The Bermondsey Bookshop

by Mary Gibson

  ‘Don’t think this is ’cause I’m unhappy. I’m bloody angry, that’s what I am – angry!’ And her strangled sobs broke out again, halting and jerky as if she were swallowing a stone.

  ‘I know that!’ Kate lied. ‘But what’s stirred you up?’

  ‘It’s my brother – your father. I’ve found out Stan’s been telling the truth all along. Archie’s back in the country and never sent a word to me. I thought I was different to her up the lane.’ She slapped her chest with her fat-fingered hand. ‘That he’d never forget what I did for him… the sacrifices so he could go to St Olave’s school, putting away out of me own wages for his uniform, more fool me. Shit’s been me thanks.’

  Kate let her aunt recover herself, not speaking until her tears had ceased. ‘But, Aunt Sarah, how can you know for sure?’

  ‘Because I took it into me own hands. Got in touch with cousin Bert in Bromley. Archie was always very friendly with him – he’s got a few bob – and I says to meself, if Archie’s been to see anyone, it’s Bert. I got this letter today.’ She flung it across the table to Kate. ‘Bert says Archie’s been back in the country all right and now he’s sodded off abroad again. He don’t care about his family, Kate. He never has!’ She raised puffy eyes to Kate that were full of hurt. ‘I’ve give up on him. You do yourself a favour and forget the ungrateful bastard,’ she said, pointing a stubby finger at Kate.

  Kate had only just begun to convince herself that Stan’s ‘revelation’ about her dad had been a pack of lies, made out of spite, but now she felt as if a strong hand had reached inside to squeeze her heart till it hurt. She doubted that the particular moment Martin had captured in his painting Dreaming would ever happen again. Archie wouldn’t be coming for her. She felt herself let go of the last faint hope and put a hand over Aunt Sarah’s, asking dully, ‘What did he ever give us anyway?’

  After that, it was hard to live with what felt like a gaping hole in her heart. There were habits of mind that brought her continually up against this void, as if her thoughts had been used to circling a maze with Archie at its centre. A centre she now knew was empty. She wished with all her heart she could tell Johnny, but now she could never share her loss with him. For his had been so much greater. He had lost his mother, and since the fight over The Bermondsey Triptych, he had lost her too.

  11

  A Dangerous Situation

  Kate never thought she’d be going to Lucy for advice. She had a sweet nature but, to Kate’s thinking, hadn’t an ounce of common sense. Now Kate found herself almost desperate to talk to the girl. As soon as Boutle’s hooter screeched for the dinner break, Kate shot out and hurried to the bookshop. She knew Lucy was helping with stocktaking that afternoon and hoped to find a few minutes to ask her where she’d got the stupid idea that Martin was in love with her. She’d thought it was just Lucy’s fantasy – a girl who seemed to fall in and out of love at the drop of a hat. But now Martin’s declaration had proved Lucy right. So how had she known? When had he confided in her?

  When she arrived, the shop was deserted, and she got on with giving the place a quick clean. She was upstairs mopping the reading-room floor when she heard the jangling of the door bell. Kate picked up her mop and bucket and descended, careful not to spill dirty water on her clean stairs. But it wasn’t Lucy who’d arrived. Instead, Mrs Cliffe stood in the shop, along with her chauffeur – Martin. Mrs Cliffe had a vague smile on her face and seemed at a loss. Giving her a quick nod of greeting, Kate was about to duck into the scullery when the woman asked, ‘Would you happen to know, my dear, where the stock books are kept?’

  Avoiding Martin’s eyes, which were boring into her like hot soldering irons, she put down the bucket, wiping her hands. She hoped Martin was getting a good eyeful of her frayed overall and chapped hands. Her appearance alone, contrasting so starkly to the finely dressed Mrs Cliffe, should surely show him what an idiot he was being. She hadn’t seen him since the private view, but she had received a letter in which he’d repeated his feelings for her, saying he hoped he’d made it clear he wasn’t suggesting anything other than marriage. He’d ended by asking her if she would let him know when she came to a decision. She had replied, not because she wanted to but because she knew from bitter experience that silence and absence only stoked the fires of longing.

  The foolish wish that she could run down to Johnny’s house and ask him to check her spelling only confirmed her decision. After making several practice attempts on brown parcel paper from the bookshop, she then spent money she didn’t have on some nice notepaper and painstakingly copied the best version.

  Dear Martin,

  I am writing because you asked me to. You said you wanted to show me another life. But, Martin, you already have done. I have seen the world you live in, and I know I would never be accepted into that world. Whatever Ethel might say about there being no class distinctions with people of like mind, I don’t believe she’s right. Especially when it comes to a marriage between the likes of you and me. I can’t write about feelings, Martin, because they don’t come into it. All I will say is that you have been very kind to me and I liked being painted by you and all our friendly talks. I will miss them.

  Yours truly,

  Kate

  It wasn’t eloquent; she’d only wanted to be clear. But at this moment, faced with him in the shop, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her. And in front of Mrs Cliffe, whose mobile feather hat was now casting about the place like a lost bird.

  ‘Here, Mrs Cliffe. In this cabinet.’ Kate covered her confusion by bending down to retrieve the stock books. She put them on the long table. ‘But wasn’t Lucy meant to be stocktaking today?’ she asked.

  Mrs Cliffe approached, removing her gloves, ready to get her hands dirty in the cause. ‘Something about a young gentleman – Lucy and her passing fancies. I can’t keep up!’ She glanced at Martin, who was standing by the door. ‘You can go now, Martin dear. But be here at four o’clock sharp to collect me. It’s bridge night at your mother’s and you know how she hates to be kept waiting!’ Martin examined his nails and Kate waited for him to obey, thinking how impossible it would be for a man like him to go against either his aunt or his mother.

  ‘I’m afraid I have other business this afternoon, Aunt Violet. I’m taking Kate to a dance and she needs to shop for a new dress!’

  Mrs Cliffe looked from Martin to Kate in disbelief and then gave a deep laugh. ‘Who am I to stand in the way of a prince and his Cinders? I only wish I had a fairy wand with me.’ She shook her head, still laughing. ‘Off you go now, both of you. I need to get on with my stocktaking.’

  Kate stood her ground. ‘Mrs Cliffe, your nephew’s a fool.’

  She looked unperturbed. ‘I’m sure his mother would agree with you, my dear.’

  Kate headed into the scullery, where she tore off the apron and quickly cleared up, aware that he’d followed her. He leaned against the closed door. ‘I’m no fool, Kate. I’ve never felt wiser. I’m following my heart – not my mother – and I will be taking you to the bookshop dance on Saturday.’

  She turned to look at him while rolling down her sleeves. ‘Didn’t you get my letter?’

  He nodded. ‘But it’s a dance, not a wedding. Ethel’s invited everyone, staff, volunteers and members. I know John Bacon won’t be escorting you…’

  So, the word had got around that she’d broken it off with Johnny.

  ‘What about Nora, who’s escorting her?’ she asked.

  He seemed puzzled. ‘She can’t go. Her husband’s due back from his business trip and, apparently, he likes her to be there to greet him.’

  ‘Well I can’t go either. I’m working on Saturday night at the Marigold.’

  ‘I should have done another painting of you and called it Frowning.’ His mouth turned down in a comic serious face. ‘You need a bit of fun! You work so hard, surely you could take one night off? And if you’re worried about me, you should know me by now – I’ll be the per
fect gentleman!’

  But that was the thing. She didn’t really know the most important thing about Martin – she didn’t understand his relationship with Nora. And then, she knew nothing of his world. She didn’t want to be just a novelty, nor a convenient little rebellion against his mother, without any consequences to himself. He might believe he was serious about her, but he could easily just be bored between paintings. She’d told him in her letter that feelings didn’t come into it, but she’d grown to care for him, and she’d enjoyed their easy friendship. But any deeper feelings she might have for Martin North had been driven into the shadows by the fierce light of her love for Johnny.

  ‘The perfect gentleman? No more talk about marriage!’

  He laughed. ‘Promise. And I meant what I said about buying you a new dress too. The success with the triptych is largely down to the model.’ He waited for a response to his compliment, but she said nothing. ‘Anyway – you deserve a share of the rewards.’

  ‘You already paid me.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, before I knew how much it was going to make me! Honestly, Kate. I would give you a share of the proceeds if I thought you’d accept them, so just let me do this small thing for you. A new dress, a delightful evening among friends. Nothing more. What do you say?’

  *

  He came to collect her from Boutle’s at the end of the day. She’d made him promise to wait around the corner, as she couldn’t bear listening to any more of Marge’s warnings about posh blokes. She turned the corner of Wild’s Rents and hurried to the Rolls, which was parked outside a pub. Slipping into the deep luxury of the car, she flashed him a bright smile. ‘So, how often do you go shopping with girls?’

  He started the engine. ‘The shop owner is a friend of mine. He supplied that rose-coloured dress you looked so lovely in. He’s staying open late, just for us!’

  He drove through the early-evening streets, crossing the river by Waterloo Bridge, heading in the direction of his studio. She liked being driven by Martin – his hands on the steering wheel were deft and he drove with a sort of elegance, sometimes lifting a hand from the wheel to smoke a cigarette. But however fast he drove, she’d learned she needn’t be anxious. He was always in control.

  The shop, when they arrived in Great Portland Street, was a little unimpressive. Not much bigger than the Bermondsey Bookshop’s, the frontage looked more like an ordinary house, except for the panelled front window, displaying just two dresses. Once inside, the owner kissed Martin warmly on both cheeks and Kate’s hand as if she were a princess.

  ‘Dear Martin! Come upstairs. We are well prepared for Miss Goss.’

  They followed him into a long room, and Kate was astonished at the quantity of clothes crammed into it. There were rails and rails of garments, from wedding dresses and party frocks to tennis outfits. Martin’s friend indicated a curtained-off dressing room, outside which were two armchairs upholstered in black-and-gold stripes. This was the very situation she’d tried to explain to Martin in her letter. She was so far from Bermondsey it might as well have been the moon. She knew that the owner, whom Martin introduced as Roberto, was just a shopkeeper, the same as Mrs Davies in the dairy in Wild’s Rents, but here she felt uncomfortable whereas at the dairy she’d happily sit on a chair by the counter and chat. She tried to imagine Roberto’s highly scented, perfectly suited figure running a second-hand stall down the old clo’ market in Tower Bridge Road.

  Martin gave her an encouraging smile and she wondered if now she was expected to go into the dressing room and try something on, but then from behind the curtain emerged a slim, long-legged woman wearing a tight ankle-length dress. She did a circuit of the room and then stood, hand on hip, in front of Kate.

  Roberto looked in her direction, his chin resting on his hand. ‘No. A little too old for Miss Goss, I think.’ He clapped his hands and another girl appeared. Kate wondered how much they got paid for trying on dresses for other people. It was money for old rope. The black outfit was much shorter, with horizontal gold lace bands around the skirt. She didn’t know if she’d be comfortable showing off so much leg and the second girl was dismissed. The two models alternated until they’d seen six dresses. While Roberto was behind the curtain organizing another one, Kate whispered to Martin, ‘Can we go now? I can wear the pink dress you gave me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Roberto’s a genius. He’s just warming up!’

  The first model returned wearing a blue-and-violet dress. It was a shift style, but cut on the bias, so that it fell in elegant folds across the model’s body, showing off her slim figure. A double hemline gave the appearance of a shorter skirt without exposing too much calf. The deep V-neck was squared off with a violet panel and the front decorated with a diagonal band of violet stitching. It was beautiful, and perhaps she had leaned forward in her chair, for Roberto swooped like an elegant swallow, leading the model to Kate so that she could get a better look. He appeared delighted.

  ‘You picked the best! This is my absolute favourite. Would you like to try it on – just to be sure it’s the right one? We may need to take it in a little here and there,’ he said, eyeing her skinny shoulders.

  Looking at herself in the dressing room, she appeared nothing like the Kate Goss she knew. The image blurred with tears as for a moment she saw herself walking into Boutle’s wearing Janey’s cast-off frock on that first day. Then her beautifully dressed self snapped back into sharp focus and the realization was heady – she could make this world hers with just one powerful word. One ‘yes’ to Martin would change everything. She turned to Roberto and said, ‘This is the one.’

  *

  On Saturday night she emerged from her house, Nora’s coat wrapped tightly around her, and pulled up the enormous white fur collar in the vain hope that she wouldn’t be recognized by any passing neighbour. She was self-conscious enough without inviting any sarcastic comments. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the pavement as she began walking to the end of the street. Martin had insisted he come to collect her, but she wasn’t going to hang about for him – there was only one way into the lane, so she certainly wouldn’t miss him. She looked up briefly and was surprised to spot a car approaching that wasn’t the Rolls. Cars were such a rare sight here it struck her as odd that there should be two in the vicinity on the same night. But the small red car came to a halt beside her and the driver dropped down the window. ‘I told you the triptych would buy me a Baby Austin! Hop in!’ It was Martin. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

  She examined the bright red body, with its shiny black wheel guards and gleaming headlamps. But the car had attracted the attention she’d wanted to avoid. Kids began to congregate and suddenly she heard Janey’s grating voice calling her from Aunt Sylvie’s front window. ‘Oi, Noss Goss! I heard you was earning tart’s money – what d’you have to do for a ride in that, eh?’

  Martin’s smile disappeared.

  ‘Don’t worry. That’s just me cousin,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh, is that Janey?’ He peered through the open window. ‘I can see what you mean about the piggy eyes.’ In their long hours together they’d swapped stories of their most loathed relatives. She’d heard plenty about his mother that could rival Aunt Sylvie’s meanness. ‘And is this the charming Stan?’

  Stan was strolling towards them from Aunt Sylvie’s. He wore a vest, his braces dangling around his waist, socks on his feet. He grinned. ‘Oh, very nice. Very nice.’ But he wasn’t looking at the car; he was eyeing her up and down.

  ‘Sod off, Stan,’ she said, but as she attempted to duck into the car, his hand brushed her bottom and she paused to stamp on his shoeless foot.

  ‘Ouch, you spiteful mare!’ Stan hopped up and down.

  ‘Let’s just go, Martin, quick!’

  As Martin started the car, Stan thumped the bonnet and shouted after them, ‘So, I’ll tell Mr Smith you’ve got enough to pay him back the lot!’

  Martin sped away, and once they’d cleared East Lane he asked, ‘Who’s Mr Smith?’
/>
  ‘Oh, just someone I owe a bit of money to.’

  ‘If you’re in trouble I can always—’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Johnny got him to drop the interest. Anyway, you’ve done enough. Stan’s right – for once! With the money I’ve earned modelling for you I can pay back everything I owe.’

  He looked doubtful. ‘So why is Stan involved?’

  ‘He works for Mr Smith,’ she said with finality, hoping he’d drop the subject.

  ‘Well, your descriptions of the cousins didn’t do them justice, Kate. They’re far nastier.’

  She leaned back into the seat, closing her eyes briefly, and he glanced at her. ‘Have they upset you?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t care less what they think of me.’

  But she wished with all her heart that Johnny hadn’t come to his front door just as she was being driven away, for she did still care what he thought of her.

  *

  The St Olave’s Institute was filled with faces she knew from the bookshop. The hall was decorated in the ‘bookshop colours’ of blue and yellow, bunting festooned the walls, blue cloths and vases of yellow flowers brightened the tables. The piano player was a bookshop member and she recognized the jazz singer as someone who’d given a lecture called ‘German Lieder in Translation’. It was a memorable talk, because at first the man had threatened to send her to sleep, and then he had threatened to make her cry as he sang ‘Night and Dreams’ with piercing longing. The song was about someone who woke in the morning only to pray for the night to return so they could dream again. Tonight, his singing was much jollier, and suddenly she determined that she would be too.

  She’d been amazed at how much a simple dance had meant to her. Before putting on her new clothes, she’d looked out of her garret window. All the greys and browns of the warehouses surrounding East Lane had turned golden – only a result of the low evening sun – but she took it for a sign that her new life was possible without her old dreams. Now she was here, she told herself she didn’t need either her dad or Johnny in order to be happy.