by Lynda Page
Cait smiled warmly at her as she stood up and walked over to join her. ‘Lead the way.’
Sitting on the bus on her way home that night, Cait was pleased with her efforts at self-improvement today and felt she had made a favourable impression on quite a few people. Jane Trucker was still being guarded towards her but had readily accepted her offer to help again tomorrow. Cait nearly let herself down on only one occasion when a young clerk from the general office had come into Miss Trucker’s office to bring her some stationery she had requested. On spotting who her helper was, bashing away on the typewriter, she was so surprised to see the boss’s daughter that she bumped into the desk and knocked over the remains of Cait’s cup of tea. It spilled over two letters she had just finished typing. Cait automatically started to retaliate in her old way but thankfully managed just in time to stop herself, instead smiling at the offender and telling her that no real harm was done as she could retype the letters.
She was so consumed by her own thoughts Cait had not noticed the middle-aged woman sitting several seats behind her, watching her surreptitiously, having followed her from a safe distance ever since Cait had left the factory.
Since arriving back at the flat at six-thirty that evening, Glen had managed to keep himself busy making up the fire, having everything ready to mash a pot of tea, and potatoes peeled and shaped into chips ready to cook when Jan came home. Now it was approaching seven and he was anxiously sitting in his armchair, wondering why she wasn’t back by now and worried something had happened to her . . . the temperature today had been far too low to melt the hard frost of last night and it was slippery out tonight. He feared she might have met with an accident. Or maybe Miss Thomas had spotted her and Jan was down at the police station now, having to explain away her actions. It was seven-forty-five by the time he finally heard her key in the lock and jumped out of his chair to greet her.
‘I was so worried about you,’ Glen told her, helping her off with her coat and hanging it up for her along with his own on the hook on the back of the door. ‘I was convinced you’d had an accident, slipped on the ice or something. Or that you’d been spotted by Miss Thomas.’
Jan was rubbing her hands and stamping her feet in an effort to bring life back to them. She smiled up at him and through chattering teeth quipped, ‘Nice to know you care. Now get out my way so I can reach the fire. I’m frozen to the marrow.’
He was so relieved to see her safely back, he realised that he cared more for her than if she was just a friend. He would have been even more shocked if he’d had any notion that Jan felt just the same about him.
By the time he came through with a cup of tea for them both she had just about thawed out and was ready to talk. Before he could ask her anything she put him out of his misery. ‘Nerys lives across the other side of town, that’s why I’ve been so long. It’s two bus rides away and they don’t run so regular after rush hour is over. I had to wait longer for the return journeys. It’s off the London Road . . . Elms Road it’s called . . . in a gabled house, four bedrooms at least with a huge garden. Mind you, it’s small compared to some of the huge places on that street and round about. You could have six families living in some of those. I wouldn’t like to be employed as a cleaner in one of those places. Anyway, goal achieved.’
He visibly sagged with relief. ‘With no mishap to you?’ he asked in concern.
‘None apart from frostbite. So there’s nothing else we can do now except wait patiently until Nerys gets back.’ She intuitively read the expression that crossed Glen’s face then. ‘Look, I know she didn’t show any thought for you whatsoever when she was carrying out her despicable plan against you, and obviously hasn’t since, but even Nerys has to have a morsel of compassion in her somewhere. Anyway, let’s stop talking about her for now. You went to apply for those jobs you told me you saw advertised on Saturday afternoon. Any luck?’
‘Well, I thought I might be in with a good chance at one factory. The manager was still in his office when I got there and agreed to see me, and the receptionist let slip when she was showing me to his office that they hadn’t had anyone suitable apply yet. The interview seemed to be going well, I told him the same background story as I did to Reg Swinton, but this man did ask me if I’d had any trouble with the law in the past. I suppose I should have said I hadn’t and risked them not doing any checks on me, but I decided they just might. As soon as I told him I had, and what for, even though I tried to convince him I was innocent, the interview was terminated.’
‘Oh, well, his loss,’ said Jan reassuringly. ‘There are other Reg Swintons out there, Glen, who’ll only have to look at you to know you’re just not capable of doing what you were accused of. Someone will take you on. Look, as I’ve told you before, should something happen which means you have to leave your job immediately, then my wages will just about cover the rent and food, as long as you have a real passion for bread and lard. We’ll cope until you’re working again. Oh, thinking of food, I’d best get cracking on some dinner for us,’ she said, reluctantly withdrawing her legs from where they were resting on the hearth.
Glen was staring at her thoughtfully. If Jan was prepared to make such a sacrifice for him, did he dare hope that meant she cared for him as more than just a friend?
Slippers on and cardigan pulled tightly around herself to ward off the cold air in the kitchen where the heat from the fire didn’t quite reach, she made to rise. Glen stopped her, saying, ‘You stay put. I’ve got the meal under control. Won’t be a banquet but even a mere man like me surely can’t make a muck up of egg and chips.’
As he went off into the kitchen, Jan slid off her slippers, resting her feet on the hearth and settling back in her lumpy chair, issuing a contented sigh. Before their son’s accident, Harry had been a wonderful husband, but like most men he’d believed cooking was a woman’s job. She had agreed with him then, he was out at work all day providing for his family and it was her job to look after them, but she had been tired too occasionally . . . men never did appreciate that running a house was just as hard as labouring over a machine in a factory. After a particularly gruelling day labouring over the washing tub and mangle, it would have been nice if Harry had offered to see to their evening meal once in a while so she could put her feet up and read the evening paper. She would like to think she could get used to having Glen cook for her now and again, but she couldn’t because sooner or later he would be in a position to fund a place of his own and then they’d part ways. Hopefully they’d still remain friends, though, and see each other now and again for a catch up. She wanted Glen to get on and build a good life for himself. God knew he deserved to have the best future possible, considering he’d been callously robbed of all he’d had. As a moral and compassionate human being herself, Jan would do all she could to help him achieve that for himself, but selfishly she hoped that it would happen later rather than sooner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Three days later, Jane Trucker took a sip from her tepid cup of tea and said to Cait, ‘Until a temporary manager is appointed you’re still in charge, Miss Thomas, so it’s down to you who we select out of this lot.’ She inclined her head towards the pile of application letters they had just been opening together. ‘I’m surprised we’ve received so many, considering the post was advertised as only temporary, but word has probably got out on the grapevine about Mr Swinton’s death and the applicants think that temporary in this instance refers to a trial period. I expect they’re hoping if they prove themselves, the job could become permanent.’
Cait looked down at the forms for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘Well, you’re far better qualified to know than I am.’
Jane shook her neatly kept crop of iron-grey hair. ‘I’m not qualified enough to make major decisions such as this one, Miss Thomas, and neither is anyone else in the factory. I’m afraid this is one only you can make.’
Cait sighed heavily and looked pensive. The applicants all professed to h
ave the necessary skills and experience, but she was aware that not every prospective employee told the truth. She herself hadn’t been entirely honest when she had applied for the job with the fruit and vegetable wholesaler’s after passing her exams at secretarial college. At her interview she had unashamedly claimed that she had often worked for a novelist at weekends during her training, although she never had, but felt this was bound to make her look like a better prospect than an applicant with no experience at all. Of course she’d covered herself by saying the author had since passed away, in case they decided to check on her.
But even if Jane Trucker and she set about the huge task of checking out every claim on the application letters, to ascertain the applicants were being honest and above board, she had no idea what questions to ask when interviewing them or what traits to look for in them to determine whether they’d be the right sort of person to manage Rose’s. Much to her surprise, she did now actually have some feelings for the staff, and wanted to assure them all of a decent future.
She needed someone who had managed a factory to help her choose the right man for the job, and where on earth was she going to find anyone with those credentials?
Then she knew exactly where she could.
Gathering the application letters together, Cait said to the older woman, ‘Leave this with me, Miss Trucker. I know just the person who can help me with this.’
Thinking it must be a friend of the Thomas family, she said, ‘Very well.’
Application letters secured in a manilla folder, Cait went in search of Glen. Not knowing exactly where the maintenance room was situated, it took her a while to find it by asking directions en route. It was apparent to Cait that everyone she approached was aware of who she was by now, but judging by their guarded manner towards her they were still extremely wary of her. She hoped that by being polite towards them and showing her appreciation she would start to win them over. She finally found the maintenance room but to her dismay it was empty. And it could hardly be called a room either as it was no bigger than a large cupboard and crammed so full of all manner of items, stacked along the shelves lining the walls, that there was hardly room for the small desk and chair. She was pondering how to find out where Glen was now when someone came in.
‘Looking for Glen to report a repair job, love?’
Cait turned around to see a middle-aged man struggling under the weight of a pile of shoe boxes. She assumed he was heading for the packing area, which she had spotted to the right of the maintenance room on first arriving. From a distance, Harry Owens couldn’t see the features of the young woman in Glen’s office, but as he drew closer recognition struck. Realising just who it was he had spoken to so casually, he spluttered, ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Thomas. I thought you was one of the gels from up in the main offices, wanting something fixing.’
He turned the corner at the end of the rack of shelves, went over to the counter, put the boxes down on it and retraced his steps to stand just outside the maintenance room.
The man was familiar to Cait, they had obviously met before, but for the moment she couldn’t place him.
He put her out of her misery. ‘Harry Owens, Miss Thomas. We met . . . er . . . when . . . er . . .’
She remembered him. He was one of the four union representives who had given her an ultimatum last Friday. She could now smile at the fact that it had taken four burly men to band together to face a young woman less than half their age, regardless that it hadn’t been at all funny for her at the time. She could see Harry Owens himself was feeling uncomfortable at the way they had first met, worried that she might be harbouring ill feeling towards him. After all, she was still the boss and at liberty to find a way to make him pay, if she was so inclined.
Having thought carefully about what she was going to say, Cait responded to him in a pleasant manner. ‘Oh, I remember you now, Mr Owens. Nice to meet you again.’
He was mortally relieved that it seemed there’d be no repercussions for his involvement in Friday’s stance against her. He could barely believe, in fact, this was the same young woman that all the employees had been so willing to strike against. Miracles did happen, it seemed to Harry.
Cait assumed he was wondering just what she was doing, dealing personally with a mundane task when she had an assistant at her disposal. She thought she’d better offer him a plausible explanation, feeling she could be subjecting Glen to unnecessary suspicion from the type of fellow worker who took a dim view of employees and bosses appearing to be in cahoots. So she told Harry, ‘Miss Trucker is very busy and I didn’t want to burden her with something I could easily take care of myself.’
The look on his face told her he thought it very commendable of Cait to show such consideration towards her staff. He said, ‘Mr Trainer said before he went off to see to his first job this morning that he had a full day of it today, jobs to deal with all over the factory, he might not even come back to his room until knocking-off time. If the repairs are urgent, I could get word around you’re looking for him. Ask him to come up and see you in your office, Miss Thomas?’
Inwardly Cait was very cross with herself. If she did as Harry Owens was now suggesting then Jane Trucker would become suspicious as to why she and the maintenance man were deep in discussion in the office. She knew she would have to get Glen on his own so she could put her proposition to him, although she wasn’t quite sure yet how.
She told Harry, ‘Well, the work to be done is not at all urgent. It will wait until Mr Trainer hasn’t so much on. Between me and you, Mr Owens, I was using the excuse to get out of the office for a bit.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, most of us are guilty of doing that at some time or other.’ He then realised what he’d said and almost fell over himself to add, ‘Oh, not that I’m saying we’re all looking for excuses to skive. Not at all I’m not!’
She reassured him, ‘I’m sure you weren’t, Mr Owens.’
On her journey back to the office her mind was occupied by trying to work out the best way to speak to Glen without any of the three hundred people who worked here being aware of it. There was only one place really where she could talk to him with no risk attached, and that was at his home. Cait had arranged to go and view a small one-bedroomed flat which she had spotted advertised in last night’s paper, straight after work. She would go and visit Glen afterwards, she decided. She had discovered that the filing cabinet in her office had not been used purely to hold bottles of drink and glasses to entertain Reg Swinton’s guests when they paid him a visit, but was crammed with personnel and customer records. This meant she could ascertain Glen Trainer’s address without arousing any suspicion from Jane.
Back up on the second floor Cait called into the ladies’ toilets before she dropped the folder of applications off in her office to take home that night. She was in a cubicle when she heard the door open and at least two sets of footsteps then the taps being turned on.
Two woman began talking and Cait couldn’t help but overhear.
One of the women said to the other, ‘That damned ink off the Banda machine is almost bloody impossible to get off me hands.’ She must have given herself a look in the mirror then as she let out an anguished wail. ‘Oh, look, me cheek is covered in it!’
The other woman spoke then. ‘Well, if you can’t get it all off just cover it with extra panstick tonight when yer getting ready to go out. What time are we all meeting at Timmy White’s again? Seven-thirty or eight, I can’t remember?’
‘Seven-fifteen. We’re going to the flicks, remember, to see The Ten Commandments. Oh, that Yul Brynner certainly tickles my fancy.’
‘How can you fancy him? He’s bald.’
‘Don’t care. I only have to hear his voice and I get shivers up me spine. What I’d give to find him wrapped up under the tree for me on Christmas Day! Oh, talking of Christmas, we mustn’t forget to get the tickets for the Palais on Christmas Eve else we won’t get in. We’d better decide on that tonight when we meet up with the other gels, who’
s going to collect the money off us all and go and get them, though I suppose it’ll be down to me as usual.’
The other woman was obviously not listening but thinking of the night itself. ‘I can’t decide what to wear . . . me red or me blue dress. I get more offers of dances in me red dress, but when I wear me blue I usually land meself a fella. Never the man of me dreams but better than n’ote.’
In the cubicle Cait was sitting with her elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hands, the conversation she was overhearing making her wonder what Christmas and New Year’s Eve would be like for her this year. Christmas Eve was only days away now and as matters stood it seemed a very remote possibility that she would be planning what to wear for a evening of fun as she’d no one to go out with, male or female. Neither had she anyone at home to celebrate the day with either. Not that previous Christmases could ever have been described as fun. Since there were only the three of them, and her parents weren’t the greatest communicators at the best of times, Christmas Day had seemed like Sunday to Cait except for the fact that they swapped gifts. Last year she’d received five pounds to buy herself something with. She now realised it was because her mother did not think it was worth trailing round the shops to find something Cait would be thrilled to receive. She herself always looked for a special something for them both, but from their non-committal reactions on opening the gifts she was never sure whether they were pleased or not. She wasn’t hopeful that her mother had thought to leave anything for her this year.
Cait knew she didn’t have to spend the forthcoming festive evenings alone. She could go out right now and charm those two girls into inviting her along with them. She now knew, though, that it wasn’t the way to make lasting friends. Those she made in future should be made in the proper way: by waiting to be invited to join their group because she was liked, and not as she had done before by buying friendship for the short time it lasted until the other person could no longer endure Cait’s self-absorption. This year she would have to spend the festive season content in her own company, but hopefully next year would be a different matter so long as she continued to keep working hard on herself, which she definitely meant to do.
