Читать книгу Heartache for the Shop Girls - Joanna Toye - Страница 12

‘Who was that well-set-up fellow you swanned off with last night?’ demanded Gladys the next morning as she and Lily put their things away in the staff cloakroom. Gladys had been deep in conversation with Brenda from Books on their way out the previous evening, but Lily had felt her friend’s eyes on her like searchlights as she’d set off with Frank. She’d been expecting an interrogation.

‘His name’s Frank Bryant,’ she answered evenly. ‘He’s the new Ward and Keppler rep. I met him – well, he introduced himself – when Miss Frobisher and I went over there.’

Gladys made saucer eyes, agog.

‘You never said!’

‘Yes, I did. I said the new rep had looked in.’

‘You didn’t say he wasn’t much older than us! I thought you meant someone about fifty!’

‘Well, if that was your assumption, I’m sorry.’

Lily spoke more tartly than she’d meant to. But why hadn’t she said, actually?

‘So what was he doing looking you up here?’ persisted Gladys.

‘He’s on his rounds,’ shrugged Lily. ‘He’s seeing Miss Frobisher today. And calling on Burrell’s as well.’

‘So what did he want with you?’

Honestly, some days Gladys could have given the Secret Intelligence Service a run for their money. Lily shoved her gas mask case so fiercely into the back of her locker that the whole row rattled.

‘A bit of company, that’s all. We went for a cup of tea at Lyons.’

‘Company? Well!’

Gladys managed to invest the final ‘Well!’ with amazement, admiration, curiosity and a large pinch of scandal. Lily turned on her.

‘There’s no need to say it like that! He was on his own in a strange town. He simply wanted a friendly face.’

‘Are you sure that’s all he wanted?’

Enough was enough. Lily slammed the locker door.

‘Gladys! Not long ago you were walking me up the aisle with Jim! Who do you think I am, Mata Hari? We just went for a cup of tea, I’m telling you.’

‘He’s very good-looking.’

‘Is he?’ said Lily offhandedly. ‘Well, if he is, he knows it. He’s certainly rather cocky. Not my type at all.’

‘Even so. Are you seeing him again?’

‘I doubt it! I expect he went on to the pub. Someone like him’ll have hundreds of friends in Hinton by now.’

‘Hmm!’

‘There you go again! Why don’t you fold your arms and put a scarf over your curlers? Then you can really act like some scandalised old biddy. I’m not going to keep it from Jim, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m surprised you went in the first place, that’s all. What time did Jim get back?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lily firmly, beginning to move away. ‘Middle of the night, I suppose. He’d already left for work when I got up this morning, but his things were downstairs. Now come on, or we’ll be late on to the floor.’

Gladys followed obediently as they joined the throng making their way up the worn back stairs that the staff used, but still she wasn’t letting things drop.

‘Why did Jim have to get here so early this morning?’ she asked, trotting up a step behind.

To the annoyance of the staff surging up behind them, Lily stopped dead on the half landing.

‘He’d got stuff to do on The Messenger, all right?’ she said. She was fed up about it herself: she’d hoped they’d walk to work together. ‘He left me a note. Now you know as much as I do, OK?’

‘I was only asking!’

Shocked by her friend’s vehemence, Gladys went quiet, leaving Lily feeling guilty, needled and resentful. It was the closest she and Gladys had ever come to having words. And over something completely innocent! That’s what was so unfair!

Jim was trying not to yawn as his boss, Mr Hooper, droned on about developments in the Utility Furniture Scheme. On another day Jim would have been alert to the possibility of a piece for the next Messenger, but after typing up the final article of this month’s onto a stencil, then turning the handle of the mimeograph in the tiny cubby hole with the stink of printing ink, and all before his working day had begun, Jim never wanted to think about The Messenger again. He’d change his mind, he knew, and next month’s edition would have a tantalising piece entitled ‘Are You Sitting Comfortably?’ but for now, all he wanted was to do was crawl into a corner and sleep till kingdom come.

What’s more, his uncle was on his rounds.

Cedric Marlow toured the store every day. He greeted customers as they came in at the doors, then made his way through every department, speaking to staff, giving praise where it was due and withholding it when it was not. Rumour had it he’d once written his name on a cosmetics counter that hadn’t been properly dusted after a spill of face powder.

Worse still, today he had his son, Jim’s cousin Robert, with him. Robert had been first floor supervisor before Peter Simmonds but had left to work in the Birmingham stockbroking firm owned, conveniently, by his fiancée, Evelyn’s, father. He still occasionally popped back ‘for old times’ sake’ he said, but as he’d had no feel for shopkeeping, Jim always felt it was to keep an eye on his inheritance.

Jim watched out of the corner of his eye, but from Gramophones, Cedric and Robert proceeded to Radiograms so the fact that Jim hadn’t had time to polish his shoes to the mirror brightness his uncle required might not be noticed.

As soon as Mr Hooper had finished his tale, Jim signalled to Lily, who’d been watching for a sign since she’d arrived on the sales floor. Armed with a boy’s jacket she could claim to be brushing, she sidled over to where their departments butted up against one another.

‘Thanks for your note. How are you?’ she asked quietly.

She could see he looked drained, but that was standard after two days at home.

‘Ever felt like your eyeballs have been rolled in sand and put back upside down?’

Lily tutted sympathetically.

‘How were things?’

‘The usual.’

‘I’m sorry. You got The Messenger sorted?’

‘Thankfully. It should be coming round with the afternoon post.’

‘Well done. Early night for you tonight.’

There’d be no walk along the canal in the twilight, no scramble down the railway embankment for the clutch of blackberries she’d spotted on Sunday, no stroll to the cinema while the starlings circled.

‘I’ve got ARP.’

‘Oh, Jim … can’t you get out of it?’

‘I can’t let them down. I’m still paying back the nights I missed when Mother was first taken ill.’

He was so conscientious, drat him! But would she have wanted him any different? Not really.

‘If you say so,’ she conceded. ‘Look out, Mr Marlow and Robert are heading this way. We’d better get back. I’ll see you at half five.’

At least they could walk home together.

There’d been rain all afternoon, or so various damp customers told Lily, but it was mercifully dry when at last the long day was over and Lily and Jim could step into the street. Jim wound Lily’s scarf round his neck.

‘That’s a bit of luck, anyway,’ said Lily, determined to be cheerful. She tucked her arm through his. ‘Another rib on my umbrella broke at the weekend. I’ll have to see if I can get it mended, though I don’t hold out much hope.’

Jim gave a grunt of acknowledgement and Lily fell silent. She’d looked forward so much to seeing him, his lanky frame and his thoughtful face, but he was obviously tired out, and she couldn’t think of much to say. She didn’t think he’d want to hear about the only thing that had happened at work in his absence, a delivery of shampoo that had caused such a stampede in Toiletries that the commissionaire had had to come inside to keep order.

‘Nothing much to report at home,’ she said as they walked. ‘Not a peep from Sid or Reg.’

Another grunt.

‘Monty doesn’t seem to be making much difference in North Africa yet. That push to retake Tobruk came to nothing.’

Silence.

Of course, there was one other thing that had happened at work, or through work, but somehow Lily didn’t feel the time was right to mention her encounter with Frank.

They passed a jeweller’s, a tobacconist’s, a grocer’s. The shopkeeper was pulling down the blinds and it obviously reminded Jim of something.

‘Drat. There was some butter I meant to bring back.’

When she’d been well, Alice had always sent Jim back from the country laden with largesse – jams and jellies, rabbits, pigeons, cream. That was another thing that had disappeared at a stroke, so to speak.

‘Never mind,’ said Lily reassuringly. ‘We’ll live!’

They stopped at the corner to cross the road into the park and Lily noticed a fresh poster on a hoarding. ‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’ it barked. It gave her an idea.

‘Look, Jim. Why don’t I come with you next time?’ she suggested. ‘I could book the Monday off. I’d like to—’

‘No,’ he said abruptly, starting to cross. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

‘Why not?’ Lily hurried to keep up. ‘I’m sure there’s something I could do for your mum – and take the pressure off you. Anything. Clean the windows, scrub the floor, pick the apples, they must be past ready—’

‘No, Lily.’

They were inside the park now – or rather, the allotments it had been turned into – and he stopped to face her, unlinking their arms. A gust of wind shook the chestnut tree above them and a clutch of conkers thudded to the ground. Their cases looked, Lily thought, like naval mines.

‘I’m sorry,’ he went on. ‘It’s not a good idea. I … I don’t think it would help.’

‘Really? Why not?’

Jim looked as if he was about to say something, then he turned his face away. Lily felt something boiling up inside her, something she’d felt for ages.

‘Your mum doesn’t like me, does she?’

Jim turned back to face her.

‘It’s not that—’

She’d started now, so she might as well spit it out.

‘I think it is. I’ve been to your home precisely once, and that was a year ago. I don’t think I did anything to offend her – I don’t see how I could have – but I’ve never been asked back.’

Jim lifted his shoulders.

‘She wouldn’t want you to see her like she is.’

‘But she doesn’t mind Margaret seeing her?’

Where had that come from? Lily hadn’t thought about Margaret Povey since Jim had mentioned her weeks ago!

He looked startled.

‘Margaret?’

Suddenly he had a hunted look and Lily scented blood.

‘Did you see her?’ she asked. ‘Did you see her when you were home?’

‘Yes, I did as a matter of fact.’

He sounded almost shifty. Lily went in for the kill.

‘So she’s welcome, and I’m not.’

‘Lily, she called round. I didn’t invite her.’

‘Oh, that makes all the difference!’

‘You know she offered to keep an eye on my parents.’

‘Yes, when you weren’t there! She’d got no business being there when you are!’

‘What? Now you’re being ridiculous! What am I supposed to do, put her under curfew?’

‘Well? What’s the answer? What was she doing, coming round then?’

‘You answer me! I’m not going to tell her when she can and can’t call in, all out of the goodness of her heart!’

‘Oh, I get it! I’d been seeing her in the dairy, in a white coat and a hairnet. But she’s Saint Margaret in a white robe and a halo! No wonder I don’t measure up! No wonder you don’t want me to come!’

‘Lily— Lily, please.’ Jim reached out and touched her arm. ‘Why are we arguing? I don’t want to. You coming home with me or not has got nothing to do with Margaret. It’s just … trust me … it’s better if you don’t get involved.’

Trust him. She always had, implicitly. But …

She looked at him and his eyes held hers, pleading. He moved as if to reach out and hug her but she flinched away. Silly, maybe, stubborn, certainly, but she couldn’t let him touch her, not while she felt like this.

Suddenly it began to rain; big, fat drops that spattered on the leaves. It was a shock, but it was a relief. Now, thought Lily, they’d have to shelter under the tree and Jim would put his arms round her and tuck her inside his coat and tell her she was being silly, which she was, and everything would be all right again.

‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to run for it.’

‘What?’

‘ARP. I can’t be late.’ Jim spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

‘Fine. Of course you must,’ she said stiffly. ‘Off you go.’

She stretched her mouth into a shape that was like a smile but wasn’t. Jim gave another hopeless little lift of his hands. He made no attempt to kiss her or even to touch her. Sadly she watched him lope off, his hair getting plastered to his head.

She hadn’t told him about Frank Bryant. And something told her she wouldn’t, now.