Читать книгу Save Our Shop - Michael Wilton - Страница 5

Albert had no need to worry on that score. Next morning, the sun was high in the sky before it got round to peeping through his nephew’s bedroom window, revealing William still fast asleep in the middle of a bad dream, re-living the trauma of being sacked from the editorial office of the Snuggleton Globe newspaper. In his dream, he was sitting trapped at his desk, mesmerised by the incandescent face of Jock, the fiery sub-editor, glaring at him only inches away. Only a few minutes earlier, he dimly remembered, that same Scottish worthy had been complimenting him grudgingly on his report about the outcome of the local flower show competition that had taken place that afternoon.

Unfortunately, at that moment a file happened to fall open on his desk and a sample of his more imaginative artistic efforts slid out. As he handed them back, Jock gave a passing indifferent glance at some of the figures the drawings revealed, mostly quick impressions of the villagers taking part, that William had dashed off while waiting for the competition results to be announced. At first, his lips twitched in dour appreciation at the sight of one of the more notorious local characters who appeared to be tied to a rocket, with a label affixed inviting onlookers to light the match. Then his faint smile vanished and his face began to assume a purple tinge as he took in a group of Council notables, headed by the Mayor about to present the prizes, flanked by the Town Clerk and another person who looked increasingly familiar.

If William had been content with mere lifelike impressions, all would have been well. But as the time passed waiting for the announcements, he had grown increasingly bored and the figures began to turn into fantasy doodles, until the Mayor started to look more like an inebriated cow, the Town Clerk resembled a waddling duck, and the third provoked a furious reaction from the sub-editor, causing him to stiffen and point at it with quivering finger, “And who…is that, may I ask?”

“Oh, that?” coughed William, trying to cover up the offending drawing casually.

The sub-editor snatched it away and peered at it more closely.

“Is that…thing…supposed to be me?”

William laughed nervously, “Why, what makes you think that?”

“Why?” snorted the sub angrily. “Look at it, you… you…” Speech almost failed him before he could get the words out. “Because… he’s wearing a kilt with ‘Jock’ plastered all over it,” he spluttered, “that’s why.” His voice swelled dangerously, “…And he’s holding a bottle of whisky and he’s …got his arms around the Town Clerk!”

Aware suddenly of some sniggers in the background from the other reporters trying hard not to listen, the sub-editor vent his fury on the hapless William.

“Is this what I pay you for, producing r-rubbish like this?”

“Well, no, not all the time,” admitted William trying to be fair. “Only when there’s nothing else to do.”

“Well, you’re wrong there, laddie, there is … and you’re fired.” In his fury, he snatched up a ruler and beat a tattoo on the desk to add emphasis to his remarks. The noise went on and on reverberating in William’s mind until he finally came to in bed with a splitting headache and the sound of someone banging on his bedroom door.

“Are you in there, nephew? Open this door at once!”

With a great effort, William forced himself to climb gingerly out of bed and as soon as the room steadied around him, he made a wavering lunge for the door. Scrabbling for the handle he found it wouldn’t open and looking down discovered why. The key was in the lock – he must have turned it last night to stop his aunt seeing the state he was in.

“The door must have stuck…” he called out feebly, and pulling it open nearly fell over in the process. Focusing his eyes with an effort, he at first made out two images glaring at him accusingly before they merged into the formidable figure of his aunt Ethel.

Seeing his condition, she sniffed suspiciously. “And what time did you get home last night, pray?”

William waved a hand vaguely as he tried to concentrate and sift through his elusive memory. “Can’t remember exactly…not too late. The lads were celebrating – couldn’t refuse, could I?” he added hastily, anticipating the next question.

“That’s as maybe,” she said grimly, “I only ask because the milkman went past on his early morning round soon afterwards. And what were you celebrating at that unearthly hour, I would like to know?”

William had a mental vision of a ring of grinning faces as the other reporters from the office reached out and lifted him shoulder high before marching into the pub to celebrate.

“Ah… I believe they were saying good bye to someone leaving the paper…”

“He must have been very popular, is all I can say…” she sniffed again.

Her words immediately conjured up a vision of his old pal, Malcolm, just returned from a back packing trip to Sydney, wiping his eyes as he chortled over the details of William’s parting remarks to the sub-editor. “Mate, we’ve all been dying to say something like that for months, but never had the courage. Good on you,” and followed it up by thrusting yet another pint of ale in his hands.

Shaking off the memory of the seemingly unending row of empty glasses, William groped for a suitable answer and ended up scratching his head, “I don’t know about that…” Then deciding to nerve himself up to it, he took a deep breath and began bravely. “Now, I know you’ve never been very keen on me working on that local paper, Auntie…”

“Waste of time – what you need is a proper job,” she broke in sharply.

Encouraged, William said simply, “…so I’ve decided to give it up.”

“About time too,” was her verdict. “I’m glad you’re seeing sense at last, because your Uncle Albert phoned. He wants to see you, so look slippy.” She eyed him up and down. “While you’re at it, you can get me a paper. Here you are – mind you bring back the change. And take that silly grin off your face, you look a mess,” was her parting shot.

Later, after nerving himself up to take a cold shower followed by a brisk rub down, William began to feel faint signs of life stealing back into his limbs. Gulping down a quick mouthful of scalding coffee and coughing over it, he held his head to stop the throbbing and made for the front door.

Watching his unsteady progress up the high street, aunt Ethel shook her head.

“Well, it’s up to you, Albert. Heaven help the pair of you is all I can say.”

Labouring up the cobbled street, William concentrated on following a straight line, taking deep breaths every now and then to help him carry on. At last, standing in front of his uncle’s shop he took an extra deep breath and pushing the door open, looked in. His first impulse was to check the latest edition of the Snuggleton Globe tucked away on the bottom shelf, half expecting to see accusing headlines about himself. Reassured, he dropped it back hastily and glanced around.

“Hi, anybody about?”

A head bobbed up behind the centre stand revealing the anxious face of his uncle Albert. Seeing William he looked relieved. “Oh, it’s you, William. Just the man, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Are you doing anything just now?”

“No,” admitted William guardedly.”Why, what’s up?”

“Not working on that local rag today?”

William debated, wondering how to put it. “Well, not exactly…”

“Good. Then you can help us out on the counter then.” Seeing William hesitate, he added hastily. “It’s only until Hettie can take over.”

Mistaking William’s slow witted response for reluctance, he urged, “I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t so short handed. Can you do it, or can’t you?”

“Of course,” agreed William half heartily, trying to clear his head. “Anything to help out. What do you want me to do?”

Albert put down his order pad hurriedly. “Right, come over here and I’ll give you a quick rundown on the till. I’m expecting a delivery, so I can’t spend too long.” Standing William in front of the till, he explained which keys to press and how it worked in quick staccato fashion, ending with, “Got that? Good, then I’ll leave you to it.” He patted him on the back, “I know it’s all new to you, lad, but do the best you can. Shout if there’s anything you don’t understand.”

William eyed the keyboard doubtfully. “She won’t be too long, will she?”

He was still grappling with the information that his uncle had flung at him, and holding his head whilst trying to concentrate on what he was supposed to do, when the shop door opened with a click and in strolled one of the most beautiful girls that William had ever seen. In an instant, he realised this was the defining moment of his life. Compared with her, all the other girls he had known disappeared in a puff of smoke. This was the real thing. With her blue eyes, blond hair and trim figure, she ticked all the boxes as a tailor-made answer to his dreams. It was uncanny. He was so overcome, he just stood there drinking her in.

Thinking him a little shy, Sally gave him a friendly smile. “Hallo,” she said brightly, “You’re new, aren’t you?” As he tried to stutter a reply, she turned and called out gaily to Albert to cover an awkward pause. “What’s all this I hear about you wanting some help, Mr. Bridge. Anything I can do?”

Albert dropped his order form again, and hurried forward. “Why, it’s Miss Sally – how nice to see you. Did I hear right – you want to help? Are you sure you can spare the time, what with all your teaching up at the school?”

Sally laughed, “I’m sure they won’t miss me if I do a stint now and then on my day off. But I see you already have some help, won’t I be in the way?”

William stood there entranced, then realising she was looking at him questioningly, came to with a start. “No, no, of course not,” he blurted out eagerly, “would we, Uncle?”

Albert beamed. “You just come along whenever you want m’dear. I’ll get Hettie to show you how it all works – she’s busy just now, helping out with the pigs. William’s only just started, otherwise I’m sure he’d be pleased to show you the ropes.”

“I’d be happy to show you what I know, offered William quickly, at last finding his voice. “If you’ll come around the back, I’ll run through it with you…”

“Good, that shouldn’t take long,” laughed his uncle, relieved at his nephew’s change of heart, and amused at his sudden interest. “I’ll carry on with the orders then. Het won’t be long now.”

“Well, perhaps it would be better to wait for Hettie…” Sally temporised, then catching sight of a face peering through the window, she dived behind the counter. “Quick, it’s Clive, I don’t want him to see me…”

Immediately, the shop door opened, and a young man looked in and gave a supercilious glance around. Seeing William, he drawled, “I say, has Miss Frobisher-Courtney been in lately?”

“Who?” enquired William blankly. “Sorry, don’t know the name,” he added truthfully.

“Never mind,” the young man said curtly and the door closed again. As soon as his head passed the window, William bent down, “O.K, I think he’s gone.”

Just as Sally was beginning to get up, William saw the head coming back past the window again, accompanied by a familiar face.

“Wait…,” he whispered urgently. “He’s got Hettie with him.”

The door opened, and Hettie’s voice boomed out as she pulled the protesting figure in behind her, followed by her pig-man accompanied by a strong farmyard smell. “Sally, are you there ? I’ve got a young man asking after you…”

As soon as she released him, Clive jerked his arm free and backed away hurriedly, holding a handkerchief to his nose, “Some other time, Madam,” he gabbled, “I’ve just remembered an urgent appointment – must dash,” and with a last wild look around he turned and bolted.

Hettie looked around in surprise. “What’s the matter with him? Oh, there you are, what are you doing down there?” as Sally rose behind the counter, trying not to giggle.

“I don’t think he’s used to the fresh country air,” said William tactfully.

Albert’s head bobbed up. “Is that you, Het? Blimey, open the door someone, you’ll frighten all our customers away.”

“If you can’t stand a bit of honest country air…” began Hettie indignantly.

Seizing the excuse, William motioned Sally towards the door, “It’s almost lunchtime, Uncle. We’ll just go and grab a bite – see you later.”

“Before you go, lad, you might get Hettie to give the till the once-over, to make sure it’s shipshape. I’m up to my eyes in it right now.”

“Of course,” Hettie bustled forward. “Make way, young William, while I check it’s all bumps-a-daisy..”

“Sure,” said William hurriedly, backing away from the aroma, “it’s all yours.”

“Now let’s see,” beamed Hettie, pulling out a roll of receipts, “Ooh, haven’t you been a naughty boy. I see you haven’t cancelled out the mistakes you’ve made. Don’t worry, I’ll soon fix it.”

Her hands darted over the keyboard like a concert pianist and giggled as she did so.

“I call these naughties – just like your Uncle sometimes.” She glanced at Albert hopefully.

Pretending not to hear, Albert butted in hastily and waved them off. “I think you’d better go before the rush starts. Off you go, both of you – oh, and you might drop this packet off to old Mrs Sturgis on the way.” He sniffed, “And while you’re at it leave the door open, for Heaven’s sake…”

Outside, William apologised. “Sorry about that – Uncle’s a bit short handed at the moment. I hope you don’t mind if we make that delivery on the way. It’s probably another of his old pensioners who can’t make it to the shop.”

“Ah, well, I suppose every little helps.”

“Knowing Uncle, I doubt if he ever charges her. I sometimes wonder how he ever makes any profit,” apologised William.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s got Hettie to help him,” offered Sally. She heaved a sigh of relief. “He certainly got that awful Clive off my back.”

Over a salad lunch at Ma’s Snack-bar across the road, they relaxed and William seized on her remark about Clive as an excuse to find out more about her.

“Who was that chap, Clive – is he making a nuisance of himself?”

Sally grimaced.”Oh, he’s another of those pests that mummy is always trying to pass off on me. She wants me to get to know all the ‘right people’, as she puts it - she’s always doing it.” Seeing his mystified look, she sighed, “I suppose I should be used to it by now, just because dad got landed with the family title and all that rot, she thinks nothing is too good for me. She’s a terrible snob, I’m afraid.”

William nearly speared himself with a succulent morsel at the news, and looked worried. “Does that mean you’ve got some sort of title as well…?”

“No, thank goodness,” she grinned faintly. “It’s my big brother, Lance, who’s heir to the title, thank Heavens. Don’t look so worried,” she added, noticing his expression. “I’m still Sally, to all my friends.”

“But,” he picked his words carefully, “what does your mother think of you working part-time in the shop?”

“She’d have been delighted I expect, if she’d been alive.” For a moment Sally’s eye took on a wistful look.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. She died soon after I was born, so I never did get to know what she would have liked.” She shook herself out of a daydream. “No, it’s my stepmother who’s the wicked witch. She doesn’t know, and I don’t intend to tell her. I expect she’ll hit the roof when she does hear,” she mused thoughtfully.

“Then why…?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I felt sorry for your Uncle Albert– after what happened with that awful Foxey woman.” Seeing the puzzled look on his face, she laughed. “I’m not explaining this very well, am I?”

“Foxey woman?” William repeated groping. “Who she?”

“You mean to say you haven’t heard? Apparently she tried to make a pass at your Uncle in the shop yesterday to win a bet or something and it didn’t come off, so she’s going around accusing him of all sorts of things and trying to stir up trouble.”

“Wow,” said William, doing his best to digest the news. “I’d better let him know. If Hettie hears about it, she’ll be up in arms.”

“A tough lady is she?”

William nodded, “And how. Mind you, Uncle Albert can look after himself. It must have taken quite a bit of courage to take early retirement, and set up this village shop idea of his – it’s something he’s always wanted to do.”

“And are you planning to take after him?” Sally couldn’t help being curious.

William looked uncomfortable. “Well, I said I’d help him out for the time being…” Then getting it off his chest, he blurted out, “I really want to do something different…on my own,” then reassured by her look of sympathy, he confided, “ – like a painter or better still, a writer, but I haven’t had much luck so far.”

Trying to be helpful, Sally suggested, “Perhaps you ought to start off by getting experience on a newspaper or a magazine, or something like that.”

“As a matter of a fact,” William hesitated, “I have been doing some part-time work on the local rag…”

“That’s a good start then,” encouraged Sally. “How are you getting on?”

“Not too well, I must admit,” confessed William, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He paused for a moment, looking at her to see how she would take it, then reassured by her expression it all came out with a rush.

Halfway through his tale, Sally started to giggle, and when he came to the bit where the sub-editor voiced his outrage about the cartoon-like impressions she collapsed, wiping her eyes. “Don’t,” she said weakly, “I can just imagine it. Why, do you realise - you’ve got enough there to start a book off already…”

“Well,” he shuffled his feet, “I’ve knocked out one or two chapters based on some of my previous jobs, but I haven’t been able to interest anyone in it yet…”

“What sort of things,” she wanted to know. “It couldn’t get much funnier than that.”

He pondered. “I’ve done all sorts of odd things, I suppose. There was the time I helped out on a fairground…” he brooded, “and I had to escort the local beauty queen and take her up in a swing for a publicity photo…It wasn’t my fault the blessed swing broke down and we got dumped in the swimming pool next door and she came out with hardly a stitch on.Then there was the time I was doing work experience on an animal farm when a wretched iguana charged at me in the feeding pen…and I only had a few seconds to jump up on the counter, and he nearly got the manager instead…oh and the time we had a goat and I built a hut for it, and the wretched animal climbed up the wall inside and made it collapse… ”

“Oh, don’t,” cried Sally overcome. “Have you got anything finished I can look at – I’d love to see it.”

“Would you really?” William brightened. “I think I could dig it out, if you really mean it.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sally definitely. “Tell me, how did you get started on all this – what did your dad think of it all?”

William went silent for a moment and cleared his throat. “Dad wanted me to follow him into the engineering business, and Mum wanted me to be …” he suddenly looked bashful, “…a ballet dancer…but it didn’t work out…”

For a moment, Sally tried to conjure up in her mind the idea of William dressed up in a tutu, but gave up. Then she followed up his line of thought, her curiosity aroused.

“Why was that…?”

“They both got killed in a car crash,” he said simply, “… and Aunt Ethel was landed with the job of looking after me.”

Sally touched his arm impulsively. “I’m sorry - I didn’t know.” The sudden contact made William jump self-consciously and left Sally uneasy in her mind at the unexpected feeling he had aroused.

They were both quiet for a moment, then William went on thoughtfully, “Mum was the artistic one, you see. I suppose that’s where I get this urge to express myself. Silly, isn’t it?”

Shaking herself, Sally was quite firm. “No, of course not, it’s quite natural. I always wanted to be a racing driver, believe it or not. Dad was thrilled at the idea, but I never heard the last of it from ma – you’d have thought I wanted to rob a bank or something. That’s why I decided to take up teaching, at least it got me out of the house.”

“What did your stepmother think of that?”

“She thought I’d soon get sick of it. Funny I suppose,” she grimaced, “when you think about it. She’s always been standing up for women’s rights, and all that. I suppose it’s different when it happens in your own family.”

William tried to conjure up a mental picture of the situation but failed. “Mm.”

“Anyway,” Sally got back to her original intention. “You dig out those stories and let me have a look – I just might be able to find someone to cast a professional eye on them.” She thought reluctantly of Clive for a moment, remembering vaguely he was supposed to be in advertising or something, perhaps he would know, and went on quickly, “one of those men that mother’s always foisting on me might be able to help, you never know.”

“But why are you offering to do all this?” William was mystified. “You must get this from your six formers all the time, when they’re leaving and looking for jobs.”

Sally gave a light laugh, not too sure herself. “We shop workers must stick together, remember. Just leave that side of it to me,” trying to convince herself that she was acting more like an understanding sister. “See you later after school”, she promised hopefully, “about teatime.”