thing.
“An’ wait till I tell you what goes on at number nine . . .”
How different Albie was from straight-faced Fred.
All the way down Dumbarton Road he made me howl with laughter.
I blushed to the roots of my hair at some of his stories.
His cheeky smile and lively conversation made the journey fly by and I soon forgot all about Fickle Fred, standing waiting.
Soon we had left the West End’s grander buildings for the grain mills of Partick.
The smell brought a sudden rush.
Dizzy with freedom, I breathed it in.
My skin goosepimpled. Nobody knew me here.
I sat up straight like a queen in her Rolls Royce and felt I could do anything I wanted, far away from my problems.
“How abouts we stop at that café?” Albie pointed and leaned across the leather seat, putting his hand in mine.
Where was the harm? I was a free woman now, so I nodded.
Anyway, my rumbling stomach was reminding me I hadn’t eaten since six o’clock that morning.
He parked and jumped down.
Outside, in the afternoon light, I saw once more how handsome he was.
I held my breath as he lifted me high in the air, whirled me round and we danced a few steps.
“Ah, me darlin’ girl,” he said.
The intensity of his gaze made me blush.
I felt like I was the only person in the world.
I didn’t care who saw me.
“I feel . . . so happy.”
“Now that’s put the roses back in those pale cheeks,” he said with a wink.
He opened the café door. I noticed he filled it.
“After you, Ginger.” He laughed.
The café smelled sweet and inviting with the aroma of frying bacon.
Ricco, the owner, greeted Albie like a long-lost friend.
In a jangle of bracelets, a waitress called Dolly with small pointy ears appeared.
She took our order for egg and bacon rolls.
I unclipped my coin purse.
It was coffee coloured. Fred had given it to me for my birthday.
“Put it away, will ye? My treat,” Albie said.
I watched Albie as he concentrated on his food.
His thick dark hair was falling over his eyes.
When I was finishing my tea, Albie got up to talk to Ricco and something fluttered from his pocket.
Dolly was earwigging nearby. Swiftly, she bent down and picked it up.
Silently, she handed it to me. It was a picture of a girl. She was blonde and pretty.
Dolly rounded on me.
“You’re Albie’s new girl?” Her voice was harsh.
“Oh, no! It’s not like that. He’s only giving me a lift.”
She threw me a disdainful look and stabbed at the picture.
“Aye, well, she was the one he brought in last week.”
I tried a brazen grin and failed. She studied my face.
She was beginning to gather steam.
“Watch yerself. He’s a right one for the ladies, is our Albie.”
“Oh, really,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Aye. Likes to bring them in here. Likes to buy them things.”
All the time her ferrety eyes darted over my mink.
“He did not buy me this coat,” I snapped, but I felt as if she’d punched me in the stomach.
“Aye, s’pose,” she said unconvincingly.
She didn’t believe me – that was clear.
She looked down on me as if I was something nasty she had trodden in, before she jangled away to the kitchen with her tray.
How did I end up in this situation?
It was then I realised what a fool I had been.
“Still breaking hearts, eh, Albie?” Dolly remarked as she passed him.
She pointed over her shoulder to the picture still lying on the table.
“Aye, and she’s been in looking for you.”
Albie looked cornered. He glanced around uneasily and tutted in sour disapproval.
“Stop gawkin’, Dolly. ’Tisn’t your business.”
I was stunned. I should have thrown my bacon roll at him.
Instead, I jumped up and ran out.
I slipped and landed face down on the wet pavement.
I heard his footsteps coming after me.
Resting my face against the greasy cobbles, I barely noticed the stones pressing into my cheek.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the first fat drops of rain fell.
The mink coat was soon matted and dirty.
I sobbed as the tears mingled with raindrops.
“Come on, Maisie,” he cajoled.
For a moment his easy-going tone had me fooled. But not quite.
“I feel faint,” I mumbled.
“Come on,” he said, this time with an edge to his voice “Stop makin’ a show.”
The cold hand of fear seized me.
“All right, Albie,” I said and kept my eyes on the damp ground.
“Get up now,” he said belligerently and put his hands on my upper arms.
“Get your hands off me this minute!” I’d made a big mistake.
“Take me back!” I demanded hotly.
I stumbled back to the lorry and Albie shrugged.
“Sure. Wasn’t much fun, anyways.”
He drove all the way back tight-lipped.
I planted my bitten thumbnail in my mouth. My thoughts were on Fred.
I forgot I hated him.
A bleak wind swept through me when I realised I’d never again be his.
Then, in the midst of my misery, Albie’s voice broke the silence.
“Time to go back to flat-faced Fred,” he said with his face stony. “Time to be askin’ him about his new girl.”
I shuddered.
It was bucketing down when I found myself outside Central Station.
Instantly, I caught sight of Fred. He was still in our usual spot but he was now shuttling back and forward, his face creased with worry.
When he saw me, he stopped and stood stock still, his face brightening.
I walked towards him in a state of turmoil, praying the rumours were lies.
Bewildered, Fred eyed Albie’s lorry disappearing in a haze of oily smoke.
“I was wondering where you had gotten to.” He stopped suddenly. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not the person I thought you were. You were with another girl.
“Jinty saw you. Albie saw you!” I spluttered, gripped with fury. “Who is she?”
He looked me straight in the face.
“She’s my cousin, Nance. Honestly,” he promised, his eyes flashing with sincerity in the darkness.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well,” he said shyly.
I wanted to learn to dance. Nance is a champion. She’s teaching me.
“Is that true?” I asked.
He took a few moments to reply.
“Maisie, you’re my whole world. I’m sorry you found out this way.
“I wanted to surprise you. I know you love to dance.
“I was waiting for the right moment, but you know, what with your dad being ill . . .
“Hand on heart, that’s the truth.”
I almost cried with relief.
“Oh, Fred!” With a sudden urgency, I wanted to reassure him of my love.
“And Dad’s a lot better now,” I added.
“Where have you been today?” he asked quietly.
I blurted out the whole story – even the bit about dancing with Albie.
When I was finished, I held my breath.
“Fred, how can you forgive me?”
His voice had a catch in it.
“We’ve both made mistakes. Can we find a new beginning?”
I exhaled, euphoric with relief.
I slipped my arm through his, squeezing him to reassure him.
That squeeze filled me with surprising confidence.
I liked this new me and hoped she would stick around.
We walked together in comfortable silence.
Fred’s hand crept out and took mine.
The hand that had guided ferries as they scuttled up and down the Clyde now guided me along the towpath.
His touch surged like electricity up my arm and gave me shivers.
“What would you like to do?” I asked him.
The morning was behind us now. We still had the rest of the day together.
“Let’s go to the Kelvingrove. You know, the bandstand, for a wee dance.”
I stared at him.
“Really?”
He eyed my precious mink.
“Well, you’re all dressed up like Ginger Rogers,” he reasoned. “I’ll be Fred Astaire. Look.”
He broke free and ran ahead a few paces, singing and swinging on the lamppost.
He twirled to face me in his shiny Sunday shoes.
“Ye dancin’?”
“Ye askin’?” I cried, and my whole being was flooded with a sense of pure joy.
Enjoy short stories every week within the pages of ‘The People’s Friend’
