Keepsake (27 page)

If the tone of Aggie’s offer had been reluctant then Etta’s response was equally so. ‘Oh, I think we’ll keep that as a last resort.’

‘There’s thanks for you,’ sniped Aggie to Uncle Mal

‘Yes, it did sound most ungrateful, I do apologise,’ said Etta. ‘But you have little enough space as it is – and it would feel as if I were giving in. I don’t see why I should lose my home through no fault of my own.’

Aggie denounced the idea. ‘Seems crazy, you spending money to rent and heat a place that’ll be empty most of the day. I mean, it’ll be well past the nippers’ bedtime by the time you’re home from work, ’twould make more sense and kinder too if I put them to bed here.’

‘I suppose it would, but then I should never see them at all.’ Etta remained entrenched in her decision. ‘No, I should prefer to maintain my own residence, and for that I must find a job.’ This, of course, involved backing down a little. Swallowing her haughtiness she queried meekly, ‘Would you mind taking care of Willie and collecting the others from school whilst I go and search?’

Aggie showed virtue. ‘Mind? They’re my grandchildren, for pity’s sake.’ And she took possession of the baby. ‘Will I mash some brains for his dinner?’

Etta nodded thankfully and prepared to leave. However, her exit was preceded by a tap and a halloo.

Aggie groaned at the arrival of her sister-in-law, then adopted a tone of welcome. ‘Come in, ’tis open!’

Joan’s beady eyes gleamed when they fell on Etta. ‘I hoped I might find you here! I’ve just come from your house – are you going there now? I’ll walk with you.’

Etta explained that she was going into town.

‘So you’ll have to make do with the poor relations,’ said Aggie.

‘Oh that’s all right, I’ll accompany Etta!’ said Joan hastily.

‘I’m afraid I shan’t be much company,’ replied her victim, and briefly explained her reason for going to town.

Joan touched her breast in shock. ‘How dreadful! I never thought Marty was one to do a thing like that – you shouldn’t have to lower yourself by going out to work.’

‘I have no alternative if I’m to keep a roof over our heads. Now I really must go and search for employment. I pray I’ll be luckier than on the last occasion.’

Informed of Etta’s failure at the department store, Joan again delayed the other’s exit. ‘But you should have come to me! I’d have asked my neighbour to put in a good word for you – here, let me write his name down for you then you can reapply for the post and mention that you know him. I believe he’s very big in the underwear department.’

Etta threw an involuntary smirk at Aggie, then declined. ‘That’s good of you, Aunt Joan, but I’ve no wish to be insulted again. I’m sure I’ll find something eventually. I shan’t return until I do.’ Thanking her mother-in-law for looking after the children, she left.

Spurning the employment agencies, for they would take a cut of any wage, Etta went about town, seeking posters in shop windows that might advertise for assistants. But the innate sense of optimism which initially led her to the better establishments gradually began to fade with each succes-sive rebuttal, forcing her to lower her sights and then to despair as afternoon turned to evening and still she had to find anyone willing to interview, let alone employ, a married woman.

There was, of course, a way to solve this. But Etta stead-fastly refused to deny her marital status to any of these petty dictators. She
was
married, her husband
would
be coming back…sometime.

It was past six o’clock, her abdomen was grumbling with hunger and her feet were dotted with blisters as she wandered the streets. The sunlight had weakened in its
descent towards the irregular roofline of antiquated buildings, yet still the air remained stifling and, with the dust stirred up by traffic and no drink past her lips since morning, her throat felt like parchment. Coming across a poster advertising for an assistant at a shoe shop, she sighed, not welcoming the thought of all those sweaty feet, but told herself that beggars could not afford principles and did as she should have done hours ago: she took off her wedding ring. It felt such a huge act of self-betrayal and she clung to one thought on committing the deed: in her heart she was married. Bracing her shoulders, she entered with a smile for the first person she encountered.

The male assistant at first looked piqued at the arrival of a customer at closing time, but, swayed by her beauty and her genteel request, personally escorted her to a tiny office in a corner of the shop, the lower half timber, the upper of glass, wherein sat a portly and balding individual. Her guide was very pleasant, tapping on the glass pane to make the request for her. ‘A young lady here to ask about the job, Mr Burdock.’

In his cashier’s absence due to sickness, it was left to the manager to tally up the day’s takings, and his expression upon looking up was frazzled. ‘It’s hardly conven—’ But at the vision of young beauty, his pasty, perspiring face immediately brightened, and, jumping from his chair and tugging at his waistcoat, he invited her to join him in the booth.

Etta did not resort to false hope, for the same had occurred at other establishments until they had heard she was married, and Burdock’s old-fashioned garb of frockcoat and winged collar announced that his views would be similarly inclined. However, this time was different in that she was prepared to lie. She beamed and squeezed her way into the cramped space. ‘Thank you, Mr Burdock, I’m most grateful to you for seeing me when you must be so busy.’

‘Not at all, Miss…?’

‘Lanegan.’ Etta did not disabuse him of her virgin status.

‘Please, be seated, Miss Lanegan.’ Obviously dazzled, Burdock offered her the one and only chair.

‘How kind, thank you.’ She had always balked at using her femininity as a weapon, but now she employed it liberally, holding the chubby figure with her dark, sparkling eyes, responding with the utmost admiration and respect.

‘I fear you might not think me so when you hear what I have to say.’ Mr Burdock leaned his plump backside against a cupboard. ‘Our policy is to take on only school-leavers. It’s our experience, you see, that young women of your age will in all probability leave in a few months to get married.’

Feeling that she just could not win, Etta held the pasty face and said firmly, ‘I assure you, Mr Burdock, that I have no intention of marrying.’

‘Ah, that’s what they all say, Miss Lanegan!’ He donned an indulgent smile. ‘The number of young women to whom I’ve given the benefit of my experience, trained them for weeks, and then off they sail with a husband. In fact I’m surprised that a pretty young thing such as yourself wasn’t snapped up ages ago.’

Etta wanted to scream.

‘However…’ Mr Burdock studied her thoughtfully, ‘…the post has been advertised for some weeks and you are the only one to apply. So, Miss Lanegan,’ he announced with a beam, ‘I’m pleased to say I’m prepared to give you a chance.’

Etta bit her tongue at the condescending tone and replied graciously, ‘Why, thank you!’

‘You can start tomorrow at a quarter to nine,’ added Burdock. ‘The wage will be eleven shillings per week minus stoppages. Naturally you’ll have to work a week in hand.’

Alarmed to hear both adjuncts – she had been accustomed to receiving thirty-five or even forty shillings from Marty – Etta told herself that at least it was a job, as she
rose and was escorted from his office and thenceforth from the shop.

With a sigh of gratitude, she made her weary way home. But there was to be no welcome, an agitated Aggie bearing down on her the moment she entered. ‘Where’ve you been all this time?’

Exhausted, Etta felt like strangling her. ‘I’ve
been
–’

‘Ssh! You’ll wake the nippers, I’ve shoved them in bed with Jimmy-Joe. We’ve been waiting on you to come, I’ve found yese a nice wee house down the street, one like this with a back entrance too.’ Some of those on the other side lacked this facility. ‘Peter Bechetti’s horse has been hitched up for ages, he’s waiting to shift your furniture!’

‘
Now?
’ Etta gaped.

‘Well, unless you want to fork out that nineteen and six back-rent,’ riposted Aggie.

Etta covered her mouth, but did not think too long about the offer, especially when her mother-in-law added that she and Red had generously paid for the initial lease. Forgoing the longed-for cup of tea and the need to gaze upon her sleeping children, she hurried back into the night. By midnight, her furniture was once again ensconced in Hope Street.

Unprepared for the move, her pictures, ornaments and other belongings all willy-nilly where Mr Bechetti had dumped them after the clandestine flit, Etta had been overwhelmed by the task of putting everything into some semblance of order and had broken down in tears before finally staggering off to bed for the few hours that were left before she must rise again.

Mercifully, with the children already at Aggie’s, she had only herself to dress and feed. Even so, not daring to be late she tore through a hasty slice of bread whilst also buttering one to take for lunch, managing only half a cup of hot tea before she was on her way.

All that rushing was needless. When she arrived, the interior of the shop was still in darkness. After peering through the glass door, she wandered out of the shadows to consult a church-tower clock. There were fifteen minutes to go. Rather than dither here and fall under the curious eye of street-sweepers, she decided to stroll up and down the parade of shops which, one by one, were opening.

Perhaps, though, she had underestimated the time this would take, for when she returned the doors to the shoe shop were ajar and the manager was sitting behind the glass partition of the cash office. Instead of a smile of greeting he took his watch from his waistcoat and consulted it disapprovingly as she entered.

Etta quickly explained. ‘I was here earlier but there was no one around.’

Her affability was not returned. With a sound of intol-erance he came out of the booth, grasped the revers of his frockcoat and told her, ‘Your colleagues are already upstairs in the staff room – come, I’ll introduce you.’

Meekly, she followed him up the dark staircase.

At the intrusion everyone turned – though she had to blink in order to see them through a choking haze of cigarette smoke. Apart from the man she had met yesterday, they didn’t appear a very friendly lot, looking her up and down without a word of welcome, though Etta conceded this might have something to do with the earliness of the hour if they felt as bad as her.

‘This is your new colleague Miss Lanegan,’ Mr Burdock told them, then briskly pointed each of them out to Etta. ‘Mr Tupman…’

Etta extended her hand to the middle-aged man with the wavy ginger hair and flashed a smile, which induced the same response, his grip warm and dry.

‘Mr Vant…’ A decrepit but immaculately suited old codger rose slightly, who, it appeared, was the one responsible for filling the room with smoke. Before shaking her
hand he took a lengthy drag of his cigarette, as if desperate to get his money’s worth.

‘Mr Ficklepenny, our trainee manager – in my absence he will instruct you in your duties.’

One glance at the fuzzy cheeks told Etta that Mr Ficklepenny was a recent newcomer to long trousers and she felt loath to grace the lad with a title and even less so to take orders from him. Nevertheless, she swallowed her pride and offered her hand respectfully. ‘How do you do, Mr Ficklepenny?’

This gained instant favour, the youth dealing her a schoolboyish grin and a brisk handshake.

‘Miss Sullivan, Miss Jackley, Miss Wimp, Miss Binks…’

The first three merely nodded, but the latter, a dull-looking girl provided her Christian name. ‘Mary-Ann.’

‘But not on the shop floor,’ Burdock warned sternly. ‘And finally Miss Bunyon, our book-keeper and cashier.’

Etta couldn’t resist a friendly titter. ‘An apt name for a shoe-shop assistant!’

Miss Bunyon was lofty. ‘It’s B-u-n-y-o-n, not b-u-n-i-o-n. And I’m not an assistant.’

Etta murmured an apology and touched her chin self-consciously, noting with distaste that her hand reeked of stale tobacco courtesy of Mr Vant.

Having completed introductions the manager went downstairs, the cashier closely following. With lame expression, Etta glanced around at the collection of rickety chairs then perched on one.

‘Take no notice of her,’ advised Mary-Ann, who without smiling managed to convey amicability. ‘She reckons she’s a cut above. Now, let’s see if we’ve got an old overall in the cupboard till you’ve time to go for a fitting.’

‘I trust that will be soon.’ Her eyes beginning to water as a result of Mr Vant’s chain-smoking, Etta was dismayed by the article that was presented to her, which looked
clean enough but billowed with staleness when she tried it on.

‘Oh, not till Wednesday afternoon when we’re closed,’ replied Mary-Ann.

‘That’s a good fit,’ observed Maude Wimp, a bespectacled, middle-aged spinster with translucent skin that was marbled with a network of blue veins. ‘Miss Duncan was skinny like you. Doubt she’ll be coming back for it now, you might be able to keep it.’

‘What luck.’ Etta hardly dared breathe.

Misinterpreting the sardonic comment, the dull-looking Mary-Ann nodded, ‘Yes, then you’ll only have to buy one.’

Etta looked shocked. ‘No one mentioned that I’d be required to buy two overalls!’

Mary-Ann explained in simple terms, ‘One for wearing while you wash the other.’

‘I meant –’ Etta broke off, looking testy at being interrupted by a racking cough from the elderly smoker. ‘I meant, how am I to afford them?’

Mr Tupman, who had been admiring her from a distance, sought to ease the fraught expression. ‘They knock it off your wages, threepence a week, so it’s not as bad as it sounds.’

Etta responded indignantly, ‘It is when every farthing counts!’

All turned to eye her curiously.

Flushing, she told them, ‘I live in lodgings with no one else to support me and I’ve been without work for some time and fallen behind on the rent, so you might imagine my reluctance to part with hard-earned cash.’

There were murmurs of empathy from the women.