One Step at a Time (15 page)

‘That’ll be a shilling then.’

She handed over the money thinking that it was rather a lot, but worth it if she could make the boss believe she could read all right.

The others were already in the back of the shop when she arrived and she smiled brightly. ‘Good morning.’

‘Ah, you’ve bought the new
Picturegoer
.’ Mrs Green picked it up from the table where Amy had left it while she took off her coat. ‘Mind if I have a look? We’ve got ten minutes before the shop opens.’

‘Go ahead.’ Amy was quite pleased with this idea. ‘I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but thought I’d read it on the bus going home.’

Then there followed a discussion about films, which Amy was able to join in without any trouble at all.

Once the shop opened on the dot of nine there wasn’t time for talk as the customers began to arrive. They were busy, but not so busy that Amy had a customer of her own, so she helped by wrapping the shoes for the other assistants and generally being useful in any way she could.

She was happy until they had a delivery of new stock. The boxes were dumped in the stockroom in teetering, random piles by the delivery men.

The manager arrived then, the first time she had seen him that morning, and he shook his head when he saw the chaos.

‘Start sorting that lot out, Miss Carter, by putting them in style and size.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When he’d left she sat on the floor and gazed at the mountain of boxes, her mind working furiously to think of a way to carry out this task.

She would have to open each box and see what the shoe was like, and then they could be separated into various piles. That would be a start. It was a good thing that everyone else was busy and had left her alone.

For the next hour she worked as quickly as she could, but it took time to look in every box. Then she was left with the job of sorting them into sizes. This was a bit easier because she could make out
figures better than letters and could recognize the sign for a half size. Care had to be taken though because she could confuse the numbers 5 and 6. She’d just have to do the best she could.

Progress was slow and she was dismayed when the manager came back.

‘Haven’t you finished yet?’

‘Nearly, sir, I’ve got them all into style, and am now putting them in size order.’

‘Humph.’ He looked in the shop and said quietly, ‘Mrs Green, could you come and give a hand here? I want these all on the shelves before we close at one o’clock today.’

He left as soon as the assistant came in, and Amy breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been too pleased with the time it had taken her, but she thought she had done rather well.

‘Right, we’ll start with one style at a time.’ Mrs Green was eyeing the boxes with determination. ‘You hand them to me and I’ll pack them away.’

Amy thought this was a great idea and it only took them another half an hour to clear the floor.

By this time the morning was nearly over and Amy’s confidence was growing. All right, she had been slow, but she had managed. In time she would work out how to do everything. She could only pray they gave her that time.

The kitchen was empty when she arrived home, so she made herself some cheese on toast and opened
the magazine, determined to read some of it. It was a painstaking task, but she persevered, dwelling on each word until she could grasp it, and only then moving on to the next.

‘Ah, good, you’re home.’ Ben had looked in. ‘Don’t forget you’re coming up to my studio this afternoon.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’ But in truth she had. With the strain of trying to sort out the shoes, it had gone clean out of her head.

‘Come up when you’ve finished eating.’ Then he was gone.

Howard burst in when she was washing up her dishes. ‘Amy, I’ve sold that vase you decorated and the shop wants six more like it.’

‘But you were going to throw it away because it wasn’t perfect.’ She couldn’t believe he’d sold her puny effort.

‘After it came out of the kiln again it looked fine, so I took it to the little shop that sells some of my things. The man liked it and said it sold within the first hour.’ Howard grinned. ‘He wants more, so can you do some today?’

‘I’ve promised to go up to Ben this afternoon, but I’ll come as soon as he’s finished painting.’

‘Wonderful! I’ll show you the cat then.’

As he hurried away she sat down with a thump. Well I never, what a laugh. An artist was painting her, and now she had been asked to paint more pots! There was a busy afternoon ahead of her and she’d better get a move on.

The door to Ben’s studio was open when she got there and she peered in cautiously. This was the first time she had ever been up here and, by the look of things, it wasn’t much tidier than Howard’s workshop, except that in place of a layer of dust, there was paint all over the floor. It wasn’t very large and had a sloping roof, but there was a big window making it light and bright. Ben was standing in front of a canvas on an easel and covering it with a layer of dark cream paint.

He glanced round when she tapped on the door. ‘Come in, Amy, and sit on that chair in front of me.’

She did as instructed.

Ben changed his brush. ‘Look straight at me.’

It was fascinating to watch him. He worked silently, a deep furrow in his brow as he studied her, painted, then stared at her again and again. She couldn’t help feeling shy at the intense scrutiny, not being able to understand why he wanted to paint her funny face.

‘Don’t blush, Amy.’

The unexpected sound of his voice made her jump and she felt even more uncomfortable when he came over, tipped her head up with his fingers under her chin, and stared deep into her eyes. Without saying a word he returned to his painting.

What was he seeing? she couldn’t help wondering as she watched his total concentration; it was as if he were in another world. Certainly not the face she saw in the mirror every morning, because if that were the case he wouldn’t want to paint her.

It was hard to guess how long she had been sitting in the same position, and she longed to stand up and stretch, but she didn’t like to move until he told her she could.

‘All right, Amy, that’ll do for today.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve been very patient.’

Standing up she stretched and rolled her head from side to side to ease the ache in her neck. ‘Can I see what you’ve done?’

‘Not yet. I’ll need you to sit for me a few more times, then I’ll let you see it when it’s finished.’

‘All right.’ She was dying to see what he’d done but knew she would have to wait. ‘I’m going to Howard now to paint more pots.’ Her generous mouth turned up in amusement. ‘Did you know he had the nerve to sell that pot I painted?’

‘Did he?’ Ben leant against the bench, the air of distraction and concentration gone now. ‘I’m not surprised. It was really quite good.’

‘Do you think so?’ She was as doubtful about that as she was about her face.

‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Your grandmother could draw, and it looks as if you’ve inherited her talent.’

Glowing with his praise, she made her way downstairs to Howard’s workroom. He was in the same kind of mess as before, but covered with clay this time instead of white dust.

‘Hi, Amy, he’s let you off at last, has he?’ Howard gestured with a hand caked in clay. ‘I’ve lined the
pots up with the paints ready for you. Do as many as you can.’

Nodding, she sat down and gasped in delight when she saw the figure of the cat in front of the vases. ‘Oh, this is beautiful.’ She beamed at Howard.

‘Not bad.’ He pursed his lips, not looking too sure. ‘It will look better when you’ve painted it. Do anything you like with it. I’ve got more in the kiln.’

Amy couldn’t wait to get started; this was something she had discovered she really liked doing. She’d do the vases first and save the cat for last. It was the image of the drawing, and she wished her grandmother could see it.

For the next hour she experimented with most of the paints, and the six vases were soon finished. She felt so free; there was none of the tension and frustration she suffered from when she tried to read and write. The colours seemed to glow and everything was so clear. Now what should she do with the cat? The picture she saw in her mind’s eye made her giggle softly to herself. Why not? He’d said she could do anything she liked!

The finishing touches were just being put to it when she became aware that Howard was watching her.

When Ben walked in Howard said, ‘Come and look at this. Have you ever seen a blue cat covered with white daisies?’

They roared with laughter and Amy joined in.

‘You’re not going to try and sell this are you?’ She
couldn’t help laughing as they looked at the grinning cat with a daisy draped over its ear.

‘I most certainly am!’

At that moment Mrs Dalton and Ted arrived.

‘Look at the mess you’re all in!’ Mrs Dalton tutted in disapproval. ‘Get yourselves cleaned up and come to my dining room in thirty minutes. Everyone’s eating with me tonight.’

Ted winked at Amy when there was a stampede from the boys as they rushed to wash and change.

Mrs Dalton’s lips twitched. ‘It’s surprising how fast they can move when there’s the offer of a decent meal.’

14

By Saturday Amy was really worried. It was becoming more and more difficult to hide her trouble with reading and she had used up every excuse she could think of: the light in the stockroom was bad; her eyesight wasn’t too good. She knew the manager was not happy with the amount of time it took her to find the correct shoes, and was now watching her every move. For the first few days he had been giving her time and help because she was new to the job, but she could sense that his patience was running out.

They were very busy and Amy was getting more customers than she could handle. The more agitated she became the harder it was to read the labels on the boxes. The woman she was trying to serve at the moment was annoyed because she had brought her the wrong shoes – twice!

‘This is not what I asked for,’ she declared in a loud voice when she was given the wrong style again.

Amy hurried back to the stockroom, now desperate to find the right shoe. This woman was going to cause her trouble if she didn’t stop shouting so that everyone in the shop could hear.

The manager stormed into the room after her. ‘Why are you taking so long? You’re going to lose
this sale if you don’t hurry up. And why do you keep bringing her the wrong shoes?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Amy bit her lip to stop it trembling. ‘I can’t seem to find what she’s asking for.’

‘What does she want?’

‘A black suede with a bar across the instep, size four.’

He muttered under his breath, took a box off the shelf and thrust it into her hands. ‘It’s right in front of you. Now get back to her quickly, and for heaven’s sake smile!’

That was easier said than done, but she tried hard to be pleasant, and could have screamed in frustration when the customer declared that she didn’t like the style after all. When she left without buying anything, Amy knew that was another mark against her and prayed for the terrible day to end, hoping she was still going to have a job when they closed at six o’clock.

Closing time arrived, and when the last customer had gone, the manager locked the door, then turned to Amy. ‘I want to see you in my office, now, Miss Carter.’

She followed him, hoping she was only in for a telling-off.

He didn’t waste time. ‘I’m disappointed in you. I thought at first you were going to be suitable, for you have a pleasant way with customers, but you appear to be incapable of working under pressure. And you are far too slow finding what the customer requires.
You mustn’t keep them waiting or they will go elsewhere.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but—’

He stopped her with a shake of his head. ‘You have been making excuses all week and I have made allowances because you are new to the job, but you’ve had enough time to find your way around the stock. Everything is clearly labelled, but you stand in front of the shelves as if you don’t know what you’re looking for.’

Another excuse sprang to her lips, but she held it back. She was in enough trouble without making things worse by saying the wrong thing.

The manager sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. ‘You seem bright enough so will you tell me why you can’t do the job?’

Her head came up in alarm. He didn’t know, did he? He couldn’t; she had been very careful. ‘I can do the job, sir. It’s just taking me a while to get used to it. I’ll be quicker next week.’

Don’t sack me, she pleaded silently, watching his expression carefully.

His sigh echoed in the tiny room and she watched in horror as he picked up a shoe box from his desk and held it out to her.

‘What style does that say on the label?’

She was in such a state of agitation by now that the words were a meaningless jumble. Slipping her finger under the lid she began to lift it…

‘Don’t look inside. I’ve seen you doing that a lot this week. Read the label out to me.’

All she could do was guess. ‘Ladies’ black leather.’

‘And the size of the heel?’

‘Two-inch, sir.’ She was afraid to breathe.

He took the box from her and tossed it on to the table. ‘It says: brown leather lace-up with a one-inch heel.’

Amy felt herself crumple inside as she realized that this was the end for her, but she stood up straight, although it was a tremendous effort. This job had been so important to her, but now she was going to lose it.

‘Why the blazes didn’t you tell me?’ He was furious. ‘You can’t read, can you?’

‘Yes I can.’ She defended stoutly. ‘It takes me a while to make out the words, that’s all. I can manage if you’ll give me a chance. I’ll learn all the styles off by heart and where they are.’

‘I can’t employ you.’ His voice had softened. ‘You must see that?’

When she looked back at him her mouth was set in a firm line, determined not to show how unhappy and embarrassed she was.

He handed her a wage packet. ‘Sign for this in the book. You can write your name, I suppose?’