Can Dreams Come True?

by Oliver, Marina

  Kate kept back the news until a more convenient time. When she'd gone to the market on the day following Alf's death, she'd found the cart missing, but the neighbouring stallholder had told her that Walter and a couple of his friends had pushed it away in the evening, and it was safely in the shed.

  'And we'm having a whip-round,' the man added, ducking his head in embarrassment. 'Alf were well-liked, and it were a tragic accident, so we all want ter help with the funeral expenses.'

  Kate hadn't even thought of this, but when she went to see Maggie to tell her, she found her sister heartily relieved.

  'For we've no money, and I don't think Dad paid into a burial fund. He was a lovely man, but he didn't think to the future much, and nor did Mom. I don't suppose he has any insurance either, which would have helped you and Mom now.'

  Kate had thanked Walter, who told her the rent for the cart's shed was paid until the end of August. She had a few weeks to sort things out.

  On the following morning Hattie rose and dressed in her best clothes.

  'We'd better mek arrangements,' she said. 'I'm off ter see the undertakers.' These were the first words she'd spoken to Kate, and her voice was flat, cold and without any feeling. Whatever they'd given her to calm her still seemed to be having an effect.

  'It's all been arranged,' Kate told her.

  Hattie demanded details, and then shrugged. 'We ain't got the money,' she said, 'so it'd have bin a pauper's grave. Well, yer Dad came into the world an orphan, so it'd have been fitting. The money would have been better spent to help us.'

  Kate protested, shocked. 'Dad would have hated that! A pauper's grave, I mean. He always wanted to be respectable.'

  'And look where it got us! You at yer fancy school, which ain't bin any use to get yer a job, while we had ter keep yer idle.'

  Kate bit back the retort that if Hattie hadn't been so uncooperative she might by now have had a secure job with Boots the Chemist.

  'Well, I've been thinking,' she said. 'We can run the stall together. All we need is a strong man to push the cart for us, once we've bought the fish from the wholesale market. I'm sure we can find someone willing to do that for a few coppers a day.'

  'I'm running no fish stall without Alf!'

  Kate felt her patience slipping, and tried to stay calm and reasonable. 'Then what are you going to do? We need money to live on, to pay the rent, to feed us! It's difficult enough for me to find odd jobs and earn enough to keep myself, what chance will you have? You're fifty-five, Mum, not young and strong like me, so who would employ you? You're not used to charring, and we can't take in washing here. All you've ever done is sell in the market, and we've got the means for that.'

  Hattie burst into tears. 'You never loved me,' she wailed, 'after all I've done fer you!'

  'It's because I want to pay you back for bringing me up that I'm making these plans,' Kate said. 'The funeral has been arranged for tomorrow, the men who were Dad's friends have done it all, and on Monday we can open the stall again.'

  *

  Daphne swung her racquet moodily. Most of her friends had gone away, for holidays in the country or at the sea, and a lucky few to the South of France. Others were staying with relatives, and Stella was deep in fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau. Robert had left for Paris more than a week ago. Practising serves when there was no one either to return them or collect up the balls was no fun, but it was better than being in the house with the constant bustle of wedding preparations. There wasn't even time, her mother had said as she bent over numerous lists, to prepare her clothes for Paris. After the wedding, she'd promised.

  Everything waited until after Stella's wedding. That was three weeks away. Then there were only two weeks before she set off for the finishing school. She supposed she had been lucky they could take her a year earlier than planned. With the departure of Miss MacDonald, and the resulting scandal and turmoil at the school, it was highly unlikely it would continue. At least half of the girls had been withdrawn by horrified parents, and this was something else which Mrs Carstairs had to find time to deal with.

  She made up her mind to try once again to find Kate, despite the stern prohibitions of both her parents that she was to have no more to do with her. She'd try the dress shop once more. Daphne had paid several visits to the dress shop where Kate had hoped to obtain her job, but without success. Kate was never there. There could be a valid reason, such as Kate being ill. So far Daphne had not ventured to go near Kate's home. Stella had heard about Alf's attack on Robert, and told Daphne, and Daphne was wary for her own safety, as well as not wanting to cause Kate more problems. She'd try the shop again.

  Throwing down her racquet she went to change, and on the Hagley Road caught an omnibus into the city centre. Soon she was in the shop.

  'Is that dark-haired girl new?' Daphne asked when she was again trying on frocks she didn't want and had no intention of buying.

  'Yes, she's just started. Thank goodness. We were short for a while, because the first girl who was offered the job didn't come.'

  Daphne hurriedly discarded the dress she was about to try on. 'Thank you, I don't think the colour suits me. I won't bother with it. I'll come and see what else you have next week.'

  She'd go to the market. Kate had worked there, surely someone would know where she was.

  The market hall, with its vast vaulted roof, rang with noise. Daphne had only been to it on a few occasions, and when she climbed the steps from Worcester Street and passed through the doors she stared about her in dismay. She'd forgotten how huge it was. She remembered her father telling her, when she was younger, how there had been a dinner there to celebrate Queen Victoria's coronation, when four thousand poor folk had sat down. There seemed to be almost as many people in it now.

  Gulping, she determined to be methodical, and ask for Kate at every stall until she had some word of her. She'd start at one side, work her way down that aisle, back along the next, until she had covered all four of them. Then there were the cross aisles. Should she do them as she went, or later? Later, she decided. It would be easy to miss one if she tried to combine both directions.

  At the first few stalls heads were shaken impatiently when she asked if they knew Kate Martins, and the stallholders turned back to serving other customers, all the time shouting their wares.

  'You'm 'opeful, chuck,' an old woman selling cheap aprons said, her words almost incomprehensible from lack of teeth. 'There's six 'undred stalls in 'ere alone, an' lots more outside.'

  Daphne smiled and nodded, and determined to persevere. But perhaps she could cut down the number. Kate's father had owned a fish stall, so she'd concentrate on them.

  'Martins? Nah, no one o' that name,' she was told when she'd located a few.

  'There's a lass called Kate workin' two stalls up,' another said.

  Daphne, suddenly hopeful, thanked him and went in the direction he pointed. Two girls, both with red frizzy hair, were serving customers. Daphne was just about to ask if Kate worked there when a young man, heaving a crate of wet, slippery fish onto the trestles, spoke.

  'Move yer ass, Kate luv,' he urged, and one of the girls laughed, shifted along to give him room, and cuffed him lightly round the head.

  'Move yer ass yerself, there's plenty of room fer a big strong fella ter lift that box.'

  Daphne stepped back, dispirited. The search would have to go on.

  She spent another hour trailing from one fish stall to another, then it was time for the market to close, and the stall holders began packing up. She sighed. She'd have to come back, but it was a daunting task. Surely there was a better way?

  *

  Maggie and Jeannie caught an omnibus from Birmingham very early one morning. The child was pale from excitement, and Maggie prayed she would not be sick from the unaccustomed jolting. It was the first time she'd ever ridden in such a vehicle.

  The factory where Sam was to work was near the outskirts of the town. She needed rooms close by, so that he could walk t
here, for he didn't even have a bicycle, which, in a town famous for making them, would probably be unusual.

  'Try Earlsdon,' Ted had advised her when she'd asked about decent neighbourhoods where they might find rooms, and he'd told her how to get there from the bus station.

  Maggie was only too thankful to know where to start. Coventry had grown enormously in the past few years. From making watches, clocks and bicycles, the town had spread to motor cars and even aeroplanes. But there were, she was told, still ribbon and cloth manufacturers, and she thought she might prefer to work with those rather than with motor cars.

  'Please, Mom, let's have a look round,' Jeannie pleaded when they stepped off the bus.

  'Just half an hour, then,' Maggie allowed. She was eager to see for herself what this town would be like, where she hoped to live in greater comfort and happiness than in Birmingham.

  They explored the central streets, marvelled at the great Cathedral, and then Maggie dragged herself away and they went to Earlsdon and began knocking on doors.

  There were rooms available, but the landlords were charging more than Maggie had expected.

  'Lots o' folk coming to work in the factories,' one sympathetic woman told her when Maggie confessed she dare not commit herself to so much until she could be sure of a job for herself too. 'There's not so much space, and what there is will soon fill up after the summer holidays. Try nearer the centre, it's cheaper there.'

  Reluctantly Maggie had to accept this was true, and they retraced their steps to the centre, trying all the likely places on the way. She looked like ending up in the sort of slum she'd expected Sam to find, she thought ruefully as they neared the Cathedral again, and the older, more run-down streets.

  'Mom, I'm tired,' Jeannie wailed. 'I don't like Coventry!'

  'We'll soon find somewhere,' Maggie said, trying to be cheerful. It had been a long, tiring day, and poor little Jeannie's legs must ache. Her own did, and her body felt bruised. It had been too much so soon after she'd given birth, before she got her full strength back.

  Finally, in desperation, she took two rooms in a back street near the railway station. They looked clean, the landlady seemed pleasant, and there was a school a hundred yards away where the children could go. There were plenty of shops nearby, and the landlady, Mrs Lloyd, assured her that there were plenty of factory jobs for women.

  'And I'd be happy to look after the younger ones,' she added. 'I'd not charge much, and I already take in three other kiddies for another tenant. They'd be company for each other.'

  At least they didn't have far to walk to the bus back to Birmingham, Maggie thought. Jeannie fell asleep beside her as soon as the bus started, and Maggie felt her head nodding. It was late when they got home, and to her relief Sam was there, morose because he'd had the care of the children, but all else was well.

  'We'll go next week,' she said, yawning, while Jeannie crawled into bed with her sisters.

  'Next week? But I don't start for another couple of weeks. It's bad enough having to leave all me pals, we don't have ter go that soon.'

  'We do, Sam Pritchard. You can see to the kids while I go looking for a job for me. If we don't both earn, and save, we'll never do better for ourselves. And I'm determined we're going to change our ways.'

  *

  Kate looked despairingly at the pile of unsold fish on the cart. Why didn't people want to buy? Every day now, for more than two weeks, she and Hattie had bought fish the wholesalers had assured them was just what people wanted, and every day they had been left with a pile they'd had to throw away. In the hot weather they couldn't keep it, because they could not afford ice to lay it on overnight. What they had sold just paid for the money they had spent, with but a few pence left over. She was getting tired of fish for breakfast, dinner and tea, but they had nothing else, could not even afford bread.

  'It's them wholesalers, doing us down,' Hattie muttered the next morning as they struggled to push the cart into their allotted space. 'They know we're green, shove anything onto us.'

  'I need to learn more about it,' Kate panted.

  'This cart gets heavier,' Hattie grumbled. 'Perhaps we ought to sell it, do summat else.'

  'We can't sell it,' Kate said. They'd had this argument almost every day, ever since the first two when Walter and Barny had helped them with the cart. But Walter had his own job, and without him Barny was unwilling to help. Kate had assured them she and Hattie could manage. 'We don't own it, Dad still owed the man most of the price of it, and we must try to pay it off.'

  She'd been appalled at the size of the debt when she'd been to see the man and asked for time before the next installment was due. Alf had been less than conscientious about keeping records, and she had nothing to prove whether this was the real debt or not.

  'I'm going to go and see what the other fishmongers sell,' Kate said a short while later, when everything was set up. 'Surely I can pick up some tips from them.'

  'And leave me on my own?' Hattie almost screeched. 'Yer'll be off gallivanting, that's what. Learn from others, I don't think! I can't manage on me own.'

  'Of course you can, we don't do that much business! And I'll be gone just for an hour or two.'

  She left, leaving Hattie muttering to herself. She had to do something to improve matters, or she might as well give up.

  Starting with the higher class traders in the Market Hall, she watched carefully. Their stock, she found, was different from her own. They had a greater variety, for one thing, both the cheap and the more expensive types of fish. It was displayed more appetisingly, with sprigs of mint and parsley, the occasional slice of lemon, all against a background of blue and white paper. Kate had to admit she'd prefer to buy her fish from one of these stalls, provided she had the money.

  Outside, in the Bull Ring and back towards their own stall, she watched again. The variety was smaller, mainly the cheaper fish, and the displays were less enticing, but everyone seemed to have made some effort. The stallholders were crying their wares, too, something neither she not Hattie had done, and when Kate thought about it, she'd never noticed Alf calling out to customers either. Perhaps Birmingham folk liked noise and bustle.

  Slowly, deep in thought, planning changes in their routine, she made her way back to the stall, and stopped suddenly as she caught the sounds of altercation, Hattie's voice raised high above a quieter one.

  'I give yer three half crowns, Missus, so don't lie ter me!'

  A small, neatly dressed woman held out her hand. 'Look, here's what you gave me! Three florins. And a sixpence and some coppers. You owe me one and sixpence.'

  'I owes you nothing, yer scheming old besom! Get off, and don't let me see you here again!'

  The woman persisted, quietly, and a crowd had gathered.

  'That 'un give me short change last week,' another woman in a dirty wraparound apron said, pushing forward. 'Call a copper, someone. It's not fair they should cheat us. Their fish is stale, anyroad.'

  Kate pushed forward. This looked serious. She glanced at the florins in the customer's hands, and reached into the cash box.

  'Mum, you made a mistake. Here, Madam, one and sixpence, and I'm so sorry, but it was a genuine mistake.'

  'What about me?' the other woman demanded, pushing her face into Kate's.

  'I'm sorry, but there's no proof either way,' Kate said firmly. 'If you'd noticed the mistake at the time, of course we would have made it right, but after a week, well – '

  There were a few chuckles from the crowd behind, and a voice piped up, jeering.

  'Nice try, our Betsy.'

  'You callin' me a liar?' Betsy asked, swinging round. 'I'll 'ave you know it's the gospel truth.'

  They moved away, arguing, and Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Hattie was glaring at her.

  'You had to come interfering, and taking her side against me! She switched them half crowns fer florins! You don't know the half the tricks they pull, and just because they look quiet and respectable, you believe them instead of you
r own mother who brought you up.'

  'You may have brought me up,' Kate said, losing patience, 'but you're not my mother!'

  Hattie stared at her, her mouth gaping. 'How – who told yer?' she asked.

  Kate was already regretting her indiscretion. 'Does it matter?' she asked wearily. 'Mum, tomorrow I'm going to buy the fish, understand? I know what will sell now, and how to set it out. So don't interfere.'

  Hattie subsided, making only a mild protest when Kate, deliberately broadening her accent, began to call out to passers by. Her voice was weak and light compared with the raucous tones of the regular traders, but some people were attracted by it, perhaps because of the novelty, and during the rest of the day they sold more than they had done any previous day.

  When evening came Kate began to call out that the fish could be bought at half price, and they sold more to people on their way home.

  'We won't make any profit if you go on like this!' Hattie moaned.

  'Perhaps not, but better to get something for it than throw it away as we have been doing! Don't forget, I'm doing the buying from now on!'

  ***

  Chapter 5

  Whenever she could escape from home Daphne went to the Market Hall and asked more stallholders whether they knew Kate, but without success. She began to wonder whether she could venture to Kate's home, at least to ask amongst the neighbours, or lie in wait in the hope of seeing Kate without her parents being there. She was, however, afraid of Alf. Somehow she didn't think he would respect her either as a female or someone from an influential family. From all she'd understood by the discreet talk at home he was a man it would be dangerous to offend.

  Then, calling herself a fool for not thinking of it before, she remembered Maggie. She'd go and see her, but she didn't know where she lived.

  'When is Maggie coming back to work?' she asked her mother one day, just before Stella's wedding. 'Surely she's had the baby by now, and you could do with some extra help.'

  Mrs Carstairs frowned, and pursed her lips. 'Maggie Pritchard is not coming back,' she said. 'I was thoroughly taken in by that family! First Kate, inveigling her way in here, then her dreadful father attacking poor deluded Robert. As if it wasn't enough for the girl to create a scandal and almost ruin the school, she has the impudence to forge a reference from me, to get her a good job. I want nothing more to do with any of them. Now be a good girl, and check this list of the invitations sent against the acceptances. The caterers need to know the exact numbers by tomorrow.'