The next week’s search for a job proved fruitless and by the end of it Daisy was seriously considering forgetting all thoughts of office work or something similar, and approaching one of the factories or the curing houses at the docks. It seemed a shame because she had come on well with her shorthand and was sure she’d pick up typing, given a chance, but she had little money left. She’d paid Miss Casey a month’s rent initially, but three weeks had passed already. She’d done the rounds and answered some advertisements and got interviews for two positions - one in a tea agent’s office and the other in Heatherdene Convalescent Home office - but as soon as she had admitted she had a child to support she had sensed a withdrawal on the part of the interviewer. She had explained the circumstances in both instances - that Tommy was her late brother’s child and she had assumed responsibility for the boy on the death of his mother - but it was obvious neither man had believed her. They had clearly both labelled her a ‘fallen’ woman and the interviews had been brief from that point.
She had thought then about concealing Tommy’s existence, but apart from the fact that these things inevitably came out into the open sooner or later and then it would definitely look as though she’d had something to hide, everything within her rebelled against denying her nephew. So, it looked as though it would be a manual job in one of the curing houses or rope works where the only criteria were how strong you were and how hard you could work. Filthy, back-breaking work often among coarse and foul-mouthed companions. But needs must.
That was on the Friday evening. On Saturday morning Daisy took Tommy with her to post a letter to Kitty. The post office was on Villette Road, and afterwards she intended to walk down to Hendon Burn. Tommy liked the little footbridge there and would spend an hour or more throwing leaves into the water and watching his ‘boats’ float downstream.
Daisy bought the stamp for her letter along with some more writing materials while Tommy held on to her skirt, large-eyed as he took in the shining counter and brass scales beyond which a latticework of pigeonholes stretched from floor to ceiling full of letters, parcels, official-looking forms and a hundred and one other things besides.
Daisy had moved away from the counter and was putting her change in her purse when she heard the postmaster - who had served her - say to one of the postmen who was standing leaning on the counter, ‘Anyway, like I was saying, I told her to hop it.’
‘She was lucky you didn’t call in the law.’
‘Aye, that’s what I told her. And do you know what the cheeky baggage said? Where’s me pay for the week? Her pay! She’s probably thieved the equivalent over the last months. I told her her pay would be a boot up her backside if she wasn’t out of the door in sixty seconds.’
‘Left you in a bit of a mess though, eh, Cecil?’
‘Aye, but better that than having someone around with light fingers.’
Daisy raised her head and looked at the postmaster. He was a middle-aged man of medium height with a full head of grizzled grey hair and strikingly blue eyes which reminded her of William’s. She didn’t think about her next action, stepping forward with a suddenness which surprised Tommy who was still hanging on to her skirt with one hand. ‘Are you looking to employ someone?’ she asked with no preamble whatsoever.
‘What?’ He stared at her, the postman too.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and I am at present seeking employment.’
‘Are you indeed?’ The blue eyes flashed from her to Tommy and then back again. Cecilia had been chary in exactly what she had returned to Daisy via Harold. One or two little gifts Miss Wilhelmina had given her had been missing, along with Pastor Lyndon’s book and the three evening dresses she had possessed. However, the rest of her clothes had been in the package, and Daisy had never been so glad of her mistress’s generosity as when the postmaster’s sharp blue eyes took in her coat and hat, both of good quality. ‘And in what capacity, Mrs . . . ?’
‘Miss.’ She knew her face had turned scarlet but her voice was clear and steady. ‘Miss Daisy Appleby. And this is my nephew, Tommy Appleby.’
The postmaster said nothing for several screamingly long seconds and he didn’t glance at Tommy again. Then he said, ‘Like I said, in what capacity, Miss Appleby?’
‘The capacity of the job you’ve just had to sack the other girl from.’ He knew and she knew she didn’t have a clue what that was.
‘Mm, you’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself, girl.’ It could have been meant nastily but it wasn’t. ‘Septimus’ - he turned to the postman who was still watching with considerable interest - ‘you keep this little chappie happy for a minute or two while I talk to his aunt in the back, all right?’ Now the man did look down at Tommy, smiling as he said, ‘I bet you don’t like sweets, eh? You do?’ He reached behind the counter and brought out a bag of boiled sweets. ‘Well, you chew on these bullets and be good for this nice gentleman. Here’ - he came round and lifted Tommy on to the polished wood of the counter - ‘you can help Mr Riley serve any customers that come in.’
Daisy left Mr Riley looking none too happy about the arrangement and followed the postmaster past the counter and into the back of the shop which was clearly a small office. Her heart was beating fit to burst and she could feel her hands beginning to tremble, so after the postmaster had indicated for her to be seated on a hardbacked chair to one side of one of the two desks the room contained, she clasped them together tightly in her lap.
‘So, lass.’ He sat down behind the bigger desk in a chair which although old looked comfy. ‘I’m Mr Shelton and as you’ve already picked up I sacked my office girl this morning.’ He settled himself comfortably, relaxing back in the chair as he said, ‘And if I’m not mistaken there’s more to you than meets the eye at first. You say you want a job?’
Daisy nodded, her eyes wide and fixed on his face.
‘Then why don’t you tell me all about yourself, lass, and start at the beginning, all right? I can’t abide half a story.’
‘The beginning?’
‘Aye. Who your mam and da are, where you live, what you’ve been doing with yourself for the last . . . How old are you, lass?’
‘I’m nineteen.’
‘For the last nineteen years.’
This wasn’t at all like the other two interviews. Daisy stared at him, thinking as she did so, Do I tell him I haven’t got a proper reference because William’s family didn’t like me, that I’ve never had an office job before, that I have Tommy to take care of?
Bushy eyebrows rose over his vivid blue eyes. ‘Well? I haven’t got all day.’
She drew in a long breath. He had asked for it all and that was what he’d get, but if he thought she could tell it in sixty seconds he’d got another think coming.
It took ten minutes, and by the time Daisy had finished speaking Cecil Shelton had forgotten all about how busy he was. He had edged forward attentively in his chair once Daisy had begun speaking but now he leant back once more, his attitude relaxed again. It was some moments before he spoke, and then he said quietly, ‘So I take it you can’t type, lass?’
Daisy didn’t know what she had been expecting but it wasn’t that. ‘No, I can’t. My shorthand isn’t too bad, but no, I can’t type. Not yet.’
‘Then you’d better learn smartish. One finger’ll do for a week or two but I’m not a patient man as you’ll discover. And you’ll have to help out behind the counter oft times.’
She stared at him enquiringly. He couldn’t be saying he was giving her the job?
‘I paid Muriel seven and six a week, but of course she could type as well as being pretty good on the shorthand.’
Daisy nodded, she didn’t know what to say.
‘’Course she’d had it on a plate, her da had paid for lessons for her, not like you getting a book and teaching yourself. I like that, lass. Shows gumption. Now, hours here are from eight in the morning until eight-thirty at night but you get every other Saturday off. My wife comes in on those days. And
it’s early closing Thursday, we finish at three then. As for your wage . . .’ He stared at her and Daisy stared back. ‘How much rent you paying for yourself and the bairn?’
‘One and nine a week. I’m lodging with Miss Casey in Mainsforth Terrace West off--’
‘Aye, aye, I know where Mainsforth Terrace is and I know Miss Casey an’ all. You won’t go far wrong with her, and one and nine is fair. I know a few round here who would try it on at two bob and more given half a chance, and their places wouldn’t be as clean as Grace Casey’s, not by a long chalk. Well, with your rent and fuel and food you’ll have to be canny with your money. Are you canny, lass?’
‘I think so.’
‘Aye, I think so an’ all, and that being the case I wouldn’t want to lose you to someone else, eh?’ For the first time Daisy noticed the kindness in the bright blue eyes. ‘So we’d better keep the wage at seven and six assuming you’re going to pick everything up in double quick time.’
‘I will, Mr Shelton.’ Seven and six a week! It would have been good pay for a girl living in the family home and paying board, but she was on her own, renting and with Tommy to take care of. Could she manage? She already knew the answer. This was the first rung up the ladder, and moreover she was independent. She had everything she needed for their two rooms and wouldn’t need to buy any clothes for herself for a long time, thanks to Miss Wilhelmina. Tommy was a different matter but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. For the moment the little boy was well kitted out with boots on his feet and a warm winter coat.
‘You say you worked for the sister of Sir Augustus Fraser of Greyfriar Hall? Bad business with her brother, weren’t it?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Her brother, the one that went under a train. Don’t you know about it?’ Daisy shook her head. ‘In all the papers at the time. Just after Christmas it was, in Central Station.’
Daisy had to clear her throat before she could say, ‘Which . . . which brother?’
‘Oh, not him, the lord of the manor,’ Cecil said dryly. ‘No, this was another one.’
Francis. It had to be Francis Fraser. ‘Is he . . . dead?’
‘Oh, aye, he’s dead all right. Chopped his legs clean off. All the money in the world don’t make no difference in an argument with iron and steel.’
Daisy shivered. She had loathed Francis and couldn’t say hand on heart she was sorry he was dead, but the manner of his death was too awful to contemplate. ‘How horrible.’
Cecil nodded. He wasn’t really interested in the likes of Sir Augustus Fraser and his brother. Didn’t know they were born, that lot. And reading between the lines of what this lass had told him only bore out his theory that the less you had to do with the gentry, the better. ‘So, you’ll start Monday then? On the dot of eight, mind. I can’t abide unpunctuality.’
‘I’ll be here, Mr Shelton, and thank you. Thank you very much indeed.’
The postmaster seemed to echo her previous thoughts when he said quietly, ‘Got to start somewhere, haven’t you, lass? And rest assured, if you play fair by me I’ll play fair by you. I come from mining stock meself but I couldn’t hold with being under the ground. It was old Mr Howard who ran the post office on Nelson Square in Monkwearmouth who took me on as a lad. “I’ll give you a chance, lad, and it’s up to you what you make of it,” that’s what he said. And I reckon that still holds good today, don’t you?’
Daisy nodded.
‘And now we’d better go and rescue the bairn from Septimus. Twelve bairns, him and his wife have got, but he can’t stand any of them, or his wife for that matter.’ He grinned widely now and Daisy smiled back. She had done it! She’d got a job, and close to home too which was a bonus. And as for the typing - she’d noticed a book with exercises explaining the right way to learn when she’d got the shorthand one but it had been no use without a machine to practise on. She could get that and practise in her lunch hours, perhaps even take the typewriter home on a Sunday if Mr Shelton didn’t mind. She would go into town now - Tommy loved the aviary and the pond with the goldfish at the Winter Garden, and the library was at the front of the building. A flood of relief that things were finally working out made her lightheaded for a second.
She hadn’t visited Kitty and Alf or her brothers since she had moved to Hendon, although she had written to Kitty twice to let her friend know she and Tommy were fine. There were several reasons for this. She had told herself she wanted to give Tommy some time to settle fully into his new environment and avoid confusing the little boy, also there had been lots to do with making the two rooms a home and not least looking for work each day. But it was only now, this very second, that she realised the main reason had been a matter of pride. She wanted to go back only when she had a job and it was clear she was able to support herself and Tommy.
She didn’t know when she had first become aware of it but for some time now, especially in the last months, she had come to understand that there were those in the fishing community who were resentful of her. They thought she had done too well and had let her know it in various ways, especially over the time of Kitty and Alf’s engagement and swift wedding. She had been labelled an upstart, and at the wedding there had been several instances - put to the back of her mind on the day but which had sunk deep into her subconscious - when conversation had died when she had joined this person or that, along with snide glances and whispers, some of which she knew were meant to register on her. She had ignored it all and would continue to do so, but knowing there was more than one person who would like her to fall flat on her face had given her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. These people used to be her friends, they would have done anything for her once and she for them, and the loss of them hurt. Perhaps she was silly to care but she couldn’t help it.
However, given the choice she would do the same thing over again. And she wouldn’t apologise for setting her own course either, or Tommy’s. He would have an education, a good one which would enable him to hold his own with anyone. She wasn’t denying her da or Tommy’s for that matter, and she would make sure he fully appreciated the unique breed he’d come from, a people who were strong and sound with the ability to survive the most appalling adversities, but she wanted more for him. A fisherman’s life was one long harsh battle for survival and the North Sea a cruel master. She hated it. The sea had taken her da and Tom and Peter, it wasn’t going to have Tommy too.
The child was still sitting on the counter when she walked through with Mr Shelton and it appeared he had won over the dour Septimus. The postman was showing the little boy how the scales worked and smiling at Tommy’s fascination. As though he had been caught at something shameful, Septimus wiped the smile off his face and straightened immediately he saw them. ‘Time I was getting on,’ he said gruffly. ‘Haven’t got time to waste.’
‘Aye, you go then, and thanks, man.’ Cecil Shelton’s voice was brisk but Daisy had noticed the twinkle in his eye and guessed his thoughts had been similar to hers.
‘Thank you again.’ As the postman left, Daisy lifted Tommy down and took the child’s hand. ‘I’ll be here at eight on Monday then.’
‘Righto, lass.’
As Daisy left the post office, Tommy still clutching the bag of bullets which Mr Shelton had said he could keep, her mind was spinning with elation. She felt bright and eager, like she’d got the top job in Sunderland, and she didn’t care if that was daft, she told herself happily. She suddenly whisked Tommy up into her arms and spun round a few times, making the child squeal with excitement and causing passers-by to tut-tut at such a spectacle or smile indulgently, depending on their disposition.
‘I love you, Tommy Appleby. Do you know that?’ Daisy said softly as she stopped her spinning and held the little boy close to her heart, his arms tight around her neck.
‘Me love you, Dadi.’ It was his pet name for her, first spoken when he couldn’t pronounce her name properly.
‘We’re going to show them, you and me. We’ll
show them all, Tommy.’
He grinned at her, his rosy red cheeks plumping out still more as he strained back in her arms to touch her face, one of his most endearing habits and something which never failed to touch Daisy’s heart.
Yes, she would show them. She was going to make something of her life and she would succeed. It was time to say goodbye to the old life and embrace the new.
Tommy was now wriggling in her arms, anxious to be off to the burn, and she set him down, saying, ‘Instead of going to the burn, would you like to see the goldfish and the birds again in town?’ and then laughing at his rapturous response.
Mowbray Park was about half a mile from the post office but the Museum and Library stood at the far end which put another quarter of a mile on the walk for Tommy’s little legs. Daisy knew to the farthing how much she had in her purse, and the tram fare would pay for enough scrag ends to make a good broth for the two of them which would last for two dinners, eked out with stottie cake. She decided to walk, even though it would mean slipping and sliding on the frozen snow for most of the way, probably with Tommy in her arms. But it wouldn’t always be like this.
Candles in the Storm Page 34
