The Surplus Girls

by Polly Heron

  ‘This is where I hope to place you.’ She grabbed Mikey’s arm as he tried to go in. ‘We have to go somewhere else first.’

  She took him to Wilton Close and knocked on the Miss Heskeths’ door. Please let them be in.

  The door was opened by Miss Patience. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ she said and Belinda’s heart filled with gratitude. She had done the right thing in coming here.

  ‘I’ve come to ask for help – yours and Miss Hesketh’s.’

  ‘Of course, dear. Come in. And who is this?’

  Soon she and Mikey were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the settee in the sitting room, Mikey’s eyes practically out on stalks at being in such a smart room.

  ‘Mrs Brown at the stationer’s is going to be busy for some weeks looking after her daughter. I’m sure Mr Brown could do with another pair of hands and our Michael needs a halftime job.’

  ‘Don’t you live in Stretford?’ asked Miss Hesketh.

  Belinda’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Yes, but Michael can’t get a job there because of my other brother, Thad. He’s a ruffian.’

  ‘And what about you, young man?’ Miss Hesketh looked penetratingly at Mikey.

  ‘I’ll work hard, miss, I promise. I’m nowt like our Thad.’

  ‘Michael has a reference from his teacher.’

  Belinda nudged Mikey to make him hand it over. She held her breath while Miss Hesketh read it. Then Miss Hesketh gave it to Miss Patience to read.

  ‘You said you’d come for our help,’ Miss Patience prompted.

  ‘If you come with us to Brown’s, it would go in Michael’s favour.’

  ‘We’ve never met Michael before,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘I shan’t pretend to be in a position to recommend him.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Miss Patience, ‘but we can thoroughly recommend you, Miss Layton – isn’t that so, Prudence? It must count for something that Michael has a hard-working, respectful and pleasant sister.’

  ‘I won’t let our Bel down,’ said Mikey.

  ‘And if you do, she’ll be just along the road in the bookshop for Mr Brown to complain to,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘And, believe me, if I’m to play even the remotest part in assisting you to get this job, I’ll be deeply displeased if there are any complaints. Do I make myself clear?’

  There was an audible gulp from Mikey.

  ‘Very well,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘We’ll accompany you when you make your application, Michael.’

  ‘Mr Brown hasn’t actually advertised a job,’ Belinda said. ‘I hope that, with Mrs Brown being busy for some time to come, maybe he could be persuaded…’

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Hesketh. ‘You want us to support a boy we’ve never met before in getting a job that doesn’t exist.’ Silence rattled round the room as the others gazed at her. She rose to her feet. ‘Let’s go and explain to Mr Brown that he’s in need of a willing and capable lad, shall we?’

  Belinda arrived early at the shop on Monday but, even so, Gabriel was there ahead of her.

  ‘You’re bright and early.’ He smiled.

  Her heart melted. ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ she replied as if this was reason enough. ‘Have you moved into the cottage?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. I’m still in lodgings. I’ve been advised not to move in until after this business with Carson is sorted out.’

  ‘Him having paid for all the improvements?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Chilly fingers pattered down her spine. ‘But it’s all right to be here in the shop?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Your position here is safe.’

  Her cheeks felt warm. ‘I didn’t mean that. Well, I did, but I’m concerned for you too.’

  ‘Thank you. No, it’s only the cottage that’s out of bounds. The shop is mine, all mine.’

  She felt a glow of pleasure on his behalf. ‘I’d best get on with some work, then.’

  ‘Do you mind tackling the boxes upstairs on your own? I want to open the shop for business, so I need to be down here. Give me a shout if anything needs to be carried downstairs.’

  Disappointment screwed up inside her as she went upstairs. She had been counting on their working closely together. But maybe it was no bad thing that they were on different floors. Much less distracting!

  Having the shop open meant having different tea-breaks, but at least they had the same dinner hour when the shop closed.

  ‘Shall we make the most of the fine weather and take a picnic to the rec?’ Gabriel offered.

  He must feel they got along well, to suggest it. That was something – an important something. She might not be beautiful and elegant like Naomi Reed, but there was something special about being friends as well as sweethearts. She knew that from being with Ben. They would have been best mates as well as man and wife.

  Was she making a twit of herself by feeling all fluttery and self-conscious in Gabriel’s presence? Would the man who had once been engaged to a lovely and well-spoken lady like Naomi Reed look twice at an ordinary girl like Belinda Layton?

  They went to the rec for their picnic but, far from revelling in her scintillating conversation, Gabriel seemed thoughtful. Preoccupied, even.

  With thoughts of Naomi?

  ‘Penny for them,’ said Gabriel.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You haven’t said much the past few minutes, but all kinds of thoughts have been flitting across your face.’

  ‘You can talk. You’ve been pretty quiet yourself.’ Had that sounded churlish? She gave a belated smile to show she was joking.

  ‘Things on my mind, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I apologise if I haven’t been good company.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s ten to. We’d better head back.’

  Gathering their things, they walked to the gate. Gabriel made small talk, presumably to make up for his earlier quietness, and she responded in kind, but she felt let down. This wasn’t the easy camaraderie they were capable of. Had her new-found feelings for him spoiled their friendship?

  They passed through the gate in time to see, further along, where the shops were, a young lad flying down the pavement at top speed. Mikey! Belinda dodged back inside the rec.

  Gabriel turned in surprise. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. That boy: where is he now?’

  ‘He’s knocking at Brown’s and… he’s been let in.’ Gabriel frowned at her. ‘What of it?’

  ‘That’s my brother. It’s his first day as a half-timer for Mr Brown.’

  ‘Why hide from him?’

  He wasn’t going to let this go, was he? ‘I didn’t want him seeing us together.’

  ‘Why not? We aren’t doing anything improper.’

  ‘I know, but if he went home and told the family…’ Oh, heck. ‘What I mean is, of course we’ve done nothing wrong; but I – I mentioned Mr Carson to my mother, only I called him Richard by mistake and…’ Oh cripes, she was making this worse by the moment. ‘I can’t have questions being asked about you and me. Not that there is a you and me.’ Her insides squeezed in a painful cringe.

  ‘I see.’ Gabriel looked along the road; she couldn’t see his face. ‘He’s disappeared inside, so shall we return to the shop? Or would you prefer to walk on your own?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He really had taken it the wrong way, hadn’t he? But was there a right way to tell someone you mustn’t be seen with them? And now she thought about it, had she overreacted to the sight of her brother? She might not want to face any family gossip or teasing, but she was proud to be in Gabriel’s company.

  He unlocked the shop door. Once inside, she turned to him.

  ‘Please let me apologise…’ she began.

  ‘There’s no need. Perhaps we’d better call a halt to the picnics.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘The last thing I want is to put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘You haven’t – ever.’

  ‘If your brother takes any tittle-tattle home, please explai
n to your parents that, because of my memory loss, I couldn’t possibly have any involvement with a girl. It wouldn’t be appropriate.’

  What made me say that? I don’t want to put her off. I know she has eyes only for Richard Carson but even so, I don’t want to put her off. And yet wasn’t I right to say what I did? How can I possibly seek a relationship with a girl when I am handicapped by my lack of memory?

  But with the right girl, would it be such a handicap? Wouldn’t the right girl accept me as I am, empty brain and all, and take my hand as we make our way into the future together? Wouldn’t the right girl concentrate on making memories with me, so that in the end the lack of my younger years would seem more bearable?

  Belinda Layton would do that. She is kind and compassionate; gentle and strong at the same time. But she doesn’t want me. She wants Richard Carson. All I am to her is the kindly heir who took pity on her and gave her job security for a spell. I would like to be so much more than that, but I know I never will.

  It’s a relief to leave her in the shop while I go to town for a meeting with Mr Sowerby. What news will he have for me?

  Mr Turton greets me almost as an old friend and escorts me upstairs.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Linkworth.’ Mr Sowerby walks round his desk to greet me with a handshake. ‘You don’t mind if Turton remains in the room? He is fully au fait with the matter, as you know.’

  ‘By all means.’ I smile my assent at Turton.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Sowerby offers.

  There are two armchairs beside the fireplace. Being invited to sit here rather than opposite Sowerby at the desk feels like a sign of approval. The chair is splendidly comfortable. Turton stands to the side of Sowerby’s chair.

  ‘Have you any news for me?’ I ask, though the question is redundant. His expression is grim and I know that what follows won’t be good.

  ‘We’ve contacted the tradesmen on the list Carson sent, along with his statement of expenditure, and they have confirmed that they did indeed do the work in question, as authorised by Mr Carson.’

  It surprises me what a blow this is. After all, why would Carson lie about such a thing? Yet I had obviously hoped, without realising I was hoping, that his claim would be disproved.

  ‘Tell me the worst.’

  ‘Do you have much in the way of savings, Mr Linkworth?’

  ‘I haven’t got much behind me. When I came back to England, Dr Jennings arranged for me to receive some backpay from the army, but what savings I had from before the war were handed over, rightly or wrongly, to my parents by my bank manager when I was presumed dead.’

  Naomi flits into my mind. Not just her beauty, her poise, her haunting fragrance, but her appearance. That hat alone with its dashing indigo feather cost a pretty penny and her elegant blue costume wasn’t run up by the local dressmaker. She doesn’t look like the wife of a schoolmaster.

  ‘I assume you’re asking because I owe a considerable sum to Richard Carson.’

  ‘I fear so. Do you have the account, Turton?’ Mr Sowerby takes the sheet of paper Turton offers, but instead of handing it to me, he leans forward, his eyes sharp and serious. ‘He has a strong case for reimbursement. We could challenge him in court on the grounds that anybody who puts money into a property that doesn’t belong to him is taking a significant risk – and certainly Mr Carson’s risk has failed to bear fruit. On these grounds, we could argue that you shouldn’t have to repay the full amount of his speculation. On his side, the argument would be that he had good reason to believe he was investing in his inheritance and is entitled to full recompense for his disappointment.’

  ‘What do you think the outcome would be?’

  ‘Even if the judge tells Carson he is an idiot for having spent so much on a cottage that didn’t belong to him, the chances of your being let off the financial hook are remote, I fear. At the very least, you would be ordered to repay a proportion of Carson’s money, and possibly all of it. There would also be the question of legal expenses. If the judge ruled that you owed Carson the full amount, he might also rule that you should pay Carson’s legal costs.’

  I give a low whistle. ‘Sounds expensive.’

  ‘It would be.’

  He hands me the piece of paper. The hairs on the back of my neck are already standing on end before I look at it. ‘I haven’t a hope of repaying this. I suppose I’ll have to let Carson buy the cottage – at a reduced cost.’ Will my landlord agree to my turning the rooms over the shop into living accommodation?

  ‘You could indeed offer to sell Carson the cottage, with these costs deducted from the price, but I doubt he could afford it. I’m surprised he was able to pay for these improvements. He is only a clerk, you know.’

  I feel a stab of sympathy for Richard Carson. He must have saved hard and then sunk the lot into the cottage he expected to be his one day. All the same, I don’t care for the idea of letting him have the cottage. I may be sympathetic, but I’m not that sympathetic. I don’t like the fellow.

  ‘So he can’t buy me out and I can’t reimburse him. That leaves selling the cottage and splitting the proceeds.’

  ‘That avenue isn’t open to you,’ says Mr Sowerby. He glances at Turton.

  ‘I looked into that possibility this morning,’ says Turton. ‘It’s difficult to see who would purchase it. In spite of the improvements, it’s still a humble dwelling in a lane of rundown cottages, and people in that walk of life don’t buy their own homes. I took the liberty of speaking to the landlord who owns the rest of the properties in Limits Lane and he has no interest in buying the Tyrell place. The improvements would make it more costly to purchase and the likely tenants couldn’t afford the higher rent.’

  ‘So I can’t sell it?’ Am I stupid to be pleased? Whatever happens, I’ll keep the cottage. My cottage. My future home. ‘That still leaves the problem of reimbursing Mr Carson.’

  ‘The cottage isn’t your only asset,’ Sowerby reminds me.

  ‘If you’re referring to the bookshop, the premises don’t belong to me.’

  ‘But the stock does. I understand Carson had some buyers lined up, who were interested in purchasing the books to boost their own bookshops. If you were to sell the books, you might settle your debt.’

  Sell off the stock? But I want to run the shop. This is my dream, my new ambition, a source of comfort and excitement. Last week, I looked forward to today, believing it marked my new beginning. With Richard Carson’s nonsense behind me, I thought today, the start of the new week, would be the start of my new life.

  Instead, it is the end. I have lost Miss Layton. Not that she was mine in the first place, but I have lost her all the same. And now I have lost the bookshop and, with it, my future.

  It was five o’clock, Belinda’s finishing time, but Gabriel hadn’t yet returned and the shop was meant to stay open until six. It wouldn’t look good if it shut early on its first proper day under its new owner. That settled it. She would stay till six, if necessary.

  Presently, the door opened and Mikey walked in. ‘Do you want to walk home together, Bel? I thought you finished at five.’

  ‘I do, normally.’

  The door opened again and Mikey scooted out of the way. Gabriel entered. The set of his face was grave. Hadn’t things gone well at his solicitor’s?

  Gabriel looked from her to Mikey. ‘You’re Miss Layton’s brother, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, mister. I’m Mikey. I thought Bel finished at five. I wasn’t trying to get her to bunk off early, honest.’

  ‘She does indeed finish at five.’ Gabriel turned to her. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner. You’d better go.’

  When she came back from fetching her shawl and handbag, Mikey was chattering easily to Gabriel about his first afternoon at Brown’s.

  ‘I’m going to work hard for him,’ said Mikey, ‘and that will help me get a job when I leave school next year.’

  ‘I can see you’re a hard worker like your sister.’

  Pleased
as she was to see Mikey holding a sensible and polite conversation with an adult, Belinda cringed at the memory of how she had made a fuss over not being seen with Gabriel earlier. Was he remembering, too?

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Linkworth.’ She ushered Mikey towards the door.

  ‘Thank you for staying,’ said Gabriel. ‘I appreciate it.’

  She felt like saying, ‘Of course I stayed,’ the same way that Naomi Reed had said, ‘Of course I came,’ in that quiet, steady voice; but all she did was smile as she left.

  ‘That was your boss?’ asked Mikey. ‘I like him.’

  ‘He’s a nice chap,’ she said casually, hugging to herself the knowledge of just how nice, before diverting Mikey’s attention by getting him to tell her about working at Brown’s. She liked the thought of their walking home together in future.

  Mikey accompanied her to the end of Grave Pit Lane, then plunged across the road and went on his way. Belinda walked up the lane, appreciating its firmness underfoot thanks to the dry weather and enjoying the speedwell’s wonderful blue. In amongst the stinging nettles were the purply-pink flowers of the red deadnettle, which Grandma Beattie swore by as a remedy for diarrhoea.

  Inside End Cottage, Grandma Beattie for once in her life was sitting with her feet up, a pile of sweet-smelling, freshly ironed linen beside her on the table. Belinda felt a pang of guilt. Her work at the bookshop was a doddle compared to the physical effort Auntie Enid put in at the mill; and Grandma Beattie, when she wasn’t on the go in her part-time job at the shop, was on the go at home. This being Monday, she would have spent all morning at the wash-house, possing, scrubbing, wringing and doing battle with the heavy handle on the mangle.

  She started to get up, but Belinda pressed her down again.

  ‘Rest a while. It isn’t right that a lady your age should have to work so hard.’

  Grandma Beattie snorted. ‘Hard work is what it’s all about, my lass. That’s why I’m glad you’ve bettered yourself by training for office work.’

  ‘Really?’ Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie had blown hot and cold so many times over her ambition that she never knew what to think.

  ‘Aye. Women in our class fettle all us lives one way and another. I like to think of you having an easier time of it than some. You’ll appreciate it when you get to my age.’