The Telephone Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘But have you any idea who took it?’ Beryl’s voice quavered as she looked from her brother to her daughter then back again. ‘It’s an awful lot of money, William. Who could have done that?’

  ‘Who do you think?’ he retorted, narrowing his eyes and resting both hands on his stick as he leaned forward in his chair.

  Fear darted into Beryl’s eyes and her eyelids flickered. ‘Perhaps someone passing the house spotted that the front door was open – a tramp, maybe? They’re always lurking in bus shelters and so on at this time of year.’

  ‘Pah!’ William popped his lips and let out the same scornful sound. ‘If you ask me, it was someone a bit closer to home.’

  ‘Bert then?’ Beryl’s words faded to a whisper. ‘He collects the rent money now, doesn’t he? He’d know where you keep your cash box.’

  ‘Ah yes, you’d like to blame your nephew, wouldn’t you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say that a little bird has flown your way and whispered fibs in your ear.’ He looked accusingly at Cynthia as he spoke then back at his sister. ‘That would be Missy’s sneaky kind of trick.’

  ‘Cynthia hasn’t … she didn’t …’ Beryl’s resistance collapsed and she fell despairingly silent.

  ‘Now listen to me,’ he commanded, switching his glare back to Cynthia. ‘There’s only one thief around here and we all know who it is.’

  ‘Uncle William!’ Cynthia’s indignant protest fell on deaf ears.

  The accusation jerked Beryl back to life. ‘Oh no, Cynthia would never do such a thing. I’ve brought her up better than that, I hope.’

  ‘Then how does she explain her fancy new togs – the dress and so on? Where did she get the money to pay for all that?’

  ‘If you mean the dress I wore to the Institute dance, I borrowed that from Millicent Jones, my friend at work. She was kind enough to lend it to me.’ Something had crystallized in Cynthia’s heart and made her unafraid. She sat upright and spoke calmly, even though her mother gave a small gasp and shook her head. ‘Anyway, that was before the money went missing.’

  ‘Dancing and prancing about, running around with all and sundry – oh yes, Beryl – you brought her up nicely.’

  ‘What is it, William? What have you suddenly got against Cynthia?’ Beryl couldn’t understand what was happening or why. All she knew was that her life’s hopes seemed to be draining away in front of her eyes. ‘Hasn’t she always done her best for you? Haven’t we all?’

  Cynthia stood up and walked across the room. She couldn’t bear the pleading tone in her mother’s voice or the control that her uncle had over them. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t take the money, but if I’m not believed, I certainly won’t stay here to be insulted.’

  ‘Cynthia!’ Distraught, Beryl got up too. ‘Don’t go. I’m sure we can sort this out. William, did you hear what she said? She’s not the thief. It was someone else.’

  ‘Oh yes, Beryl – carry on shifting the blame.’ The last to stand, William advanced towards Cynthia and grabbed her by the wrist, raising his voice to a spitting snarl. ‘I’ll wring the truth out of you, young lady, like it or not.’

  ‘Steady on – no you don’t!’ Wilf was suddenly in the room, bold as anything. He’d waited for Cynthia at the fork in the road and when she hadn’t turned up, he’d suspected something was wrong. He’d ventured to the doorstep of Moor View to investigate and heard raised voices through the open door. So he’d marched straight in, a knight in shining armour, following the sound of the argument. ‘You let go of her, you hear.’

  Cynthia made a sobbing sound and wrenched herself free. She rubbed her sore wrist where William’s fingers had grasped her. Beryl subsided into horrified silence.

  ‘Oh, so you’re ganging up on me now!’ William swung his stick towards Wilf, who easily dodged out of reach. ‘It was a plan, was it? The two of you, plotting to steal my hard-earned money. Yes, I see.’

  Wilf resisted the temptation to laugh. If it wasn’t so serious, it would be funny. ‘No one’s stealing anything,’ he countered. ‘Not me and definitely not Cynthia. She’s honest as the day.’ He turned to Beryl. ‘I’m Wilf Evans, by the way. You must be Cynthia’s mother.’

  Wilf’s casual manner stole the old man’s thunder and left him stranded in the middle of his living-room carpet, squirming and helpless, like a fat trout in a fisherman’s net. There was only one way forward now. ‘Get out!’ he stormed at Cynthia. ‘Right now, this minute.’

  ‘William, you can’t,’ Beryl gasped.

  ‘I can and I will. Pack your bags, Missy, and never let me set eyes on you again.’

  Cynthia stared at him. She saw with an outsider’s eye that his fury was ridiculous and somewhere, not far beneath the surface, she was sure he knew it too. It was this humiliating knowledge that made him bluster and threaten.

  ‘No, William – what will you do if Cynthia goes? How will you manage?’ Beside herself, Beryl pleaded for him to change his mind.

  The old man sagged and leaned on his stick, breathing heavily as the repercussions of his actions hit home. Then he pulled himself upright. ‘I’ll manage,’ he insisted. ‘Pipe down, Beryl. And you, young fellow-me-lad – you’re trespassing. I’ll set the police on to you if you don’t watch out.’

  Wilf nodded slowly and warily. ‘Just so long as you don’t lay another finger on her,’ he said, looking towards Cynthia.

  ‘Don’t worry, I can cope.’ Cynthia stepped in between them and placed a hand on Wilf’s arm. ‘I’m quite safe,’ she murmured. ‘You can wait at the gate for me, if you like.’

  Another nod from Wilf saw him step backwards out of the room, leaving a weeping Beryl and a stick-thumping William.

  ‘That’s how it is, is it?’ William’s bitter grumbling broke the silence that followed Wilf’s departure. ‘Stop snivelling, Beryl. Do something useful. Go upstairs and help the girl pack her things. That’s the reason I got you out here in the first place.’

  ‘There’s no need, Mum. I don’t need help,’ Cynthia said, aware that she had little enough to gather together. ‘Why not wait outside with Wilf?’

  Beryl, white faced and breathless, pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. She opened them and for the first time in decades she found the strength to stand up to her brother. ‘You’re a hard and spiteful creature,’ she told him plainly. ‘I’ve known that deep down, ever since we were little and you bullied me and Gilbert at every end and turn. So, more fool me for trying to help you in your old age.’

  He returned the gaze, head tilted to one side as if considering a knotty problem, aware that Cynthia had already gone upstairs to her room. ‘You did nothing, Beryl. You washed your hands of the girl as soon as ever you could. Then you let her do all the work for you – you know you did. And now I’ve landed her back on your plate, like it or not.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On the last Sunday in June, Millicent sat in the pavilion on the Common with Cynthia and Norma. ‘I don’t know which is worse, Cynthia – to grow up and have no mother to keep an eye on you or to have one as useless as yours.’

  ‘Millicent!’ Norma remonstrated while Cynthia cleared her throat in embarrassment. ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘I just did.’ For the last two weeks Millicent had listened to Cynthia’s tales of woe – firstly, how she’d been wrongly accused and sent packing by her uncle and then how she’d been blamed for it by her own mother. ‘I don’t know how you stick it back there with them on Raglan Road,’ she commiserated. ‘If I were you, they wouldn’t see me for dust.’

  ‘Let’s talk about something more cheerful,’ Norma insisted. ‘It’s a nice, sunny afternoon. Why don’t we walk out to Brimstone Rock?’

  ‘No, it’s all right – I haven’t taken offence,’ Cynthia insisted. ‘Millicent means well, and she’s right – I am finding it hard to settle in back at home.’

  ‘You see – she wants to get things off her chest.’ Millicent prepared for a longer chat by taking off her
straw hat and letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. ‘Fire away, Cynthia.’

  ‘Dad is just Dad,’ Cynthia said with a sigh. ‘He hardly says a word, just sits in his corner and stares into space.’

  ‘So it’s your mother mainly?’

  Cynthia nodded. ‘She makes out that everything is my fault, even though I’ve sworn, hand on heart, that I didn’t steal Uncle William’s money. She starts on at me the minute I get home from work – why didn’t you think to lock the bureau and keep the money safe? Why didn’t you take it to the bank yourself?’

  ‘Which is all water under the bridge,’ Norma pointed out. ‘What’s done is done.’

  Cynthia was silent for a while, picturing her father’s vacant face and hearing her mother’s bleating voice, with the slow tick of the mantel clock in the background measuring out the minutes before it was time to go to bed. ‘I’ve done my level best to get back into Mum’s good books,’ she said after a while. ‘I’ve offered to pay my share of the rent and help her with the cooking and washing, and so on, but it doesn’t make any difference – she still makes me feel as if I’m letting her down.’

  ‘I’ve always said you go too far out of your way to please people,’ Millicent commented. ‘Me, on the other hand – I’ve learned you have to look out for yourself and not bother what others think.’

  ‘Listen to the three of us.’ Norma’s frown showed that she was determined to shake them out of their sombre moods. ‘Anyone would think we had the weight of the world on our shoulders.’

  ‘It’s all right for some,’ Millicent argued. ‘You’ve got two sisters at home to chip in with the rent and a mother who isn’t having a go at you all the time.’

  ‘True.’ Norma knew she must count her blessings. For her, life at home might be humdrum but there was no nastiness. Yes, she decided – she would take her present lot over what Cynthia and Millicent were going through any day.

  ‘And you have poor Douglas waiting in the wings, ready to marry you,’ Millicent added.

  ‘Here we go!’ Norma jumped up, blocked her ears and left the pavilion to walk a little way along the cinder path. Her pale blue cotton skirt fluttered in the breeze and she had to hold her hat in place as she went.

  ‘Oh dear me, I seem to have touched a sore spot,’ Millicent said with a wink. ‘Anyway, Cynthia, I do understand what it is to be let down by your nearest and dearest. After all, my mum left home when I was little.’

  The confession created an awkward pause before Cynthia took the plunge. ‘What do you remember about her?’

  ‘Her scent.’ Millicent’s reply was swift and telling. ‘She dabbed eau de cologne behind her ears whenever she went out, even if it was only to the shops. And her hair – it was the same colour as mine – our crowning glory, you might say. And if you’re wondering where Dad is now and why I don’t mention him – well, that’s a story that I’ll save until another time.’ Millicent gave a wry smile as she pulled Cynthia up from the bench. ‘Come along, we’d better catch up with Norma and say sorry.’

  So they ran after her and linked arms, while Millicent tried to make amends.

  ‘I didn’t mean it – Douglas is a very lucky man.’

  ‘La-la! I’m not listening.’

  ‘It won’t do him any harm to wait for your answer.’

  ‘La-la-la!’

  ‘In fact, it’ll do him good. And we’re jealous, aren’t we, Cynthia? There aren’t many tall, dark and handsome men like him around. We only wish there were. Oops, sorry, Cynthia, I forgot – you have one of your own.’

  Cynthia laughed. ‘Wilf isn’t dark.’

  ‘No, that’s right. He’s a fair-haired, blue-eyed boy. Is he behaving himself, by the way?’

  ‘He is.’ She smiled enigmatically. Not only had Wilf appeared at Moor View and stuck up for her at exactly the right moment, but he’d also promised to keep his ear to the ground in Hadley to see if he could pick up any clues as to who might have nipped into the house and stolen the money. And Cynthia had seen him four times since then, twice to go to the pictures, once to walk hand in hand by the canal and once to have a drink in the Green Cross.

  ‘He’s not taking liberties?’

  ‘No.’ No! I kiss him, he kisses me. Each time we part, I put my arms around his neck and draw him close. He holds me tight. Nothing is said but everything feels right.

  ‘What about Harold?’ Norma asked Millicent, since it seemed this was the time for heart-to-hearts. ‘Have you seen him since Oldroyd’s closed down?’

  Millicent shook her head and broke free. ‘No and I haven’t heard anything either.’

  Norma caught her by the arm and spoke confidentially. ‘Well, I have.’

  ‘You have?’ Millicent had a sinking feeling that she couldn’t disguise.

  ‘I overheard Ruth telling Agnes that he’s still looking for work. Ruth is friendly with Doris.’

  ‘Yes, yes – I know.’ Millicent bit her lip to stop it from trembling. Suddenly her mood plummeted and she teetered on the brink of that dark hole that she’d always feared – the one where there was no man in her life, no flattery, no promises, no shared future to look forward to. She felt as she had all those years ago, when her mother had walked out of the door, leaving coat hangers dangling in an empty wardrobe and the lingering scent of eau de cologne.

  ‘He’s trying his hardest, apparently, but there’s nothing out there. Or if there is, he joins the end of a very long queue.’

  Millicent shook her head and sighed.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Well, I don’t … No, that’s not right – I do.’ She stopped, clasped each of their hands and held on tight. ‘What would you do if you were me, you two? Would you try to see Harold?’

  The question hung in the air. The tables were turned and the one out of the three who usually had the answers seemed desperate for their advice.

  ‘Do you miss him?’ Cynthia murmured. ‘Do you love him – really and truly?’

  Millicent nodded then turned to Norma, waiting for her answer.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Norma said, slow and deliberate. ‘Yes, you might think you love him and for all I know, you truly do. But you mustn’t go after him, Millicent. Not now – not as things stand.’

  They’d each reached a turning point, Millicent realized. She sat at her switchboard next day, mulling over Norma’s sensible advice and keeping an eye on Cynthia’s board in case she was slow to take a light. She needn’t have worried – Cynthia had taken to the work like a duck to water, sitting straight-backed in her swivel chair, placing cords into jacks, listening then speaking with crystal clarity before connecting the caller to the required line.

  A fresh start – that’s what I need, she told herself when her board was quiet. They were coming up to the end of their shift and Millicent had decided on a proposal she would put to Cynthia before they left the building if she got the chance. To her right, she heard Norma take a call.

  ‘Hello, Mr Hall. Go ahead, please.’

  Millicent immediately pricked up her ears.

  ‘Hold the line, please.’ Norma flashed a significant glance at Millicent then inserted a cord. ‘Hello, Mrs Parr. I have Mr Hall on the line.’

  Millicent checked Ruth’s whereabouts and saw that she was leaning over Brenda’s shoulder to help her with an unusual routes and rates query. She held Norma’s attention and rolled her eyes towards the supe, meaning that it was safe to listen in.

  Norma kept her headset firmly in place.

  ‘Our newest recruit – I’m beginning to think she’s more trouble than she’s worth,’ Sidney Hall said in his laconic, superior way.

  Phyllis Parr came straight back at him. ‘I disagree,’ she said sharply. ‘This is still early days, remember.’

  ‘Yes, but the problem can’t be easily solved. She’s a sensitive type and her sort always proves more difficult than the Barbaras and Margarets of this world.’

  ‘But she’s extraordinary-lo
oking.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘And remember, some of our clients prefer it if there’s a little resistance involved.’

  Norma followed the circumspect conversation with bated breath, her stomach churning as she read between the lines. Millicent, meanwhile, continued to keep a lookout for the supe.

  Sidney sounded amused. ‘I must say, Phyllis, I admire you. You know this business inside out.’

  ‘I should do, I’ve been at it long enough. So listen to me – there’s a definite way to manage this situation but it does involve you making a little more effort.’

  ‘Must I?’ Sidney gave a weary sigh. ‘Haven’t I done my bit already?’

  ‘You have, and very well too.’ Phyllis’s newly smooth tone was calculated to draw him back in and keep him sweet.

  Norma checked with Millicent that the coast was still clear and waited to hear more.

  ‘But you must step in again and ply your charms.’

  ‘Is that so?’ There was a pause while Sidney stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. ‘I suppose I could spare five minutes to speak with her on the telephone.’

  ‘No, that won’t do. You must come to the salon in person – to make her see which side her bread is buttered.’

  ‘Very well, if you say so. But when?’

  Millicent saw Ruth finish speaking to Brenda. She nudged Norma to warn her that the supe was back on patrol and heading their way. Norma immediately flicked two keys and slipped back her headset. She felt her hands shake with disgust at what she’d heard and hoped that Ruth wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Millicent, take your light!’ Ruth snapped as she drew near. ‘Norma, your supervision light is flashing. Disconnect your cords, please. Molly, pay attention – you have two lights. Cynthia, you have one – chop-chop!’