The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (11 page)

Violet blew her nose a second time. ‘If I worked in a mill, it might be different. I'd make friends with the other girls, there'd be a big gang to pal up with and go dancing with at a weekend. I sometimes think that's what I should do – get a job at Calvert's or Kingsley's.'

‘No, don't do that,' Muriel advised. Like Sybil, she was all too aware of the grinding effects of mill work. You only had to look at the worn faces of the women trudging through the entrance to Calvert's at half past seven each morning to know that a life of spinning and weaving was no solution to Violet's problems. But, sorry to see Violet so crushed and unhappy, she made a confession of her own. ‘I was by myself when my young man let me down. I was all set to be married – the dress was made, the church was booked. But then at the last minute my fiancé, Ron … well, he got cold feet.'

‘Did he tell you why?'

‘No. I never got a clear explanation from him, not even a note to say where he'd gone. Ron left me high and dry and I never saw him again.'

‘That's awful.' Violet looked long and hard at Muriel's calm face. ‘What about your family?' she asked.

‘Like I said, I was on my own. Mother got diphtheria when I was eight. There were complications and she never got better. She died when I was ten. Father was killed a few years later in the war. After that, it was up to me to see what I could make of my life.'

Violet shook her head as if making space for common sense amongst her muddled emotions. ‘And here's me going on about my worries. What must you think of me?'

‘I think you're going through a bad patch,' Muriel sympathized with a soft smile. ‘And if you need someone to lean on, you know where to find me.'

Violet said a heartfelt thank-you as she handed back her empty cup and she felt her sadness ease. ‘I'll have your mending done by Saturday,' she promised, chin up and ready to go back to work.

Out on Chapel Street the sun shone brightly and strains of ‘Night and Day' drifted through the open door of Sykes' bakery.

‘You're late,' Ben Hutchinson challenged the moment she walked into the shop.

‘No. I'm dead on time,' she countered. ‘And don't you dare go on about docking my wages, or else.'

Saturday came and the work for Sybil, Muriel and Ida was finished and returned on time. Muriel and Ida paid Violet on the spot and right there and then offered her more hems to sew, so she was pleased with herself when she went home after work to enter details of her earnings in the back of the rent book kept on the kitchen mantelpiece. She stashed the money away in her sewing box in the front room before escaping again into the fresh air as soon as she heard the sound of her uncle's footsteps coming downstairs.

Where should she go on this fine evening, she wondered, perhaps hoping to bump into Eddie if she made her way up to the Common where a group of pals often got together for a kick-about after the regular Rovers fixture. In fact, she was disappointed not to have heard from him since Tuesday and had begun to wonder if she'd read too much into the situation.

Eddie Thomson kissed you
, she reminded herself, enjoying the breeze on her bare arms and legs as she walked up the hill.
He definitely made the first move – I'm not making it up. He admitted he'd waited a long time for us to be together and he looked deep into my eyes.

So what?
A small, doubtful voice wormed its way into her head and set up a dialogue with her hopeful, love-struck self.
What's in a kiss?

Two kisses, actually.

Once the moment has passed, what's to stop a man changing his mind?

Not Eddie. Eddie doesn't lark about like Stan. He's sincere.

But you never know. Look what happened to Muriel – jilted at the altar, no less. And anyway, the point is – why hasn't he been in touch?

Violet reached Overcliffe Road and her thoughts came full circle.
Because he's been busy, just like me
, she told herself, waiting for a tram to rattle by before she crossed the road.

There, on the Common, she was pleased to make out the usual group of devil-may-care local lads booting a scuffed leather ball over the rough grass. They yelled instructions to each other – ‘To, me, Stan!', ‘Shoot, Eddie, shoot!', ‘Take it down the wing. Now pass to me!' – and raced for goal, roaring with happiness if their side scored or moaning in despair if the shot misfired.

Smiling, Violet kept her distance. She spotted Evie and Kathy on a bench close to the entrance to Linton Park and glad of a chance to have a chat with them both, she joined them.

‘We missed you on Wednesday night,' Kathy told her pleasantly as she made room for her to sit.

‘I was busy,' Violet replied without going into detail.

‘Did Ida tell you that she's given your part of my sister to Evie here?' Kathy went on.

Evie looked embarrassed. ‘You can have it back if you like,' she said quickly. ‘It wouldn't bother me.'

‘No, it's all yours.' Violet settled in to watch the five-a-side match. She saw Stan belt up the wing with the ball, only to be brought down by an opponent and curl up on the ground as if in agony. A concerned Eddie bent down to offer him a hand but Stan rolled and sprang high into the air like a March hare, calling again for the ball.

‘Stan's a card.' Kathy grinned. A breeze ruffled her fair hair and she kept the hem of her skirt pinned down with both hands.

‘But look at Eddie – he's got the ball now.' Violet watched with admiration as Eddie dribbled towards goal. With the sleeves of his collarless white shirt rolled up and a broad leather belt buckled tight around his slim waist, he cut a dashing figure.

‘Look – he's going to score.' Evie held her breath.

‘Shoot, Eddie!' Kathy cried.

Eddie let fly with a hefty kick. The ball cannoned past the goalkeeper and shot on towards the hawthorn hedge at the far side of the Common. Someone scrabbled after it, going down on all-fours to retrieve it.

‘Now, Eddie on the other hand …' Kathy began. She didn't have to say any more for Evie and Violet to know what she meant.

Eddie Thomson was someone you couldn't take your eyes off. He was naturally athletic, moving with good balance and coordination. He ran faster, swerved with more agility, kicked with more force than the rest of his team put together.

‘Yes,' Evie and Violet agreed with a sigh.

Eddie's goal drew the impromptu match to a conclusion, it seemed. Once the ball had been rescued, the players shook hands and someone suggested an adjournment to the Green Cross. They picked up their jackets and caps then sauntered towards the bench where the girls sat.

‘Now then, Violet,' Stan said as he overtook Eddie and made a beeline towards her. ‘Long time, no see.'

‘I've been busy,' she replied, putting a hand to her hair to keep it out of her eyes.

‘Too busy to drop in and see me at the swimming baths?' he said and winked, at the same time shouldering Eddie to one side. ‘Don't you know, I've missed you and your breaststroke!'

Kathy giggled and nudged Violet with her elbow. ‘Aren't you boys going to buy us girls a drink of ginger pop?' she challenged.

‘You two feel free,' Violet told Evie and Kathy, standing up without giving Stan or Eddie time to reply. ‘I won't be joining you. I only came out for a breath of fresh air.'

‘Are you sure you won't come?' Eddie said, ignoring more giggles from Kathy and an exaggerated cry of disappointment from Stan. He fell into step beside her.

She smiled up at him as they crossed the road together, noticing that his face was flushed from the recent exercise and his hair was ruffled by the wind. He walked with his jacket slung over one shoulder. ‘I'd love to,' she told him, ‘but I've taken in more extra sewing work that I have to finish by Monday.'

‘Fair enough,' he said, trying not to let his disappointment show. Eddie still wasn't altogether sure where he stood with Violet, who in his eyes looked lovelier than ever in a rose-pink dress made in a wrap-around style which, when the breeze was in the right direction, gave him a glimpse of a shapely calf. ‘You're not making excuses?' he checked.

‘No, honestly, I'd love to come.' For two pins she'd abandon her plan and follow him to the ends of the earth, did he but know it. ‘But the rent's due on Monday so I have to work.'

‘So is it all right if I walk you home?'

She nodded and took his arm at the top of Chapel Street, in full view of Kathy, Evie, Stan and the others.

‘That's all right, Eddie – no hard feelings!' Stan yelled after them, striking a tragic pose.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder then at Violet who raised her eyebrows.

‘Take no notice,' she whispered, though she blushed bright red.

‘A chap can see which way the land lies!' Stan wailed. ‘It's because I only own a push-bike and Eddie has a 500cc Norton, isn't it?'

Eddie and Violet laughed and walked on. Eddie drew Violet closer to him. ‘I don't care what anyone thinks,' he vowed. ‘You just say the word, Violet, and I'll take you out on my motorbike any time you like!'

Sewing and daydreaming, Violet got through the weekend. On Monday morning, on the way to work, she delivered more finished items to Ida then went on through the day, doling out sugar and flour, cornflakes and marmalade, cured ham and Cheshire cheese.

‘Wakey, wakey!' Ben Hutchinson would bark whenever her mind didn't seem to be on the job – when she spilled sugar onto the counter, for example, or else wiped her hands on her blue calico apron, leaving floury fingerprints on the bib for all to see. Then he would give her the nasty job of climbing the stepladder to bring down a greasy side of bacon from its high hook, ready to be sliced.

‘I'm on my last legs,' she confessed to Marjorie, their final customer of the afternoon.

‘Ta, love.' The kindly shopkeeper took her packet of tea and put it in her wicker basket. ‘Ben, I won't have you working the poor girl's fingers to the bone now that she doesn't have Winnie to look out for her,' she chided. ‘She's a little slip of a thing, remember.'

‘Mind your own business, Marjorie Sykes,' the charmless grocer snapped back as he drew down the window blind. In retaliation, as if Marjorie's criticism was Violet's fault, he kept her back for a full ten minutes after the shop had shut.

‘Drat – now I have to get a move on to be home in time for Mr Fisher,' she grumbled under her breath, speeding down Chapel Street and through the back alley. Sure enough, when she reached home the rent collector was already rat-a-tat-tatting on the door.

‘Where is he?' Fisher asked, stepping back and looking up at the front bedroom window. ‘If I didn't know better, I'd say Donald Wheeler was up there hiding under the bed.'

‘Uncle Donald must have gone out,' Violet said, hastily turning her key in the lock. She foresaw a difficult conversation ahead of her, but hoped that with luck she'd be able to gather her extra earnings together and produce enough money to tide them over until the following week. ‘Come in, Mr Fisher. Let's go into the kitchen and I'll put the kettle on for a cup of tea.'

‘Never mind about the tea,' he said, taking off his hat and reluctantly stepping over the threshold. This was a touchy matter and privately, he wished it had been Donald Wheeler he was locking horns with rather than the niece. ‘You know that you have to pay extra again this week.'

‘Yes and I've been doing my best to get together what we owe you.' Taking Fisher straight into the front room, Violet went to her sewing basket to take out both her week's wage and the money she'd earned from her sewing work. ‘I don't have the full amount,' she began to explain, ‘but I'm sure I can make up what we owe before the end of the month.'

Standing on the worn hearth rug, Fisher turned the brim of his hat between his hands and shuffled his feet. ‘My orders are to collect the whole lot in one go,' he stated without expression.

Violet lifted the satin-lined lid of the basket. She put aside reels of cotton and her box of pins, delving deep to draw out the small brown envelope containing her wage from Hutchinson's. ‘There's this for a start.'

‘The whole lot,' Fisher insisted. ‘I'm not to leave with a penny less.'

‘Wait a second.' Still hoping to reason with him after she'd produced the extra three shillings and nine pence that she'd hidden away in her old button tin, Violet prised open the lid. That was strange – she couldn't hear any coins rattling and when she did succeed in getting the top off, the tin was empty. Her heart thumped as she went back to the basket and searched again. ‘It was in here the last time I looked,' she said amidst rising panic. ‘Lord knows what can have happened to it!'

‘Look here,' Fisher said, turning his hat this way and that, ‘you mustn't try it on with me, young lady. I've seen it all before.'

‘Honestly, I'm telling you that I put the extra money in here, every last penny.' Violet's heart raced as she began to draw the only possible conclusion. ‘Uncle Donald must have found it and taken it for safe keeping. All we have to do is track him down and get him to hand it over.'

‘Three and nine, you say?' Fisher did the calculation in his head. ‘That would still leave you a long way short of what you owe.'

‘I know but, as I said, I can soon make it up.' Her mind whirling, Violet did her best to believe that things would still work out. After all, surely the stony-faced man standing there in his buttoned-up overcoat had a heart. ‘It won't take me long, honestly it won't.'

‘
If
you could find the three and nine pence, I might be more willing to believe you,' the rent collector pointed out. ‘As it is, I have to stick to the rules. It's the full amount or I'm obliged to serve you notice.'