Assured Attention

by Jane Tulloch

  The news was out. The canteen smirked at the thought of Not Now Susan and Mr da Costa the scathing wonder salesman from Model Gowns.

  “Fancy Susan and that Mr da Costa getting together,” laughed Shirley from China and Glass, who had long harboured intentions towards him. Asperger syndrome or not, he was a fine-looking young man.

  “He’ll boss her around no end,” put in Audrey. “I wouldn’t put up with any man pushing me around.”

  “Of course some girls like that sort of thing, if they’re a bit shy or something,” mused Shirley.

  “Wimps!” was the scornful response, “Not exactly feminist.”

  “Not everyone is,” said Irene the Florist, defensively. She liked Susan. “There’s plenty of old-fashioned girls around. Susan must be one of them.”

  “Well, good luck to her is all I can say,” added Audrey. They all nodded, then moved on to discussing the royal wedding.

  One grey February day up in the top floor corridor, sandwiches safely consumed, Martin stood up to indicate that lunch break was over. Susan scrambled to her feet too and to her surprise, he suddenly turned towards her.

  “Right,” he barked, “I’ll get the ring, shall I?”

  “Erm if you want to Martin,” she replied cautiously, uncertain what he meant.

  “Well I’ll have to.”

  “Will you?”

  “Of course. If we’re going to get married, we’ll need to be engaged first.”

  “Married?”

  “Yes. We’ve been together for a year now. That’s what usually happens. I’ve been reading about it.”

  “Have you,” she replied faintly.

  “Yes.”

  She turned towards him. He looked down into her eyes. Her clear, blue eyes. She looked up trustingly.

  “Martin?” she queried.

  “Not now, Susan,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her.

  The old-fashioned girl glowed with happiness.

  Chapter 9

  Pegram’s Progress

  Louise Pegram (née Jones) was easily the most popular person working at Murrays. Nobody had a bad word to say about her (except Mr McElvey in his periodic rants against extravagance). She had a listening ear for everyone and her door was, quite literally, always open. Her kindness, tact and sympathy extended to everyone from the newest recruit to the oldest retired member of staff. She kept in touch with the Murrays’ pensioners and organised a Christmas get together for them each year. She attended staff weddings, their children’s christenings and, from time to time, funerals. There was, it would seem, no end to her keen involvement with every aspect of her work and the people that it comprised.

  It was not as if she’d had a happy, settled life herself. She was able to be so understanding because she had been dealt a severe blow by life and had suffered deeply due to this. She knew emotional pain well. Her husband of only two years had been killed on active duty in the army in Northern Ireland. An IRA bomb had ripped her life apart as surely as it had murdered him. Their marriage was in its earliest, happiest stage when it was so cruelly severed. At first she didn’t understand how she could possibly go on. In the depths of her misery she had contemplated ending it all, but shied away from this as she pondered what her Iain would have said. So she picked herself up and reviewed her options.

  Louise was a trained social worker. This had been useful in the army. As an officer’s wife she was expected to be involved in the welfare of the men and their families. She was adept at the paperwork involved and had completed further training to keep her up to date with the relevant legislation. Thus, she was well equipped to take up Margaret Murray’s offer of employment as a Personnel Officer in the first dark days of her widowhood. Margaret was a long-time friend from their tennis-playing youth. The job offer was a godsend in more ways than one; she needed distraction, but also, immediately after Iain’s death her financial situation was not good. The various pensions and insurance policies were slowly making their way through to his estate, but not at the pace she required. She needed a job and the salary that came with it.

  In time, her skills in personnel led to her being promoted to Personnel Manager and she gained a place on the management board. The various eventual financial settlements enabled her to buy a small house in a quiet suburb and her life was set into a pattern. In actual fact, the army widows’ pension was such that she didn’t need to work but, by then, she couldn’t contemplate what she would do without the all-enveloping nature of her involvement with Murrays department store.

  Her little house became her sanctuary and she scuttled home thankfully at the end of each demanding day. Her elderly neighbour, Evie, would watch out for her return with some satisfaction. She had befriended Louise from the day she moved in and became a reliable source of local information, gossip and scones. Evie held the spare set of keys to Louise’s house and, although technically this was only to receive parcels or admit tradesmen as required, she looked after the house too. Louise would return each evening to a freshly tidied house, the washing done and clean sheets on the bed. Sometimes a casserole would be simmering in the oven too. She had remonstrated with Evie often enough over the years, but Evie laughed off Louise’s protests saying she enjoyed having someone to look after. The two women became firm friends across the generational divide. Some evenings, over a glass of sherry, they would discuss Louise’s day; Evie had sound counsel to offer regarding the various problems Louise faced with Murrays’ staff members. She often had advice for Louise herself too. She worried about Louise’s almost total immersion in her work. She was always encouraging her to get out and about more and to meet people outside the intense little world of Murrays.

  One bright Sunday morning, Louise woke early, cursing her inability to sleep in. She went downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Taking it outside to the sunny patio, she settled on a bench and, closing her eyes, turned her face towards the sun, revelling in the unexpected early morning warmth. She had meant to bring out her book to read but had left it on her bedside table. Overcome with inertia, she stretched and leant back in her seat. Her mind wandered randomly as she considered her life, but suddenly it crystallised into one striking thought: Is this it? Is this what my life consists of? Is there nothing else for me? She supposed these were the classic midlife considerations, but they nagged insistently at her. She was always encouraging others to think about how they could move on in their lives, to make the most of themselves. Why shouldn’t this encouragement apply to herself? Why not indeed.

  Now sitting bolt upright with her eyes open, blinking against the sunlight, she went over and over this question. After a while, shaking her head as though to dislodge the thought, she got up and returned to the kitchen. The sun had, metaphorically, gone in. Busying herself with household chores, she was able to bury the uncomfortable thought for the rest of the day, but she was left with an awareness that something was wrong in her world.

  The next evening, on her return from work, she found Evie had been in again. The day’s mail was propped up on a mug next to a plate of tiny cakes on her kitchen table. One of the letters carried an American stamp. Recognising the postmark, Louise smiled and pocketed the letter, looking forward to reading it later at leisure. She went into the kitchen to start to make her supper.

  Later, all household tasks done, she sat in her sitting room, glass of sherry to hand, as she put on her new reading glasses and opened the letter. It was from her old friend Helen. Helen was another ex-army wife. The two had become close friends in adversity when Helen’s husband was also killed in action. The two women had stayed in touch over the years and Louise enjoyed hearing of Helen’s exploits. Unlike Louise, Helen had not wanted to settle down. She was slightly older than Louise and had experienced more of the constant moves required of army families. She had become accustomed to the peripatetic style of life and, after her husband’s death, had continued in this fashion. Eventually, she had settled in a small town in Virginia USA and had found happine
ss in a new husband and job there. Her updates on small town life kept Louise amused and she often thought she should visit her friend. As her eyes moved over the letter, it seemed this day might have come.

  Instead of the usual descriptions of neighbours’ barbecues or the purchase of snow tyres, the letter earnestly invited her to visit, indeed to make a permanent visit. It seemed that the local area was crying out for experienced social workers. Housing and transport was available, as was a good salary. Newington Virginia needed her. Helen assured her that she would do everything she could to introduce Louise to all her friends and neighbours and to make her life as much fun as possible. She even hinted about the availability of a preponderance of handsome, unattached men. Her eyes widening, Louise took a deep inward breath and continued to the end of the letter. It ended with a reiteration of the offer, begging her to consider it seriously. A newspaper cutting was enclosed concerning the town’s dire need of good social workers.

  She sat back and lost herself in the contemplation of this offer. Was this the answer to yesterday’s query? Strange how life throws up these things. What should she do? What could she do? Her sensible mind responded with a series of options: she could just do it, she could refuse, she could visit just to see, she could, she could, she could…There were so many reasons to take up the offer and so many to refuse it.

  Louise felt confused and unsettled as her internal debate raged that night and on into the next few days. She wished she had someone to discuss it with. She hesitated to confide in Margaret who would definitely want her to remain at Murrays.

  Louise had a vague, worrying feeling about Murrays beginning to lose its place in the hearts and minds of local shoppers. Nothing explicit, just a very slight downward turn in the accounts. Margaret might need her support.

  Evie would be devastated if she moved away. She knew how important she was to her two dear friends. As ever, she asked herself what Iain would have done. She felt bereft all over again.

  Evie, as though sensing something was up, appeared the next evening, letting herself in through the back door. Louise was always pleased to see her and offered her a cup of tea. The two settled down for a chat. Louise considered taking the bull by the horns and bringing up the subject of Virginia, but Evie cut in before she could start.

  “Now dear, I’ve been thinking about you. You’re obviously not happy. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you need some outside interests.” Louise tried to speak, but Evie ploughed on regardless, “There’s a nice ladies group I’ve found out about. It’s for professional women like yourself. They meet each week in a room at the Anchor Hotel and they have speakers and suchlike and go on outings and things like that. You might make some nice new friends,” she finished hopefully.

  “Oh Evie, it’s not my sort of thing,” Louise started, but was interrupted.

  “I won’t be here forever you know, you’ll need some local friends and contacts.” It was an old argument and one that Louise knew she could never win. With bad grace, she agreed to go along to the next meeting and at least see what it was like. Evie nodded with satisfaction.

  The following Tuesday, Louise walked uncertainly into the Anchor Hotel. A typewritten note affixed to the door told her that the ladies group was in the back room immediately to the left of the bar. She entered the room quietly and found a seat for herself in the back row. Others smiled in greeting and two of the ladies came up to her to introduce themselves and welcome her. They encouraged her to sit with them and introduced everyone as they entered. They seemed a friendly crowd. The speaker that evening was a local baker and she enjoyed hearing his stories of the renovation of the old bake house. Afterwards, many of the assembled ladies went through to the bar for a glass of wine. Joining them at their request, Louise found herself thoroughly enjoying the mental distraction of it all and was glad she had come. She decided to formally join the group and paid her small subscription fee. She was given a newsletter outlining all the forthcoming talks and events. She told herself that, even if she did decide to go to Virginia, the small subscription fee was so negligible that it could be looked on as a donation.

  The following week the talk was by a floral artist, and the next was a minister talking about a trip to a war-torn country. Louise was slightly surprised therefore, on entering the meeting room a fortnight later, to discover that the planned speaker had cancelled and a last-minute speaker had been substituted. A small, nondescript lady was shown in and took a seat at the front, facing the assembled ladies. The secretary introduced her as Mrs Evans and assumed everyone knew her. Most of the group did seem to know her and several leaned forward expectantly. Louise sat back, not knowing what to expect, but not really caring either. It had been another busy day at work and all she wanted was a diversion.

  Mrs Evans looked humbly at the group and started by saying that she couldn’t guarantee anything but she would do her best. Puzzled, Louise looked on. The woman on her left nudged her and whispered, “I’ve heard she’s really good.”

  At this point Mrs Evans, with eyes tight shut, suddenly sat bolt upright. “Atten…shun!” she said. Her voice changed slightly, it deepened and she continued in almost a caressing tone, “Oh Dafty, Dafty, don’t do it. Be where you’re needed. Think big. Think far away.” Her voice faded.

  In her seat, Louise felt icy cold all over. Iain had always called her Dafty. It was his pet name for her. He called her Dafty because she was so clever. No one else knew that. Surely nobody else was ever called that as an endearment. Her mind reeled. She felt momentarily sick. The woman in front turned in her seat and looked at her sympathetically, “Was that for you? You’re so lucky. I’ve been hoping for a message from my Gran for years. I always go along to Mrs Evan’s meetings.”

  Louise stared into space for the rest of the session. By the time Mrs Evans left, several women were in tears of happiness and one sat, white faced, apparently unable to move. Everyone else clapped and the secretary rose to thank her. It had been a very good evening for Mrs Evans.

  Louise didn’t join her new friends for a drink that evening; instead she hurried home. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts. What did it all mean? What could it possibly mean? She had never had any opinion about spiritualist mediums. She’d never even thought about them at all or, at the very least, thought that if people found comfort from them, then why not?

  Iain though. Her Iain. That had felt like a very direct message especially for her. She racked her brains for an explanation, but could not think of one. The message itself intrigued her. What exactly did it mean? “Be where you’re needed” sounded like she should stay where she was, but “think big, think far away,” sounded like he was encouraging a move to Virginia. It was all so confusing. She tossed and turned all night but sleep eluded her.

  The next morning at the management team meeting, Margaret looked at her askance,

  “A bad night?” she enquired.

  “Something like that.”

  The meeting moved on. Mr McElvey had the latest set of figures and Mr Soames had cross referenced them with the footfall. Both were indiscernibly down, but down nevertheless. Margaret was worried. Murrays was her baby and anything that affected Murrays affected her personally.

  The team settled back, anticipating a long meeting that day. However, they were interrupted by Mrs Carr.

  “There’s a telephone call for you, Mrs Pegram. Please could you come. It sounds important.” Louise got to her feet.

  Back in her office Mrs Carr put the call through. It was Evie.

  “Could you come home please? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Louise was immediately alert to a change in Evie’s voice. Something was badly wrong at home. Grabbing her jacket and bag, she threw caution to the wind, rushing towards the front of the shop so she could hail a taxi. She was sure Mrs Carr would explain what had happened to the other managers. As she dashed out through Cosmetics and Perfumery the staff looked at each other in surprise. It wasn’t like the calm, colle
cted Mrs Pegram to look so rattled. They shrugged their shoulders and continued their work.

  Back home, Louise found Evie’s keys and let herself into her old neighbour’s house. Evie was slumped in her chair in the sitting room looking helpless. Her face was slightly crumpled to one side and her left arm hung limply. It was clear that she’d had a stroke. Her speech was slightly slurred but comprehensible. She tried to smile at Louise but it was a sinister shadow of her usual greeting. Louise swung into action.

  Fortuitously, the doctor confirmed that, although it was a stroke, it seemed to be a mild one and, indeed, Evie was recovering very quickly. He warned that it should be regarded as a warning signal and she should take it easy. The old Evie would have laughed this off, but the confidence seemed to have drained from her and she was tired and withdrawn. With Louise’s contacts it was no problem organising visiting support for her old friend and life gradually resumed its old pattern, but with the balance of care changing: now it was Louise’s turn to look after Evie.

  And still Louise continued to ponder Iain’s message. “Be where you’re needed,” now seemed to indicate both here with Evie and in Virginia where social workers were so desperately required. “Think big. Think far away,” also indicated a move overseas, but how could she leave her old friend?

  There was an additional issue. On reading the minutes of the meeting she’d left, she found to her concern and surprise that there were worrying issues facing Murrays. Change was in the air in the world of retail. The march of the chain stores appeared to be inexorable and, although not yet impinging on Murrays, Mr McElvey was urging the management team to be aware of potential trouble ahead. Louise’s thoughts flew to Margaret. How worried she must be. Poor thing. She needed her too. Maybe there would be time to discuss things on their forthcoming holiday. She hoped so.