The Shop Girls of Chapel Street

by Jenny Holmes

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I decided to call in and collect our order for a change.’ Muriel stood patiently waiting for Ben Hutchinson to make up the usual Tuesday list for Jubilee. She turned to Violet who was up a stepladder tidying shelves. ‘It’s been one of those days. We had to rush to finish a sewing job on that dress for Mrs Barlow then we found that she couldn’t come in to collect it herself so we had to ask Eddie to break off from his job at Sykes’ and ride all the way out to Bilton Grange with it. But did he get any thanks? Not one word, I assure you.’

  ‘No, I can imagine,’ Violet sympathized.

  ‘But she helps us pay the bills.’ Muriel’s gaze ranged along the shelf stacked with boxes of cereals. ‘I’ll take some porridge oats, please, Mr Hutchinson. And a jar of marmalade.’

  Taking a pencil from behind his ear and with no glimmer of a smile breaking through his permanent frown, the middle-aged grocer added items to the list then barked at Violet to fetch them. When the order was complete, he took Muriel’s money and rang it up on the till. ‘Would you like little miss to carry it down the street for you?’ he asked.

  ‘No ta – I can manage.’ Muriel took the box and left the shop with a cheerful goodbye.

  ‘Say what you like about Muriel Beanland,’ Hutchinson commented as he wiped down an already spotless counter and Violet carried the stepladder into the stockroom at the back of the shop, ‘she’s had her fair share of troubles but she never lets things get her down.’

  ‘What troubles?’ Violet wondered aloud.

  Hutchinson tapped the side of his nose. ‘Never you mind.’

  That’s just like you, Violet thought, emerging from the stockroom. Lead a person on then clam up on them. I’ll ask Aunty Winnie. She’ll tell me what things Muriel has risen above in her seemingly neat and orderly life.

  Violet’s curiosity about Muriel Beanland’s past couldn’t be immediately satisfied, however, because it was Uncle Donald and not Aunty Winnie who greeted her when she got home.

  ‘What’s this I hear about you joining the Hadley Players?’ he demanded as soon as she got through the door. He was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, but immaculately groomed as always.

  Violet adopted the careless tone she used whenever her uncle came down hard on her. ‘What if I did? It’s not a crime, so far as I know.’

  ‘Less of your cheek,’ he snapped. ‘I only got to hear of it through Eddie Thomson when he came in for a haircut first thing this morning. You kept it quiet, though I expect Winnie was in on it. You two are always hugger-mugger.’

  Violet drew a deep breath. ‘We kept it quiet because we knew how you’d react. And sure enough, we were right.’

  Filling a kettle at the kitchen sink, Donald set it to boil on the gas cooker that he’d recently had installed, after years of nagging from Winnie.

  ‘Entering the contest for Gala Queen is one thing,’ he grumbled, ‘but prancing about on a stage in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry is different. It’s not something I hold with.’

  Violet sighed and sat at the table. Suddenly the kitchen seemed small and dark, full of antiquated objects like the pair of white china dogs on the mantelpiece, the ticking wall clock and the heavy flat iron resting on its stand next to the fire grate. Her uncle was old-fashioned too – thirty years out of date and miserable with it. Whereas Violet thought of herself as a sort of Cinderella, dreaming of her prince but always prevented from going to the ball.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Donald asked. ‘I get to know everything in the end, as long as I keep my ear to the ground. It was Eddie who gave you the lift back after the rehearsal, wasn’t it? And I expect it was him you went to the pictures with on Saturday night.’

  ‘No, Uncle, it wasn’t. It was Stan Tankard.’ Violet ignored his startled expression and let a sullen silence develop between them. She was weary of it all – the dogs, the clock, the ashes in the grate and Uncle Donald’s attempts to make her conform to his joyless view of life.

  ‘In any case, I want you to stay in more and help your aunt,’ he went on with a heavy-handed switch of subjects. The kettle boiled and he warmed the teapot then put in two spoonfuls of tea. He poured in the water and waited for the leaves to mash. ‘She’s not as young as she was.’

  Violet considered this a blow below the belt, intended to give her a guilty conscience. ‘Honestly, Uncle Donald! That won’t work with me and you know it – Aunty Winnie is fit as a fiddle.’

  ‘I knew my ears were burning,’ Winnie declared as she opened the front door and set down her shopping bag full of vegetables from Clifton Street market. She smiled her way through what she could sense was the build-up to a serious argument. ‘And yes, here I am – fit as a fiddle, just as Violet says!’

  ‘No, sir – I did not know that my sister had gone to the races on the day she died.’ Violet read carefully from the script that Ida had given her. ‘I believed she had gone to work as usual.’

  ‘Put a bit more life into it,’ Ida urged. ‘Not so flat and stiff. Try again.’

  Violet sighed and caught sight of Kathy and Peggy rehearsing their parts in a different corner of the hall, while Harold was painting scenery on the stage. So far there was no sign of Eddie. She repeated the line again, trying to follow Ida’s advice.

  ‘Better,’ Ida told her. ‘Try to show that you’re nervous and upset. You have to pretend I’m a nasty policeman intent on tripping you up.’

  What have I let myself in for? Violet wondered. It turned out she wasn’t a natural when it came to acting and the more she tried to get it right the more self-conscious she became.

  For more than an hour she had tried to master the part of the murder victim’s sister, taking tips from the director and concentrating on getting it right. When they broke for tea and biscuits, she drifted towards Kathy for advice.

  ‘The trick is to forget that anyone’s looking at you.’ Kathy sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. Her hair was pinned up to show the nape of her neck and she wore a pair of trousers with turn-ups, giving her the air of a fashionable girl-about-town.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Harold commented. He perched on a stepladder, drinking tea and smoking a cigarette. Broad-faced, with even features and wavy hair combed back from his forehead, he had an air of permanent cheerfulness, which made him easy to like.

  ‘I’ll feel such a fool if I can’t get it right,’ Violet complained. ‘But the thing is, Uncle Donald is dead set against me doing this and I want to prove him wrong.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon pick it up,’ Ida said as she breezed by. She too was in trousers with a neat cream-coloured blouse tucked into a high waistband. Violet decided it was the look to copy in future; her own calf-length skirt and short-sleeved jumper felt dowdy in comparison.

  ‘Has anyone seen Eddie?’ Harold asked from his onstage perch. ‘Or do you expect me to roll up my sleeves and finish this backdrop all by myself?’

  ‘He’s working at the Victory tonight,’ Ida told him before rushing everyone to finish their tea.

  Hearing this made Violet realize how much she’d been looking forward to seeing Eddie, and perhaps even another ride home on his motorbike.

  ‘Oh, now someone’s down in the dumps!’ Kathy noticed Violet’s disappointment and teased her for it.

  She blushed then protested, ‘Don’t be daft, Kathy. It’s none of my business what Eddie gets up to.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s right. A little bird tells me that it’s Stan you’re interested in these days,’ Kathy smirked.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ With a toss of her head, Violet went back to her corner of the hall to carry on rehearsing. For another hour she concentrated so hard that she didn’t notice Eddie slip in through the side door and it wasn’t until Ida called it a day that she realized he was up on the stage lending Harold a hand as before.

  ‘Aren’t you glad? There’s your lift home, after all.’ Kathy winked as she, Peggy and Evie put on their coats, ready to leave.

  ‘
No. I’ll catch the bus with you.’ Eddie was busy clearing dust sheets and washing brushes and Violet decided it would look wrong for her to hang around waiting for him. She was out in the yard, following the others to the stop when she heard a voice call her name and she turned to see Eddie standing by the side door of the Institute.

  ‘Don’t you want a lift?’ he asked.

  The simple question flustered her. ‘No, it’s all right thanks, Eddie. I can catch the bus.’

  ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’

  ‘Oh, in that case … Are you sure?’

  ‘Course I’m sure. Wait there, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.’

  She felt a small thrill of excitement run through her. After all, Eddie had made a point of coming after her, which meant more than last week’s casual, chance offer. He’d seemed shy, as if expecting her to say no, but determined in spite of that. Perhaps he likes me, was the thought that dawned on her and made her heart flutter.

  Before long Eddie appeared in the main doorway. He put on his goggles and gauntlets in a businesslike way, sat astride his bike and kick-started the engine. ‘You know the routine,’ he told Violet, winking at her as she stepped up on to the foot rest.

  Soon she was on the bike, her arms clasped around Eddie’s waist. He eased out of the Institute yard and rode slowly along the main street of terraced houses, passing the bus stop.

  ‘I thought you were meant to be working,’ she mentioned.

  ‘I was. I got off at eight o’clock then came straight over to help Harold. Ida would’ve had my guts for garters otherwise.’

  ‘Yoo-hoo, Violet!’ Kathy nudged Peggy and Evie and they all waved.

  ‘Hold tight,’ Eddie said, picking up speed. They left the town then passed through fields and climbed towards the outcrop of boulders and cliffs strewn across rough moorland – a landmark known locally as Little Brimstone. The moors stretched out ahead, while the darkening sky held a herringbone pattern of fluffy clouds coloured pink and gold.

  ‘All right back there?’ Eddie called over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes, ta. Just keep a lookout for sheep!’ she replied. Her heart soared in all this space and beauty and she thrilled once more to the roaring speed of the bike. She was surprised when they came to the top of a hill and Eddie slowed almost to a halt.

  He turned and spoke above the idling speed of the engine. ‘We could get off and stretch our legs if you’re not in a rush.’

  Violet nodded and he pulled off the road onto a grass verge. ‘How about sitting on that rock?’ She pointed and went on ahead to a smooth boulder overlooking a narrow, shaded valley with thorn trees and a cascading waterfall.

  Eddie joined her and they sat looking down at the rushing water. ‘This little glen is where I used to cycle to when I was a kid,’ he confided. ‘You’re well hidden once you’re down there amongst the trees. That’s what I liked about it.’

  Violet glanced at him. He sat with hands clasped around his knees, staring intently into the darkness, his profile in shadow, his eye glinting in the last of the light.

  ‘I was never allowed,’ she told him. ‘I always had to play close to the house where they could keep an eye on me.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed larking about with the other lads – cricket and football, the usual kick-about stuff. But once in a while I liked to get away.’ He stopped short and glanced at her, wondering if he was boring her with his talk.

  ‘You and Ida – you’re not alike.’ Violet settled into the conversation, soothed by the peacefulness of their surroundings. ‘She’s not backwards in coming forwards for a start.’

  Eddie grinned. ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘I like her, though. And she’s doing well for herself. I wish I had her get up and go.’

  ‘She and Harold are saving up to get married. She’s got a list of things she reckons they need – table and chairs, bedroom suite and everything. It all adds up to fifty quid, give or take.’ There he went – rabbiting on again because he wanted to avoid any silence that would give Violet the chance to suggest moving on.

  ‘I meant Ida and Muriel’s shop. I’d love to be running a place like that.’ Violet reached forward to brush her hand over the harebells growing in a nearby crevice. ‘How did they get set up in the first place?’

  ‘It was after Muriel’s chap let her down,’ Eddie told her. ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it – only that she was due to be married but it never happened. That’s when Ida left her job in the mending department at Kingsley’s and set up shop with Muriel, using the nest egg Muriel had saved for the wedding.’

  The surprise information gave Violet pause for thought.

  ‘Muriel’s the one with a head for figures. Ida’s more involved in the sewing and altering side. Anyway, why are we talking about them? I want to know more about what you get up to.’

  ‘There’s nothing to know.’ Not wanting to give too much away too soon, she drew back from making confessions. ‘Honestly, there’s nothing special about me.’

  ‘I’d say there was.’ For once Eddie took a risk. Maybe it was the idea that if he didn’t jump in with both feet, Stan would make his next move on Violet and it would definitely be too late. Or perhaps it was simply the right place, the right time.

  Violet picked a harebell and turned it between her fingers. She held her breath, waiting for Eddie to speak again.

  ‘I’m not talking about the way you look,’ he tried to explain. ‘Sorry – that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. You look lovely, of course you do. But it’s more than that.’

  She sniffed the flower and stared ahead, slow to believe what she heard. She wanted the moment to last – the sunset, the peaty smell of the soil, the waterfall. Eddie by her side.

  ‘Stop me if I’m stepping out of line. It might be Stan you’re interested in, for all I know.’

  ‘No, it’s not Stan,’ she whispered. ‘We went to the pictures together, that’s all.’

  ‘Even so.’

  Violet turned towards Eddie. His head was tilted forward and he looked earnestly at her from under lowered brows. She felt a surge of tenderness.

  ‘Stan’s not my type,’ she insisted. ‘You are.’

  Her lips when he moved to kiss her were soft and warm, her face cool and smooth as silk. He put his arms around her.

  Violet kissed him back. She closed her eyes and softened into his embrace. There was the sound of tumbling water and the feel of his kiss and in that moment nothing else mattered.

  Night had fallen by the time Eddie and Violet reached town and the street lights were on.

  ‘Drop me here,’ she said when they reached the top of Chapel Street. ‘That way we won’t wake anyone up with the sound of your bike.’ By ‘anyone’ she meant, of course, her Uncle Donald, who would no doubt be gunning for her as usual.

  ‘Ta-ta then,’ Eddie said when she’d got off the bike.

  Violet hovered on the pavement, not wanting to leave but knowing she must.

  Eddie leaned sideways and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m working again tomorrow night but we could go dancing at the Assembly Rooms this weekend if you’d like?’

  ‘That’s right, we could,’ she teased, a smile playing on her lips.

  ‘Or we could go to the flicks?’

  ‘The flicks,’ she decided, to put him out of his misery.

  A grin lit up his face. ‘The flicks it is. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock on Saturday. We’ll go to the new Odeon – my treat.’

  Violet smiled and nodded, raising a hand to wave as Eddie revved his engine and coasted off along Overcliffe Road. The smile lasted all the way down Chapel Street and onto Brewery Road where she finally pulled herself together, took out her key and unlocked the door to number 11.

  Inside the house she found the lights on and Uncle Donald in his dressing gown standing white as a sheet at the kitchen window.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Violet asked, a sudden fear clutching at her heart. ‘You look as
though you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘The doctor’s upstairs with Winnie,’ he told her, steadying himself against the sink as if he’d been dealt a deadly blow.

  Violet didn’t wait to hear more. She was up the stairs in a flash, dashing into the front bedroom to find her view of the iron bedstead blocked by the tall figure of Dr Moss.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Winnie asked from the bed, her voice low and strained. ‘Is that you, Violet?’

  The doctor stood to one side and Violet rushed forward. ‘Aunty Winnie, what’s wrong? Are you poorly?’

  ‘Hush,’ Winnie said. Her hand trembled as she grasped Violet’s hand. Her voice still sounded as if it came from a long way away. ‘There, there, love.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Violet asked the doctor. She held her aunt’s shaking hand between both of hers.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s her heart. I’ve sent for an ambulance to take her to hospital.’

  ‘You hear that, Aunty Winnie?’ Violet held her hand tighter still. ‘You’re going to the hospital. The doctors will soon find out what’s wrong and make you better.’ As the words spilled out into the hush of the room with its spartan furnishings, even Violet realized how childlike she sounded. She knew with certainty as she looked into Winnie’s unfocused eyes that they were untrue.

  ‘No, love,’ came the faint response. Winnie lifted Violet’s clasped hands to her cheek and let them rest there. ‘I was hanging on until you came home, that’s all.’

  ‘Aunty Winnie, no!’ Violet whispered fervently.

  ‘Hush. I only wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘No, that’s not fair!’ The words were torn from Violet’s chest, irrational and childlike.

  Winnie loosened her hold. Her eyes fluttered shut. ‘Look after her, Doctor. God bless, Violet.’

  ‘Come away now.’ Dr Moss moved in and put his arm around Violet’s shoulders to lead her to the door. He called down the stairs for Donald to come up.

  Outside on the street the ambulance arrived and two uniformed men rushed into the house. They passed Violet and Donald in the narrow hallway, intent on getting the patient to the King Edward’s without delay.