The Girl from the Corner Shop

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘I know who you are,’ she said and turned to Pearl. ‘Is it all right if I leave a bit early? I’m meeting someone.’

  Pearl pursed her lips. ‘I suppose so, but be here on time tomorrow, not like today.’

  Rita collected her belongings and, without another word, she was gone.

  ‘What’s up with her?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Plenty,’ said Pearl. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. Now I’m going to lock up and you and me will go and get some tea. My treat.’

  On the way, Pearl told Helen about the precarious state of Fenner’s Fashions. How it had been going downhill for a while, and the clothes rationing made it a lot worse. ‘You’ll have noticed Dorothy wasn’t in the office. Harold laid her off. He wanted to keep Rita because…’ She sighed. ‘Because he’s been sleeping with her.’

  ‘What? But she’s only young.’

  ‘Old enough, apparently, to take all she can from a stupid old fella.’

  ‘And where does that leave you?’

  ‘I’m still in my house, for the time being anyway. He still comes to see me, but I know Rita wants me out.’

  ‘Surely, after all these years, he wouldn’t put you out on the street.’

  ‘He may have no choice if the business goes to the wall.’

  *

  They were early enough not to have to queue for a table at the Kardomah at the top of Market Street. Inside, it was so different and modern that Helen stopped to take it all in: the shiny red chairs and tiled tables; random black stencils painted on the walls; and on the far left a sweeping staircase leading to a mezzanine overlooking the floor below.

  They opted to sit upstairs looking down on the diners. ‘Helen, I just want to say one thing. I knew nothing about Harold trying to pair you up with Charlie Brownlow, please believe me. I would never have been a party to that. Yes, I’ve been Harold’s mistress for twenty years, but I would never want to see any young woman take the same path.’

  ‘I know that now, Pearl. I wasn’t myself back then, I couldn’t think straight. I’m sorry.’

  ‘And I’m sorry too. I should have looked after you better. Maybe I should have left him then.’

  ‘It’s all water under the bridge now. I’m so glad I came to see you today.’

  The waitress took their order – toad in the hole, with gravy. ‘We’ve talked about me,’ said Pearl, ‘but what about you? You looked so sad when you came in the office.’

  ‘I’m doing all right. The job is tough sometimes, but I’m so glad I joined the police. As for today, well, I’ve been upset. I went to the fire station this afternoon to receive Jim’s bravery award.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I handed it back to them.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘I did, I’m afraid.’ She shook her head. ‘I told them every fireman should have one because they’re all brave.’

  ‘What did they say about that?’

  ‘Don’t know. I walked out.’

  ‘What would Jim say?’

  ‘He’d say, “Good on you!”’

  They talked and talked, then ordered a pudding – Manchester tart – and a fresh pot of tea. ‘Your mother came to see me, you know. She wanted your address, but I told her I didn’t know it.’

  ‘I saw her a few weeks ago. She asked me to come back home, said she was ill, but I don’t know if that was true.’

  ‘Would you consider going back?’

  ‘Never,’ said Helen. ‘I sometimes wonder if she was always so mean-spirited.’

  ‘She’s always been a glass half empty person, but she wasn’t hurtful when she was younger.’

  ‘So, what happened to make her so bitter?’

  Pearl thought for a moment. ‘I shouldn’t really tell you but, there’s such a rift between you, it makes no odds. You know that your father died when you were three. That’s true, but he left your mother two years before that to live with another woman. Elsie was sure he would come back to her, but he and the woman died together in a motorbike accident. It felt like she had lost him twice.’

  ‘I never really thought about her life before me and she told me very little about him. It’s a sad story, isn’t it? Why didn’t she tell me? I might have understood her better.’

  The café was filling up when they left. They stood outside and promised they would keep in touch. ‘Send me a letter when you’ve got time and we’ll arrange to meet again,’ said Pearl, and she reached out and hugged her. ‘I’m so pleased we’re back in touch.’ Her voice was full of emotion. ‘We won’t ever fall out again, will we?’

  ‘No, we won’t,’ said Helen. ‘I promise.’

  *

  She arrived home to find Frank sitting on the doorstep. He jumped up as soon as he saw her. ‘Thank God, you’re home, Helen, I’ve been worried sick about you.’

  She unlocked the door and went inside and Frank followed her. ‘Where have you been? It’s nearly eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’ve been out with a friend for my tea.’

  ‘What friend?’

  She was tempted to say it was none of his business, but he seemed upset enough without her adding to it. ‘Pearl, my godmother, you met her at Jim’s funeral.’

  He seemed satisfied with that and sat down at the table. ‘You’re all right then?’

  ‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  He looked somewhat bewildered. ‘Well, all that about not wanting Jim’s award and telling those people they should have given us all one. That was a strange thing to say and then you just walked out.’

  She busied herself pouring Vimto into two glasses and topping it up with water. ‘I just said what I thought.’

  She handed him the drink. He put it on the table and pulled a cardboard tube from inside his uniform. ‘I think you need to have this.’

  She knew right away that it was the bravery award and, for all her denial of it, she took it out and read it until the tears ran down her cheeks and she could see no more.

  He went to her and took her in his arms. ‘God, Helen, I hate to see you so sad and lost.’

  All that strength she had found in front of those people, and the confidence Pearl had given her, melted away. But there was the familiar coarse material of his tunic against her cheek and she felt for a brass button beneath her hand. It could have been Jim soothing her with softly whispered words… She looked up at Frank and there was a gentleness in his face. She closed her eyes and caught her breath at the touch of his lips on hers. The kiss was sweet and she took comfort from it, but she had to draw back.

  They stood facing each other. ‘Helen, I—’

  ‘No, don’t say anything, Frank.’

  ‘I… I have to say something. Hear me out, please.’ He took a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts. ‘When Jim died, I tried to help you. You were on your own and, at first, I thought I could be your friend. But the truth was, we were both lost without Jim. I realised that when we were on the moors.’ Another pause, Helen waited. ‘I felt so close to you, but there were only so many ways I could keep dropping in. Truth was, I wanted to be with you all the time. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’ He went to touch her, but she stepped back.

  ‘I love you, Helen.’

  The shock of it stunned her and it was a moment before her mind could piece together this other side to his concern and friendship. How could she have been so naive, never realising his true feelings? And hard on the heels of that thought came the worst of it. She was the other woman. She was the cause of Gwen’s broken heart.

  ‘You finished with Gwen because you love me?’

  ‘No, that’s not right. I left Gwen because I didn’t love her. I don’t think I ever loved her, and if you say no to me, it won’t make any difference, I won’t go back to her.’

  ‘Frank, you’re my friend. You’ve done everything you could for me, but I don’t love you.’

  ‘I know you don’t love me… you love Jim, but there’s enough between us to hold us together. We could have a good life, l
ike you had with Jim. You know I’ll look after you and you won’t be lonely any more. We could live here. It’s a sound house and I could make it a lovely home. We’d have children, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Helen was amazed at how detailed his fantasy was.

  ‘I know all this comes as a surprise to you and I don’t expect you to give me an answer right away. I want you to think about the kind of life we could have together.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Frank.’

  ‘Just think about it, that’s all. I’m working night shifts this week, but I’ll call round next Saturday night. Just to see if you’re all right.’

  Chapter 27

  Sergeant Duffy stood in front of her policewomen – constables and auxiliaries – and briefed them on progress into the investigation of the murders of the two young women, Marilyn and Norah. ‘There were clear similarities: both found in bomb shelters; they had their throats cut, but there was evidence that they had been partially strangled before that. The detective leading the investigation has finally…’ she paused and rolled her eyes, ‘decided that the deaths are connected and we’re looking for one man. I’ll remind you of what we know so far. There was a witness in Marilyn’s case who said she went off with a man in a tweed overcoat and a homburg. She heard him speak and she thought he sounded like an actor in a film. There was also some uncertainty about hearing a car nearby in the vicinity of both murders. Marilyn was known to us as a prostitute and Norah was a waitress at the Grand Hotel who regularly worked until midnight. So, the only connection is that they were out late in the blackout, like a lot of other women, such as those working night shifts in the factories. I’ll also mention both girls were blonde, but that’s probably a coincidence.

  ‘The good news is that the chief superintendent has at last come around to my way of thinking and authorised extra overtime for us to be patrolling the streets overnight. I’ve drawn up a rota for extra shifts. Your instructions are simple: get out there and talk to the women. Ask questions about unusual behaviour in men seen in any vicinity; women often have a sixth sense about these things. Make them aware that they have to keep themselves safe – advise them not to be alone if they can help it. Finally, report back anything that might relate to the murders, no matter how trivial.’

  As they were leaving the room, Sergeant Duffy called Helen back. ‘I’ve put you down for the same shifts as me. It’s about time you stopped filing looting reports and got a bit more police work under your belt.’

  Unlike some, who left the briefing grumbling about the night shifts, Helen couldn’t wait to get out on patrol again, because every minute she spent with Sergeant Duffy, she would be learning about policing.

  Two days later they were on the beat together. They left Bootle Street at ten o’clock and set off walking with the aim of reaching the Grand Hotel, where Norah Jennings had worked, around midnight.

  ‘How was the award ceremony at the fire station?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t turn out the way anyone expected, least of all me.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Helen explained what she had done.

  ‘My, my, you left them all sitting there?’

  ‘Yes, I feel awful about it now, I don’t know what came over me. I’m the last person who’d rock the boat.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. A slip of a girl telling a few home truths to a prominent clergyman sounds like “previous form” to me. But tell me, do you regret not having the award?’

  ‘Actually, I do have it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Jim’s mate, he’s a fireman too, was there and he picked it up and brought it round to my house. I suppose I was meant to have it.’

  They walked up Peter Street, past the buildings damaged by the Whit holiday bombing, the Theatre Royal, Café Royal and the Gaiety, and on to the Midland Hotel. They went into the foyer and met with the night manager who seemed to know Sergeant Duffy well. She introduced Helen. ‘This is WAPC Harrison.’ He agreed to instruct the doormen and receptionists to speak to any woman intending to go out in the blackout, advising them to take a taxi.

  Behind the hotel was Central Station and, in the arches underneath, a handful of women were soliciting. Most of them were known to Sergeant Duffy. ‘Sure, I know you have a living to make, girls, but don’t take risks. Stay close to the others and please don’t get into a car on your own.’

  On to the Odeon cinema just as the final house emptied where they stood either side of the main door and called out, ‘Don’t walk home on your own, you’ve time enough to catch the last bus or tram. Be wary of strangers.’

  By the time they got to the Grand it was almost midnight. They spoke to the receptionist who had been on duty the night Norah died. ‘She was lovely and so pretty. Tall, like you.’ She nodded to Helen. ‘She wasn’t one of those who would be hanging around looking for men.’

  ‘Do you remember seeing her leave with anyone that night?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Well, keep reminding your staff and female guests about not being in the blackout on their own. And if you see anything suspicious, ring Bootle Street station.’

  One in the morning and the streets were deserted, but still they patrolled using their torches to light the way. They walked down to Hanging Ditch and just near the cathedral, Helen caught someone in the beam of her torch leaning next to a car. The man was startled; he turned and ran. Helen gave chase with Sergeant Duffy behind her. She managed to grab his coat, but he was too strong and the next moment she was being dragged over the cobbles. The coat slipped through her fingers and he was gone.

  ‘Are you in one piece?’ said Sergeant Duffy as she helped her up. She shone her torch on Helen. ‘Grazed knees, stockings ripped to pieces, a cut on your cheek. Ach, you’ll live.’

  ‘I’m just annoyed I couldn’t hold on to him. What was he up to?’

  ‘Siphoning off petrol, I think. He’d only just started, look, there’s his can and tube. He’ll be long gone by now. Pick up the tools of his trade, it might keep him off the street for a few days. We’ll wander back to the station now for a short break then we’ll go out again.’

  *

  On Saturday afternoon, Helen returned to the rest centre. She hadn’t been for two weeks while she was working night shifts, but she wanted to call in and see the women. She wondered too if Laurence would be there.

  Brenda was sitting outside in the sunshine when she arrived at the Whitworth. ‘Hello, how are you?’ Helen asked and sat down beside her.

  ‘I think we might have some good news soon. A few of us went to the town hall housing office earlier this week. I think they were a bit put out when we showed up but, fair dos, they brought us in to see one of the housing officers. We made sure they knew we were living in a basement and there were families and elderly people all mixed in together with no privacy at all.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘Turns out they’ve started work in our area repairing the bombed houses and renovating derelict properties that were boarded up long before the war. It’ll be a few weeks, but at least we know the end’s in sight.’

  ‘That’s great news; it’ll lift people’s spirits.’

  ‘The atmosphere has completely changed now they’ve something to look forward to.’

  ‘Anything else going on?’

  ‘Yes, I’m glad to see you. I’m a bit worried about a girl who turned up last week. There’s something odd about her.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, she’s on her own for a start. We’ve tried to talk to her, but you don’t get much out of her. I think she’s in a state of shock.’

  ‘Because of the bombing?’

  ‘Probably, but there’s something else… She has a bag with her, but I don’t think she opens it. She’s not changed her clothes since she got here.’

  ‘I could speak to her if you like.’

  The girl was asleep on a camp bed at the far end of the basement. H
elen stood back and studied her: about fourteen years old; grubby dress and cardigan; looked like she could do with a good wash. And there was the bag wrapped in her arms. Helen knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder.

  She jumped up, her eyes wide with fear, and clutched the bag tighter.

  ‘Hello, I’m Helen.’ The girl said nothing, but looked quickly around her as though she was about to bolt for the door. ‘Don’t be frightened. What’s your name?’

  ‘Susan.’ A whisper.

  ‘Was your house bombed?’

  A shake of the head.

  ‘Where are your parents, Susan?’

  She looked away.

  ‘If you’ve any family or friends I could take you to them or I could ask them to come and get you. Would you like me to do that?’ The girl looked like she was going to cry. ‘Don’t get upset, Susan, you’re safe here.’ Helen tried another tack. ‘Maybe you could have a good wash, that would make you feel better.’ She reached for the bag. ‘Have you clean clothes there?’

  The girl let out a shriek and clung to the bag as though it held her most precious possession.

  ‘What’s in the bag, Susan?’

  She began to shake and slowly, from somewhere deep inside her, there came a strangled cry, softly at first then rising steadily until the piercing sound filled the basement and brought those within hearing distance gathering round to see what was happening.

  Brenda was one of the first there. ‘I’ll hold her, you see if you can get the bag from her.’

  Helen tried to prise open the girl’s clawed hands, but she was strong. Then someone was at her side – a flash of a blade and the side of the bag split open. The putrid smell made her retch, but she pulled away the blanket inside and cried out. The baby was tiny, naked and dead. Helen jumped up and backed away from the horrible sight. ‘Helen, Helen, it’s all right.’ And there was Laurence cradling the bag. ‘Listen to me. I’ll take the baby to my room. You and Brenda bring the girl, quick as you can.’

  The girl offered no resistance, she wanted to be with the child, and once inside Laurence’s office she sat meekly in a chair, never taking her eyes off it.