Clara felt foolish standing in her stockinged feet and crumpled dress, hair loose, clutching his handkerchief.
‘Mam’s resting. So was I.’
Vinnie arched his dark eyebrows. ‘Sorry. I thought I saw you at the window.’
Clara blushed. ‘You shouldn’t just walk in like that, without being asked.’
He gave an indulgent laugh. ‘I’m a friend, aren’t I? Friends come in and out of each other’s houses where I was brought up.’
‘Even in posh Larch Avenue?’ Clara questioned.
Vinnie looked more serious. ‘I came with an invitation. Mam would like to invite you all to tea.’
‘Thank you but no,’ Clara said stiffly. ‘Mam won’t go anywhere just now. It’s much too soon. And I’ve no idea where Jimmy is.’
Vinnie said casually, ‘Oh, he’s at our house already.’
‘Your house?’ Clara was disbelieving.
‘I found him hanging around near the river with a gang of older lads. Didn’t want him getting in any bother, so I took him home. Maybes you should take more interest in where the lad goes.’
Clara was stung. ‘You should have brought him straight home if you were so worried.’
He was quick to answer. ‘Looked like he needed a good dinner. Mam’s been feeding him up.’
‘There was no need,’ Clara said in irritation.
Vinnie eyed her. ‘Doesn’t smell like anything’s cooking here, lass. So why don’t you come back with me? We can fetch your mam something for later. Haway, get your coat.’
Clara was sorely tempted by the thought of a big tea in the Cravens’ comfortable house. She herself was no cook and they had lived on bread and tinned meat all week because her mother had lost interest in food. But she resented his high-handed manner.
‘I said no thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘I’d rather stay and look after Mam.’
‘You’re very stubborn,’ Vinnie said with a shake of his head. ‘Don’t be too proud to ask for help.’ He added in a murmur, ‘Your father wasn’t.’
Clara’s stomach lurched. ‘What do you mean by that?’
He gave a shrug and made for the door.
‘Tell me,’ Clara demanded, going after him. ‘Do we owe you money, Mr Craven? We need to know. Everything’s in such a mess.’
He turned and came back, resting his hands on her shoulders. ‘Let me help you.’
She shrugged him off, at once regretting her words. ‘We can manage.’
He gave her a long, penetrating look. ‘I won’t be coming after Harry’s family for money owed,’ he said sternly. ‘But there are others who will. Take my advice, Clara, and don’t throw goodwill back in the face of a friend. You’re going to need me.’
He marched out with a squeak of new leather shoes, leaving behind the scent of Anzora Viola. Clara stood still, her pulse pounding. She felt a mixture of indignation and fear. He made his offer of help sound like a threat. And who were these shadowy people who would be after them? Money sharks, illegal bookmakers? Or wasVinnie trying to scare her so she would run to him for help and grovel in gratitude? Not content with all his money-making ploys, he seemed to want to be running everyone else’s business too.
Well, they would manage without him. Her father had been foolish to borrow money from others and let the Cravens indulge him instead of getting him to stop. From now on the Magees would be indebted to no one.
When Jimmy finally came home, bearing a box of food, Clara upbraided him.
‘I don’t want you scrounging off the Cravens like that again.’
His triumphant expression turned to a scowl. ‘You can’t stop me.’
‘You’ll stay and help out here where I can keep an eye on you,’ she ordered.
‘Mr Craven’s right, you’re pig-headed,’ he accused her. ‘Says lasses take more time to see sense.’
Clara flushed. ‘How dare he!’
Jimmy walked out.
Clara’s fury lasted until the following day, when hunger got the better of her and she shared out the food parcel for their tea. Patience fretted that her daughter might have caused Vinnie and Dolly offence.
‘You mustn’t get on the wrong side of them,’ she said anxiously. ‘You’ll go and apologise.’ When Clara refused, her mother sent Jimmy round instead.
It made Clara all the more determined to keep the shop going, but all the following week hardly anyone came in and Clara really began to worry. It was as if people were deliberately avoiding the shop. She asked around the neighbouring shops if they were finding trade as slack, but she was met with shrugging shoulders and embarrassed looks. Harry’s unnatural death seemed to have jinxed Magee’s and no one wanted anything to do with it.
One afternoon, a young boy dashed in and asked breathlessly, ‘Missus, can I see the room where the man hanged hissel’?’
Patience let out a gasp of horror and clutched the counter. ‘Get out!’ she hissed.
Clara dashed to support her mother as her knees buckled. The boy stood gawping at the effect he had had.
Clara said sharply, ‘Go on, scarper.’
The boy fled. Clara heard a shriek of laughter outside: ‘See, I dared!’ Then the boy and his friends ran off.
After that, Patience refused to serve in the shop. ‘My nerves can’t take it,’ she said, retreating to bed. ‘Get Jimmy to help you.’
But Jimmy went out early in the morning and stayed away all day long. He did not heed a word that Clara said. One day he came back with a couple of fish and said he had caught them with Clarkie in Byfell burn. Clara knew the burn was so polluted that no one fished in it.
‘Since when have mackerel been a river fish?’ she demanded. ‘Have you pinched them?’
‘Clarkie give us them,’ Jimmy muttered and refused to say any more.
One evening, Clara forced herself to sit down with the shop ledgers. Patience said reading figures gave her a headache so it was no good asking her. Clara discovered a box full of bills, none of which looked as if they had been paid.
Some were handwritten notes in Harry’s writing, promising to pay the bearer sums of money.
‘I can’t make head or tail of all this,’ Clara told her mother in frustration. Patience was slumped in bed reading a penny romance. The second sherry bottle left over from the funeral was on the bedside table, almost empty. She looked drawn and ill.
‘Ask Vinnie to take a look,’ she said tiredly.
‘Mam, we have to sort out our own mess.’
Patience’s chin trembled. ‘I’m sorry, pet, I know I’m next to useless. It’s all too much for me.’
Clara went to hug her, not wanting to see her cry again. ‘Shall I fetch the doctor? You’ve not been out of bed for days. And I wish you would eat more.’
‘No,’ she protested weakly, ‘I just want to be left alone.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll get a tonic from the chemist,’ Clara promised. ‘You just need pepping up.’
Despite the tonic, Patience showed no interest in getting out of bed. The next evening, Clara took the books round to the Lewises’ and knocked at their door. Marta welcomed her with a big hug that reduced her to tears. Benny gave her one too.
‘I told Mam we should have fetched you round sooner,’ he told her, ‘but Da said we had to show respect and let you alone till you felt up to it.’
Clara felt indescribable relief being held by the kind Benny. She blurted out all her troubles about the shop and her mother’s withdrawal, the legal problems and the mounting debt.
‘I can’t manage on me own and Jimmy’s just a law unto himself,’ she cried.
Marta soon had her sitting at the table with a bowl of hot broth and chunks of homemade bread in front of her. Oscar sat at the other end, placed his spectacles on his nose and began to look through the ledger and papers that Clara had brought round. Benny sat across the table watching her, grinning every time she looked up.
‘Is Reenie working?’ Clara asked once her meal was finished.
‘Aye.
’ Benny nodded.
Marta fussed, ‘We hardly see her. She is like the owl — sleeps all day and works all night.’
‘She loves it, Mam,’ Benny said.
‘And Frank?’ Clara asked shyly.
Benny smirked. ‘Out with the Head Mistress.’
Marta clucked. ‘He is at the meeting with Lillian. She is not headmistress.’
‘Not yet,’ Benny answered, ‘but give her time.’
‘Oh.’ Clara tried to hide her disappointment. ‘I thought he might have been playing at Cafe Cairo or the Rex.’
Marta shook her head and frowned. ‘You not know? They both close down. No need for musicians in picture house. No one want to see silent films now.’
‘But Cafe Cairo as well?’ Clara was shocked.
‘Aye,’ Benny sighed, ‘those places are closing overnight. People aren’t ganin’ out as much as they did. Not to posh places, at least.’
‘How is your business doing?’ Clara asked cautiously.
‘Canny,’ Benny said brightly. ‘Hair never stops growing and Da says they can pay when they can afford it, if he knows the means test men have been in.’
Clara’s insides churned at the mention of the new means test. She had heard customers gossiping in the shop about those who had suffered the humiliation of having officials prying round their houses to see if they had anything worth selling before they would give them a penny of relief. It was unthinkable that things would get that bad for her family.
She sat chatting happily for another hour, giving occasional glances at Oscar who was deeply absorbed in the paperwork.
Benny winked at her. ‘If anyone can sort it out, Da will.’
They played a game of draughts while Marta sewed. Clara dreaded the moment she would have to return to the mournful flat and its unlit fire. Finally, Oscar took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He stood up and limped over to Clara. He looked down at her with eyes as startlingly blue as Frank’s. It made her chest ache.
‘My dear,’ he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, ‘the books are bad, very bad. We will try to help, but we do not have much money to spare.’
‘No,’ Clara protested. ‘I’m not asking for money.’
‘I know,’ he said, patting her shoulder.
Marta asked in concern, ‘How bad, Oscar?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘Mr Magee has not kept the books for months, so it is difficult to say. But there are many bills unpaid and no money to pay them. It is a matter of how long some of these creditors will wait. I’m surprised the bank has allowed it to go on so long.’
Clara went hot with shame. ‘The manager is an old boxing friend of Dad’s — I think he’s been turning a blind eye.’
Oscar sat down beside her. ‘And the shop — how is it doing?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Badly.’
‘You pay rent for it?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes. But the bank manager says me dad bought the lease for it. So that must be worth something, musn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Oscar agreed. ‘At least you could sell it and take on somewhere smaller, perhaps. But in the present slump, there aren’t many who want to take on a lease. Is it a long one?’
Clara shrugged, feeling foolish for not knowing. ‘Me and Mam should’ve taken more interest in that side of things. Mam’s always been more interested in the buying — she’s a good spender — and I just never thought to ask.’
‘Why should you?’ Oscar comforted her. ‘You are young. This is not your fault. But the capitalists — they will not wait for your business to pick up again.’
‘Aye,’ Benny said indignantly, ‘anything that doesn’t make an instant profit has to gan to the wall. I bet your landlord is some rich bastard sitting in a country house somewhere.’
‘Benjamin!’ his mother remonstrated. ‘Watch your language.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ he said. They’ll be in hock to some toff who’s never been anywhere near Byfell in his life.’
‘Benny is right,’ Oscar grunted, ‘but that doesn’t help Clara.’ He scratched his bald head as he thought. ‘I have a friend in the Party — a lawyer, Max Sobel. I will ask him to take on the sorting of your father’s will if you like.’
‘That’s kind,’ Clara said, feeling awkward, ‘but how can I pay him?’
‘He will do it for free if I ask,’ Oscar insisted. ‘We all help each other.’
‘He gets free shaves for life,’ Benny said with a wink, moving round the table towards her.
Marta looked puzzled. ‘But Max Sobel — he has the beard.’
Benny rolled his eyes. ‘It was a joke, Mam. Didn’t want Clara feeling beholden.’
Clara’s heart squeezed at his kindness. Impulsively, she threw her arms round Benny and gave him a tearful hug.
Chapter 1O
When Patience discovered that Clara had been to the Lewises for help she was livid.
‘How dare you hang our dirty washing out for others to see? You had no right.’
Clara sparked back. ‘What else was I to do with you lying in bed not bothering what day of the week it is? You may have given up, but I haven’t.’
Patience choked back tears. ‘How can you speak to me like that?’
‘I’m sorry if it upsets you, Mam, but we’re in real bother. You can’t shut your eyes to it anymore.’
Patience pulled at her hair. ‘I’ll not have you going to this Bolshie lawyer. They hate business people like us.’
‘Don’t be daft—’
‘No,’ Patience said in agitation. ‘We’ll stick with Jack Hopkins’s man.’
That Sunday, Clara rounded on Jimmy before he sneaked out.
‘You’re going to help me take all those caps and scarves from the loft and hawk them down Newcastle,’ she ordered. ‘So don’t think you can skive off to the Cravens’.’ Her brother was about to protest. ‘Listen, Jimmy,’ she cut him short, ‘if we don’t get some money soon, we’ll be on the street. Just think what that’ll do to Mam.’
Jimmy nodded sullenly and retreated to the loft.
They filled two boxes and lugged them on the tram down to Newcastle’s quayside and the Sunday market. Clara walked with a box balanced on her head, to the amusement of some sailors.
‘What tribe are you from, love?’ one jeered.
‘Geordie tribe,’ she sparked back. ‘And I’ll have a headdress to suit you — unless you’re too swell-headed.’
She dumped the box down near some railings and opened it up. The sailors drifted over to look.
‘Hang the scarves over the railings,’ she murmured to Jimmy as she turned to banter with the men. She persuaded one to buy a tweed cap and another a tartan scarf. In the next half-hour, Clara had sold half the contents of one box. But the prices the cheap goods were fetching were low. Scores of people roamed up and down the makeshift stalls, all on the lookout for bargains.
At the end of the morning, they had less than eight shillings to show for their hard selling. They packed what was left into the smaller box and returned home. Clara tried to be optimistic but she knew they could not live hand to mouth like this for much longer.
The following week, Mr Simmons turned up for the rent. They were a month in arrears and needed to pay for October too. Patience could not face him and stayed upstairs.
‘If you could just give us a few more days,’ Clara pleaded. ‘My father’s affairs still have to be sorted out.’
The portly agent huffed. ‘I’ve been very patient with you, Miss Magee, and I don’t wish to see you upset, but this is business. My clients are not running a charity.’
Clara nodded. ‘Just another week, please.’
‘The end of the week then,’ he sighed, ‘but no longer.’
When the agent left, Clara flew upstairs to confront her mother.
‘What have you got that’s worth selling?’ she asked, hands on hips. ‘Cos if we don’t find the rent by the end of the week he’ll send in the bailiffs.’
‘Th
ey can’t,’ Patience gasped. ‘Jack Hopkins has told all our creditors they must wait till after probate.’
‘Fat Simmons isn’t going to wait for such niceties,’ Clara retorted.
That afternoon, Clara paid a visit to a local auctioneer. The following day, a man came round to assess their furniture. Patience sat, white-faced, while he made a list of her possessions. He sat down in Harry’s wing-backed chair.
‘I like this,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Not worth much, but I could fancy this mesel’.’
Clara tensed. She wanted to cry out that he could never have it; he was not worthy of sitting in her father’s favourite chair. But she remained tight-lipped while he offered for it, along with the mahogany dining-room table and chairs, the teak sideboard and Patience’s walnut wardrobe and dressing table. The amount would just cover the two months’ rent, but no more.
‘But we paid good money for these,’ Patience said indignantly.
‘They’re second-hand, missus.’ The man shrugged. ‘You can try another auction, but you’ll not get a fairer price.’
‘We’ll sell,’ Clara said quickly. ‘What about the pictures?’
‘I’ll give you five bob for the one of the sailing ship,’ he grunted, ‘and the same for the big mirror with the gilt frame.’
‘Not the sailing ship,’ Patience protested.
‘The mirror then,’ Clara compromised.
There and then, the auctioneer removed the furniture with the help of two men who had been waiting downstairs. They looked underfed, their clothes threadbare. Clara wondered how long they had been out of regular work. There were dozens like them loitering around the town eager for casual work like this. She must save Jimmy from such a fate. While the men staggered downstairs with the table and chairs, she steered Patience into the bedroom.
‘Come on, Mam, I’ll help you empty the wardrobe,’ she coaxed.
She transferred her mother’s clothes into her father’s now empty wardrobe, a cheap piece of furniture that Patience had once painted dark brown. When it came to dismantling the dressing table, her mother sat on the bed and wept.
‘You can have my washstand,’ Clara promised. ‘I’ll find something in the store room.’ She swallowed down unexpected tears at the sight of her mother’s most personal possessions — her underwear and stockings, the dressing-table set and jewellery boxes — heaped on the floor.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 10
