Dancing in the Dark by Maureen Lee Page A

of the fire and toasted her arm at the same time.
    “You’ve done your hair different,” Albert said suddenly.
    “It’s very nice. You look like a snow princess.”
    “Ta.” Flo had never mentioned it to a living soul, but she sometimes wondered if he liked her better than he did Martha, though not in a romantic way, of course. She also thought that maybe he wasn’t too keen to allow pretty, bespectacled Martha Clancy to get her claws into him. He might be twice her age and smell awful, but he didn’t want to get married again. Flo hoped Martha wouldn’t try too hard so that he’d feel obliged to leave.
    His thirty bob a week made all the difference to the housekeeping nowadays. It meant they could buy scented soap and decent cuts of meat, luxuries that they could never afford otherwise. Although there were three wages coming in, women earned much less than men.
    He ate his toast, drank his tea, made several more flattering remarks about her appearance, then left for work. Flo returned to the living room, poured a cup of tea, and curled up in Dad’s chair. She wanted to think about Tommy O’Mara before anyone got up. If Martha was in the room, it was impossible—her sister’s mere presence made Flo feel guilty. For a second, a shadow fell over her face. Tommy was married to Nancy, but he’d explained the strange circumstances to Flo’s satisfaction.
    Next year, sooner if possible, he and Flo would be married. Her face cleared. Until the magic day occurred, it was perfectly all right to meet Tommy O’Mara twice a week outside the Mystery.
    Upstairs, Mam coughed and Flo held her breath until the house was quiet again. She’d met Tommy on the Tuesday after Easter when he’d come into the laundry by the side door. Customers were supposed to use the front, which led to the office where Mr Fritz was usually behind the counter. It was a dull day, slightly chilly, but the side door was left open, except in the iciest of weather, because when all the boilers, presses and irons were working at full pelt, the laundry got hotter than a Turkish bath.
    Flo was pressing sheets in the giant new electric contraption Mr Fritz had only recently bought. She was nearest to the door, wreathed in steam, only vaguely aware of someone approaching through the mist until a voice with a strong Irish accent said, “Do you do dry-cleaning, luv?”
    “Sorry, no, just laundry.” As the steam cleared, she saw a young man with a brown suit over his arm. He wore a grey, collarless shirt and, despite the cold, the sleeves were rolled up to his armpits, showing off his strong, brown arms—there was a tattoo of a tiger on the right. A tweed cap was set jauntily on the back of his untidy brown curls. His waist was as slim as a girl’s, something he must have been proud of as his baggy corduroy trousers were held up with a leather belt pulled as tight as it would go. A red hanky was tied carelessly around his neck, emphasising the devil-may-care expression on his handsome, sunburnt face.
    “The nearest dry-cleaner’s is Thompson’s, that’s along Gainsborough Road on the first corner,” she said. There was a peculiar feeling in the pit of her tummy as she watched him over the pressing machine. He was staring at her boldly, making no attempt to conceal the admiration in his dark eyes. She wanted to tear off her white turban and let him see she looked even prettier with her blonde hair loose.
    “What’s your name?” he asked.
    Flo felt as flustered as if he’d asked to borrow a pound note. “Flo Clancy,” she stammered.
    Tin Tommy O’Mara.”
    “Are you now!” You’d think she was the only one there the way he kept his eyes locked on hers, and seemed unaware that the other five women had stopped work for a good look—Josie Driver was leering at him provocatively over the shirts she was supposed to be ironing.
    “I suppose I’d better make me way round to Thompson’s,” he said.
    “I suppose you had.”
    He winked. “Tara,