Читать книгу Better Days will Come - Pam Weaver - Страница 12

As a Saturday girl, it was left to Rita to put the dresses back on hangers in the department once the customers had tried them on. It was also her responsibility to make sure each customer was given a chiffon scarf to put over her face so that she didn’t get powder or lipstick on the dresses. Most of Hubbard’s clients were happy to comply with the rule but occasionally she would get a complaint. Miss Bridewell usually handled that, and although she was politeness itself, somehow the customer knew not to argue with her if she wanted to try the dress on.

As well as Miss Bridewell, there were three other girls in the department: Sonja, a petite brunette with very high heels; Susan, a rather timid girl with bitten-down nails who seemed terrified of Miss Bridewell; and Dinah Chamberlain. Dinah was a little older than the others. She had been Bonnie’s best friend when she worked at Hubbard’s. She worked as the mannequin and spent all day modelling the clothes. She only came back into the department when she wanted to change her outfit for something else.

At the first opportunity, Rita was determined to talk to the girls about her sister. It was now December 6th, a whole month since Bonnie had left home. She still hadn’t told her mother about George but then what was there to tell? Bonnie had been frugal with the details. Rita hadn’t even know his last name and who knows, perhaps they had broken up anyway and Bonnie had left Worthing to get away from him. She told herself not to worry but in truth she was as worried as her mother. If anyone was likely to know Bonnie’s plans, it would be one of the girls at work. Rita found her opportunity to talk about her sister when she was called into one of the cubicles.

‘I remember her,’ said Sonja. ‘I was downstairs in the glove department when she worked here. She was going to London, wasn’t she?’

They were helping Dinah out of a charcoal grey wrap-over coat with big shoulders which was nipped in at the waist.

The New Look from Paris had swept the country. After years of ‘make do and mend’, Dior had been extravagant with material. Although expensive, Hubbard’s wasn’t up to Dior standards but they were a highly fashionable store. Rita loved the flowing lines and small-waisted dresses and jackets. It was obvious that Dinah loved wearing them too.

Dinah would stroll around the store carrying a card with a number on it. She frequented the restaurant where shoppers met their friends for morning coffee or afternoon tea and lingered if she thought a customer was especially interested in what she was wearing. When she got back to the fashion department, the customer would only have to remember the number on the card Dinah was carrying for Miss Bridewell to know exactly which outfit she had admired.

It was Rita’s job to put the items back on display as soon as possible in case a customer had followed Dinah back to the dress department and wanted to try it on.

‘I can’t believe my sister went so far on her own,’ said Rita, choosing her words carefully. She folded Dinah’s long sage green gloves and put the matching hat back into its hatbox.

‘I heard she was going off to be with a man friend,’ Susan said, holding up Dinah’s next ensemble, a halterneck evening dress in the palest shade of yellow.

As she stuffed the felt hat with tissue paper, Rita’s heart leapt. So Bonnie had been planning to run away with George.

‘Georgie Porgie pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry …’ Susan’s chant was cut short when Dinah dug her in the ribs.

Rita hardly noticed. Her thoughts were back with that suitcase under the stairs at Mrs Kerr’s house. Why hadn’t George come back for it?

‘Is Bonnie doing all right then?’

Rita wished she’d persuaded Mrs Kerr to open his suitcase. Should she go back there?

‘Rita?’

She looked up sharply. The other girls had been called away to serve two matronly women and she was left alone with Dinah. The older girl was looking intently at her. ‘How is Bonnie? I was surprised that she went without a word to anyone. We were pretty good friends when she was here. Did she tell you about me?’

‘I think so,’ she said absently.

‘She promised to write,’ said Dinah. ‘Can you help me with the buttons at the back?’

Rita wiped her hands on the side of her own dress and walked behind Dinah’s back. There were at least ten material-covered buttons. How on earth anyone was expected to get into this dress without help was beyond her. Dinah shuddered slightly as Rita began. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Cold hands.’

‘She’s very brave going all that way,’ said Dinah, patting her hair and pushing in a stray pin. She wore it swept back with a mass of loose curls high on her head.

Rita nodded. She hadn’t really thought about it but London was miles away, wasn’t it. Fifty at least.

‘Just think of all that lovely sunshine,’ Dinah sighed. ‘Blue skies and lovely beaches. All white sand, you know.’

All buttoned up, she turned to look at herself in the mirror. Rita gave her a puzzled look. ‘In London?’

‘No … South Africa,’ Dinah chuckled. ‘That’s where she was going,’ and seeing Rita’s horrified expression she added, ‘I’m sorry, Rita. Didn’t you know?’

As she left the cubicle, the mannequin obviously had no idea of the effect her words had had on Rita. South Africa? Was Bonnie really going all that way with George? Rita felt sick. She couldn’t let on to Mum or she’d be frantic with worry. South Africa? It might as well be the far side of the moon. This bit of news had spoiled her first day. It was hard to shake off the deep foreboding and not even collecting her first ever wage packet at the end of the day could make up for it. Her sister had walked out of her life and gone to a rich man’s paradise without a backward glance at the family who loved her so much. Rita bristled with anger. How could Bonnie be so selfish? How could she have put them through all this?

The following Friday afternoon, Snowy knocked on the door at three o’clock sharp. When she walked in, Grace was putting the tin bath in front of the range.

‘I picked this up on the mat,’ said Snowy coming right in. She handed Grace an envelope. Grace tore it open and pulled out a Christmas card. ‘It’s from my mother,’ she said, looking inside.

‘How is your mother?’ asked Snowy.

‘Fine,’ said Grace. ‘Getting older.’ She wiped around the inside of the bath with a damp cloth. A spider scurried away from the cloth but got swept up in it anyway. ‘Don’t mind me,’ Grace went on. ‘Rita wants a bath after tea.’

Outside in the scullery, the water in the big boiler was heating up nicely. Grace had cleared the kitchen table but she had left two cups and saucers and one of her legendary ‘Cut and Come Again’ cakes in the middle.

‘Thanks a lot for doing this, Snowy,’ she said taking the older woman’s coat.

‘Gives me something to do,’ said Snowy waving her hand dismissively.

‘Have you heard from your Kate yet?’ Grace was pouring a little hot water into the teapot before swirling it around to warm it. She tipped the water into the sink and reached up for the tea caddy.

Snowy shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose I will until she reaches Adelaide.’

‘It’s a long way,’ Grace sympathised.

Grace knew that her friend struggled with the fact that her daughter was halfway across the world and now that Bonnie was gone, she had some vague idea how Snowy must feel.

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ said Grace passing a cup towards her.

‘I asked the King if he could put me up but the miserable old bugger said he was off to Sandringham,’ Snowy shrugged.

‘Good,’ said Grace, ‘then you’re coming here.’

‘No, no,’ Snowy protested. ‘I couldn’t put you out.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Grace. ‘There’ll only be Rita and me. I was thinking of inviting one or two of the other neighbours in for a bit of a singsong like we did in the war years.’

‘If I come,’ said Snowy, ‘you must allow me to contribute something.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘I insist.’

They gave each other a mutual smile of understanding andcarried on sipping their tea. As soon as they’d eaten somecake, Grace brought out the books.

She had been a meticulous bookkeeper, recording the date and amount of money each saver had given her and then the date on which it was banked. Together they counted it out plus theinterest accrued since it had been in the post office. Each payout was put into a small envelope with the saver’s name on it. It took more than an hour to get everything done properly.

‘Aren’t you scared with all this money in the house?’ said Snowy as they finished.

At that very moment the door opened and a man walked in. He was short and thickset with a boxer’s nose and cauliflower ears. Snowy leapt to her feet with a small cry, her chair scraping on the wooden floor.

Grace put up her hand in caution. ‘It’s all right,’ she said with a short laugh. ‘You’ve just been saying I need protection. This is my bodyguard, Charlie Hanson.’

A look of relief flooded Snowy’s face and the man in question smiled, flashing a gold tooth. ‘Evening.’

‘I should have told you he was coming,’ Grace went on. She reached for another cup and saucer and poured Charlie some tea. Charlie pulled up a chair, sat down and began rubbing his hands vigorously to get some warmth back into them.

‘Charlie used to be a friend of Michael’s,’ Grace said by way of explanation. ‘We’ll be going out with the packets shortly. I’ve asked him to stay for a bite of tea. Would you like some too?’

Snowy shook her head. ‘I’d better be getting back.’

‘Why?’ Grace persisted. ‘You’ve got nothing to go back for.’

Snowy opened her mouth to say something but Grace was already putting a knife and fork in front of her.

‘Oh all right,’ Snowy laughed, ‘but only a little. You’ve already given me a piece of cake.’

Rita came in shortly after. As soon as they’d finished their meagre portions of shepherd’s pie, Grace got ready to set off on her rounds with the Thrift Club money. Rita was glad her mother was going with Uncle Charlie Hanson, and said so.

‘My pleasure,’ said Charlie giving her a wink.

Charlie had plainly enjoyed himself being in a room full of women. He flattered and teased them, and they played along with him.

‘I’d best be on my way,’ said Snowy, fishing in her coat pocket for her torch. ‘See you on Monday, Grace.’

‘Take care,’ said Grace.

‘I could do with a big strong man like Charlie to look out for me on the way home,’ said Snowy.

‘Can’t be in two places at once,’ said Charlie with a hint of regret in his voice.

As soon as Snowy had gone home, Grace put her coat on and wrapped her scarf around her neck tightly. It was very cold outside. ‘Make sure you lock the door after me,’ she said to Rita. ‘Especially before you get in the bath.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And mind you don’t scald yourself with that water.’

‘Yes, Mum. Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.’

She waited on the doorstep until she heard Rita turn the key in the lock and then she and Charlie set off. To minimise the possibility of being attacked, the money was in a satchel bag with a strap which went over Grace’s shoulder. The bag itself had a sturdy buckle on the front of it. Grace trusted her neighbours but she was walking around with a large sum of money and in these hard times, it might be difficult for some to resist temptation. A lone woman would be an easy target, which was why she had asked Charlie to come along with her. As it was, she tried to make sure she put the money into the hands of the actual women who had entrusted her with their meagre savings. Sometimes their husbands would lie in wait in the front garden or by the gate and demand the money before she reached the house, but Grace knew if she gave it to them, most of it would disappear down the pub long before their wives saw a penny.

‘I have to do what the law says,’ she would tell them. ‘Your wife paid it in and it’s her money.’

‘What belongs to the wife belongs to me!’

‘Her name is on the book, so I have to pay it to her.’

Uncle Charlie was a bodybuilder, as broad as he was tall. He wasn’t a relative but the kids called him Uncle when they were young and it had stuck. Grace thought he was a bit lonely so as a woman on her own she had to be very careful not to give him the wrong impression, but there were times, such as now, when he was useful to know. Once Uncle Charlie squared up to a man, any man, there was no argument. Of course, Grace was no fool. She knew as soon as she and Charlie had gone the wife would probably be beaten into submission; but if the woman had any sense, she would manage to squirrel away a fair bit of the money in her apron pocket while the man saw Grace to the door.

The round was uneventful enough but every time someone said, ‘How’s your Bonnie getting on?’ it cut Grace like a knife. The truth was, she hadn’t a clue. Every day she looked for a letter to no avail. She’d had a few Christmas cards, but nothing from Bonnie. She had bought one herself in case Bonnie wrote, but with no address to send it to, what could she do?

As she made her way through Station Approach, someone called Charlie’s name.

Grace turned in time to see him conversing with a man in the shadows. All at once, the man took a swing at him and Charlie retaliated. At the same moment, someone grabbed her from behind and spun her round. The sudden move took Grace completely by surprise and she stumbled. The man raised his boot to kick her.

‘Oi!’ Someone near the corner of the street shouted at the top of his voice.

The robber pushed her violently and Grace felt herself falling. The sound of running feet behind him in the silent street obviously focused the robber’s mind. He made a grab for the moneybag looped over her head and across her chest, banging her head against the wall. The blow nearly knocked her senseless but even as she hit the ground, Grace knew the moneybag was gone.