by Sandy Taylor
I looked at Monica and we burst out laughing.
‘What?’ said Jack.
Twenty-Seven
We were all growing up. I was fourteen and would soon be leaving school and I didn’t have a clue where I was going to work. I’d heard horror stories about girls going into service and hating it. I didn’t fancy sitting in an office all day and I didn’t think I’d get a job in a shop. Mum said it would have to be a factory and I didn’t fancy that much either but it was probably where I was going to end up.
One evening Monica and I were sitting on the green at the top of the road.
‘What are you going to do when you leave school?’ I asked.
‘Mum keeps going on about that,’ said Monica. ‘We haven’t got a lot of choice though, have we?’
‘Do you know what I’d really like to do?’ I said.
‘What?’
‘I’d like to work in a bookshop.’
‘Really?’
I nodded. ‘I think a bookshop would be a really nice place to work.’
‘Factories pay more than shops,’ said Monica.
‘I know, but I don’t fancy working in a factory.’
‘What about that bookshop in Western Road? I can’t remember what it’s called but you could ask in there.’
‘I might,’ I said. ‘If I can find some decent clothes.’
A ball came flying towards us. Monica stood up and kicked it back to the boys. When she turned round she said, ‘Maureen?’
‘What?’
She looked uncomfortable; she was twisting the end of her plait round and round her finger. ‘Forget it.’
‘Forget what?’ I said.
‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Monica, what’s probably nothing?’
Monica sat back down next to me and started pulling up handfuls of grass.
‘Monica!’ I yelled.
‘OK, OK! You know that girl whose parents run the Jolly Sailor pub?’
‘Marion Tucker?’ I said.
‘Yes. Look, I’m only telling you this in case someone else tells you, so don’t go mad.’
I waited. I couldn’t think what could be so bad that it was making Monica scared to tell me.
‘Well, the other evening I had to go down to the pub to get a jug of cider for my dad and I got talking to her. I’m really sorry to tell you this, Maureen, but she said that Jack had taken her to the pictures to see The Thirty-Nine Steps.’
‘My Jack?’
‘Monica nodded. ‘Your Jack. I’m really sorry.’
I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach.
‘She’s not even that pretty,’ said Monica, obviously trying to make me feel better.
‘You’re right, Monica, she’s not pretty, she’s beautiful.’
‘Maybe, but in a showy kind of way,’ said Monica.
‘But Jack’s mine.’
‘Maureen?’
‘What?’
‘Does Jack know he’s yours?’
‘Of course he does,’ I snapped.
‘Have you actually told him how you feel?’
‘I don’t have to tell him, we’re destined to be together. You know that, Monica.’
‘I know, Maureen, but does Jack?’
Suddenly I wasn’t so sure. I shook my head. ‘He must do.’
‘You have to say something to him then.’
‘Perhaps they just happened to meet in the cinema. Perhaps he just happened to sit next to her,’ I said.
‘She definitely said he’d taken her, Maureen, she didn’t say they’d met in there, otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything.’
I didn’t know what to think. Jack had never taken me to the pictures. Why had he never done that?
‘I need to go home,’ I said.
‘Was I wrong to tell you?’
‘No, Monica, you were right to tell me.’
‘I thought so.’
We hugged and I started walking home. I didn’t want to go into the house in case Brenda noticed there was something wrong with me, so I went round the side and climbed the tree. Monica’s questions were bothering me. Did Jack know how I felt about him? Did he feel the same? He’d never said so but that had never worried me because we didn’t have to talk about it. We saw each other nearly every evening; we sat on the Downs together and held hands. I picked a bunch of leaves off the tree and, one by one, I let them fall to the ground. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not.
I had three leaves left. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me. I smiled, of course he loved me. But he’d never kissed me. I wondered if he’d held Marion Tucker’s hand in the dark cinema; I wondered if he’d kissed her. I looked over the fence into Jack’s garden and remembered the day we’d moved into See Saw Lane. The day that I watched him playing with the toy soldiers. The day that I fell in love with him.
‘Maureen?’
I looked down and saw Nelson looking up at me.
‘Hi, Nelson,’ I said, climbing down. He took my hand as I jumped to the ground.
‘I thought your tree-climbing days were over,’ he said, grinning.
‘I was thinking about the first time I met Jack… and you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Nelson.
We walked up the path and sat on the back door step.
‘What’s up?’ he said.
‘Nothing.’
‘What’s up?’ he said again.
‘Jack took Marion Tucker to the pictures.’
‘Ah,’ said Nelson.
‘To see The Thirty-Nine Steps.’
‘Jack likes the pictures, Maureen.’
‘But he took Marion Tucker.’
Nelson put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned into him. ‘And it’s made you unhappy,’ he said.
‘Marion bloody Tucker can have anyone, why does she have to pick Jack?’
‘Do you know what I think you should do?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I think you should do nothing.’
‘But why?’
‘Our Jack is not the sort of boy to be pinned down. Marion Tucker might be pretty but that’s all she is and you wait, it won’t be long before she starts telling him what to do and trust me, that won’t suit Jack. He likes you a lot, Maureen, so say nothing and pretty soon you won’t have to worry about Marion Bird Brain Tucker.’
‘But he took her to see The Thirty-Nine Bloody Steps, Nelson.’
‘And I bet she was bored senseless.’
‘Do you think so?’
Nelson kissed the top of my head. ‘It’s not Marion Bloody Tucker’s sort of film at all.’
‘What would I do without you, Nelson?’ I said, giggling.
‘You’ll never have to do without me, Maureen, and if you do, I will always come back.’
‘Thanks, Nelson Perks.’
‘You are very welcome, Maureen O’Connell.’
Twenty-Eight
The next Saturday morning I managed to cobble together some clothes that didn’t look like they’d just fallen off the back of the rag and bone cart.
‘You look very nice,’ said Mum, smoothing down my skirt. She and Brenda gave me a hug and wished me luck and I made my way to the bookshop in the Western Road.
It was a small shop and you’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there. On one side was a man selling Turkish rugs and carpets that spilt out onto the pavement. On the other side was a bakery. The smell of fresh bread wafting out of the door made my mouth water. If I worked here, I would end up as fat as a house.
I peered in the widow but it was dim inside and I couldn’t see much. I opened the door and a bell jangled above my head. The musty smell that met me made my mouth water almost as much as the smell of the bread next door. I’d always loved to read but there were never any books in the house because books cost money and you couldn’t eat them. It was Daddy who had given me a love of books. Every night before we went to sleep he would tell us stories
about handsome heroes and beautiful heroines, pirates and desert islands and while we sat on the grassy bank in the lagoon, he taught me and Brenda our letters.
Stepping from the light into the gloom of the shop was strangely exciting. I stood still and let my eyes adjust to my surroundings. The place smelled musty and earthy. It reminded me of Uncle John’s stall at the end of the day, when the fruit was on the turn. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I saw the books. Shelf upon shelf of them, reaching up to the ceiling, small books sitting next to bigger books, some of them laying on their side. It looked as if they’d been thrown there. I had never seen so many books in my life. Daddy would have loved it here and I wondered why he had never taken us. Suddenly a large shape loomed out of the darkness. It took a moment to realise that it was the posh lady’s horrible husband. Bloody hell, what was he doing here? I hoped he’d hurry up and buy his book and leave. He saw me and I could tell that he recognised me but instead of saying hello, he turned around and disappeared behind one of the bookcases. Well, that suited me fine because I didn’t want to talk to him either.
I could hear some whispering and then a young girl appeared and walked up to me, smiling,
‘Looking for a book, love?’ she said.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘What I’m actually looking for is a job.’
‘Oh, right. Worked in a shop before, have you?’
‘I haven’t worked anywhere before but I’m leaving school in a few weeks and I’ve got to get a job. I’d like to work in a bookshop.’
‘You could do worse,’ she said. ‘Factories pay more, not that I’d wanna work in one.’
‘Do you think there might be a job, then?’
‘Don’t get your hopes up, but you might have come in at just the right time. The boss keeps going on about retiring. Mind you, he’s been doing that since I started. Bentley’s has been in his family for generations. I get the feeling that he thinks it will fall apart if he’s not here but lately he’s started talking about getting someone in to help me.’
I stared at her with my mouth open. Bentley’s? Isn’t that what the posh lady called herself?
‘Is your boss’s name Peter?’ I asked the girl.
‘Yes, do you know him, then?’
‘I know his wife.’
The girl laughed. ‘That’ll be the day when Peter gets a wife!’
‘Does he live down on the seafront? In a big white house?’
The girl nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘But I’ve been there and met his wife.’
‘Peter lives with his sister-in-law. He moved in with her after his brother died. They own the bookshop between them.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was my posh lady’s brother-in-law, not her husband. I was kind of glad because he was a miserable old git and she was lovely.
I often wondered what she was doing with him.
Suddenly he bumbled into the room; his face was bright red and he was sweating.
‘What’s wrong, Peter?’ said the girl, looking alarmed.
‘I have to sit down,’ he said frantically, looking for a chair.
The girl fetched a chair from behind the counter and guided him into it. Then she looked at me and said, ‘There’s a kitchen behind that curtain, can you get a glass of water?’
I went behind an old velvet curtain into a little kitchen. I couldn’t find a glass but there was a cup hanging from a row of hooks on the wall. I filled one with water and came back into the shop.
The girl was kneeling on the floor in front of him. ‘Have you got a pain, Peter?’ she asked.
‘Not a pain, no,’ he mumbled.
‘Well, something’s wrong with you.’
‘I just can’t believe it,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘What can’t you believe, Peter?’ she said.
I was beginning to feel awkward just standing there without a clue what was going on. He mopped at his forehead with a hankie. ‘I was sitting out the back, having a smoke, when Hassan came round with the news.’
‘What news, Peter?’
‘The old king’s dead, Maggie.’
‘Bloody hell!’ said Maggie.
‘King George has died,’ he said.
‘I know it’s a shock, Peter, but we all knew how ill he was,’ said Maggie.
‘But you hope, don’t you?’ said Peter. ‘You hope.’
‘Yes, you do,’ said Maggie, kindly.
All of a sudden he got out of the chair, stood to attention, saluted and said, ‘The King is dead. Long live the King!’
I suddenly felt as if I’d walked in on a film set and didn’t know what part I was supposed to be playing. As I caught Maggie’s eye I could see she was desperately trying not to burst out laughing, just like I was. We grinned at each other.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
Peter sat down heavily in the chair.
‘Her name’s Maureen,’ he said. ‘What is she doing here, anyway?’
‘Don’t be rude, Peter. She’s come for a job.’
‘What, here?’
‘Yes, here. And you said that you were thinking of taking someone on.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
Peter glared at me.
‘Take no notice of that face, Maureen. Sometimes Peter has trouble arranging it into anything resembling pleasant. It’s a wonder he ever sells any books.’
‘I sell plenty of books,’ he mumbled.
‘You’d sell a lot more if you didn’t frighten all the customers away. Now, Maureen would like a job in this bookshop and God knows, we need someone, Peter, because the place is a mess. I think she’s just what we need, so how about it?’
He glared at me again.
‘Face!’ said Maggie.
The grimace that Peter managed was worse than the glare but I tucked my hair behind my ears and smiled back hopefully.
‘You want to work here, do you?’ he said.
‘Yes, please,’ I said.
‘We don’t pay much.’
‘Take no notice,’ said Maggie. ‘The pay’s fine.’
‘Is it?’ said Peter, looking surprised.
Maggie smiled at him. I’d been thinking that they had a pretty unusual relationship for a boss and an employee, but it was very obvious that they liked each other.
‘So are you going to offer the poor girl a job?’ said Maggie.
‘Do you think I should?’
‘I think you should.’
‘OK then.’
I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted to run around the bookshop waving my arms in the air but the whole thing had been so casual, I thought I’d better act casual too.
‘Thanks very much,’ I said.
Maggie winked at me. ‘You can start by making us all a cup of hot, sweet tea. We drink a lot of tea here.’
I grinned at her, went back behind the curtain, put the kettle on and leaned on the sink while I waited for it to boil. What a funny old day, I thought. Ten minutes ago I’d walked in off the street and now I’d been offered a job and I was making tea. It reminded me of the crabs, not that this was a smelly bucket, but you just never knew what the day was going to bring.
Twenty-Nine
Monica started work in a factory where she had to hang bits of metal on wire frames.
‘What exactly do they make there?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ she said, ‘but it’s a good laugh.’
‘Well, you must have some idea, you go there every day.’
‘All I know is that a bunch of blokes in rubber aprons and welly boots dip a load of junk in a big vat of something and us girls hang them on wire frames to dry. It’s a doddle. The only downside is that I’ve got orange fingers.’
‘Yeah, I’ve noticed that,’ I said grinning.
She grinned back. ‘And they’re fluorescent.’
‘That doesn’t sound good, Monica.’
‘Sometimes I wake in the night and they
scare the life out of me. They look like two little orange monsters creeping up the bed.’
‘Shouldn’t you talk to someone about it?’
‘Well, no one else seems bothered.’
‘That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.’
Monica just shrugged her shoulders.
It all sounded mind-numbingly dull to me and I was sure that Monica could do better, but she seemed happy there so I kept my mouth shut.
I didn’t come home from work with orange fingers but I did come home covered in dust. I had made it my mission to sort out the hundreds of books that lined the shelves. Mum said that I was a round peg in a round hole and she was right. Me and Maggie got on like a house on fire and Peter’s bark was definitely worse than his bite. It felt sort of wrong to call my boss by his first name but Maggie assured me that was what he wanted to be called.
‘When I first started here I called him Mr Bentley but he said he wanted to be called Peter. He was quite definite about it, to the point where if I called him Mr Bentley by mistake he wouldn’t answer. So, trust me, Peter wants to be called Peter.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ I said.
‘I’m sure,’ said Maggie.
I actually got quite fond of Peter in a funny sort of way. He spent a lot of time with Hassan. They sat together on a bench in the yard at the back of the bookshop, smoking and putting the world to rights, while Hassan’s poor wife was left to sell rugs and carpets, and Maggie and I were left to sell the books.
‘It’s better this way,’ said Maggie. ‘He tends to get in the way otherwise, bumbling about the place.’
I loved it there; I even loved the chaos of it. I loved the people who came in and rummaged through the dusty piles of books that were stacked against the walls. I loved seeing the delight on their faces when they found a rare book they’d been searching for. One day Maggie and I went down to the junk shop and dragged back a couple of overstuffed armchairs for the customers to curl up in. There was an old gramophone player in the back of the shop where Peter played his Mantovani music. As soon as he went out the back with Hassan, Maggie swapped it over for one of her Glenn Miller records. It was lovely working away to ‘In the Mood’ and ‘Chattanooga Choo, Choo’.
