The Girl from the Corner Shop

by Alrene Hughes

  Chapter 18

  It was a day that Helen had been dreading. She opened the bedroom curtains to let the sun stream in. Why couldn’t it have rained? She wanted thunder and lightning, an ominous sky as dark as her mood. Looking over Brookdale Park the hawthorn was in bloom and the beds were full of marigolds. It would have been a glorious Sunday for Jim’s birthday.

  The bread was stale but she toasted it anyway, scraped the last of the margarine over it and covered it with scrambled eggs. Except it wasn’t scrambled eggs it was dried egg powder mixed with water and it tasted like cardboard. She mooched around in her nightie then read an old copy of Tit-Bits. She should be washing her hair, her clothes, the lino… but she couldn’t face any of it. In the end she went to her bedroom, put on Jim’s cricket pullover, got back into bed and cried.

  She must have fallen asleep because she awoke with a start; someone was shouting her name through the letter box. She dragged herself out of bed and went downstairs. ‘Who is it?’ she shouted.

  ‘It’s me, let me in.’

  She really shouldn’t go to the door when she wasn’t properly dressed.

  ‘Come on, Helen.’

  She gave a heavy sigh and opened it to see Frank standing there.

  ‘Look at you, sleepyhead. It’s a beautiful day and your carriage awaits.’ He stepped to one side and waved his arm towards the road where a motorbike stood idling.

  ‘What’s going on? Why have you got a bike?’

  ‘I borrowed it from a friend. I thought you might like to go for a spin.’

  ‘Not today, Frank, I can’t… Anyway, I’m not dressed.’

  ‘I guessed as much when I saw the pullover. Or are you opening bat at Woodhouses today?’

  ‘You know why I can’t.’

  ‘I know that you’re sad, I know you’ve been crying. It’ll be a hard day to get through, Helen, and I feel it too, but what would Jim say?’

  ‘Jim can’t say anything. He’s dead.’ The tears welled in her eyes.

  He reached out as though he would touch her, then lowered his hand. ‘Come on, Helen, you need to get out of the house for a while. You can cry all you want when you get back. Please, come for a ride.’

  She hadn’t seen him since he had left in a huff when he found out she’d joined the police, and she had to admit that she had missed him.

  ‘I’ll have to get ready.’

  ‘Take your time, I’ll sit outside on the bike.’

  She had never been on a motorbike before and he showed her how to swing her leg over the bike, where to put her feet and, when he sat in front of her, he told her to put her arms round his waist. ‘Hold on tight,’ he shouted as he revved the engine, and they roared off. At first, Helen caught her breath at the speed they were travelling, while the roar of the engine was deafening and the wind rushed past her.

  They went through Oldham and, beyond that, they were in open countryside where now and again they sped through little villages, always climbing higher and higher. Once they reached the top of the moors, Frank slowed the bike, pulled into the side of the road and turned off the engine.

  It was cool up here and a stiff wind was blowing. There was nothing but rough moorland as far as the eye could see in any direction and the low-growing heather in bloom, painting the landscape purple. Trees were sparse and those that had gained a foothold hunkered down. Stunted.

  ‘There’s a bit of shelter just across the road there under that rocky outcrop.’

  ‘You know this place?’

  ‘Hmm, I used to come up here camping when I was a boy.’

  Then she remembered. ‘You and Jim.’

  He nodded. ‘I wanted to be here today. I wanted to show you.’ His voice was low.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Show me.’

  He took a haversack from the inside of the seat and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Stick close to me. There’s a lot of boggy ground up here and it can be dangerous if you don’t know where to find the firmer paths.’ They crossed the road. ‘Over here the rocks are just below the surface and the land rises. It’s not far.’ They walked for about fifteen minutes over uneven ground. She slipped a few times and he reached out his hand to steady her or help her clamber over rocks. They saw no one, only a few scattered sheep, that looked up now and again and bleated. They circled the outcrop and beyond it was a sheltered hollow. They slithered down the slope where the wind had dropped and the sun was warm on their faces.

  ‘This is it.’ Frank was grinning and throwing his arms out wide as if to encompass the entire moors. ‘There’s the place.’ He took her hand and led her to a grassy tussock flecked with cowslips and buttercups. She watched him as he took off his coat and spread it on the ground, his face like a boy wagging off school for the day. Of course, that was it – this was where he and Jim would have come when they were boys to be free from the back-to-back terraces, and the smoke from the mill chimneys.

  Frank opened his haversack and pulled out doorstep sandwiches wrapped in newspaper. He handed her one, delved into the bag again and brought out two bottles of pale ale then levered the bottle tops off with his penknife.

  They sat eating the butties and drinking the ale and Helen felt she was a million miles from anywhere. The silence settled around them… the noise and chatter and worries had been left behind in the city. There was no need to talk.

  She closed her eyes and brought her darling, living and breathing Jim to mind: his smile, a wink, his sleeping face on the pillow next to hers. His strong arms and tender hands. Chasing her up the stairs, catching her in a real fireman’s lift that made her howl with laughter. She saw all that and more in this quiet place.

  The touch on her arm startled her, so intent was she to have Jim vividly in her head.

  ‘It sweeps away the nonsense in life right down the drain, doesn’t it?’ said Frank. ‘In the middle of nowhere you can think about what’s important. When we were lads, Jim and me used to come up here a lot. Two on a push-bike, an old ex-army tent and whatever we could steal from Ma’s pantry. This was our place. We’d pitch the tent, set traps for rabbits, and the best thing…’ The hint of a smile played around his lips. ‘We’d get a fire going. One summer’s night we were camping here, asleep in the tent. I was dead to the world, but Jim shook me awake. “Get up, get up!” he shouted. I crawled out of the tent and caught the smell of burning. The ground was glowing red and crackling. We thought we’d stamped out the fire before we went to sleep, but the wind must have fanned the embers. The moor was tinder dry and the fire was spreading. I stood there mesmerised, but Jim had his wits about him. He was pulling the tent posts out of the ground and shouted for me to do the same. Together we yanked the canvas off the poles and spread it on the fire to cover it and we stamped and stamped on it. Then we moved beyond it where small fires had taken hold. We did the same thing again and again. At first it seemed that for every patch of burning ground we extinguished, other fires were springing up. I was frightened and I pleaded with Jim for us to run away, but he wouldn’t give up. “Keep going,” he shouted over and over and I couldn’t leave him, could I? The canvas was almost gone, and our shoes the same, when we heard the fire engine bells. The wind had blown the fire over the ridge of the hollow and it began to spread down over an exposed part of the moor. Someone down there had alerted the brigade.’

  Frank closed his eyes. Helen waited. He shook his head and looked at her. ‘That were the first time he made me do the right thing, the first time he saved my life and it weren’t to be the last. I don’t remember us saying, “Let’s be firemen when we grow up.” It was just the way we knew it would be; soon as we were old enough, we joined the brigade together. Jim could read a fire better than anyone I knew. He was fearless, but that didn’t stop him from being cautious.’ He paused. ‘He were my best mate.’ Frank bowed his head and Helen just caught the whisper. ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone.’

  She put her arm around him. ‘I know, Frank, I know.’ She was sure he was crying by t
he furtive wipe of his eyes and she ran her hand across his back to soothe him. The minutes passed and she thought of Frank and his grief, still as raw as her own after months of loss. He’d brought her here to the moors to share it with her and she was surprised that, in a strange way, it had brought her some release from her pain. People never mentioned her loss and she wouldn’t ever bring it up. It was almost certain that Frank had been treated the same way.

  ‘Frank, I’m glad you brought me here. I think you and me are in the same boat.’

  He raised his head and looked at her. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Helen. ‘No one ever speaks about Jim, except you and me. Who else says his name out loud? It’s like he never existed, but you and I think of him every day. Don’t you see, Frank? You’re not alone.’

  ‘You’re right, no one mentions him at the station house; it’s like they’re embarrassed, but every time I climb into a fire engine I think of him there beside me, looking out for me, you know?’ He looked at her as though an amazing thought had occurred to him. ‘But you and me can talk about him, can’t we, like today?’

  ‘Of course we can; we’ll talk about our good memories and I wouldn’t even mind if they were sad sometimes.’

  The ride back to Manchester was all downhill with the wind at their back and Helen felt invigorated by the whole excursion. Frank had been right, she did need to get out of the house and he was so kind to think of her.

  She invited him in for a cup of tea when they got back.

  ‘The kitchen looks different,’ said Frank. ‘Have you done something with it?’

  ‘Oh, just curtains and cushion covers. I’m earning decent money so I’ll do a bit more when I’ve time. The parlour’s next, I think, seeing as there’s not much in there. I’ll paint it first.’

  ‘I could help you with that. You’ll need to emulsion the ceiling first. Me mate has stepladders, I could bring them round one weekend and give you a hand. I can’t say when; you know what it’s like when the bombing starts.’

  ‘I understand that and I couldn’t ask you to give up a day off. Gwen would have something to say about that.’ She laughed. ‘You know, she thinks you don’t spend enough time together.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I want with my free time. Same as her when she wants to go out dancing and I’m dead beat. Her head’s full of nonsense half the time.’

  Helen tried to stick up for her friend. ‘She just wants a bit of fun, she works hard too.’

  ‘And you?’ he said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I was surprised that you’d gone dancing with her.’

  ‘I didn’t really want to, I don’t think I’ll go again.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. There’s too many men in uniform trying to pick up girls. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  He turned on her. ‘You don’t know what these fellas are like. I worry about you and I know what Jim would say about it.’

  It felt like a slap in the face, made worse because she still felt guilty for having taken some pleasure in the young airman’s arms. ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she said, a little sharply. ‘I won’t be going out dancing again.’

  Chapter 19

  Helen had spent the previous two days collating and filing reports of looting during the latest bombing raid. Most of them would probably go unsolved and that annoyed her, but what made her really angry was that people had taken advantage and stolen from shops or, worse still, from bombed-out homes.

  ‘That looks interesting.’ Helen looked up to see Sergeant Duffy smiling at her. ‘What would you say to some real police work?’

  ‘I’d say, yes please.’

  ‘Good. Come into my office and I’ll tell you about it.’

  *

  Sergeant Duffy asked her to sit down and Helen could see she was pleased about something. ‘I’ve just had a very interesting call from CID,’ she said. ‘They’ve asked me to send you over to Newton Street nick.They think you might be able to help them, with a case.’

  Helen couldn’t believe it. ‘CID, and they’ve asked for me?’

  Sergeant Duffy was still smiling. ‘They need a woman to help with an unusual investigation. It’s a plain-clothes job.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’d pretend to be an ordinary member of the public in order to gather evidence and report back to the detective in charge.’

  Helen was disappointed. ‘But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t know how.’

  ‘You’re more than capable of doing this job. In fact, you’re exactly what they need because it involves women who’ve been bereaved. This is a real chance for you to do something worthwhile.’

  Helen’s mind was racing. She’d do anything to help women like herself, but she knew nothing about collecting evidence. She wasn’t trained to do that, and as for pretending…

  ‘Look, at least hear what CID want you to do. If it might upset you, or maybe it’s a bit too personal, just say no. I won’t think any less of you.’

  But Helen couldn’t help feeling that Sergeant Duffy would be disappointed in her if she passed up this opportunity. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and talk to them.’

  ‘Good, get yourself round to Newton Street nick right now. Ask for DC Kershaw.’

  *

  She hadn’t seen nor heard of Ken Kershaw since he had returned the stolen garments to Fenner’s Fashions. She was glad to hear that he was involved in this case and in fact she was pretty certain he’d asked for her specifically.

  ‘Helen, nice to see you again.’ He came striding towards her, hand outstretched. ‘Glad you’re going to help us. Come upstairs and I’ll fill you in.’

  She didn’t like to say she had only come to hear what the case was about. Had Sergeant Duffy already told him she would do it?

  The poky office was empty: four desks in a block; stacks of files everywhere. ‘How are you doing at headquarters?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I have even more filing than you, but I get to walk the beat sometimes. Sergeant Duffy said you might have something interesting for me to do, but I warn you I’ve no real experience.’

  Ken cleared a chair of files and she sat down. ‘Helen, you have more experience in this matter than anyone else in this building. First, let me reassure you that there are no obvious dangers involved, but it’s a sensitive issue.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘We’ve been asked by a leading member of the church to investigate a so-called medium. His wife attended a seance without his knowledge, her brother had recently been killed in action, and her husband is demanding the medium be charged with fraud and taking money with menaces.’

  ‘I didn’t know seances were against the law.’

  ‘They’re not, but the clergy hate them.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to do something that would help bereaved women.’

  ‘Exactly that. We want you to attend the next seance to observe what goes on. We’re looking for proof of the medium causing distress or demanding money, and more importantly, whether any deception takes place.’

  It wasn’t quite what Helen had expected. ‘So, I go to the seance and report back on what happened?’

  ‘Yes, it’s that simple.’

  ‘Couldn’t anyone do that?’

  ‘No, it needs somebody in the same situation to really understand what these poor women are experiencing and whether they’re being duped. You could help us decide whether it’s harmless.’

  She had never had much faith in the Church and the idea that the dead lived on somewhere beyond our understanding. She had even less time for charlatans who pretended to bring them back for a cosy chat. Taking advantage of a widow’s grief was cruel and shouldn’t be allowed.

  ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

  ‘That’s great, thanks, Helen. You just have to be yourself, see what’s going on, and come back and tell us. Now the medium will be expecting the clergyman’s wife – she had ar
ranged to go back on Friday night – and we’d like you to take her place. You can say she couldn’t come and you’re her friend and recently widowed. Could you do Friday night?’

  ‘Yes, I could.’

  ‘Excellent! I’ll pick you up at seven.’

  *

  In the days between agreeing to attend the seance and the Friday night, she worried about what to expect. What if the medium did have some sort of second sight and saw straight through her? What if she had to listen to the woman pretending Jim was in the room? That would be so upsetting. She even, in one of her more far-fetched scenarios, imagined that Jim would actually be there in the ether asking her what the hell she was doing there.

  On the drive to Whalley Range, Ken went over again the sort of thing to look out for and the importance of ‘keeping her cover’. She had understood it all the first time, and in her mind she went over her opinion. She didn’t believe that the dead could talk to the living, that Jim would be waiting in this woman’s house to pass on a thrupenny crumb of comfort to his grieving wife. If he’d had something to say, she would have heard it herself in her own house.

  They arrived at a three-storey Victorian terrace with a gate, garden and a glazed vestibule. It would seem seances paid handsomely.

  ‘I’ll be waiting just a bit further down the road when you come out. Good luck.’

  She pressed the bell and waited. Why was her heart racing? She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. It wasn’t the seance that made her nervous, it was the whole thing about plain-clothes, getting evidence, cloak and dagger. The door opened and there was a plump woman in a navy and pink printed dress. Her grey hair was shaped with permanent waves and her toothy smile looked friendly enough. ‘Hello, I take it you’re here for the meeting? What’s your name?’

  ‘Helen.’

  She consulted a little diary. ‘I’ve not got you booked in.’