16
The Orpheus Ballroom was in York Street in the city centre, and as Maisie and Peggy arrived, Maisie was excited to see a steady stream of people making their way into the beautiful building.
It was only a few years old, five storeys tall and built with both Belfast red brick and pale facing on the facade.
A large electric sign had been hung with the letters ORPHEUS from top to bottom, but with the blackout rules now in force, it would remain unlit tonight.
The sun was already dipping down low in the sky as the girls arrived at the door, paying their entry fee and being directed to the top floor via the beautiful wide staircase with brass rails, dark timber panelling, and detailed carvings.
In the entrance hall was a floor mosaic with the usual local symbols – the shamrock for Ireland and the red hand for Ulster – along with the words Orpheus and The Ballroom of Romance.
And these sorts of socials and dances were indeed associated with romance.
That was why the queue was full of young people, with a few older ones mixed in.
Opportunities to mingle were hard to come by, and the young adults of Belfast had swarmed to the Orpheus tonight, to pay their entry fee, support the hospital, and maybe, just maybe, meet a nice dance partner.
A new fundraising drive called the Ulster Gift Fund had now been launched by Lady Rosalind, after whom the hospital nursery had been named.
This time, she was aiming to provide clothing, bandages, and ‘woollen comforts’ to military hospitals, alongside an existing fundraiser for a second nurses’ home.
It meant the Orpheus was jammed with people wanting to help.
While Maisie and Peggy were unsure about whether they should be funding the British Army – albeit very indirectly – the Royal Nursing aspect gave them cover.
Maisie and Peggy had arranged to meet up at Dunville corner and walk to York Road together, having agreed to meet Alex and Dan inside. Both girls were wearing their Sunday dresses – it was exciting to be wearing a dress, and not for Mass.
Exclaiming in wonder at the luxurious fixings, the girls reached the ballroom level, Maisie noticing that the hum of excited conversation was growing louder as they opened the door and went inside.
‘Wow!’ The ballroom was massive, with a gorgeous dance floor of glowing wood, a balcony, and an elaborate stage at the far end.
The place was alive with people, chatter, and a palpable air of excitement that seemed almost frenzied in tone.
Dimly, Maisie suspected the recent declarations of war across Europe had something to do with it.
But almost immediately, her heart lurched as she spied the familiar dress uniforms of British Army officers.
It’s not him, she reassured herself, nevertheless allowing her gaze to rove over the entire group of soldiers.
Mostly younger men, yes. Tall and short, slim and portly – and none of them were Gerald. She exhaled. Well, why would they be?
‘Great turnout!’ Peggy declared, her eyes shining, then she grimaced. ‘Oh, God, there’s Fenton!’ They rolled eyes and made for the opposite side of the hall, buying minerals at the alcohol-free bar and heading for the seats at the edges of the room.
‘Just like a céilí!’ Maisie murmured. ‘Except in a fancy place.’
‘Aye, it’s a bit fancier than St John’s Hall,’ Peggy agreed. The parish céilís at St John’s were legendary in West Belfast, but the simple parish hall had none of the fancy ornamentation of the Orpheus Ballroom. ‘No céilí dances tonight, I’d imagine!’
‘No, it’ll be all quicksteps and waltzes and the like.’
Peggy made a face. ‘I’d far rather “The Waves of Tory” or “The Walls of Limerick”!’ She named two of the most popular céilí dances – dances that anyone who went to a Catholic school in Belfast would have learned.
‘Can you do the English dances?’
Peggy shrugged. ‘Aye. But they’re a bit boring, like. Although . . .’ A dimple appeared in her cheek, ‘I suppose it depends who you’re dancing with!’
Peggy had been in great form all week, as had Dan. It was lovely to see them so happy, but Maisie had managed not to ask too many questions about whatever was going on between them, recalling how she’d hated the nosiness of her friends in London about her relationship with Gerald.
‘There they are!’ While Maisie had been focusing on the soldiers, Peggy had clearly been looking for Alex and Dan – who were even now making their way towards them, seemingly oblivious to the interested looks of other girls all around them. Two good-looking men.
Maisie couldn’t help it; a huge smile spread across her face as she saw Alex approach. He is gorgeous! And his eyes were on her, and only her.
‘Bout yiz?’ Dan was grinning – then, to Maisie’s delight, he bent and kissed Peggy on the cheek, then took her hand.
‘Aww!’ Maisie was delighted. ‘Yous two are so cute.’
‘It’s so nice to be together openly.’ Peggy’s eyes were shining with joy. ‘Go on, tell them.’
Maisie looked at Dan, who caught his breath, his eyes never leaving Peggy’s. ‘You sure?’
Peggy nodded, so he said, ‘We’re not only together. We’re getting married.’
This led to exclamations, hugs, and handshakes, followed by excited questions from Maisie. The wedding would take place next summer at St John’s.
‘And you’re both invited!’ Peggy declared. ‘You’re our best chums at work, so you need to be there.’
‘I’d be delighted! Oh, I’m so happy for you both!’ Exhilaration was racing through Maisie. Maybe happy endings did exist. And maybe she was in fact ready to embrace her new life in Belfast, setting Gerald and London and heartbreak aside.
‘It’s starting!’ As the bandmaster began his welcome speech, Dan held out a hand to Peggy. ‘A dance, my love?’ Setting down her drink, she took his hand, and together they made their way towards the dance floor, leaving Alex and Maisie alone together.
‘Would you dance with me, Maisie?’ Alex’s grey eyes were on hers, and her heart was pounding, and maybe she needed to be careful, and she hadn’t long broken up with Gerald, and Alex was all wrong for her, and—
‘Yes. Yes, I will, Alex,’ she burst out, breathlessly. A moment later they followed their friends – without touching, but walking so close that she tingled from the nearness of him.
‘You look beautiful, by the way,’ he whispered, as close to her as he could.
She felt her face flush. ‘Thank you.’ Her red hair was loose, swept back from her face with two combs, and her dress was one she had bought in London – a polka dot rayon tea dress with a nipped-in waist, a full, knee-length skirt, and shirred shoulders.
She knew it was special, and when she had first worn it she had loved how it made her feel.
Gerald had been complaining about her wearing the same two dresses all the time – one with dainty flowers, the other in plain green with contrasting buttons.
He said it made him look bad. Feeling pressurised, she had bought a third dress – this one – out of her meagre funds.
A useless waste of money, since Gerald’s complaints had not eased.
Or was it? The admiration in Alex’s eyes was making her feel better about spending the money.
‘Strange to see everyone out of uniform,’ she commented, breaking his gaze, and glancing around at various people she recognised from work. ‘We all look so different!’
‘Yes, and no,’ he offered. ‘The clothes are different, but you’re just as pretty in uniform as you are tonight.’
‘Ah now, don’t start with all that sweet talk!’ she laughed.
‘I mean every word of it.’ His gaze was serious, and her heart was thumping like billy-oh. Swallowing, she looked to the stage, where the band had begun playing an intro.
‘Sounds like a foxtrot!’ she said brightly.
‘I thought yous didn’t learn the English dances?’ He means Catholics. But all she was sensing, as ever, was curiosity. I don’t think there’s a sectarian bone in his body.
‘They occasionally do waltzes and stuff at our céilís,’ she explained. ‘Plus when I was in London it was all this sort of stuff, so I had plenty of chances to practise.’
‘I bet you did,’ he murmured, an odd edge to his voice.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Unless London boys are complete eejits, you’d never be short of a partner.’ He paused. ‘You mentioned a boyfriend?’
Maisie felt herself blushing. She knew she had slipped up the other day – and Alex had caught it. ‘Aye. Gerald,’ she confessed, reluctantly.
‘The Anglican.’ His eyes were dancing.
‘Shh!’ She laughed. ‘If my mammy found out, I’d be dead!’
The music was starting properly. They stepped closer, his right hand sliding round to rest flat on the upper part of her back, tangling with her long curls, her left hand going across his upper arm to the upper part of his back.
Oh, how wonderful it was, to feel the strength and power of his frame!
Their bodies were touching all along Maisie’s left side, and now they began to dance.
His upper body was swaying – as was required – and she matched him, moving in harmony to the smoothness of the music.
‘I can imagine!’
‘What?’ She had entirely lost the thread of the conversation.
‘My family wouldn’t be too impressed either – though you could say my own parents are a mixed marriage.’
‘No! Really?’
‘Aye. A Presbyterian and an Anglican.’ He winked.
And that was that. They were inseparable all night, dancing every dance and chatting throughout. He was a good dancer, fluid and confident, and Maisie felt safe in his arms.
Safe? An odd word, yet it fitted. Oh, the sensations he was arousing in her were anything but safe – passion, flames, inferno were the words that came to mind. But in terms of her person, her deepest self, she felt she could trust him.
Was she being foolish? Surely she had trusted Gerald at first? Looking back, the signs of arrogance and selfishness had been there from early on – and she was sensing none of that from Alex. Plus she knew Alex from work, too . . .