“D’you mean ‘How Do You Do It’?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
As she watched Lisha intently studying the lists of records, it suddenly struck Sarah what people in Ireland would think if they saw them together. Most of them, she thought, would gawk at them like the couple across the way – especially people like Martina and maybe even James and possibly her friend, Sheila. She supposed it was because they had no experience of foreigners, but then, she reasoned, neither did she. And yet, as far back as she could remember, she had always thought that people coming from different countries and having different coloured skin was an interesting, exciting thing. In school she had loved looking at all the different countries on the huge map they had on the wall. It reminded her that Ireland was only a tiny country in a very big world. And now she had got to know someone like Lisha fairly well, she knew there was even less of a difference than she had thought. People were either nice or not nice – that was all that mattered.
Later, as they sat eating chips and hotdogs, Sarah noticed two young lads who had just sat down in a booth at the opposite side nudging each other and grinning across at her and Lisha. Although their attentions were obviously of admiration, they were still irritating so she turned at an angle in the seat so she couldn’t see them.
When they parted outside Harrison’s shop, Lisha said, “I don’t know why I was worrying about you moving out of Victoria Street; it’s actually better coming down into town to see you, and now I’m even going to be able to stay the night.”
“I’m looking forward to it too,” Sarah said, “But will you just ask your mum to pop in to see me the next time she’s down at the shops? I’d feel better if I’ve had a word with her before you come to stay over.”
“She won’t mind at all,” Lisha said, beaming at her. “She really likes you.”
* * *
When they closed on the Thursday for Easter, Lucy told Sarah that she was going to advertise for another member of staff.
“The shop is busier than ever,” Lucy reasoned, “and a lot of the time I think we need another person serving while you’re dealing with the customers. I also think we’re losing a lot of customers by closing half-day Wednesdays and definitely on Saturdays. I’m going to do it professionally. I’ll put an advertisement in the Evening Chronicle for a fully qualified seamstress with experience working in a shop. I’ll draw up a short-list of the best applicants and we’ll interview them on a Wednesday afternoon.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. ”Aren’t you going to interview them on your own?”
“No, you and me. You actually spend more time working in the shop than me, so we’ve got to make sure we’re both happy with the choice.”
Sarah looked alarmed. “But I wouldn’t know what to do or say in an interview.”
“Then we’ll practise beforehand,” Lucy said, “and it will give you experience for the future.”
* * *
The Easter weekend went by quickly as Sarah and Jane took an early train on the Saturday up to Edinburgh, and spent the day walking around the shops and the lovely gardens on Princes Street, and then they walked along the Royal Mile and afterwards went on a tour of the castle.
On Easter Sunday she went to Mass in the cathedral in the morning and she wondered if she might see David McGuire and his mother. In a way she wouldn’t have minded meeting him and hearing all about his new job in London but there was no sign of them there. He had either not come home for Easter or he had gone to a different Mass. After church, she went with Lucy to Durham to visit Charlotte and then they came back into Newcastle and had dinner in the Station Hotel.
“I feel I’ve got to know the area quite well in the last few months,” Sarah said, as they sat chatting over a glass of white wine.
“Yes, you kept your promise about not working all the time and I’m really glad you’ve kept up with the girls in the house, and that you went off to Edinburgh with Jane.” Lucy smiled now. “You’ve seen a good bit of the North-East now – so far we’ve been to Whitley Bay, Blyth, Lindisfarne, Darlington and Redcar – and we must go to Harrogate and York in the summer – you’ll love those.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Sarah said. “Out of all the places I’ve been so far, I feel I’ve got to know Durham fairly well.”
Lucy’s face brightened. “Charlotte loves you visiting,” she said. “She’s really taken to you.”
“I’m very fond of her as well.”
“I have explained to her that you won’t be coming so often because you’ll be studying for your course.”
“Oh, I’ll still make the time,” Sarah said. “She’s like a little niece to me.” She paused. “I have a real niece or nephew due in the next few weeks, but I don’t think I’ll be allowed to get to know them as well as I know Charlotte.”
“Have you given your brother my home phone number as well as the shop one?” Lucy checked. “Because if the baby is born in the evening or Sunday, he can give me the message and I’ll drive straight down to you.”
“Yes,” Sarah said, “they have both numbers.”
“It will be lovely for you to have a nephew or a niece, and it will probably make things easier between you and your sister-in-law. Babies make such a difference. I think it would be nice if you went over to see them in the summer.” She paused. “It will be almost a year since you came. When Kitty Reynolds wrote to me a few weeks ago she was asking if you had any plans to go back for a visit.”
“No, I won’t be going there any time soon. I’ll only go back when there’s a genuine welcome there for me,” She paused. “And when the wedding business with me and Con Tierney is long forgotten.”
* * *
Sarah started her Advanced Fashion Design course during the third week in April. She would attend college on Tuesday and Thursday nights in a class of only eight students. On her first night, as she listened to the lecturer explaining all the areas they would be covering in the course, Sarah felt her heart soaring. She knew practically everything that was mentioned, but she was excited to hear that in the first half-term the students would be given projects to do which would involve tailored sleeves, tailored pockets, and bound buttonholes, plus various styles of bodice, sleeves and collars. These were all areas she had taught herself and that she knew she could improve on. The second half-term would then move on to making and adapting their own patterns which was another area that Sarah was keen to learn more about.
The teacher came across as both inspiring and helpful, and the other students – five women and, surprisingly, two young men – were as intent as Sarah on improving their fashion designing skills. Since they had a lot in common, the group bonded together naturally and from the outset Sarah looked forward to going to classes.
Meanwhile, Lucy was busy in Harrison’s organising interviews for new staff. Out of eighteen applicants, four women were to be interviewed on the last Wednesday in April, and the others had been thanked for their interest by letter and then been told that they had been unsuccessful.
On the Monday afternoon before the interviews, as she was checking the button drawers, Sarah noticed two women standing outside the door of Harrison’s, engaged in a heated discussion. One was a heavy, unkempt middle-aged woman with strands of grey-streaked hair escaping from under a headscarf, and the younger, thinner girl was equally untidy with badly dyed blonde hair. They were both smoking cigarettes.
After she got a look at them from a few different angles, Sarah reckoned they were mother and daughter, and the girl looked to be in her late teens. They moved out of the doorway and walked a few yards along the lane, still talking in an animated fashion. Sarah went back to her buttons, forgetting about them, but a few minutes later she saw them both staring in the window, then the older woman started jabbing her finger on the glass. They went to walk away and then the mother started poking the daughter in the chest as though making a point.
Sarah went towards the back of the shop where Lucy was sitting at a table
, entering figures in a ledger book. “I think we might have a bit of a problem,” she said, thumbing in the direction of the door. “They’ve been there for the last few minutes. They keep going back and forward looking at something in the shop window. There’s definitely something going on.”
Lucy stood up. “I’d better go and have a word – see if there’s something wrong.”
Sarah watched as Lucy went out to the door. She heard raised voices and then a short while later the shopkeeper came back inside, and stood holding the door open for the two women.
“I’d much rather we discussed this in the shop,” Lucy said in a quiet voice. “I’m not prepared to talk about it out in the street. I have customers to think about, so I’d be grateful if we can talk inside here in a friendly, civilised way.”
Sarah felt her heart quicken. She moved towards the back of the shop to unpack a box of yarn and give Lucy privacy to talk to them.
“Well, you weren’t exactly civil to our Isobel when you didn’t even give her an interview!” the older, dumpy woman said. She took a folded envelope from her pocket and waved about. “You didn’t have the decency to say why you didn’t want her!”
The blonde girl’s eyes darted between Lucy and the woman. “Mam,” she said, reaching a hand to catch her mother’s sleeve, “it’s not worth it. If she doesn’t think I’m good enough for the job, I don’t want it.”
“Give me one minute please,” Lucy said, going to the desk at the back of the shop where she did her accounts and suchlike. As she passed Sarah she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She opened a drawer in the desk and took a folder out. “Can I just check your name please?”
“It’s Isobel Brown,” the woman said. “Don’t you recognise us? We’ve bought wool out of here before.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, trying to sound calm, “but we get lots of different customers here and it’s hard to keep track.”
Lucy looked through the folder and lifted out a few sheaves of paper. She glanced through them and then came back to the counter. “I have your application letter here and I can see from the notes I made that you don’t have any experience working in a shop. That’s the reason I couldn’t consider you.”
“But she’s a canny sewer, our Isobel!” the woman said, her voice high with indignation. “She can make flippin’ anythin’. We looked at all the stuff in the window – all those cushions and embroidered things – and she can easily do as good as that if not better. She’s made skirts and dresses an’ all sorts of thing.” She jabbed a finger in Lucy’s direction. “You didn’t even give her a fucking chance!”
“There’s no need for abusive language,” the shopkeeper told her.
Sarah put the yarn down now and approached them. “Is everything okay here, Lucy?”
Mrs Brown turned around to look Sarah up and down.
“Everything is fine thanks, Sarah.” Lucy said. She looked at the woman. “I’m very sorry but the advertisement specified that I needed someone with experience in both sewing and shop work. It’s as simple as that. There were several other people who applied who hadn’t worked in shops before, and I’m not interviewing them either.” She looked straight at Isobel. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’ve treated everyone as fairly as I could. The people who are being considered for the job can all sew and knit and have worked in shops.”
“It’s not good enough,” the woman said, folding her arms high up on her chest. “How is she supposed to learn about working in a shop if she can’t get a job in one?”
“For Christ’s sake, Mam! They don’t want us an’ I’m not hanging about here to make a fool of meself any longer.”
“I don’t think we need to use language like that,” Lucy repeated, her face tight and anxious looking. “I’m afraid I haven’t the time to train someone in the ways of working the till and doing stock-keeping and all that sort of thing. I need someone who knows how to do it already. I suggest that Isobel apply for a job in one of the department stores or grocery shops or something like that until she’s gained the necessary skills in shop-keeping.” She paused. “There are quite a few sewing shops in the city and in places like Gosforth or Jarrow.”
Isobel looked scornfully at her. “Ah, you can stuff your flamin’ job! I wouldn’t take it now if you paid me. Come on, Mam, I told you we shouldn’t have bothered.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.
Mrs Brown looked at Lucy, her eyes blazing. “You won’t get anyone better than her.” She waved her hand around the shop. “She’s far too good for this place. You can paint it up and put new shelves and things in, but it’s still only an oul’ dump. Always was and always will be.”
Sarah looked at Lucy’s stricken face and something snapped. She moved towards the woman. “That’s quite enough – you can’t just walk in here and start shouting and swearing and abusing people. You can get out of the shop right now!” She rushed to the door and opened it wide. “Out – and if you dare to come back we’ll call the police. Your behaviour is out of order and illegal.”
The woman walked towards the door with her head in the air and as much dignity as she could muster. “You needn’t worry! I don’t want to waste another minute in here.” She halted on the threshold and stared at Sarah. “If we’d known there was your sort working in the shop, she wouldn’t have applied for it in the first place!”
It was much later in the day when Sarah finally got Lucy to see the lighter side of the incident. “Look,” she said, “the woman obviously has a slate missing and she’s dragged that poor girl in here. Who in their right mind would do such a thing?”
“I still feel bad about it,” Lucy said.
“The cheek of her!” Sarah’s eyes were wide with indignation. “And the work that’s been done to make the shop lovely and more modern and all she can do is call it a dump! And she even had the cheek to criticise my work. All that time she was outside smoking and pointing at the window, she was probably saying that all the things I’d made were rubbish.” She paused. “And I’m sure when she said ‘your sort’ she was referring to me being Irish.”
“Oh, let’s forget about them,” Lucy said. “And just be grateful we didn’t have any customers in at the time or she would have driven them all away.”
On Wednesday afternoon all four women were interviewed and a bright, red-haired woman in her thirties, Margaret Davies, was told at the end of the day that she had the job.
“This means that we can stay open all day Saturday and Wednesday from now on,” Lucy said, “and we can sort individual days off to suit us throughout the week.”
* * *
Over the following weeks, to Sarah’s relief, she found Margaret an easy person to work with. She listened carefully to anything she was told and she asked questions about anything she wasn’t sure about, and on Lucy’s days off, she gave Sarah her place as being in charge of things. Sarah had been concerned that an older person might not take suggestions from her, but there was no conflict between them.
Sarah’s old landlord, Peter Spencer, called in one Saturday afternoon to take a look at the refurbished shop and Sarah told Lucy to show him around upstairs. She was surprised when she heard them coming down the stairs together laughing, and was even more surprised when Lucy told her later that he had invited her to come to a wedding with him at the end of June.
“A younger colleague of Peter’s is getting married and he’s been asked along with a partner. He wasn’t going to go, and then he remembered that the bride is a member of the same ladies’ golf team as me, so he thought it would help if the friend he brought knew some of the other guests.”
“He’s a lovely man,” Sarah said. “And I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
“I’ve said I’ll have to think about it. I haven’t accepted yet . . .” Two pink circles appeared on Lucy’s cheeks.
“What’s to stop you? You’ve known him for ages.” Sarah paused. “He’s a widower, so it’s not as if you don’t know his situation or anything.”
“He obviously likes you and sees beyond all those things,” Sarah said. “I’ve always thought he was a really nice, fair man,” Sarah said. “Any time we had any trouble with the house in Victoria Street he either sent the plumber or electrician around and if he couldn’t get anyone, he tried to sort things out himself.”
Lucy looked down at her hands. “It’s not really Peter I’m worried about, it’s the fact that I’ve not been out with a man since before Charlotte was born. I’m not sure if I would be very good company – I’m not sure if I would know what to talk about for a whole day and evening.”
“You’ll be grand,” Sarah said. “Just think – a lovely summer wedding! You’ll have to get a new outfit for it.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “If I do decide to go, I might get you to make me something for it. I imagine with the sort of people who will be going that it will be quite an up-scale affair.”
“I’d love to make something special for you,” Sarah said in an excited tone. “I’ve got loads of new ideas from the course. We’ve been studying the work of Coco Chanel and André Courrèges and some of the new designers like Mary Quant. And I can’t believe how much I’ve learned already. I know how to do perfect tailored finishes on sleeves and pockets and all those sorts of things now. If you have any really intricate patterns, I can always ask for help from the teacher or even some of the other students. Some of them are really talented.”
Sarah Love Page 34
