When Jimmy turned up at teatime, he stared open-mouthed at the space where the dining table had been.
‘No, we haven’t been burgled,’ Clara retorted. ‘It’s sold.’
He gave her a look of panic, as if he had not realised quite how bad their circumstances were.
‘Help me carry up the table from the kitchen,’ she said quickly. ‘Once it’s got a cloth on, we’ll not notice the difference.’
That evening, they sat round the rough wooden table on an assortment of chairs; one from the shop, one from the attic and a kitchen stool. Clara served them up scrambled eggs and fried potato, but Jimmy complained that he was still hungry. He went out again muttering that Clarkie would buy him a bag of chips.
‘I thought I might pop over to Reenie’s,’ Clara mentioned.
Patience looked up in dismay. She was hunched on the sofa. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ she whimpered. ‘Not tonight.’
Clara sighed. ‘All right.’
She switched on the radio and turned it till she found some dance-hall music. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Clara returned with her mother’s pearl-handled hairbrush. That would be their last possession to be pawned, she vowed. Sitting down, she coaxed, ‘Let me brush out your hair, Mam. I’ve seen smarter scarecrows.’
Patience let her take out the pins and brush through the tangles. The music filled the quiet room and Clara brushed in time to the easy rhythms just as her mother had so often done for her.
‘That’s lovely, pet,’ Patience murmured, eyes closed, face relaxing for the first time in days.
Clara wondered when it was that she had slipped into her mother’s role and Patience into hers. As she brushed gently at the dyed hair that was beginning to show grey roots again, she was almost overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility she carried for her family.
‘Things’ll get better,’ she said, as much to reassure herself as her mother.
***
Two days later, they were roused early by a banging on the shop door. Clara stumbled out of bed and peered down. There was a van parked in the empty street.
‘Open up,’ a man shouted, hammering on the door again.
She pulled on her clothes and ran downstairs, through the darkened shop, and opened up. A man with a grey moustache waved a piece of paper at her. Another burly man and a boy about Jimmy’s age stood behind him.
‘I’ve come for the goods,’ the front man grunted, stepping close.
‘What goods?’ Clara asked.
‘Stock,’ he said. ‘Silverdale’s want it back; it’s all in the letter.’
Clara looked at him aghast. ‘You can’t have it. It’s paid for.’
‘I’m just doing me job, miss, and boss says fetch back the stock. Outstanding bills, he says. Shop’s ganin’ to close.’
‘No it’s not,’ Clara cried.
‘Just read the letter, miss,’ he said brusquely, nodding at his mates to follow him. They barged past Clara. She stood shaking, trying to make sense of the letter in her hand. Silverdale’s, the fancy goods warehouse, were taking action after repeated invoices had gone unpaid. It appeared none of the stock belonged to them: it was all on credit. Fear rose in Clara’s throat. She thought she would vomit.
She ran back upstairs, screaming, ‘Mam! Jimmy! They’re taking everything!’
Jimmy came leaping down the attic stairs. Patience appeared in her kimono, looking dishevelled and confused.
‘The men from Silverdale’s,’ Clara gabbled. ‘We’ve got to stop them.’
Patience looked terrified. ‘We can’t—’
Jimmy sprang past Clara without a word. She followed him back down.
‘What you think you’re doing?’ Jimmy shouted. The men hardly glanced up from methodically packing up boxes and carrying them out. Jimmy lunged at the boy. ‘Stop it, I said.’
The boy staggered backwards and Jimmy took a swing at him. The burly man turned and stopped the boy from falling. He faced up to Jimmy, shoving him back.
‘Any trouble and I’ll knock yer teeth out, son.’
Jimmy went red with fury. ‘I’ll get Vinnie Craven on you!’
The man snorted, ‘Never heard of him,’ and carried on working.
Jimmy stood clenching and unclenching his fists. Clara went to stand by him, but he ran out of the shop in humiliation. She could do nothing but watch the men dismantle the shop, helpless to stop them. When one of them lifted the coat stand displaying winter hats, she grabbed hold of it.
‘That’s not Silverdale’s,’ she hissed, ‘that was me dad’s.’
He shrugged and left it. They went without a word, slamming the doors of the van and chugging off down the street with a belch of blue smoke. Clara bolted the doors and let out a sob. There was nothing left to sell apart from some cheap clothes and boxes of buttons. She found her mother in the sitting room, rocking back and forth in front of the dead fire, crying.
Clara crouched down beside her. ‘Someone’s put the word out the shop’s closing,’ she said angrily. ‘Now they’ll all be after their money. We’ll have to go back and see Mr Hopkins, beg him for a loan.’
‘Where’s Jimmy?’ Patience wailed.
‘Ran off,’ Clara answered. ‘The men showed him up.’
‘He’s no fighter, poor lad,’ Patience whispered.
‘Maybe he’s going to have to learn,’ Clara said grimly.
***
‘It’s out of the question,’ Mr Hopkins said, when Clara asked for a temporary loan. ‘I’m in trouble from head office as it is, allowing your father so much credit. You’ve nothing to offer as security.’
‘There’s the lease,’ Clara reminded him.
Mr Hopkins looked uncomfortable. ‘Assigning the lease to someone else is the only way you are going to pay off the debts you already owe, Miss Magee. You must look for someone to take it over as soon as possible. In the present climate I know that will be difficult, but I can approach my clients to see if anyone is interested.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Otherwise . . .’
‘Otherwise what?’
‘We’ll have to take measures to recoup our money.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You’ll be declared bankrupt and the bailiffs will be sent in,’ he said, going very red.
Clara’s look was withering. ‘They’ll find nowt worth having now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with a helpless wave of the hands. ‘Your father was a good friend, a popular man. I wish I could help more, but we have to be businesslike.’
Clara rose and said in a bitter voice, ‘Aye, if everyone was friends with Harry Magee who say they were, we wouldn’t be in this bother, would we?’
That evening Jimmy returned with bruises and cuts to his face and hands.
Patience cried, ‘Jimmy pet! Where’ve you been?’
‘Who’ve you been fighting?’ Clara exclaimed.
Jimmy tried to look defiant, but his chin trembled as he said, ‘Lads set on us.’
‘Who did?’ Clara demanded.
‘The Laidlaws.’
‘But why? They’re customers,’ Patience gasped, while Clara filled a bowl of clean water to clean his cuts.
‘Said me dad owed old man Laidlaw money at the betting,’ Jimmy gulped, ‘and we had to pay or else. Said they’d waited long enough out of respect, but they’d not wait any longer.’
Clara’s stomach turned. This was just the start of it. It was going to be like Vinnie said, men from Harry’s past chasing them for money.
‘They must’ve heard about the clear-out,’ Clara said. ‘They’ll be queuing up to get what’s left.’
‘But we’ve nothing to pay them with,’ Patience wailed. ‘What are we to do?’
Clara carried on bathing Jimmy’s cuts. ‘Go back to the pawnshop, what else is there? When people see we’ve got nowt left, they’ll stop bothering us.’
All that week, Clara and Jimmy went backwards and forwards to Mr Slater’s and another pawnbroker’s in Newcastle that specialised in je
wellery. Trinket boxes, photograph frames, cutlery, linen, a fur stole and their best shoes all went. The lads who were harassing Jimmy were paid off and Clara put a notice in the shop window advertising a closing down sale on the Saturday. She was called back to the bank on the Friday. Mr Hopkins had found a buyer for the lease.
‘He’s offering twenty-five pounds.’ Mr Hopkins smiled.
Clara’s face fell. ‘Twenty-five pounds for a five-year lease? But that’s not even enough to clear the debts, is it?’
The manager pursed his lips. ‘No, but it’s a fair offer in the circumstances.’
‘You mean they know we’re desperate, so can push down the price?’ Clara was scathing. ‘Who is it?’
‘I can’t say.’ Mr Hopkins frowned. ‘But he’s a reputable businessman. I know this is distressing for you, Miss Magee, but as executor to your father’s estate I strongly recommend you accept,’
Clara sighed. ‘Give us till next week to decide.’
Word got back to the Lewises and Reenie came rushing round. ‘You never said things were this bad,’ she cried.
‘It’s all happened that quick,’ Clara said in bewilderment. ‘We have to get rid of the lease, or else they’ll make us bankrupt. So far we’ve had a stingy offer of twenty-five pounds. Our debts are fifty.’
‘But what’ll you do?’ Reenie was full of concern. ‘It’s your home.’
Clara’s eyes glittered with tears. ‘We’ll find somewhere smaller. I’ll get a job.’ Really, she had no idea. She lay awake at night frantic with worry, imagining the worst - Jimmy caught thieving, her mother in the workhouse. What had seemed like pure nightmare a few weeks ago now seemed possible.
‘Come round tonight and have your tea with us,’ Reenie urged. ‘All of you.’
Clara accepted gratefully, exhausted by the efforts of the day. But Patience refused, so Jimmy would not go either.
Clara snapped, ‘Well I’m going; they’re the best friends we’ve got.’
To her delight Frank was also at home and not out with Lillian. They all made a fuss of her, showing no offence at being snubbed by Patience. After tea, Oscar reached for his newspaper while the others sat round the fire. Marta encouraged Frank to play his violin. Clara watched him while he bent with concentration over his instrument and the bow soared back and forth. She loved him when he played, the intensity of the music matched by his look, his handsome face stirred into passionate nods and frowns.
The music was so beautiful, tears caught in the back of her throat and she could not speak for several minutes after he finished. Frank glanced over and smiled. Clara burst into tears.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ Benny cried, rushing to fling an arm round her. ‘And we’re supposed to be cheering her up.’
‘Sorry.’ Frank blushed.
Clara shook her head. She could not explain how moved she had been.
‘Play a polka,’ Marta ordered. ‘Dance, dance! That will make Clara happy.’
The next moment, the table was being pushed back and the Lewises were on their feet. Benny pulled her into his arms and they barged around the cluttered room. Clara laughed for the first time in ages.
Afterwards they sank into chairs and Marta fetched them glasses of water. ‘Now is the time, Oscar.’ She nodded at her husband. He stood up and came over to stand with his back to the fire, facing them as if to give a speech.
‘We have a proposal to make, Clara,’ he said sombrely. ‘Our premises here are very small.’
‘Squashed like sardines, ja? Marta interjected.
‘We could do with bigger premises,’ Oscar went on. ‘Frank has always wanted to sell books as well as cut hair.’
Frank smiled. ‘Barber’s shops are like debating societies - so we can sell them radical books as well as a short back and sides.’
Oscar scratched his bald head nervously. ‘We would like to make your mother an offer for Magee’s shop.’
Clara stared. ‘You - you want to buy the lease off us?’ she stammered.
Oscar nodded. ‘We will pay sixty pounds for the lease.’
Clara’s eyes flooded with tears again. She glanced at Reenie, knowing she must have told her parents what was needed to cover their debts. She was overcome by their kindness. ‘But you’ve hardly had time to think about it,’ she said, blinking back tears.
‘We’ve been talking of moving for ages,’ Reenie assured her.
‘It’s not charity,’ Benny was blunt, ‘it’s solidarity.’
‘You must talk it over with your mother first, of course,’ Oscar said.
Clara nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice quavering. She glanced around at their compassionate, smiling faces and wished she could tell them how much she loved them. ‘All of you — thanks.’
Chapter 11
It was the end of the year before the affairs were finally sorted. By then, Clara was working as a part-time cleaner in the offices of lawyer Max Sobel. He was a jovial, plump man in his fifties with a booming laugh, who littered the office with half-smoked cigarettes and half-drunk cups of tea. Once Clara could not resist tidying the piles of papers that were scattered across the room as if by a storm, and this was the only time she saw him lose his temper.
‘Now I can’t find anything!’ he shouted. The next day he apologised and asked her to clean his flat once a week too.
Hopkins was amazed at the offer from the Lewises, but urged Patience to take it. Clara knew her mother resented her hairdresser’s taking over her beloved shop. She muttered about upstarts and foreigners, but had no stomach for resistance. She was growing thinner and more fragile, crying at the slightest criticism.
Vinnie, who had been toing and froing between Tyneside and London for much of the autumn, began turning up in his sleek car, with an errand for Jimmy, or to whisk Patience away to have tea with Dolly. He offered Clara a part-time job in his small garments factory but she turned it down. Patience scolded her.
‘Why didn’t you take it?’
‘I can’t sew for toffee,’ Clara was dismissive, ‘and it looks a dump. I’d rather work for Mr Sobel any day. He’s got contacts — I’ll get some’at better soon enough.’
‘Just don’t go getting on the wrong side of Mr Craven, that’s all,’ Patience fretted.
‘I’m not,’ Clara said impatiently. ‘Anyway, why are you so worried what Mr Craven thinks?’ But her mother had no reply.
It was Clara who trailed around finding somewhere cheaper for them to rent. Reenie went with her when she could. Many of the rooms were filthy, leaking and crumbling with mould. In the end, it was Max who told her that the one-bedroomed flat above his was unexpectedly vacant because his neighbour had done a flit. It was next to the railway station and the windows rattled loudly every time a train went past, but it was weather-tight and Clara accepted at once.
Dolly Craven did her best to put Patience off, and when Vinnie came back from another business trip he reproached Clara for acting too hastily. Vinnie had the knack of praising Clara for her independence and common sense, while all the time undermining her decisions.
‘I admire you, lass.’ He smiled all the way up to his gold-flecked eyes. ‘You don’t let anything get you down. But those streets round the station are rough. Have you thought about coming home in the dark?’
‘I worry about that too,’ Patience fretted.
‘Let me lend you a little bit,’ Vinnie offered, ‘so you can pick somewhere more . . . respectable.’
‘No thank you, Mr Craven,’ Clara said stoutly, ‘we’re borrowing from no one. Flat’s canny — and if it’s good enough for the likes of Mr Sobel then it’s good enough for us.’
Vinnie shook his head regretfully. ‘Promise me you’ll ask for my help before rushing into things next time.’
‘Thank you,’ Clara said warily. ‘If we need it, we’ll ask.’
Though she would never tell the Cravens, Clara knew that she had to find more work if they were to be able to afford the rent on the tiny flat in Minto St
reet. They had nothing spare after clearing Harry’s debts and nearly all their possessions had been pawned. Even her mother’s pearl-handled hairbrush. It had been a bitter day when Clara had taken a last small bagful to Mr Slater’s, battling a raw easterly wind just before Christmas. The print of the sailing ship had gone too.
But at least they had avoided the means test and parish handouts, and she felt fiercely proud of that. They would start again and owe nobody anything from now on. They had a table and chairs, a double bed which she would share with her mother and a put-you-up for Jimmy to sleep on. Jimmy was her main worry.
All autumn he had been a law unto himself. He came home wearing clothes that did not belong to him, often with small parcels of food or a pocketful of coins. When she challenged him, he swore he earned them doing casual jobs for people she had never heard of. Patience had taken up smoking to calm her nerves and sometimes he would turn up with a full packet of cigarettes and flourish them at her.
‘Are they paid for?’ Clara would snap.
‘I’ve earned them,’ he always replied. ‘Stop yer fussin’.’
She agonised whether to ask Vinnie to take her brother in hand, but decided against it. In the New Year, Clara began cleaning at other businesses in the same building as Max’s on his recommendation; an accountant’s and, more importantly, the offices of the Tyne Times. She preferred to go in very early rather than after they closed, so she could be back to look after Patience who grew morose if left too long on her own.
One evening, Max knocked at their door and asked for a word. Clara invited him in. He stood warming his hands at the fire, chatting pleasantly to Patience and offering her a cigarette. He refused a cup of tea. Clara waited to hear the reason for the visit.
Max blew out his cheeks, looking embarrassed.
‘I wondered if you’d noticed — whether you’ve seen anyone going into my flat at all in recent weeks? While I’m at work, that is.’
Clara shook her head. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well.’ Max puffed and blew. ‘I know I’m not the tidiest of men, but things appear to be going missing.’ Clara looked at him aghast.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 11
