The Hostess

by L. P. Gibbs

  “Do you have any idea where can we buy sheets and a kettle round here?” she asked him.

  “What am I now?” he grinned. “A bleedin' information office or summink?” he asked good-naturedly, coughing loudly. It was no doubt caused by the traffic's exhaust fumes. Janet was under the impression that the man probably laughed all the time just to get through the day.

  “We are new here and don't know where to go to buy them,” Janet replied.

  “Yeah, I guessed that from yer accent. What are you then? Geordies?”

  “Aye, that's right,” Sandra interjected, “Geordies an' proud of it, too.” She very nearly stamped her foot.

  “Alright, alright, don't go on about it,” the old boy chuckled and coughed into his far from clean handkerchief again. He pointed along the road with a bony finger. “Go down there to the second set of traffic lights then turn to yer right and you'll find the big Co-op store. You'll get yer sheets an' kettle in there, an' there's a little shop on the other side of the road fer groceries an' the like if y'need 'em. He's open till much later so get yer kettle an' other bits first afore they close.”

  “Thanks, cocker,” Janet said and the two girls started to run down the road. They followed the old man's directions and found exactly what they wanted. Some time later, they returned to their room laden down with two thick blankets, a pair of sheets and a couple of pillowcases. They had also managed to buy a Morphy-Richards electric kettle, a two slice electric toaster, two large, white mugs and a set of four plates. From the nearby mini-market they bought tea, coffee, milk, sugar, bread, butter and cheese. They figured that would be enough to keep them going for a while.

  They filled the kettle with water and left it on the table and the groceries were stored on top of the wardrobe. They looked at each other and started to laugh nervously again. It was with more than a little excitement that they made their first cup of tea in their new home. Home made cups of tea was were so much better than the muck they had been served on the train.

  On the way back in, they had spotted a fish and chip shop just a few doors farther along the road and decided that their evening meal would come from there. Having bought a pie and portion of chips each, they rushed back to the room to eat it and only then realised that they had no knives or forks. Janet said that she would ask one of the other residents if she could borrow some. She went gingerly down the stairs for it was beginning to get dark and she could not find a light switch. On the first landing she came to, she could hear a television so she knocked tentatively on the door. It was opened by an elderly lady with her grey hair tied in a bun.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked, peering through the crack of the opening. Janet could see past her that her room was much better furnished than her own and considerably larger. Very bright and comfortable looking.

  “Hello,” she said. “I'm sorry to disturb you. My friend and I have just moved into the attic room upstairs but we haven't got any knives and forks. If you can spare any, could we possibly borrow some until tomorrow morning when the shops open?” The lady opened her door wider and smiled.

  “Yes, of course, dear. Do come in.” Janet followed her inside and the lady went to a dresser and pulled open a drawer. “There you are,” she said, taking out a handful of cutlery. “Take what you need, dear,” she continued. “I have more than enough for my needs. I don't get visitors nowadays.”

  “Ta very much,” said Janet. “My name's Janet and my friend is Sandra. We've just moved here from Newcastle.” The old lady smiled warmly at her.

  “I'm Mrs Postles,” she said, “but you can call me Agnes.”

  “Okay, Agnes. I'll let you have these back in the morning.”

  “Oh, don't worry, I don't want them back, love. You keep them for yourselves, they're no good to me these days”

  “Isn't there a light switch on the stairs?” Janet asked as the darkness was creeping in, making it difficult to see the steps.

  “It's on that wall opposite,” Mrs Postles told her, pointing with a gnarled finger. “It's that big white button. You have to press it in and then it gradually pops out after a few minutes and switches the light off again. It should give you just enough time to get back upstairs, though.”

  Agnes Postles smiled as she slowly closed the door, recalling the days when she had been that young and silly, just after the Great War when she could go out dancing most weekends, like as not with a different, handsome young man each week. What gay times they were, dancing at the Hippodrome or dinner at the Cafe Royal. Then she had met her darling Godfrey, settled down, married and had two children, both boys, only a year apart. One had given her a grandson and the other a granddaughter, neither of whom she had seen since their birth. With any luck she may see one of them this Christmas. If she did, it would be the first time in many years. Her sons always promised to make the effort to visit her every Christmas but the promises never materialised. Mrs. Postles was under no illusions, though. She knew that they would probably never come into Camden Town except for her funeral, and then more than likely only to see what she had left. They had their own lives and their own children to concern themselves with. Too busy living their own lives to spend any precious time with their ageing mother. She sighed heavily at the memory as she slowly made her way back to her armchair, she thought wistfully back to those happier days when she did not have the continuous aches and pains in her legs and back as she did now. Still, it would be nice to hear some younger voices upstairs laughing again, just like her own children had in days gone by.

  Janet had just managed to get to her room when the stairway light turned off with a popping noise. She went in and told Sandra all about Agnes Postles as they wolfed down their food. Both were ravenous having not eaten since their sandwiches on the train many hours earlier.

  Having finished the meal and washed the plates under running cold water in the little sink, they stood shoulder to shoulder at the three foot square window for a while, watching the traffic and pedestrians passing by. They enjoyed people-watching, making up names and occupations for strangers. By nine thirty, both were feeling tired from their long, busy day and cuddled up to each other under the sheet and blanket. It was a bit of a squash but they managed it.

  The next morning was a Sunday and they were both up and about by seven o'clock, mainly due to their unusual surroundings. Added to that was the fact that it was quite cold and they knew they would be warmer with their clothes on. Sandra filled the kettle from the tiny basin and switched it on. However, before it had a chance to boil it died and stopped working.

  “What's the matter with the ruddy thing?” Sandra scowled, shaking the offending appliance slightly. “We only bought it yesterday, it can't be broken already.” They both peered into it as if that might make a difference, then Janet tried the light switch. The bulb in the centre of the room failed to come on.

  “It's the electricity!” she exclaimed. “We've got to put a ten pence piece in the meter.” Both girls rummaged around in their purses and Sandra found one. She climbed on to the rickety chair and stretched up sliding the coin into the slot and then twisted the knob that allowed the money to drop. The light came on and the kettle started to boil once more. Both of them breathed a sigh of relief. Neither of them wanted to start the day without their customary cup of tea. They made themselves a cheese sandwich and by the middle of the morning were on their way out of the house, intent on exploring the area around their new home.

  They found an alley that went alongside the Regent's Canal and followed it until they came out on to the main road again. They then walked all the way to Camden Lock and back along Camden High Street, right through to Mornington Crescent tube station and then began their trek back to the house. They came across a Wimpy Bar and having looked at the inviting pictures on the menu board in the window, went inside for a burger and a milkshake as it was now well past lunchtime. This was a real treat. They had never had a beefburger before.

  Along the way back, Sandra spotted a n
otice in the window of Broadmead's record shop asking for a sales assistant. It now being late on a Sunday afternoon, the shop was closed so she vowed to go back there early the next day to apply.

  “Lucky cow,” Janet told her. “Wish I'd seen it first.”

  “I'm glad you didn't,” replied Sandra with a giggle.

  They both laughed and went on their way, arms linked together. On entering the house through the big front door, Arthur the caretaker was coming up the stairs from his basement rooms.

  “Everything all right with your room then, girls?” he asked, leering at Janet's breasts which considerably dwarfed Sandra's. His glasses all but steamed up as he stood there, ogling them.

  “Yes, we're fine, thanks,” Janet replied. “By the way, you forgot to bring us our two pounds change.”

  “Did I?” he replied, rubbing his stubbled chin with his palm. “Oh, yes, that's right. Just hang on here and I'll go and get it for you.” With that, he turned and trundled slowly back down the stairs, walking with a slight limp, hanging on to the bannister rail on each side. They heard him unlock a door and go in, the door closing noisily behind him. Within half a minute he came back out and made his way with some effort up the stairs. They could feel his eyes on their legs as he climbed the staircase. Janet looked directly at him in a challenging manner.

  “Did you get a good look?” she demanded, her hand on her hip as if daring him to say something. He ignored her question and simply held out the two pound notes, averting his eyes, a smirk starting to form around his mouth.

  “Dirty old sod,” Sandra offered when they were up in their room. “Did you see him peering up our skirts?”

  “Yes, I did. He gives me the creeps.”

  The following day, Sandra went out early to try her luck at getting the job in the record shop and Janet went to the local Labour Exchange to look for work. Not knowing where to find it, she obtained directions from the paper-seller again. Whilst talking with him, she found out that his name was Eric and he had been working the same pitch, selling papers for the past twenty three years.

  At the Labour Exchange, the clerk who took her details told her to look on the boards against one of the walls to see if there was any work that took her fancy. Slowly making her way along in front of the boards and jostling for position with other job-seekers, she eventually found a job that she knew she could do; a junior sales assistant in a ladies-wear shop close to Piccadilly Circus. She felt certain to get the job as she had the previous experience back home in Newcastle. Luckily, she could get to Regent Street on just one bus for ten pence from Camden Town.

  So, within a week of arriving in the capital city, they had both found gainful employment; Sandra helping out in Broadmead's Record shop on Camden High Street for five hours a day from Monday to Friday and Janet full-time in Adrian's Fashions in the West End all week. The money for both of them was quite good compared to what they had been earning before in the North-East, but then the outgoings here were considerably higher too, which off-set it somewhat. Living back home, though, they didn't have the burden of paying weekly rent and bills. Still, pooling their earnings, they just about managed to get by from week to week.

  Working in Adrian's dress shop was an eye-opener for Janet. The head sales lady always had to be referred to as 'Miss Eileen'. She was a very tall, snooty, Jewish woman who habitually wore a grey tweed suit consisting of a short jacket and a pencil skirt over a starched white, frilly, high-necked blouse. Her dyed, jet black hair was always immaculately styled, and framed a rather round, rodent-like but expertly made-up face. The woman's original eyebrows had been shaved off and for some reason that Janet could never fathom, replaced by a thinly drawn, brown pencil line which gave her an appearance of being constantly surprised. Her permanent expression was one of looking down her nose, her head tilted slightly back, eyes half closed like slits and with her professionally manicured hands clasped in front of her. On meeting the woman, Janet immediately noticed the huge, dark brown wart on the woman's forehead just above the pencilled right eyebrow, sprouting little dark hairs. Janet was mesmerised and found it almost impossible to take her eyes of the thing. Miss Eileen spoke in a clipped, upper class accent that tried to sound superior to all the other members of staff and as she spoke, the wart wobbled slightly. Two other young women worked under Miss Eileen's supervision on the sales floor and Janet, as a junior, was relied upon to run errands, fetch and carry, make the tea and be a general dogsbody to all the other members of staff.

  She was shown around the entire shop and the basement area where she was expected to make tea and coffee for everyone when required. Within a week of working there, she felt at home in the shop and felt she knew what she was doing, settling easily in to her new routine.

  Janet listened, and caught on to all the shop gossip and revelled in it. Some of the girls were able to secrete the occasional pound note within their dresses at times instead of it making its way to the till, subsidising their meagre commission. And from what she could glean from some of the others, Miss Eileen was having a long term, secret affair with Mr. Hersch, the married proprietor of Adrian's. They would sneak off together in the middle of the afternoon two or three times a week. The pair were of the impression that no-one was aware of their assignations, but it was common knowledge amongst the staff. Then there was Vanessa, another of the shop girls in her early twenties who was a lesbian. That was also a well known fact and she made no secret of it, either. Janet had heard of lesbians but never knowingly met one. She was intrigued by Vanessa and often found herself wondering what exactly lesbians did with each other. She knew it was something sexual, but not exactly what.

  The shop-workers did everything they could to make the shop extra money which increased the girls' commissions.

  On one occasion, a wealthy customer came in to the shop and Miss Eileen and another girl were fussing around, almost bowing and scraping in front of the upper class woman. After half an hour of browsing, shaking her head and tutting, she eventually chose a thick, green coat from the selection that was brought to her as she sat in one of the comfortable armchairs.

  “This coat would suit my requirements perfectly if it were not for the buttons,” she stated haughtily. “They really are quite ugly and do not suit.” Miss Eileen stepped in without hesitation.

  “If madam would care to purchase the coat and come back tomorrow, I'm certain that we can have different buttons put on it to your exact requirements,” she said with a smile, her eyelids almost closed as if she begrudged the customer her eyesight. The customer agreed to return for the coat the following day having paid the twenty one guineas for the item. That was twenty for the coat and another guinea for the buttons, a guinea being one pound and one shilling or five pence. After the lady left the shop, Janet was summoned to the first floor to Miss Eileen.

  “Here's fifty pence, it won't come to that much,” she told Janet, holding out some silver coins. “Go along to Berwick Street Market and buy six metal buttons in dark green. Quick now, girl, run along, and be sure to get a receipt from the man.” She shooed the junior in the direction of the street.

  Janet found her way through to the market having had to ask directions from a couple of people, including a policeman and finally found a haberdasher's stall. She bought all six buttons for twenty pence and returned to the shop. The thieving ladies on the sales floor were charging the customer a pound more than they should have just for the button change. She couldn't believe it. That represented almost a days work to Janet whose weekly wage was a mere seven pounds for an entire week.

  Another time, one of their regular, wealthy, middle-aged customers came into the shop and, having been shown a number of items and dismissing them with a shake of her permed head, tried on another woollen dress that Miss Eileen ordered to be brought from the rack at the rear.

  “It's a little too tight for me, my dear,” she told the assistant, vainly attempting to wriggle into it.

  “Not to worry, madam,” the sales gir
l replied with a confident smile, taking it back from the customer. “I'll just send it downstairs and see if we have it in a slightly larger size.” With that, she ran with the dress draped loosely over her arm down the narrow wooden staircase to the basement where there were three industrial type sewing machines and their operators doing alterations and repairs. Janet happened to be down there making tea for everyone.

  “Here, Janet,” the sales woman said with some urgency in her voice. “Grab hold of this and pull.” She held out the dress and Janet took the stitched seam she had been given while the other girl grasped the other side. “Now pull hard, girl” she ordered. Janet tugged as hard as she could. After five or six minutes of pulling and yanking in all directions, the girl put the dress on a hanger, took it back upstairs and helped the lady in to it in the changing room. The woman was all smiles as she happily left the shop with the dress in her exact size. Another lesson that Janet had learned.

  A girl in her twenties who Janet assumed from her looks to be an office worker of some sort, came in one Monday lunchtime and bought a coat. She wanted the hem-line to be raised three inches and agreed to leave it with the shop for the alterations to be made. She came back late on the Friday afternoon and asked for her coat. Miss Eileen stepped in and asked to see her receipt.

  “But I wasn't given a receipt,” the poor girl wailed. “It was you who I paid the money to on Monday, you must remember.”

  “I'm very sorry, madam,” Miss Eileen replied haughtily, her eyes half closed and head up, looking down her nose at the girl. “We get so many customers in this shop every day that I couldn't possibly remember every one. I'm afraid, without a receipt, we can't help you, my dear”

  Janet realised there and then that what lying, cheats and thieves she was working for in that shop.

  One evening, Janet and Sandra went out for a walk, window-shopping and making imaginary lists of what they would buy if they were rich. On their walk, they came across a tiny pub on Camden High Street called The Black Cap. They heard singing coming from within and, with a nudge and a giggle, decided to go inside for a quick drink just for the fun of it. On entering, they found a drag artist singing on the small stage at the rear of the pub. The two girls had never witnessed anything like this before and stood in amazement. They were still standing in semi-shock mode when the drag queen ended his quite acceptable rendition of 'The Impossible Dream'. He saw them with their upturned faces and waved at them.