by Katie Flynn
Tess nodded. ‘I’d have to smarten myself up a lot, not a bit,’ she said. ‘But I do have a Sunday dress, and though my coat is thin it’s still quite respectable, even if one or two of the buttons are missing.’
‘Buttons are cheap; go to Miss Roberts who runs the haberdashery stall in Paddy’s Market,’ Albert advised. He glanced out of the kitchen window and got to his feet. ‘Time you were off, young Theresa,’ he said, ‘but just in case, we’ll go out the back way and I’ll walk you up to your gran’s flat.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m sure there’s no need, but I dare say we’ll both be happier once you’re safe indoors once more!’
Tess was grateful for Mr Payne’s company, for though it was only a short walk to the milliner’s shop she found that she was still nervous, fancying every shadow hid a vengeful money snatcher. However, they reached the door of the flat without incident, but when she invited her new friend in to meet her gran Mr Payne told her that he had to get back. ‘You go up and tell her all about your adventures, and face that Marilyn out; you may be surprised at the result,’ he said. ‘And pop in from time to time to let me know how you’re going on.’
Tess agreed to do so, and bade him goodnight. Pulling out her key, she unlocked the door and hurried up the stairs which led straight into the flat’s small, square hall. The smell of something good cooking came to her nostrils and she burst in upon Gran, who was stirring a large saucepan in the kitchen, eager to tell of her exciting, if perilous, day.
Gran turned to greet her, her eyebrows rising. ‘Where have you been, chuck? It’s so late I was about to send out a search party. It doesn’t do to be on the streets after dark, let me tell you, or not by yourself at any rate.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Don’t tell me you found yourself a job? I do my best, but things aren’t cheap and there’s no denying I’m a poor manager . . .’
‘Oh, Gran, you aren’t a poor manager, you work miracles with the money we’ve got,’ Tess said warmly. ‘And you’re a grand cook, so you are. Tomorrow I’ll try for a job again, only this time I’ll dress up a bit, do you credit.’
‘You’re a grand kid, young Tess, and I mean to make a few extra pennies towards our Christmas dinner myself,’ Gran said mysteriously. ‘But food isn’t important, queen, not really.’ She trotted across to Tess and enveloped her in a huge cuddly hug. ‘We’ve got each other, a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, even if it isn’t turkey and plum pudding. That’s enough for me. But you still haven’t told me where you’ve been all day.’
‘Well, I didn’t get a job, but like St Paul on the road to Damascus, I fell among thieves,’ Tess admitted, and began to tell Gran the whole story, only leaving out that she had been proffering the ten-shilling note as payment for a glass angel, since she still hoped to be able to buy something similar before Christmas Day dawned. The stallholders on Paddy’s Market were famous for their bargains; maybe she would find an angel as pretty as the first.
Gran listened and was a most appreciative audience, gasping, laughing and exclaiming, though she told Tess severely that she really must remember that what one might do in a Norfolk village was best avoided in a big city. ‘I know you told me Mrs Bell said she never locked her doors, and that the young lads left their bicycles on the village green or leaning against their houses, but if you did that in Liverpool you’d soon regret it,’ she said. ‘I dare say there’s pickpockets and thieves in most big cities, but it just ain’t worth their while to try it on in villages and such. Haven’t I told you to push your purse well down in your pocket or keep it up your knicker leg at this time of year? If I’d known about that ten-bob note I’d have come with you.’ She had heaved a deep sigh, looking at Tess with anxious blue eyes. ‘There must be someone in your class who would go around with you. You say that Marilyn doesn’t like you and the rest of them follow her lead, but there must be someone who’s got a bit more sense.’
‘I’ll find someone, only it seems it’s going to take time,’ Tess said regretfully. ‘Oh, when I think of the farm and the village kids . . . well, I had plenty of friends there, so why should I find it so difficult now?’
Gran began to speak, then seemed to change her mind, but after a pause she began again. ‘The truth is, you’re different, chuck,’ she said gently. ‘I know you try to imitate the others, but you don’t speak with a Scouse accent, so they think you’re posh. And the village school brought you on a treat so you’re streets ahead of the local kids, which is why you’re in a class with girls who are mostly two years older than you. And you’ve done yourself no favours by telling the teacher she was wrong.’ She chuckled. ‘If there’s one thing a know-all dislikes it’s another know-all; you’ve got to learn tact, young lady, else you’ll get nowhere in this life.’
Tess smiled. It was not the first time that Gran had warned her against being too clever, and she had truly tried, several times having to bite her lip when she saw the teacher making an obvious mistake in the problems she was writing up on the blackboard. So she said humbly: ‘I know you’re right, Gran, and I don’t say anything when she makes a mistake anymore, but honest to God, her spelling! If you could only see it . . .’
While they spoke Gran had been stirring her pan of scouse and now she seemed to realise that it had reached perfection, for she pulled the pan off the flame and began to dish up. ‘Tell you what, queen, that Miss Cracknell is bound to live somewhere near the school; I dare say you could find her address if you asked around a bit. Suppose you take her a Christmas present? A little box of chocolates, or I could make a batch of those crunchy oat biscuits you’re so fond of. Being as how she’s working she may not have time to bake for herself. That isn’t a bad idea.’
Tess felt a smile spread across her face. ‘The biscuits would be best because I’m pretty sure Marilyn gives her chocolates from time to time,’ she said. ‘Only last week I heard one of the girls saying she’d seen Marilyn slipping a little box of sugared almonds, whatever they may be, into Clackem’s desk and getting ever such a sweet smile from that miserable old woman.’
Gran tutted. ‘Don’t be like that. If you’re going to make any headway you’ve got to be sincere,’ she said. ‘I’ll bake the biscuits this very evening and you can take them round to Miss Cracknell’s place tomorrow, all wrapped up in fancy paper. You can tell her you made them yourself, if you like.’
‘No, no, she’d think I was being a cooking know-all,’ Tess said, giggling. ‘I’ll let her think I bought them.’ She looked appreciatively at the plate of stew Gran was handing her. ‘Gosh, that looks good and smells better! If I could take a plateful of that round to old Clackem I’d guess I’d be her favourite pupil for the whole of next term. Oh, Gran, you’re a princess so you are!’
Albert Payne returned to his shop with the comfortable feeling of one who has helped someone else and been properly appreciated. He decided that Tess Williams was a nice little girl and hoped, since she lived so near, that she would pop into the shop from time to time, as he had suggested. She could tell him how she was getting on at school and whether she had managed to get a job to help with her grandmother’s shaky finances. He wished he could have given her work himself, but his slender profits would not allow him to employ anyone besides Mr Clarke in the tobacconist’s shop, though if he did start another business in the empty premises up the road that would be a different story. Although he had not entirely abandoned the idea of opening a tea room, lately he had been reading in an American magazine, which the local newsagent had acquired for him, how ice cream parlours were sweeping the States. He knew – none better – that no one in his area had even considered such a new and foreign idea, but he truly thought that such a place would go down well with local youngsters. Liverpool was being rebuilt as fast as the authorities could afford it, and by the time his ice cream parlour was up and running – if he did start one – he would be sure of a great many customers, for it would be summer, a time when ice creams and fizzy drinks were eagerly sought and sales of tea and coffee, he imagined, s
lumped.
Albert reached his shop and unlocked the door, slipping inside and making sure the Yale lock clicked home when he pulled it closed behind him. He checked that all was well, then made for the stockroom and the flight of stairs which led up to his flat. As he crossed the small square hall and entered the kitchen, he was suddenly aware of a feeling he thought he had conquered. It was loneliness. His wife Louisa had died before the outbreak of war, and though he had grieved deeply Janine had been a schoolgirl, living at home, so he had been far too busy to be lonely. When war had broken out Janine was fifteen, pretty and lively, and eager to help in the war effort, taking a job making parachutes at a local factory. She and Albert had muddled along all right. They had both adored Louisa and missed her dreadfully, but the dangers and hard work which the war brought meant that every minute of every day seemed to be filled to capacity. In fact, when America entered the war and her soldiers and air force personnel began to flood into Britain, Albert was the last person to realise that Janine, who spent her spare time working in the American PX club, was dating Staff Sergeant Da Silva and was serious about him. She had brought him into the shop a couple of times, had invited him to share their Sunday dinner on at least one occasion, and now Albert thought ruefully that in his secret heart he must have known that sooner or later his pretty daughter would marry and move out of the flat.
But to go to the United States of America! Never in his wildest nightmares had he thought of such a thing. Mario came from a small town in Nevada called Silverpeak – daft name – and his family owned a grocery store and a ‘soda fountain’, no doubt similar to the establishment he dreamed of owning. Janine intended to work until the babies came along so that she and Mario might save up enough money to buy a small farm – though they called it a ranch – in the beautiful countryside surrounding Silverpeak, and to do her credit she had invited her father to go with her across the Pond, as her boyfriend called the Atlantic, and stay for as long as he could be spared from the shop.
Albert walked across the kitchen, aware that he was shivering though he had not removed his coat, and bent to light the fire he had laid earlier, aware not only of loneliness but also of a strong desire not to have to eat the meal he had planned, a piece of cold meat pie, a packet of Smiths crisps and a couple of rounds of bread and margarine: cold comfort on such an icy day. He supposed he could light the oven and heat up the meat pie, but it seemed pretty pointless really. After all, what was food? It was just fuel which one devoured so that one could keep going.
Albert went into the pantry and extracted the slice of meat pie; it was smaller than he remembered and the crust looked grey rather than golden brown. He carried it across the kitchen and then, on impulse, chucked it on to the fire which was just beginning to take hold. He decided he fancied fish and chips. His favourite shop, Pownall’s, would be frying already; if he hurried, he might get a nice piece of haddock. He was halfway to the kitchen door when a nasty smell of burning caused him to stop in his tracks. He had feared that the slice of pie might put out the fire, but instead it had caught and was causing a most horrible smell, and clouds of smoke. Sighing, he retraced his steps, poked the flaming pie through the bars of the grate, then added a couple more pieces of kindling. It was far too cold to sit in the kitchen all evening without a fire; best get this one going properly before he went out for fish and chips.
Half an hour later, with haddock and chips wrapped in a copy of the Daily Mirror, Albert returned to the flat. The fire was now burning brightly and the fish and chips smelled good, but the minute he closed the door behind him the loneliness swept back. It was all the fault of that skinny little kid who had bolted into his shop and hidden behind the counter. He could picture her in his mind, getting slowly and reluctantly to her feet, casting terrified glances towards the shop door. She was a scrawny kid, he reflected now, with fine untidy hair, ragged clothing and plimsolls whose soles flapped as she walked. Yet she spoke nicely, without a trace of the Scouse accent, and had seemed bright enough, though she had not had the sense to dress decently when searching for a job. Perhaps she wasn’t as bright as all that. But then he remembered she was living with an old grandmother, and had made no secret of the fact that money was short. She would be very conscious that her Sunday clothes were meant for special occasions; he remembered how Janine had cherished her green pleated skirt, pale yellow blouse and green cardigan, to say nothing of her shiny black shoes. Thinking back, he realised he could not blame Tess for not wanting to wear her best clothes in the rough and scuff of the market.
He unwrapped the fish and chips and put them out on a plate, reflecting as he did so how nice it would have been to share them with someone. That girl, that Tess, who had so many problems, but who had trusted him; it would have been nice to share his supper with someone like Tess.
He had already fetched vinegar and salt from the cupboard where he kept such things, and now he sat down and pulled his plate towards him. He began to eat, telling himself as he did so that having saved Tess from the louts who had been pursuing her, he would like to keep up the acquaintance. It would be interesting to hear Marilyn Thomas’s reaction when she was asked straight out why she didn’t like Tess. And that teacher, that Miss Cracknell: if Tess had been his daughter he would have been up to that school before you could say Jack Robinson, demanding an explanation for her unfriendly behaviour. If it had been Janine . . . but then he scolded himself; interfering between pupil and teacher wouldn’t help matters. The old lady – what was her name now? He was sure the girl had mentioned it – oh, yes, Mrs Williams. Well, he supposed she could have said something, but from what Tess had said she had not tried to do so. Probably she knew best, knew that poking her nose in would only make things worse.
Albert reached for a slice of bread and margarine and wiped it round his now empty plate. Then he took a swig of tea and gave a deep, satisfied sigh. ‘That was grand,’ he said aloud. ‘And tomorrow I’ll go round to the landlord of the empty shop and find out what sort of rent he’s asking. God knows I’ve been saying I’ll do it long enough.’
It had not been difficult for Tess to discover Clackem’s address, nor had it been hard to wrap the delicious crumbly biscuits in bright Christmas paper, to put the little parcel carefully in Gran’s wicker shopping basket, and to set out on foot for her house. It was not far from the school, which was probably why she’d chosen to live there, Tess thought. What was hard was forcing herself to walk up the short path to the front door, pick up the knocker, which was made of brass and in the shape of a lion’s head, and rap. In fact, Tess walked up and down the short street several times before she worked up enough courage to seize the knocker. It seemed a long time before anybody came, and she was just beginning to think, hopefully, that Miss Cracknell must be out when she heard footsteps approaching the front door. They sounded like the footsteps of someone wearing sensible, low-heeled brogues, the very shoes that her teacher favoured.
The door opened abruptly, fortunately swinging inwards so that Tess was not knocked off her feet, and Miss Cracknell stood there, thin arched eyebrows rising, mouth snapping ‘Yes?’ and then adding ‘Oh, it’s you!’ so that sweat popped out all over Tess’s brow and she had to fight an urge to turn and run. But then she remembered that she was wearing a thick grey overcoat and a matching grey skirt with two big patch pockets, and that Gran had plaited her hair and tied it with a short length of red ribbon. In other words she had taken the advice both of Albert Payne and of Gran; she was neat as a new pin and should be feeling confident as a result.
But the teacher’s abrupt remark had knocked her temporarily off balance. She grabbed the beautiful parcel in its bright scarlet and green Christmas paper and thrust it into the teacher’s hands. And then she said something so sensible that afterwards she wondered what had put it into her head. ‘Good morning, Miss Cracknell. I’ve brought you a Christmas gift from my grandmother, because she’s an awful good cook and she said teachers were busy people and didn’t get much chance
to do fancy cooking. And we both hope you enjoy them . . . so happy Christmas, Miss!’
Miss Cracknell’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Tess waited for perhaps ten seconds, then turned on her heel. She had taken two steps away from the front door when Miss Cracknell croaked one word: ‘Wait!’
Tess turned back in time to see her teacher’s brown-clad figure disappearing into the darkness of a short hallway. What on earth was the woman about to do? But she was back within seconds, her face rather flushed. She held out a small screw of paper which, in her turn, she thrust at Tess. ‘Seasons greetings,’ she said stiffly. Then she shut the door firmly, leaving Tess staring at its green-painted panels. She was turning away, wondering what was in the screw of paper, when another voice spoke.
‘What the devil are you doin’ here, Tess Williams?’ it said disagreeably. The speaker stopped beside her and peered into her face, and Tess recognised a girl in her class at school. ‘Hopin’ to curry favour wi’ old Clackem? I seen you walkin’ up and down the road, pluckin’ up the courage to go creepin’ up to her front door. What did she give you then?’ She laughed hoarsely. ‘A saccharin tablet?’
‘Oh, shut your gob!’ Tess said. She couldn’t bear Matilda, who was fat and spiteful as well as being the stupidest girl in the class and one of Marilyn’s chief hangers-on. ‘What makes you think she gave me anything? I was only delivering something for my gran.’ She turned and began to hurry down the street, determined not to get into an argument with a girl she thoroughly disliked, and though Matilda followed her for a few yards she soon gave up when Tess broke into a run. Tess had pushed the screw of paper into her pocket as soon as she heard Matilda’s voice and decided to leave it there until she reached the flat once more, reasoning that it was too small to contain anything really interesting. As she unlocked the door and began to climb the stairs, she fingered the little packet, thinking wistfully how nice it would be if her teacher had pressed a couple of bob into her hand, but whatever was inside the tissue the most cursory exploration with her fingers told her that it wasn’t coins. In fact, it felt like nothing so much as a couple of pebbles. But even as she pulled the packet out of her pocket she realised that Clackem was unlikely to play a practical joke on her. You only did that to your friends.
