And the Dance Goes On

By Tony Brennan

It is the winter of 1942. In the wartime blackout, a midnight bus breaks down near the small, semi-rural town of Bexford North, 30 miles from Sydney. Outside the bus, a passenger screams as torchlight fall on the body of a soldier stabbed to death. Inspector Peters is summoned to solve the mystery, but soon another more horrific murder follows.

In the midst of a country at war and a town in terror, the fabric of this close-knit and respectable community is torn asunder. Inspector Peters struggles through the complexities of the lives and attitudes of the villagers: their loves, jealousies, fears, prejudices, their silent heroism and, equally, their silent anguish and despair — all lived out against an overwhelming fear of invasion.



With the help of the eccentric Annie Watson, Inspector Peters arrives at a startling truth.


War continues, life returns to normal...and the Dance Goes On.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781925590456

Tony Brennan

Tony Brennan, a clergyman and a tertiary lecturer, in both English literature and abnormal psychology, says of his writing, 'I have a penchant for zany and weird ideas which end up as stories. I never know what the end is going to be, so am constantly surprised, and a little worried - perhaps therapy might help?'

Book preview

ONE

WEDNESDAY EVENING

The bus driver smiled as a bulky, middle aged woman, fumbled trying to extract a sixpence from her purse. It was the middle of winter, and the cold was severe.

I’m sorry, Jim, she apologized, it’s these damn woollen gloves.

Not to worry, Mrs B, he grinned, you need them these nights. Perishing cold isn’t it? I always reckon if you can get through July Winter’s on the way out …You know, Mrs B, you’re becoming a real night owl.

Nan Brady’s pleasant plump face smiled wearily. You can say that again, Jim. Three nights in a row, but I’ve got tomorrow night off – that’s a blessing. What about yourself, Jim? You’ve been on the night shift for a long time now.

It’s the afternoon shift really, Mrs B – finishes after this last run. But I’ve got just one more night, and then, it’s into bed at a normal time! The wife’s said it’s about time, too.

I agree with her, Jim. Give her my love. Nan started to move off, then paused. Jim, are both trains in now, or is there another one still to come?

Just the one from Sydney – be here in a few minutes – and then we’re off. Providing, of course, old Bertha here will start; always tricky in very cold weather like this – should’ve been sent to the wrecking yard years ago.

Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed that it keeps going a bit longer. Now, I just want to sit down – not so young these days, Jim, that’s the problem – these nights are a killer.

Understand, Mrs B. Go and put your feet up. If you drop off to sleep, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t get carried on.

Nan peered down the aisle of the bus. It was very difficult to see clearly as the only illumination was a tiny ceiling globe for the whole bus. She saw that there were plenty of empty seats, and plumped down heavily not far from the door. Knowing that no one would see her, she slipped her hands under her thick tweed coat and undid the buttons of her belt. Her body sagged in relief into its usual rounded folds. She slipped down further in her seat, her head rested on the window pane and she began to doze.

She was wakened by the sounds of running steps on the concrete footpath, but it was not until people actually entered the bus, that Nan saw who they were. The blackout was strictly enforced now, and this night with no moon, the absence of any street lights or shop lights, made the darkness total. As Nan had lived in Bexford North all her life – as had most of her neighbours – everybody knew her, and she knew they would speak to her. She yawned behind her hand, and composed her face to greet those who would pass her. She thought, wryly, how easy it was now to smile and smile, without really paying any attention: the expected professional behaviour of a dance pianist! But, it hadn’t been always easy – definitely not in the beginning; now it was automatic.

The first couple through the door were Doctor and Mrs Kemp. As they came down the aisle they saw Nan.

Good evening, Mrs Brady, greeted the middle aged, grey haired doctor. Cold night!

Good evening, Doctor … Thelma. Have a pleasant evening?

Wonderful, thanks. He moved on down the aisle. His wife paused by Nan’s seat. Nan, she whispered, "it was wonderful. It was the first night Edward’s had off for eight weeks. We went to the pictures. It was so enjoyable. I told him it was just like the old days, when we were courting." She laughed happily and joined her husband.

Nan smiled. Nice couple, she thought. How lucky we are to still have a doctor – and one as good as Dr Kemp. Her pleasant thoughts were jolted as she recognized the next woman who came past her seat.

Good evening, Mrs Brady, greeted Mrs Armitage defiantly, and turned deliberately to her companion, a good looking soldier at least twenty years her junior.

Evening, Mrs Armitage, Nan replied. Then, she couldn’t help herself from adding: We seem to be constantly meeting at midnight. When she realised what she had said, she laughed to indicate that it was a joke.

Really, I hadn’t noticed.

Not half, you didn’t, thought Nan. Three nights in a row on the last bus, and with a different soldier each night! She must be nearly forty, if she’s a day! Oh, well, it takes all sorts, and why am I surprised? Husbands fighting overseas don’t seem to mean much to wives today… Oh, here comes the gigglers!

A group of four young women came noisily down the aisle. Nan was pleased to see Penny Watson in the group. Penny and her family lived opposite her own house. She greeted Penny, who said, Oh, hello Nan, and with an airy wave of her hand, was gone with Joan, Sue and Betty in her wake. All the girls were wearing light clothing more suitable for spring or summer, than mid-winter, but all looked pretty with brightly made-up faces and scarlet lips. Really, Penny was growing up a very beautiful young woman, Nan thought; she must be eighteen or nineteen now. I wonder if Annie Watson knows she is using that vivid lipstick. Oh, well, the things that mothers never know about their daughters are legion, she reminded herself tolerantly; she herself had been no exception all those years ago.

The girls were followed by some soldiers obviously on leave. Nan recognized the Kelly twins in uniform. Her heart gave a sudden lurch – they were babies! Just out of school, she thought – dear God, will it ever end? They were followed by their elder brother, Dan, a big awkward young man of twenty, in ‘civvies’. How back-to-front everything is! The older brother is left at home, and the children are sent to war! Merciful God, Nan pondered, who will be left when it’s finally over? Nan summonsed up a bright smile, and greeted the three boys cheerfully. All three smiled at her happily, and moved towards the back of the bus. A few strangers followed them, and then came a gangling, very tall, thin youngster whom Nan recognized, to her amazement, as Billy, Penny’s brother. As soon as he saw her with a seat still vacant, he plumped down beside her.

Billy, asked Nan immediately, what on earth are you doing out at this hour of the night? Are you all right?

I knew you’d be surprised to see me, Nan, the youngster replied delightedly. ‘Yes, I’m fine. But Nan,’ he leaned closer to her, I was allowed to go with Penny to the night pictures, for the very first time. Oh, it was great! The most exciting thing that’s happened to me for years, he laughed happily.

I’m glad of that, dear, responded Nan kindly. She was very fond of Billy; a sick youngster, unusually gifted – and a very nice boy. Listening to the boy, Nan was amused at the youngster’s deep new voice which still did unpredictable shifts from one octave to the next. How on earth did you manage that? she asked.

Well, explained Billy. "Penny created all this fuss about this picture she just had to see, as all the other girls were going. Dad said she couldn’t. Penny started crying and saying she was all grown up now, and she could go if she wanted to, and nobody could stop her. Mum stepped in and said she could go, if I went with her."

I bet that pleased Penny, Nan commented dryly.

No, it didn’t, Billy answered seriously. She was furious. Oh, he suddenly remembered. Nan, could I show you a secret? He reached into the side pocket of his overcoat and held out his hand. Look what I’ve got.

What on earth is it, Billy? Oh, excuse me. Three people came down the aisle, all in evening dress. "Good evening Mr, Mrs McKenzie … yes very cold, frost tomorrow morning, I think. And, young George too! Oh, I suppose it has to be Mister George now – admitted to the Bar, and everything!"

The older couple smiled and moved on. The young, good-looking new barrister, George McKenzie, leaned over Billy, and said quietly:

Don’t pretend Mrs B! You well remember the belting you gave me years ago when I pinched those apples from your orchard! He laughed heartily, looking for a moment like the young rascal Nan remembered from the past.

I’m sure that a fine upstanding pillar of the Law – and looking so nice too – would never have done that! But, just in case you did, remember, if ever I come up before the Bench, you must defend me. And, she chuckled, without charge!

It’s a deal, young George answered laughing, ruffled Billy’s hair, and joined his parents.

Two older people entered together. Nan greeted them as they passed by.

Evening Mr, Mrs Nicholls. Yes, very cold night … Yes very. How many more times am I to say the same thing, she wondered? Well, what else could you say? It was an awful night, black as the Devil’s waistcoat. She caught a glimpse of the next passenger and thought: Oh, no! Not Judith Norman, the Minister’s daughter! The young woman, with her face devoid of make-up, her hair severely tied at the back, and her small, thin lips pressed close together, peered suspiciously at the passengers through her horn-rimmed glasses, and turned towards Nan. Quickly, Nan shifted in her seat so that she was looking at Billy.

I’m sorry Billy, she said hurriedly, all these people – if I didn’t speak to them they would think me rude. Now, you were going to show me something?

Billy opened his hand. Goodness, thought Nan, what long thin fingers the boy has. She looked at the object she had briefly seen before.

I give up, Billy. What is it? It looks like a knife but it has no blade.

Billy laughed delightedly.

That’s just where you’re wrong, Nan. Look! he pressed a small button on the haft of the knife, and out shot a vicious long thin blade which tapered to a fine point.

Nan was horrified. Where in the name of Heaven did you get that? she demanded.

A soldier gave it to me one day when they were stuck in a convoy outside our place. They were thirsty, and I got them some water. The soldier said he got it from a Jerry – I don’t know if that’s true or not. Another soldier said it fell off the back of a truck, but I don’t think that was true either, do you? But, isn’t it smashing?

Billy, Nan urged, put it away. Shut it up quickly. It’s a dangerous weapon. I don’t like you having it at all. Does your father know you have it?

Billy was dismayed to hear the alarm in Nan’s voice; he thought she would be thrilled.

Yes, he answered, Dad said I could keep it. He said he would teach me to skin rabbits if we can ever snare them. I’d like to learn that – it’d help Mum with the food. But, Nan, he whispered, Dad doesn’t know I’ve taken it with me tonight. You won’t tell, will you? The boy looked anxiously into Nan’s face. I’m sorry you don’t like it, he said miserably.

Nan hastened to remedy the situation. She had been too quick with her disapproval, but what on earth was Sam Watson thinking to let his son – and Billy at that – have such a terrible object.

Billy, I would never tell on you if you did the most frightful things. We’re friends, aren’t we? But, she added firmly, I truly think that thing is very dangerous, and I want you to put it back in your pocket straight away, and only use it when your dad has shown you how. Agreed?

O.K. Nan, I’ll put it away. Billy looked towards the front of the bus. Hey, I think we’re about to start!

Their conversation was interrupted by the rough voice of the driver. He took a quick look around the darkened bus. ‘Is that the lot? he shouted. Right, then we’re off; keep your fingers crossed!"

Everyone on board was silent as the driver pressed the starter – you never knew with this very old vehicle. There were a couple of coughs, a rattle and silence. Bugger! swore Jim.

Put another penny in, a wag shouted from the back of the bus. The girls giggled.

Jim ignored them and tried again; suddenly the bus started with a roar and a gigantic shudder. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief; the thought of walking home through the cold and total darkness of this night, was too horribly real to contemplate. The bus gave a sudden lurch and moved off at a sedate pace, its hooded head-lights the only lights visible in the darkened streets. At least there was no traffic to worry about, Jim thought; in fact there was very little traffic in the day-time either – except for Army vehicles.

Nan and Billy were able to talk again. They took no notice of Jim’s voice as he called out the approaching stops. He knew the run backwards and had found the simplest way to avoid passengers getting out too early, or too late, in the blackout – with no street lights and no road signs – was to call the stops, as no one could see where they were. Nan and Billy did not even look up at the passengers alighting at those early stops.

The bus left the populated area of Bexford, and entered the heavily wooded section of the journey which would eventually arrive at the centre of the village – as the locals called their small town – where most of the people would be getting out, including Nan and Billy. These two oddly assorted friends continued their conversation. Billy was anxious to tell Nan about the Picture he had seen. Nan did not have to pretend to be interested, she was very interested – her livelihood depended on it. They chattered happily for some time and then fell silent. Both were very tired. Nan started to doze and was aroused by Billy’s excited cry: Nan, listen! There’s something wrong with the bus. Nan had only time to note the strange sounds coming from the engine when there was a tremendous crashing sound, and the bus stopped dead. Nan heard a string of swear words from the driver.

I think it’s had it, everybody, he said loudly. I’ll have a look but I don’t think we’re going any further tonight in old Bertha. He took out his torch and left the bus.

There were groans and cries of distress, and also puzzlement as to where exactly they were. While Jim was tinkering under the bonnet, there was another grinding sound from the engine, and the single light in the bus went out. They were now in complete and total darkness. All talking ceased.

Jim’s voice was heard from the step-entrance of the bus. Look, there’s nothing for it. You’ll all have to get out and walk. The bus is finished – was finished years ago actually. Now, I’ll get back into my seat and shine my torch on the steps, so we’ll try to have no broken ankles, or legs, if we can help it! If you’ve got torches take them out; it’s black as hell outside. But remember, shine your torch downwards, there could be Japanese planes about.

There were angry noises from the girls, about their precious silk stockings and high heeled shoes. Jim told them roughly to, ‘belt up’, and to, ‘take the bleedin’ things off and walk barefoot’ if that’s what they wanted, but to, ‘get out of the bus.’ He was irritable; the prospect of walking back to Bexford to report to the Bus Company, in this cold, with his limp, was no joke.

The adult passengers, after three years of war, docilely made their way out of the bus. The girls, after a lot of whispering and giggling, decided to do exactly as the driver had suggested and removed their stockings and shoes, then scrambled out of the bus into the muddle outside.

The passengers, disoriented in the darkness, moved only a little way outside the bus. Nan and Billy stayed together, but when he was roughly jostled, he held tightly on to Nan to steady himself. Penny and the other girls, their giggling over, were suddenly aware of the intense cold in their feet and legs. With a weary sigh, Dr Kemp raised his voice: Everyone, please listen to me. I think if we stay together, as closely as possible, it might be safer. We don’t want to get lost in this part of the road; it’s all trees and bush here remember. If we stay together we’ll be all right. I think it’s only a little over half a mile to the village.

He’s a sensible man, our doctor, Billy, Nan remarked. There’s nothing so stupid as a bunch of people suddenly plunged into total darkness. Now, don’t worry, dear, just hold on to me, and we’ll be home before we know it. So much, she thought, for the warm bed I was looking forward to. Oh, well!

Are we all ready? Dr Kemp asked loudly. Good! Everyone with torches aim them at the ground, as Jim told us, because of the blackout. Right? Good! Well, off we go. He tried to lighten the situation with a joke. There’s nothing like a night-out in wartime, is there? Now … He stopped suddenly; a piercing scream came from the back of the group near the trees; a woman’s voice which seem to rise higher and higher. What the bloody hell!

Everyone stood rigid with shock. The doctor was the first to recover. He moved quickly towards the sound of the cries and flashing his own torch upwards from the road, aimed it at the source of the sound. The passengers looked at the face of Mrs Armitage, a white mask of terror in the torch light. In her right hand she held her own pencil torch which was waving helplessly. She made several attempts to speak.

Mrs Armitage, the doctor demanded, "what on earth is the matter? Is anything the matter?"

The screaming changed to hysterical laughter: "Anything the matter, you ask? Look at my hand!" With a tremendous effort, the distraught woman forced her torch hand to shine on her left hand. The palm was dark, and there was something dripping from it.

Merciful God, breathed old Mrs Nicholls. It’s blood! she cried, and fainted.

The doctor moved towards the screaming woman thinking that perhaps she had accidently cut herself. He hurried to where she stood near a tree, still spotlighted by the other torches. He tripped and swore loudly. Suddenly, he stood stock still and shone his own torch on the object that made him stagger.

God Almighty, he shouted, and immediately the combined torch lights focused on the doctor, and what lay at his feet. The doctor knelt quickly to ascertain whether there were any signs of life. He stood up. Well, that poor chap’s war is over now.

Mrs Armitage’s boyfriend, the good looking young soldier, lay dead at the doctor’s feet.

With the sudden illumination of the body, Mrs Armitage began to scream again. She managed to get out the words: He’s been killed! Look, he’s got something sticking out of his chest!

Nan felt Billy free himself roughly from her arm. He pushed forward to the dead body.

But, he shouted in a rage, his voice going from one register to another, "that doesn’t make sense; that’s my knife!"

TWO

EARLY HOURS

THURSDAY MORNING

It was a quarter to two when Nan finally trudged up the lane beside her stone cottage. She went to her back door noting although the blacksmith’s forge was in darkness, there was still a small glow from the furnace. Reg, the smithy, was probably snoring comfortably in bed, lucky fellow.

She got out her key, and touching the door, felt it swing inwards. The light was still on. Dear God, she thought, don’t tell me the silly goose has gone to bed and left the door unlocked, after all I’ve tried to teach her.

Nan went into the big kitchen, which was also their living room, and saw that the huge open fireplace still glowed, from some red coals at the bottom of the grate. Surely Norah must be in bed at this hour, she thought, and then heard a faint sigh from the tall-backed chair near the fire. Norah, she called softly. Suddenly a slight figure rose from the chair, her hand to her mouth.

Mum, is that you? the young woman asked nervously.

What on earth are you doing still awake? Do you know how late it is? Nan’s anxiety had sharpened her tongue – always the wrong thing to do with Norah; she immediately burst into tears.

But, the girl cried, I wanted to have the fire for you when you got home, and I had soup on the hob keeping it warm, and, she turned to the big pot on one side of the fire, it’s now cold! She cried louder.

Nan took the trembling figure – with the body of a woman and the mind of a child – into her arms.

Darling girl, it doesn’t matter. I’ll heat it up in a moment; that was very kind of you, but now it’s off to bed with you! She wagged her finger playfully in front of her daughter’s face; Norah immediately brightened up, laughed and skipped out of the room to the bedroom they both shared.

Nan sat down heavily in the vacated chair, leaned forward and throwing some wood on the fire, looked at the soup – yes, it could be saved – and moved the pot until it hung over the actual fire. She leaned back and closed her eyes. What a dreadful night! Into her mind came the frightening image of Billy being shut into the police car; Billy! With his condition, this shock could be disastrous!

Nan’s mind rushed through all the images of the past hours: the wait for the police, the walk home with Penelope in tears; the waking of Billy’s parents; Annie’s anguish as she thought her son was dead. And then the explanations! Dear God, the explanations! They seem to go on forever. It had taken so long to explain what had happened before Annie realised that Billy was still alive. Anyhow, her mother’s terrible distress had quickly stopped Penny’s tears, and while the daughter comforted her mother, Nan had slipped away. She did not think she could stand much more of this endless night.

Nan grew drowsy, and her thoughts wandered and drifted to her own affairs: the continual anxiety about the future and what would happen to poor Norah.

Nan Brady was a realist. Although she deplored the war and all the suffering and anguish it caused, she was honest enough to realise she was financially better off now than she had been in the last twenty years. With all the dances now for the troops, the war effort, and the Red Cross, Nan could not cope with the demands. She played five nights a week and could easily have made it seven, so the money was good. It’d need to be, Nan thought grimly; there’s only me to provide for poor Norah.

Her thoughts strayed briefly to her husband, who deserted her, many years ago. No, she thought, she would never hear from him again. And that cruel note he had written! No, she could never forgive him for that. To actually write: I have no intention of being known as the father of an idiot child! How could any father write that about his own daughter! And Norah was not an idiot! She was a beautiful, loving, innocent woman with the mind of a young girl. Nan’s eyes stung with tears. Well, she had provided for Norah and loved her dearly. Thank God, the blacksmith’s forge is rented again, and the young Smithy is actually living with them as a paying lodger; that was such a big help.

Nan, for the first time in her married life was able to put some money aside for the future care of her beloved child.

She sat up and blew her nose loudly. Well, the smithy, Reg Cerney, had turned out to be a truly good man. She had been so afraid of having a young, good-looking young man living in the house – with her at work most nights. There had been several Smithies over the years, but when the last old man died suddenly at the forge, she had been hard pressed to find another, until Reg had come along – where exactly from, she was not sure. Fortunately, Reg also had a soft heart, and from the very first had treated Norah as the sister he had never had – a baby sister, thank God!

After many months, Nan and Norah had grown so used to Reg, that he was now regarded as one of the family, sharing their meals, and sitting with them by the fire in the evenings. How strange that blacksmiths were now a ‘reserved occupation’; they were in great demand by the military and farmers alike. Spare parts for cars and trucks had become unobtainable and now had to be made. The smithy was needed for the horses too!

Who would have dreamed that people would be using horses again in rural areas, now that petrol had been so severely rationed? With the endless repairs needed by farmers, and horses that needed shoeing there was usually a continual stream of people, coming and going, in the lane to the forge. Well, it meant the smithy received a good wage, and so was able to pay well for his board and lodging.

But the war had to end one day and then Reg would be gone, and what would happen to them then? They would certainly miss him, not just financially, for he was friendly and companionable – a very decent young chap. Nan suddenly realised, with surprise, she had grown very fond of him.

Oh well, Nan thought, as she struggled out of the chair, it could have been much worse. She remembered the soup. Oh damn the soup! It can stay where it is; I’m so tired that if I don’t get to bed soon, I shall fall asleep here in the chair. She carefully locked the door, turned out the light, and made her way as softly as she could into the bedroom, careful not to wake Norah, now sleeping soundly.

Her last wakeful thoughts were again painful ones of Billy, poor Billy. Oh well, thank God, the three policemen were very decent men – she knew them well. Her mind lazily drifted over their names: Potts, Pierce and Peters. The three P’s everybody called them. She smiled at the little joke, and fell asleep.

* * *

Billy’s family had been fearfully worried about the state the boy could be in at the police station. However, Billy – once the initial terror was over – was finding the whole experience exciting. He had felt reassured by the presence of the elderly local Constable Potts, whom he had known all his life, and knew him as a kindly, fatherly man. It was he who stood with Billy at half past one o’clock in the morning, at the front desk in the police station. Sergeant Pierce had returned from the crime scene, and was ready for Billy.

Constable Potts addressed himself to the sergeant behind the desk:

Well, Sarge, I’ve done what you said. I’ve brought in this young Jack the Ripper. Be careful now, he’s a dangerous lad. Ooooh! He frightens me, this villain.

Cut it out, Constable, I’m not in the mood for jokes, snapped Sergeant Pierce. The sergeant, a youngish man with a worried frown on his strong, good-looking face, looked up at the boy in front of him. He noted the skeletal thinness, and the large, innocent eyes, which seemed at odds with the boy’s great height. The sergeant’s voice lost its sharp tone: Now, lad, we just want to talk to you about this horrible matter. You see, lad, we had no option but to bring you in; it was your knife; you admitted it freely. You said that it had never been out of your possession, and you admitted your dabs were all over it, didn’t you?

Billy nodded. He had been terribly frightened when they had said they were taking him to the station, but now was more worried about his mother; she would be beside herself with worry. The sergeant began the formalities.

Now, I want your full name and address.

Billy, no …William Richard Sheridan Watson, Apple Farm, Bexford North. As he repeated the familiar words, Billy began to experience a sense of exhilaration. Although Billy was gifted intellectually, he was also a young boy with a vivid imagination, and a love of drama.

On the few occasions he had been able to attend the pictures, he had loved them – especially those that featured a valiant young man in a