Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Hello, Daisy,’ Johnny gave her his nice smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. Her heart turned over.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘How’re –’

  But already he was looking past her. ‘Isobel with you?’

  She had to bite her lip and swallow hard to stop the tears from welling in her eyes.

  ‘No,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Oh – well –’

  ‘We don’t work together no more,’ Daisy reminded him.

  ‘No – of course not. I forgot.’ Johnny poked at his food for a few seconds, frowning. Daisy ached to put her hand out, to smooth away the anxious look. She knew just how he felt. She was suffering just the same.

  He seemed to make his mind up. He leant forward and said in a low, urgent voice, ‘Look, Daisy, I got to know, is it true? I mean, that she’s walking out with someone else?’

  For a moment, she almost considered saying no, just to see him smile. But it was better that he knew the truth. And a small selfish part of her wanted to see Isobel toppled from the pedestal on which he had placed her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He stabbed at a potato. ‘Well, who the hell is it, then? And what’s so flaming wonderful about him?’

  Daisy hesitated. There were other conversations going on all round her. Everyone was busy eyeing each other and laughing and flirting, but she could hear them and they could hear her, and any piece of gossip would be round the store in no time. She couldn’t do that to Isobel, however much she wanted to open Johnny’s eyes.

  ‘I dunno,’ she said.

  ‘You must do. You’re her friend, aren’t you? You share a room with her. She must of told you.’

  Daisy rolled her eyes to indicate the people round them. ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Oh. Like that, is it?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Big secret.’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me?’

  Daisy had a sudden inspiration. ‘Not here, I can’t.’

  ‘Oh – I see.’

  Johnny thought about this for a while. Daisy took a chance and changed the subject, asking him if he had been approached by Selfridges. They talked about what they knew of the new store. The half-hour was soon over. Daisy rose to go.

  ‘Been nice talking to you,’ she said, willing him to make some sort of move.

  ‘Yeah – look, Daisy, don’t go – how about you and me going out for a drink one evening?’

  Joy leapt and bubbled inside her. She held it down, though she felt as if she would burst.

  ‘I dunno – per’aps –’

  ‘How about tomorrow?’

  She made a great show of reluctance. ‘Oh – well – all right.’

  All the way back to the department, she wanted to dance and sing. She was going to go out with Johnny! No Arthur, no Isobel, just the two of them, together. It was what she had been longing for since the moment she first saw him. She held on to the euphoria for the rest of the working day, hugging it to herself, feeling it glow inside, making a barrier of it against the outside world. The most difficult customer could not broach her defences. She smiled brilliantly and ran to fulfil every demand, and at the end of the day instead of being tired, she was still bounding with energy. Everything was wonderful in the world. Anything was possible. Then she met up with Isobel.

  Her friend was white-faced with fatigue.

  ‘You look happy,’ she remarked.

  ‘I am.’

  She was about to spill it all out, when something stopped her. She did not want to tell Isobel. Somehow, it would spoil it. And even as she hesitated, she found that already it was spoilt. For common sense had at last penetrated her heedless mood, telling her what she had known all along, what she had even used to push Johnny in the right direction. He was only asking her out in order to find out about Isobel. The disappointment was so severe that she nearly wept.

  By the following evening, she was on the way up again. She had persuaded herself that this was her big chance to speak to Johnny without Isobel there dazzling him. With Isobel out of the way, he might come to see something in her instead. He had to. She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t.

  Isobel watched her as she went through her small wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.

  ‘Might I – would you be offended if I offered to lend you something?’

  They both knew that once Daisy would have jumped at the offer. The few clothes Isobel had brought from her former home were all beautifully made of quality fabrics. But their friendship was now so strained that Daisy looked for hidden reasons behind everything.

  Without waiting for an answer, Isobel produced a blouse of the palest shell pink. Daisy was instantly lost. It was so beautiful that she had to reach out and touch it.

  ‘It’s silk,’ she said, stroking the lustrous fabric, touching the intricate tucks and ruffles.

  ‘Yes.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. They both knew that this was new, and that Isobel could not possibly have afforded it from her wages.

  ‘Your new beau bought it for you, did he?’

  Isobel looked away.

  ‘He must have a bob or two, then,’ Daisy commented. And what, she wondered, did Isobel do for him to buy her this? And her always going on about how she didn’t like men even looking at her.

  ‘I – I didn’t ask him to buy it. I didn’t ask for anything,’ Isobel said, as if reading her mind. After all, both of them knew that gifts implied favours.

  ‘Oh yeah, I believe you,’ Daisy said, but she bit back any further comment. She really wanted the blouse. It was so much nicer than anything she had.

  ‘Look – you have it, to keep. I don’t want it. I couldn’t ever wear it. It will just lie there going to waste if you don’t,’ Isobel said. She thrust the blouse into Daisy’s arms.

  Daisy could not resist it. Shivering in the cold air of the attic room, she undressed. The blouse felt wonderful on. Daisy had never worn silk before. It moved against her skin like a caress. It did not matter that her skirt was old and her jacket, though new, was cheap and ill-cut. The blouse made her feel like a princess.

  ‘Who are you meeting?’ Isobel asked, just as she was leaving.

  ‘Johnny,’ Daisy admitted.

  ‘Oh Daisy –’ Isobel’s troubled face lit up. She ran across the room and hugged her. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased for you. Have a lovely, lovely evening.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Daisy said gruffly. She felt dreadful. That had not been acting. Isobel had meant it.

  Johnny met her at the door.

  ‘We won’t go to the Horseshoes,’ he decided, referring to the nearest pub. ‘It’s full of Packards’ people.’

  Daisy was happy to go along with anything he suggested. It was bliss just to be with him. His presence touched everything with magic. The familiar terraces of Trent Street were beautiful, the damp chill of the winter’s evening was invigorating, even the buses were imbued with mystery and excitement, bearing their passengers off into the dark. Johnny led the way to a small pub, glowing warm and inviting on the corner of a mews.

  ‘You get all the coachmen here during the Season, but it’s quieter this time of year. Nice for talking,’ he said.

  ‘It’s lovely. Very cosy,’ Daisy approved, sipping her port and lemon.

  For a while they talked of work.

  ‘You must be doing very well, getting a promotion. I been at Packards three years and I never heard of anyone getting on that quick,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Yeah, but they’re a funny lot in Baby Linens. We don’t have the laughs there what we had in Ladies’ Sportswear. All the proud grandmothers cooing over little bonnets and stuff and the nannies wanting best-quality pilches and fine woollen vests. Babies! Blimey, too many of ’em in the world, if you ask me.’

  Johnny laughed. ‘I thought all women loved babies.’

  ‘Not me, and not a lot of us, if we was honest,’ Daisy maintained. ‘Nothing but trouble, always crying
and smelly. I should know, my mum went on having ’em for years and me and my sisters had to look after ’em.’

  ‘You come from a big family, then?’

  ‘Yeah, ten of us.’

  ‘All I got is one sister. I used to wish I had lots of brothers.’

  ‘Big families are all right if you got the money to feed ’em. Trouble is, it’s the poor as always seems to have the biggest families. Funny thing, that.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right there, Daisy.’

  ‘Packards is like a family, don’t you think? Like, we all squabble and have jealousies and that, but if anyone from, say, Peter Robinsons was to come in now and say something about anyone from Packards, even that silly cow Ivy in my department, I’d pull ’em to pieces.’

  ‘Oh yes, we look after our own all right. We’re all in it together, aren’t we? That’s why I’m so glad you’re sharing a room with Isobel. You’re tough, Daisy, you know how to look after yourself. I know you’ll look out for her as well.’

  A dark cloud settled on Daisy’s heart. She had been so enjoying herself up till then.

  ‘Oh yeah, tough as old boots, that’s me. Real old warhorse, eh?’

  Johnny just laughed. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that. But you been brought up to stick up for yourself. You been working since you were twelve. You know the ropes. Isobel doesn’t.’

  Daisy was slightly mollified.

  ‘She wouldn’t never have survived without me. Didn’t have a clue,’ she said.

  ‘That’s what I mean. She’s different to us, ain’t she? Delicate. She didn’t ought to be here at all, not a lady like her.’

  ‘She’s got to earn a living like what the rest of us have,’ Daisy pointed out.

  ‘I know. That’s what’s so sad about her. She shouldn’t be slaving behind a counter. She’s Quality.’

  ‘And we’re not, I suppose?’

  Johnny gave a wry smile. ‘Oh come on, Daise – we’re working people.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’ Daisy snapped. ‘I ain’t ashamed of it. I don’t owe nobody nothing, I pay my own way and I send what I can back to my family. And I tell you something, not all them Quality people look down on us. Miss Packard don’t for a start. She’d much rather roll her sleeves up and get down to work with the rest of us. She said so herself. I heard her with my own ears.’

  ‘You like Miss Packard, don’t you?’

  ‘I think she’s wonderful,’ Daisy said. ‘I really miss being in her department.’

  ‘She got Isobel her job back, didn’t she?’

  They were back to Isobel again.

  ‘Yeah. Went storming off to Mr Mason and made him take her back.’

  ‘She sounds a real card. I’m glad Isobel’s in her department. If Miss Packard waded in on her side that time, she might do again, if it was needed.’

  Isobel, Isobel, Isobel.

  ‘How’s things up in Carpets, then?’ Daisy asked.

  It distracted him for a while. He told her about the latest tricks the young shopmen had played on each other, and about some of the strange things that customers had asked for.

  ‘You have a good laugh up there, then. Wouldn’t never have thought it. I mean, it’s a bit slow, ain’t – isn’t – it? People don’t buy carpets every day of the week. I hate it when I’m just hanging about tidying. I like to sell stuff.’

  ‘You’re good at it, so I hear.’

  ‘Well, yes. I love it. I love the things we sell, even if they are for babies. They’re so pretty and dainty and crisp and new. And I love getting people to buy them. It’s like – like I’ve won if I can persuade a customer to buy something when they’ve only come in to kill a couple of hours before having dinner.’ As she spoke, Daisy leant forward, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. ‘I always wanted to work at Packards, you see. It was like somewhere magic, a palace or something, like in a fairy story. And when I got there, it was more than just a job. I’ve had other jobs, and they were horrible. Packards is different. I really want to do well there.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Johnny agreed. ‘It’s a good place to work. You can learn a lot if you keep your ears and eyes open. I talk to the buyer whenever I can. He’s a decent bloke, he likes you if you take an interest. He tells me all about the qualities, and the dyes, and the knotting, and the meaning of the patterns. He thinks I want to learn so as I can be a better salesman, and he’s right in a way. I do, and the more you can tell a customer, the better. They trust you if they think you know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You’re right. If you can tell ‘em what they really want to know, then they’ll be happy and they’ll come back again,’ Daisy agreed.

  ‘That’s it exactly! But that isn’t all, you see. I want to get on at Packards, but I don’t want to stay there for ever. One day, I’d like to set up a shop of my own. I’m saving every penny I can towards it.’

  Johnny stopped, flushed. ‘There – I never told nobody that before. Well, except for Arthur, and I dunno why I told him. He’s a good bloke, Arthur, a good pal, but he doesn’t understand. He never looks beyond what we’re going to do on Saturday night. But me, I want to get somewhere.’

  ‘I think that’s wonderful. And you’d be a success, I know you would,’ Daisy said.

  She could see it all. A nice shop in a high street somewhere, with carpets hung on the walls and stacked in rolls, and a neat little flat upstairs. When it was busy, Johnny could ring a bell and she would come down and help him. She was a quick learner. She knew she could pick up the ins and outs of carpets easily. They would make a splendid team, the two of them. The shop would flourish.

  ‘Thank you.’ Johnny looked embarrassed. He hesitated, then said, ‘What I’d really like, what I dream of, is to have Isobel there as well. Not working, of course. She shouldn’t be working. I’d look after her and protect and provide for her. I want to take her away from having to slave behind a counter.’

  Daisy’s happy picture smashed apart. Pain sliced through her, followed by consuming anger. How could he be so blind?

  ‘For God’s sake,’ she cried, her voice harsh. ‘Wake up, will you? She wouldn’t marry you if you was the last bloke on earth. She thinks you’re common.’

  Johnny slammed down his glass. ‘That ain’t true! You’re just saying that because you’re jealous she’s so much prettier than you.’

  Daisy gasped. It was too near the truth to be safe, but she was beyond being sensible.

  ‘It is true. Think what you just said: she’s Quality, and we’re just working people. What d’you think she’ll see in you? And anyway, if it ain’t true, why ain’t she going out with you, eh? I’ll tell you why: because she’s going out with Mr Perry.’

  She stopped, horrified by Johnny’s reaction. The high colour drained from his face. He stared at her in horror.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Perry Amberley Packard,’ Daisy elaborated, though they both knew perfectly well whom she meant.

  ‘But –’

  She watched a series of emotions chase across his face. Shock, pain, stubborn disbelief.

  ‘She can’t be. She wouldn’t.’

  They were both well aware of the implications. If a shopgirl went out with a young gentleman, especially a real man-about-town like Mr Perry, it meant only one thing. He was out to seduce her, while she wheedled as much as she could out of him in the way of presents. The best outcome, as far as the girl was concerned, was that she became his mistress. Mostly, the man discarded her as soon as someone else caught his eye, or when she became pregnant, whichever came first.

  The rage drained out of Daisy, leaving her limp. She lifted the collar of the pink blouse.

  ‘He give her this. Real silk, this is. Feel.’

  Dazed, Johnny reached out and touched it, and jumped back as if he had been burnt. His mouth twisted with anger and hatred.

  ‘I’ll get him. I don’t know how, but I’ll get him. I’ll make him so he never looks at a woman again.’

&
nbsp; ‘You’ll get yourself put inside, and then where’d Isobel be?’ Daisy said.

  ‘I don’t care.’

  The landlord was clearing up round them. There was only one other customer left. They both realised that it was late, that they had another long day’s work ahead of them tomorrow. They went out into the bleak night, not talking, each wrapped in a cloud of misery. The cold was no longer invigorating. It shrivelled Daisy’s face and penetrated her bones, settling black and heavy on her soul. She could hardly believe that she had walked the same streets earlier in such blind happiness. Now she could hardly contain the tangle of emotions that raged inside her. She still resented Isobel for catching Johnny’s heart with such careless ease, but the resentment was mixed with an uneasy sense of guilt at betraying her secret and even a fear of what might become of a girl who knew so little in the hands of a man like Mr Perry. Above all, she still loved Johnny, and it was an agony to see him so faithful to Isobel despite what she had told him.

  They stopped at the door of twenty-four Trent Street. Johnny thrust his hands into his pockets.

  ‘Look, Daisy, I’m sorry if I flew off the handle a bit.’

  ‘’Sall right,’ Daisy lied.

  ‘I’m really beholden to you. You’re nice to talk to. I wondered – would you come out again?’

  And because she could refuse him nothing, Daisy agreed.

  23

  ‘THIS IS THE sort of thing we ought to be doing,’ Amelie said, spreading out a copy of the Daily Mail on the desk.

  Two of the members of the Advertising Department, Mr Carpenter and his sidekick, Jerry Mitchell, moved over with deliberate reluctance, scepticism written all over them. The third, the girl typewriter, merely looked up from her machine. She knew that her opinion counted for nothing.

  ‘There,’ Amelie said, waving a hand at the journal.

  The two men looked at the full-page advertisement. Beautifully laid out and illustrated, it announced the forthcoming opening of the new Selfridges store, along with a statement of policy.

  Mr Carpenter was a large cumbersome man, never seen without a cigarette between his lips. He shook his head and gave a short mirthless laugh. Some ash dropped on the paper. He brushed it away with a meaty hand.