Christmas on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  At the pub she was encouraged to take pride in her appearance and she soon found she wanted to look her best to impress the customers – and her boss. She tried to keep her hair clean so that her bright red curls always looked their best. She went down to the charity shop where the Sally Army lady she knew picked out a pretty green dress that suited her well. She slept with it as a pillow so that her sisters all knew it was hers and she would run the flat iron over it before she put it on each day. And eventually she got some shoes that nearly fitted from the rag-and-bone man.

  All she needed now was something she couldn’t yet afford. Make-up. It would help to make her look a little older than she was so that no one would think to complain that she was too young to be working behind the bar, or that the landlord might be exploiting child labour.

  She loved the idea of wearing make-up just like the film stars and she studied how they applied it in the film magazines she found lying around at the cinema. She would spend ages looking longingly at the cosmetics and make-up counters in the shops. If only she were able to buy a little rouge, a touch of flesh-coloured face powder or maybe some trial-sized lipstick, she was sure they would help bring her face alive. She wanted to replace what she thought of as her current death-like colouring with something more pink and rosy that would be altogether more healthy looking. Make-up, she was sure, would help her soften what she knew to be her sharp, rather angular features. But she could only do this if she could afford to buy some of the things she had seen. She was fed up always having to rely on the scraps and dregs she found in the waste baskets in the ladies’ toilets. She thought about this every time she walked up and down the aisles in F.W. Woolworth. And she sighed each time she passed by the items she knew would be ideal.

  The first time she didn’t pass them by she stopped to look at the prices, wondering if the collection of coins so long hidden under her bed would be enough to buy any of the make-up she craved. Perhaps a lipstick. She knew she nearly had enough money, for the last time she had counted her stash she was surprised how much she had accumulated. She hoped that with some of the extra tips she had earned this week she might at last be able to splash out.

  On Saturday night when she was sure she was alone, she crawled under the bed as she usually did to retrieve her precious tin. She reached out to where she normally was able to touch it with her hand. But all she came back with was a handful of fluff. She swept her arm in an arc but still she couldn’t feel the tin. Damn! One of the kids must have knocked it far under the bed without knowing what it was. The dust flew in all directions as her search became more frantic and she emerged from underneath the iron bedstead coughing hard. She dived back under and this time to her relief she felt the cold metal square which had somehow been pushed up against the wall. As soon as her fingers touched it, she knew something was wrong and when she brought it out her worst fears were confirmed. The lid was missing and the box was empty.

  The first thing she did was so unlike her that she was shocked at her own reaction. She burst into tears. The tears were of rage and frustration that someone had dared to touch her hard-earned cash. But she felt humiliated all the same. Not caring that she would now have to reveal her secret to all her sisters – it was too late anyhow – she called downstairs to Fay. Her sister came running, looking puzzled and then alarmed as Elsie explained what she had found.

  ‘I didn’t know it was there, honestly,’ Fay said, her cheeks flaming.

  ‘I’m not accusing you, you daft thing.’ Elsie gave her a hug. ‘I just needed to tell someone else and maybe we can think together about what might have happened.’

  ‘Could it be one of the little ’uns?’ Fay suggested.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Elsie’s voice was grim. ‘But I mean to find out.’

  The girls were all in the house, avoiding the sudden downpour that was crashing down outside. Except, of course, for Phyllis, who hadn’t been seen by anyone and who still hadn’t come home. Elsie called for them to come upstairs at once. Mystified, they all sat down on the bed.

  ‘OK. Who’s had it?’ Elsie shot out the question.

  They each turned to the other. ‘Who’s had what?’

  ‘Whatever was in my box,’ Elsie said.

  ‘What box?’

  ‘What was in the box?’

  ‘Where was the box?’ came the questions.

  ‘Never you mind,’ Elsie said, still sounding stern. ‘You’d know if you’d taken it, wouldn’t you?’

  The little ones began to cry. The older ones shook their heads. And Elsie knew they’d had no part in it. Whoever had taken it, she would never find the money. It was well spent by now. Five-year-old Ethel seemed to be crying the hardest and she continued crying long after the others stopped.

  ‘Stop snivelling, Ethel, for goodness’ sake,’ Elsie snapped at last. ‘I know it wasn’t you, so what are you crying for?’

  ‘Harry. He told me not to tell or he’d cut all my hair off.’

  ‘What?’ Several of the sisters gasped at once.

  ‘I saw Harry. He was in here. I saw Harry in here when he didn’t oughta.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Yesterday night. When I was going to bed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘He told me I mustn’t tell anyone that I’d seen him. It was our secret.’

  Elsie didn’t wait to hear more. She rushed up the second flight of stairs to what was now the lodger’s bedroom. She didn’t knock but flung open the door. The first thing she realized was that his cap wasn’t there but, more telling, his small bag had gone.

  Elsie was devastated. Her stomach churned. Not only had she lost all her hard-earned savings but she would have to tell her father Harry was gone. And she would have to be quick. Before the old man drank more rent than would be coming into the house.

  Elsie couldn’t tell her father that she suspected Harry had taken all her money for he didn’t know anything about her separate earnings. And she had sworn all her sisters to secrecy about that too. But she still got a beating for needlessly reducing the family’s earnings. He blamed her for chasing away the most profitable source of income they had ever had as it required no work at all on his part.

  Chapter 15

  Elsie couldn’t stop herself looking in F. W. Woolworths, even though the lipstick was no longer within her reach. The only thing she had been saving up for and now she couldn’t even afford that. But she stopped to admire the rest of the items on the counter more closely and to make a note of all the different names and shades of the powders and creams. She tried to decide which colours would be most suitable for her and even picked one or two up, turning them over to see the price. That made her laugh out loud. Whoever can afford all these things, she wanted to cry out. Would anyone seriously pay such a price for some colours to brighten up their face? There was a display picture of a beautiful, long-haired, blonde model her face painted with a set of sample colours. She was smiling, lips slightly apart, showing a hint of her pearly white teeth. That’s who can afford them, she thought. People like her who have ladylike jobs and who weren’t brought up in a slum. She touched the picture of the woman whose skin looked like spun silk, but of course all she could feel was the cold gloss of the printed cardboard.

  She picked up the metal case of the sample lipstick she so admired and spun it open. She dabbed a little on the back of her hand like she had seen some of the ladies do before grudgingly putting it back. But then as she was about to leave the counter something happened inside her head. The resentment against the thief, the frustration of being so nearly able to afford her first special lipstick and now not being able to afford it at all built up until there was an explosion in her brain. Without thinking about what she was doing, she watched like a helpless onlooker as her hand shot out and her fingers coiled round the lipstick, this time covering it entirely from view. In a split second she had whipped it into her pocket, where she continued to keep it covered with her hand.

&nbs
p; Before she walked away she scanned the shop anxiously to make sure she hadn’t been seen. Unlikely, as there were so few people about. The assistant was at the other end of the counter, trying to help someone who was asking about something called sanitary towels. Otherwise the only person she could see close by was a man in a grubby beige raincoat and he was taking no notice of anyone as his head was buried in a newspaper. He did look up for a moment, although not in her direction, but she caught a quick glimpse of his face. For a second she thought he had a familiar look about him, but then there were a lot of men in mucky raincoats, especially at the cinema, and she always took pains to avoid them.

  She was about to move away when the assistant left her customer and came to hover nearby, which made Elsie realize how close she had been standing to the till. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ The assistant spoke stiffly with a strained smile.

  Elsie tried to look casual and unruffled, as villains always did in films. ‘No thanks. Yer all right,’ she said, and not wishing to engage further headed straight for the door. She had just stepped outside and was about to join Fay, who had been to the hardware store and was waiting for her, when she felt a hand grasp hold of her arm by the elbow and pull her sharply around. It was the man in the raincoat.

  ‘Just a minute, young lady,’ a gruff voice thick with a local accent said. ‘I think you might have something there that doesn’t belong to you.’

  Elsie tried to pull back her elbow, hoping to catch him unawares with the intention of running away. But the heel of one of the shoes she had found abandoned on the tip that morning gave way and she twisted her ankle painfully.

  Fay hovered for a moment, but when Elsie made a shooing gesture with her hand she ran away quickly down the street and turned the corner out of sight.

  ‘Who’s that?’ the man said. ‘Have you got an accomplice?’

  Elsie didn’t want to show him she didn’t know what that meant. ‘Of course I have,’ she said brazenly. ‘I’m not like you. I’d never be bloody daft enough to be without one.’ She was surprised and puzzled when he laughed.

  The man didn’t remove his arm but instead used his grip on her elbow to steer her back inside.

  ‘This way,’ he said dourly. ‘We’re going to pay a little visit to the manager’s office.’ And he didn’t let go of her arm until they were inside and the door was closed.

  The man behind the metal table that served as a desk may have been the manager of this particular store but no money had ever been spent on furnishing his office to make him look as if he really belonged in that important post. For apart from the table and a metal filing cabinet, there were just two simple wooden chairs, a wastepaper basket, and a framed advertisement for Colman’s mustard on the wall behind him. However, that didn’t stop him from doing his best to look intimidating.

  He stood up when she entered. ‘Empty your pockets,’ he ordered, trying to sound menacing. He indicated the space he had cleared on the table.

  Elsie kept hold of the lipstick tightly in her hand and managed at the same time to pull out her pocket linings to show they were empty. But the man in the raincoat, who she now realized must be the shop’s detective, prised open her fingers to reveal the rogue lipstick.

  ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing? That’s mine!’ Elsie tried to brazen it out.

  ‘Oh yes, and I’m a Dutchman.’ Both men laughed. They clearly didn’t believe her.

  The manager put out his hand and she had no option but to pass the lipstick to him. He looked at the price ticket, which was still attached, and then at her.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Eighteen,’ she said. She struck a pose like she had seen in the cinema, raising her eyebrows and turning her eyes away in disdain. She was miffed when he laughed again but was determined not to show it.

  ‘Let’s try one more time,’ he said. ‘How about something closer to fourteen?’

  Now she tried laughing and was furious when he didn’t look impressed. ‘That is not true,’ she emphasized each word and tried to stare him out.

  ‘Well, what then? You tell me. And mind you tell me the truth this time.’ He wagged his finger at her.

  Elsie folded her arms but she couldn’t look at him as she finally said, ‘Sixteen next brithday,’ delivering the words like they were poison in her mouth.

  ‘That’s more like it.’ He gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘So, do you have the money to pay for this item? Maybe it was just an oversight? You forgot you hadn’t yet paid for it?’ There was a sarcastic ring to his tone.

  Elsie shook her head. Her cheeks were burning and she blinked back the tears that maddeningly threatened to rain down her cheeks.

  ‘Have your parents got the money if we escort you home and explain the situation to them?’ he continued.

  She shook her head. She tried to look as if she didn’t care, but she knew she couldn’t hide the alarm from her eyes.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he said. ‘So, how are we going to solve this difficult situation?’

  Elsie hesitated then she cleared her throat and said, ‘I’ve got a job. Evenings. I can pay for it tomorrow. Tonight’s payday.’

  As she said this, the detective stepped forward. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘I thought I knew you from somewhere. You work at the Butcher’s Arms at Westerley Cross.’

  Elsie stared at him and then realized why he had seemed so familiar when she had first set eyes on him in the store. He was one of the regulars at the pub. One of those who had first come in with that crowd the night she got the job. Damn it, why hadn’t she recognized him when he was peeping out from behind that newspaper? Her original fear was that her father would find out what had happened and give her a beating. Now she was much more upset that her job would be in jeopardy if Tony Harehill got to know.

  She was aware the manager was scrutinizing her face and she stared back with feigned indifference. But it worked. After a few moments of consideration, he said. ‘So, you think you can pay the money back by tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Definitely, sir.’ Elsie did her best to sound contrite and sincere.

  ‘Well, there’s absolutely no reason for me to do this, but let’s say I’m feeling tolerant today. I’d like to give you a chance as this is your first time.’

  First time I’ve been caught here, at least, Elsie thought. She couldn’t believe her good luck. She’d never been treated so leniently before.

  ‘I’ll expect to see you here tomorrow with the money. On my desk at nine o’clock prompt. Understood?’

  Elsie nodded. ‘Understood, sir, and thank you kindly,’ she said, though she didn’t like to ask if that meant that she could keep the lipstick after all. Because if not, then she wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. ‘And we won’t prosecute if you promise never to do anything like that again.’ He sounded more like a favourite uncle now rather than an angry store manager and she wanted to laugh. But she lowered her eyes reverently and said, ‘No, never,’ while thinking: Never again to be caught, that’s for bloody sure.

  ‘And you must promise never to come to this store again.’ The manager made a sign to the detective and the man in the raincoat who had ushered her in, now steered her out, his hand still painfully controlling her elbow. He didn’t speak until they set foot outside in the street, then he turned her so she was facing him. There was an unpleasant leer on his face and she noticed for the first time the ruddiness of his nose and the web of fine red threads on his cheeks. He seemed to be breathing hard as he bent down and spoke into her ear. ‘Of course there is another way of solving this rather “difficult” situation,’ he said. ‘A way that means no one else ever has to know.’ His grip tightened. ‘I could, let’s say, “lend” you the money, or even, if the mood took me, “give” it to you. Right now, if you’d like. Well, not perhaps right now you understand,’ he emphasized the word ‘right’. ‘But shortly after …’ He looked down at his crotch, where she noticed a huge bulge had appeared almost popping the butto
ns of his fly. ‘Shortly after … I’m sure you catch my drift.’

  Elsie stared at him, appalled at his lewd suggestion. He was an old man. Almost as old as her father. How could he even suggest? How dare he even think? The thought of it made her want to vomit.

  ‘Otherwise,’ he went on in his coarse voice, ‘I shall be forced to tell your boss – Mr Harehill, is it? I shall be forced to tell him all about your little escapade here. And of course I shall just have to tell him how old you really are.’

  She suddenly found the strength to yank her arm out of his grasp. ‘No thanks. You’ll probably snitch on me anyway.’ She spat out the words then ran as fast as her cracked-apart shoes and painful leg would allow.

  That evening when she turned up for work at the Butcher’s Arms, Elsie was surprised to find everything seemed to be as normal. Mr Harehill greeted her cheerfully, she pulled pints as usual and the customers came and went in an unremarkable way. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and let down her guard a little when she didn’t see the store detective in any of the bar rooms. But her relief was short-lived, for halfway through the evening the detective arrived while she was buzzing about collecting dirty glasses. He brushed by her shoulder, though he pretended not to see her, and made straight for her boss who was at that moment feeding customers’ coppers into the till. At first she was filled with dread when she saw him whispering out of the side of his mouth to Mr Harehill, but when the two men disappeared into the office on the other side of the bar all she could do was resign herself to her fate.

  Should I just get my coat and go home, she wondered. Or should I wait for the inevitable and try to cadge a few more tips in the meantime? She knew there wasn’t much she could say in her defence. Her only error was in getting caught. But before she had decided what to do, the two men emerged laughing together and the detective was handed a pint, obviously ‘on the house’. This time he smiled at her as he projected the pint-pot towards her in a mocking gesture and mouthed the word ‘Cheers’. She knew then that she would find out her fate tonight.