Dancing Barefoot

By Jacqueline Pouliot

A wonderful historical lesbian romance, set in England during the 1950s.
Young Bridey Owen, a girl from the Liverpool slums is studying to be a doctor when she meets the extravagant and wild Lady Charlotte Foxworth!
Charlie Foxworth is used to getting what she wants but is afraid of her mother. Bridey is a little overwhelmed when she visits the grand house and is equally overwhelmed by Charlie’s advances.
Dancing barefoot follows the times of the 1960s in London as Bridey Owen discovers what is important in life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781291386714

Book preview

Dancing Barefoot

Dancing Barefoot

Jacqueline Pouliot

EPUB Edition

Copyright © 2013 Lulu Press

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-291-38671-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, or events are entirely coincidental

Also by Jacqueline Pouliot

The Wedding

Dancing Barefoot

Carmenica Diaz writing as

Jacqueline Pouliot

I’m dancing barefoot

heading for a spin

some strange music draws me in

makes me come on like some heroin/e

Dancing Barefoot – Patti Smith/Ivan Kraal

You never forget your first love…

Prologue - 1967: A Whiter Shade of Pale

She said, "There is no reason

And the truth is plain to see."

But I wandered through my playing cards

And they would not let her be

One of sixteen vestal virgins

Who were leaving for the coast

And although my eyes were open wide

They might have just as well been closed

And so it was that later

As the miller told his tale

That her face, at first just ghostly,

Turned a whiter shade of pale

(A Whiter Shade of Pale – Procol Harum, written by Broker,Fisher and Reid)

Of course it was raining.

In all good films (and bad films as well) it was rare that a funeral scene was on a bright sunny day.

Perhaps, she thought as she got out of the car, it was somehow determined to have funerals on days where rain was predicted!

Freddy held an umbrella over their heads as they walked down the path. The thought popped into her head that if a cremation had been the order of the day, the ceremony would have been indoors and out of the drizzling rain!

But she wouldn’t have wanted that, she would have wanted the grandeur and theatre of a funeral with all the black and grey trimmings! And of course here at Thornton.

There were, of course, many people attending the funeral. A sea of black dresses, suits, hats and veils with many black umbrellas. Nobody took a colourful Mary Quant umbrella to a funeral; it just wasn’t done!

Mourners murmured condolences as the gravel crunched under their feet. All around them were the gravestones and monuments of the rich. Angels and crosses, grey in the drizzle and looking terribly sad in the small graveyard.

The vicar, holding a large umbrella over his head, nodded and she noticed one of the fingers on his leather glove gripping the umbrella handle had popped a seam, revealing a pink finger inside the black leather.

‘She is at rest at last,’ he murmured piously, gesturing at the grey sky overhead as if he expected her to peer down from behind a cloud. It was ridiculous and for one terrible moment, she wanted to slap him. Hard!

Of course, she didn’t. People would be horrified even though it would have made her feel rather good on a miserable day!

She looked behind the vicar and saw the gravediggers standing with their shovels. No umbrellas for them. They stood in their long coats and caps, watching everyone with blank expressions.

Another day, another grave to fill!

The vicar stepped back and she saw the grave for the first time. Long, deep and dark with a row of white chairs on one side.

For one moment, she believed she could not go through with this especially as she saw the cherry red coffin near the grave with large ropes coiled near it.

‘I feel sick,’ she murmured, not knowing why she should feel that way, not after everything that had happened.

‘Think of nice things, think of our home, of our life!’

But she couldn’t.

All she could think of was the past.

1956: The Wayward Wind

The wayward wind is a restless wind

A restless wind that yearns to wander

And he was born the next of kin

The next of kin to the wayward wind

(The Wayward Wind by Gogi Grant (1956) – written by Stan Lebowsky and Herb Newman)

.i.

My first months at university were quite dark and horrible, cold and lonely. Simply awful.

Coming from the Liverpool slums, I didn’t know anyone and was quite shy. And then there were the accents! I couldn’t understand many of the lectures and the other students so I listened and quickly practised to eliminate all traces of my provincial accent.

There were moments when I even felt inferior. It wasn’t easy coming from the slums of Liverpool to the academic cloisters of university but my aunt’s fierce voice echoed in my ears!

You are better than them, my girl! You remember that!

Of course, I did not give anyone any sign of my nervousness or how I felt. As my aunt would have pointed out, I came from stronger stock than that!

I maintained a cool and stand-offish air that probably discouraged anyone from attempting to be friendly.

There were not many women enrolled at the university so my chances of making friends were poor, anyway. They all spoke as if they had a mouthful of marbles and rattled on about parties and best friends! The blokes were, in the main, upper class pratts and they seemed intent on playing sport and getting as drunk as they could, as often as they could.

My scholarship did not include rooms at a college so I lived in a room in a boarding house for women, away from the University itself. It was a dour existence but I swore I would not disappoint the folk from my street that had helped me win a scholarship. Consequently, I worked hard, studying all the time and attending every lecture.

Most of my tutors were condescending and patronising but I ignored their attitudes and comments so I could focus on getting through the course as well as I could.

I had plans to be a doctor so study took up all of my time. Every day I would ride my bicycle back to the boarding house, and lock myself in my room to study.

That was until I met Charlotte. Charlie to her friends, Lady Foxworth to everyone else.

I saw her, of course, saw her often as she sailed through the common areas with an entourage of women following.

She was always dressed in a tweed skirt, pale pink cardigan and jumper with a string of pearls. It was a little eccentric but the aristocracy could be as eccentric as they liked. In fact, it was almost expected.

Once, she glanced at me and, immediately, I blushed and looked down at the enormous textbook I was trying to make sense of.

From then on, I seemed to sense she looked for me when she sailed through the commons or the library. At least, it felt like it.

I saw her standing alone sometimes, near the quadrangle, smoking and staring into space as if she was considering a difficult problem.

Of course, I didn’t speak to her. What would a girl from the slums of the north have to say to an aristocrat?

.ii.

‘What are your plans, Miss Owen?’

‘I plan to graduate, sir,’ I said as calmly as I could.

Wilkinson was my course advisor and, in my mind, a complete idiot. Rotund, pompous and bald, he smelled of pipe and Port.

‘And you are doing good work,’ he said with a raised eyebrow as if he was surprised. ‘Quite good but it’s all a sorry waste, isn’t it?’

‘Waste, sir?’

‘Medicine is quite a challenge for a man, Miss Owen, therefore it is an almost insurmountable one for the feminine mind.’

Oh lord, I silently groaned, here we go!

‘I’m sure I will manage, sir,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘Perhaps you will,’ he said mildly.

‘In fact, sir…,’ I said pointed out, ‘…I have been managing rather well.’

‘Quite but it will still be an awful waste,’ he repeated.

‘Waste?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘I’m afraid, sir, I do not understand.’

‘You are not unattractive, Miss Owen so one assumes you will marry soon,’ Wilkinson said peering at me over his glasses. ‘That means children and you will have to abandon your studies or, if by a miracle you graduate, abandon medicine. It’s such a waste,’ he sighed. ‘In your place, the university could have had a male student who would have contributed much more to society than you will, if we discount the children you will bear. Perhaps one of your sons will approach medicine with proper zeal?’

I kept my lips sealed. It was an effort but I told myself to keep my temper in check.

Therefore, I said nothing and somehow managed to keep my face expressionless. This rubbish of course was not new to me. Sadly, I had heard it many times before.

‘What on earth are you going to do with all this knowledge when you are Mother and Wife, Miss Owen?’

Before I could answer, a woman’s voice said, ‘She’ll be able to do a lot more with her life than you have, Wilkinson!’

Wilkinson’s eyes narrowed as his head spun around but he suddenly pasted a false smile on his face.

‘Lady Foxworth. I was not aware you were considering medicine.’

‘I would think, Wilkinson, you are not aware of many things.’

‘I have never claimed to know all, Lady Foxworth,’ Wilkinson snapped.

I gathered my books and said quickly, ‘Is that all, sir?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he said, irritably waving me away.

I walked away and was pushing through the crowds when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned and looked directly into the bright blue eyes of Charlotte Foxworth.

‘Hello,’ she said with a broad smile. ‘I don’t know how you can stand that old blighter!’

‘I can’t…,’ I said, ‘…but I don’t have a choice!’

‘No…,’ she said, lighting a cigarette, ‘…I suppose you don’t. Ciggy?’

‘No thank you. You were very brave,’ I heard myself say.

‘Brave?’ She laughed a little bitterly. ‘No, not really. They’re all afraid, of course.’

‘Of you?’ I asked with wonder.

‘Me? Don’t be silly, my gorgeous young thing! No, of my mother!’ she said as if it were obvious.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Oh yes. Everyone is afraid of her.’

She smiled at me again and introduced herself.

‘I’m Charlie Foxworth and you are Bridey Owen!’

I was shocked and somewhat flattered that Lady Charlotte Foxworth knew my name. Of course, I knew hers. Who didn’t?

‘Well, yes…,’ I said, trying to keep my accent neutral, ‘…I am.’

‘Let’s pop into my rooms. I’ve smuggled a half decent bottle of Sherry in. We’ll have a drink.’

She looked at me, almost as if she expected me to say no and I wondered if I should.

My aunt had always said that we should keep our distance from our betters.

‘You can’t trust any of them, lass,’ my aunt Cathy had said, her Irish accent still rich in her voice, despite living in Liverpool for many years.

Charlotte Foxworth interested me. I had never met a member of the aristocracy before so I found myself murmuring, ‘Well…all right.’

‘Splendid!’ Charlotte linked arms with mine and, puffing on her cigarette, led me across the quadrangle towards St. Pat’s, which was what we called Saint Patrick’s  College for Women.

Her rooms were large with an elderly female servant who asked if we wanted tea.

‘No, Mrs Woods, no tea for us,’ Charlotte said gaily.

‘Very good, milady,’ Mrs Woods said, glancing at me before withdrawing.

‘And what sort of name is Bridey?’ Charlotte asked, stabbing the cigarette out into a large glass ashtray.

The ashtray was clearly very expensive as were the furnishing and furniture.  They made my small room at the boarding house look like the hovel it was!

‘It’s Irish. Gaelic for Bridget,’ I answered as I had always done but, this time, I added, ‘It means exalted one.’

‘Does it really? How splendid! Far more satisfying than poor Charlotte!’

‘Charlotte is a very nice…’ I began politely.

‘No, it’s rubbish!’ Charlie said calmly. ‘Anyway, I prefer Charlie!’

She poured Sherry into two small glasses and offered one to me before she slumped into the thick armchair opposite me.

‘You don’t sound Irish,’ she said.

‘That’s because…,’ I said honestly, ‘…I’m trying so very hard to be proper!’

I found myself wondering why I was so honest with the young aristocrat.

Charlie tossed her head back and laughed loudly.

‘Proper! That’s one thing I’m not! I like you, Bridey Owen! We are going to be splendid friends!’

I smiled and sipped the sherry. It was nice of her to say so but I doubted that Lady Charlie Foxworth and I would ever be friends.

‘Thank you for the sherry.’

‘Oh don’t be so stiff and formal with me, Bridey. It becomes so weary!’

‘You are a titled Lady…’

‘Actually, technically I’m not. Not yet, anyway. My mother is Lady Foxworth. My elder brother will inherit the title and become Lord Foxworth and if he finds a woman silly enough to marry him, she will become the new Lady Foxworth. I will simply be Charlie!’

‘All right,’ I said, perhaps a little bold because of the sherry. ‘I will call you Charlie, then.’

‘Thank you, Bridey,’ Charlie said solemnly and raised her glass. ‘Good health until we die the glorious death.’

It was a strange toast, almost Irish, but I sipped my sherry.

I looked around the room and asked, ‘What are you studying?’

‘History. It’s a bore,’ she said dismissively. ‘Mother doesn’t even want me here and is waiting for me to grow tired of it.’

‘Will you?’

‘What?’

‘Become tired of this?’

Charlie shrugged.

‘Who knows? I become so bored so very quickly, I’m afraid. And you are studying medicine? My goodness, isn’t that frightfully intense?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose it is.’

Charlotte Foxworth was not what anyone would call beautiful but she had a regal air to her which, combined with her attractive features and bright eyes, presented her as somewhat enchanting.

She seemed so alive! More alive than anyone I had ever met before. Compared to her, everyone else appeared grey and bland!

When I look back on that first afternoon in her rooms, I see it reflected in a strange golden glow. Perhaps sepia tone, given the times, but I still remember it fondly.

1957: Round & Round

Find a wheel and it goes round, round, round

As it skims along with a happy sound

As it goes along the ground, ground, ground

Till it leads you to the one you love.

(Round and Round Perry Como (1957), written by C.J. Karyotakis and Dylan Burns)

.i.

Surprisingly, Charlie and I did become friends.

We began as acquaintances after that first sherry in her rooms, nodding to each other as we passed and even, once or twice, talking when we were alone. Then, our tentative relationship grew to something more after one incident.

She still had her other friends, of course, the rich group who looked at me suspiciously and whispered to Charlie about me.

I could imagine what they said, telling Charlie to keep with her kind and I was sure my aunt would probably have agreed with them.

There were few women attending the university and Charlie’s friends were mainly men but there was one woman who was constantly around Charlie. She was what I would call a member of the horsey brigade in her twin sets and tweeds with short hair and thick body.

I knew of her, of course. She was Audrey Charters. Lady Charters, actually, and she had quite the reputation for being quite cruel and nasty to anyone that dared crossed her path.

The men in the group were all thin and exaggerated in their movements with slightly effeminate airs about them. Maybe that was because Lady Charters seemed to have a hint of masculinity about her.

There were other women who joined the group for a short time and seemed to be attached to Lady Audrey Charters. Those young women were not from the university, and were always pretty and fragile with nervous smiles and darting eyes.

One day, I was walking past St. Pat’s when I saw a fuss at the entry doors to the college. Charlie was pushing her friends out and shouting at them to leave while the College Warden stood by with a bemused expression.

It was a humorous sight as the members of the group that usually surrounded Charlie were still carrying wineglasses as she pushed them out of the college and into the quad.

I stepped back and pretended to read a notice board as the group flowed by me.

‘She’s gone bonkers!’ I heard one of the men say with a gay laugh.

‘It’s just Charlie! She has her ways, don’t you know,’ one of the other men said with a snigger.

I turned and walked towards the college when they had passed and slipped inside.

The door to Charlie’s rooms were open and, I could immediately see, were a mess.

To my complete surprise, Charlie looked like she was crying.

‘Charlie!’ I cried, rushing in. Dropping my books, I knelt beside her and embraced her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s awful, Bridey,’ Charlie mumbled, wiping her eyes.

‘It can’t be that awful…’

‘Oh, it is! It’s a catastrophe! My mother is on her way and Mrs Woods has the day off!’ She looked wretchedly around the rooms. ‘Look at this mess!’

‘I’m sure your mother has come to see you…’

‘No, Bridey, no! She will crucify me with cold looks and withering sarcasm if she sees this!’

Looking around the room, I saw it was a mess but not a complete horror. I stood up.

‘How long before your mother arrives?’

‘Oh, an hour, maybe an hour and a half. She telephoned from…’

‘Then…,’ I said firmly, ‘…let’s get weaving! We can clean this quickly. Your mother won’t even notice!’

Charlie’s eyes grew round with hope.

‘Do you really think so? Oh Bridey, say it’s possible! Do say it, please!’

‘It’s possible,’ I laughed, pulling Charlie to her feet. ‘But you’ll have to help.’

‘Help? Me?’ Charlotte looked around the room. ‘Bridey…,’ she said hesitantly, ‘…I’ve never cleaned…’

‘Good grief,’ I said with a laugh. ‘You can’t do for yourself, then? I’ll be blessed!’

She smiled at that, although her eyes were still red.

‘Now I hear your accent, Bridey. It’s charming!’

‘You’re only saying that because I’m helping you,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’ll show you what to do, Charlie, but we’ll have to hurry!’

‘Right!’ Charlie said determinedly but looking around helplessly. ‘Let’s get on with it, then!’

‘You are hopeless,’ I laughed. ‘Pick up all the magazines, newspapers and books, put the cushions on the chairs while I clear the glasses and plates. And, hide the bloody Sherry!’

.ii.

It took less than an hour and Charlie was grinning as we surveyed the room.

‘Glorious!’ She hugged me and danced me around the room in a small jig before releasing me. ‘Mother will be here soon.’

‘What is she like?’

‘Very easy to recognise. She’s constantly shrouded in gloom and disappointment.’

I didn’t know what to say to that so I said, ‘I’d best go,’ as I quickly gathered my books.

‘No!