When Wishes Come True

by Jonker, Joan

  Aggie put a hand to her mouth and muttered behind it, ‘I promise I won’t laugh, girl, at least not until yer’ve gone. Then I’ll laugh me bloody head off. She was a snob before, so what’s she going to be like now? Will she expect us to curtsey to her and pull our forelock?’ Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘How do you know all this anyway?’

  ‘She asked Bessie if she’d mind Amelia for two hours each night, ’cos working full-time she won’t be home until after six.’

  ‘Bessie didn’t agree, did she?’ Aggie tutted when she saw Rita nod. ‘She wants her bleeding bumps feeling! She does all the hard work while Miss Hoity-Toity walks around as though she owns the place? I know what I’d have done, I’d have told her to get lost and then thrown her out.’

  ‘Oh, and would yer have thrown young Amelia out as well?’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t, she’s only a kid. Yer can’t blame her for having a stuck-up madam for a mother. I feel heartily sorry for the poor blighter.’

  ‘So does Bessie, and that’s the only reason she’s agreed to mind her. She really loves that kid, and she’s not half looking forward to having her for those two hours. Don’t forget, Bessie hasn’t got no family. She’ll show that girl more love than her own mother does. Already she’s talking about playing Snakes and Ladders and Ludo, and taking her to the park so she can have a go on the swings. That will have to be kept quiet, though, ’cos the queer one doesn’t like the girl to play with the children round here. As yer say, Aggie, she’s a bloody snob, but that doesn’t mean we have to take it out on young Amelia whose life is miserable anyway.’ Rita knew how to bring her friend round to her way of thinking. ‘Anyway, I told Bessie I’d give her all the help I can, ’cos I’ve felt really sorry for the poor mite since the day they moved in across the street. That will be my good deed, and I’m sure God will chalk it up to me.’

  ‘Ye’re a crafty sod, Rita Wells, yer must think I’m as thick as two short planks. I’m supposed to say now that I’ll be delighted to help, aren’t I? Just so I’ll get in His good books up in heaven.’ Aggie pressed her thumbs into the fat around her elbows, leaving deep hollows. ‘The way I look at it, we’ve lived next door to each other in this street for about fourteen years or thereabouts and never really had a falling out. So what I say is, if yer’ve got good neighbours then hang on to them. Which boils down to me saying I’ll help with the young girl, as long as I don’t have to get involved with her mother, ’cos I know that sooner or later I’d end up flopping her one. Yer can tell Bessie I’m here if she wants me, and yer can also tell her I’ll keep me gob shut. And now that little matter is settled to our mutual satisfaction, can I ask if yer have any influence in heaven?’

  ‘No more than anyone else, sunshine, I just do the best I can in life. The only sin I ever commit is telling a little white lie, and I’m sure I won’t have that held against me. I believe God is very fair-minded.’

  Aggie wrinkled her nose and swung her head from side to side, her chubby cheeks wobbling. ‘It doesn’t sound very promising, that, girl, ’cos it means yer can’t put in a good word for me. What yer could do for me, and it won’t cost yer nothing only a little breath, yer could casually bring my name up in yer prayers each night. That way He would get to know me.’

  ‘Why don’t yer say what yer want to in yer own prayers each night? It would be in your favour to do it personally.’ Rita saw a blush spread across Aggie’s face. ‘Aggie Gordon, yer don’t say any prayers, do yer? Well, shame on yer, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘I do say prayers, queen, cross my heart and hope to die. It’s just not every night, like what you do.’ Aggie put on the woebegone expression which to her friend was a sign that excuses were on the way. ‘Yer see, I’m so worn out by the time me head hits the pillow, I’m fast asleep before I know what’s happening. It’s hard going looking after a husband and two children, and doing the washing, ironing, cooking and shopping. I never seem to have a minute to meself.’

  Rita tutted. ‘It’s no good moaning to me ’cos yer won’t get any sympathy. Yer seem to forget I’ve got a husband and two kids, the same as you!’

  Aggie injected a whine into her voice, which she was very good at and did for fun. ‘Well it’s like this, yer see, queen. You don’t moan, so how can anyone give yer sympathy if they don’t feel sorry for yer? Me now, I can put on a miserable face and a crying voice, and before yer can say Jack Robinson, folk are asking what they can do to help. Yer should try it, ’cos it never fails for me.’

  Rita knew this was a load of rubbish, and thought she’d throw in some of her own to even things out. ‘And you’re daft enough to think people like yer and feel really sorry for the hard-done-by Aggie Gordon? That only shows how stupid yer are! Yer should hear what they’re saying behind yer back. Calling yer fit to burn, they are.’

  ‘Ye’re only making that up, Rita Wells, ’cos yer know the neighbours like me more than they do you, and ye’re jealous. And there’s nothing worse than jealousy. I can’t help it if I’m more popular than you are.’

  Rita looked at the clock. Another five minutes of this comedy and then she’d better be on her way and get some housework done. But she’d make good use of the five minutes, she couldn’t let her mate get the better of her. ‘Yer live in a dream world, Aggie, a little world of yer own. If yer’d heard what Mrs Sloane said about yer in the butcher’s last Thursday, it would have brought yer down to earth. Her and Mrs Johnson called yer for everything.’ Rita spread her hands. ‘I stuck up for yer though, sunshine, ’cos I couldn’t stand there and let them pull me best mate to pieces.’

  Aggie’s arms appeared like magic from beneath her bosom to press upon the table. ‘When did yer say this was, queen?’

  ‘It was last Thursday morning, about half-eleven. I’m so sure of the day and time, ’cos I remember wondering how I was going to manage two days on the tanner I had in me purse.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I remember that now, ’cos I had a penny more than you did!’ Aggie rubbed two fingers on each of her temples and closed her eyes, imitating the actions of a gypsy who came to the street about once a year to ask if she could read their fortunes for a penny. The women in the street had got together and said if she would only charge a ha’penny, then they’d all have their fortunes told.

  Aggie began to groan. ‘Oh, yeah, it’s all coming clear now, I was standing next to someone – I can’t clearly make the face out, but I think it’s my neighbour and best friend … Rita Wells. We were in the butcher’s together waiting to be served.’ She frowned as though deep in concentration. ‘But I can’t see Mrs Sloane or Mrs Johnson, and I can’t feel their presence. Oh, it’s all fading now, my mind is going blank.’ She fell back in the chair, seemingly worn out by the experience. ‘Oh, I do feel drained.’ Then a smile spread across her chubby face. ‘That was good, that, wasn’t it, girl? Passed a bit of time away.’

  ‘Anybody listening to us would think we were two sheets to the wind, yer know that, don’t yer?’ Rita pushed her chair back. ‘I’m glad I got someone as daft as meself for a neighbour ’cos it adds a bit of spice to me life. But I’m going to love yer and leave yer now, and get me dishes washed and the grate cleaned out. The washing has been steeping all night in the dolly tub, so the worst of the dirt will be out. I’ll have a bash with the dolly peg for a few minutes, then rinse the clothes, put them through the mangle and have them on the line in no time. There’s a bit of a blow out, so they should be ready for ironing tonight.’

  Aggie put her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up. ‘What time will yer be ready for the shops? Say half-eleven?’

  ‘That’s fine, sunshine, I’ll give yer a knock as near to that as I can. And don’t sit down again when I’m gone, get cracking on yer housework.’

  Aggie stood to attention, as did her bosom, and saluted. ‘Aye, aye, sir! Three bleeding bags full, sir!’

  Over the years since her fall from grace Evelyn had made the most of the clothes she had. No one would have guessed on the M
onday morning when she entered the office that her coat and dress were years old, and that she’d spent the weekend sponging and pressing them. She was an attractive woman, with an eye-catching figure. Buoyed up with newfound confidence she walked with the air of a woman who knew what she wanted in life and intended to have it. And adding to her feeling of well-being was the news that Mr Simon had decided that as Miss Saunders would be spending a lot of time in his office over the next two weeks, making sure that everything was up-to-date for his nephew to take over, her office could be assigned to Mr Philip and his new private secretary. He would, of course, have to spend some time with his uncle, familiarising himself with those clients who were important to the firm, but several hours a day could be spent getting his secretary used to his way of working. Although Evelyn kept her cool exterior when told the news, she was gloating inside.

  Philip Astbury was already in his temporary office when Evelyn opened the door. He was sitting in a leather swivel chair, smartly dressed as usual and wearing a satisfied grin. He jumped to his feet when she entered and waved to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He was congratulating himself on being so lucky in having been handed such a stunning-looking woman to work for him. He was sure they were going to get on very well together. ‘Good morning, Mrs Sinclair. My Uncle Simon has kindly given us the use of this office until such time as he and Miss Saunders finally retire. Jolly thoughtful of him, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Extremely generous.’ Evelyn placed her handbag at the side of the chair, took her time over sitting down, and once seated crossed one slender leg over the other. It was done deliberately to catch his attention, and she smiled inwardly as she saw his eyes following the movement. ‘We must show our gratitude by taking full advantage of his kind offer.’ She bent down to take a note-pad from her bag. ‘I have been practising my shorthand over the weekend and feel I have made real progress. Perhaps you would like to dictate a letter to an imaginary client, to test my speed?’ She lowered her eyelids seductively and said softly, ‘You see, I aim to please.’

  ‘Oh, I have no doubt I shall be well pleased, Mrs Sinclair.’ Philip sat up straight and leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘So, this letter to an imaginary client. Shall we begin?’

  Evelyn had her pencil poised in readiness. ‘May I crave your indulgence, Mr Philip, and ask that you do not dictate too quickly? Otherwise I shall become very embarrassed and my hand will shake. Now, can I have the name and address of the client, please?’

  His eyes shining with laughter, Philip said, ‘How about my writing to a certain charming lady by the name of Evelyn Sinclair, to ask if she would do me the honour of having lunch with me today? I’m sure Uncle Simon would not be too upset if he were to lunch alone at his club, and it would give you and me a chance to get better acquainted?’

  Although her heart was fluttering, and she would indeed be delighted to dine with such an attractive man, Evelyn let her head rule. To rush into anything would be completely the wrong thing to do with a man who was obviously very fond of getting his own way with the female sex. The thought of a nice meal in one of the finest restaurants was tempting, but Evelyn was aiming higher than a few stolen moments.

  ‘I really don’t think so, Mr Philip.’ She met his eyes and held them. ‘I think we should keep our relationship on a strictly boss and secretary basis.’ Head bent slightly, and eyelids fanning her cheeks, she said softly, ‘At least, for the time being.’

  ‘Oh, and how long is for the time being? It could be anything from a moment to a year or more. Would you really be so cruel to your new boss?’

  ‘That is the problem, Mr Philip, don’t you see? It is because you are my boss that I must not be seen to be taking advantage of you by flirting. Perhaps when we know each other better we will be able to meet away from the office and the gossiping.’

  ‘Is that a promise I can hold you to, Mrs Sinclair?’

  Evelyn was very sure of this because she had lain awake in bed last night planning the whole operation. And so far it was working just as she had planned. ‘Yes, Mr Philip, that is a promise you can hold me to. And I’ll see if it can be arranged in the not too distant future.’ Lifting her pad, she said, ‘Now, can we proceed with the letter to the imaginary client, please?’

  That evening, as she sat on the tram on her journey home, Evelyn told herself she must somehow find the money for new clothes if she was to make a real impression on a man-about-town like Mr Philip. His family were almost as rich as the Lister-Sinclairs, very well known in the higher social circle. The dress she had on today was dark blue, knee-length, and showed off her figure to perfection. It had cost a fortune when new, and she had certainly had her money’s worth out it. She also had a deep maroon one, also well-cut and fitting her very well. But two working dresses were not enough; she really needed another two, at least. Her mind went to the large trunk in her bedroom which was filled to the brim with fine silk dresses, long and short, several silk and satin shoulder capes, feather boas, costume jewellery, shoes made of the softest leather, and several wide-brimmed hats. None of these had been out of the trunk since Charles had gone off to war, for with his death had come an end to her social life. Nothing in that trunk was any good for day wear, but she was sure there would be something suitable that she could wear to go out for an evening meal with Mr Philip. She’d go through the trunk tonight, after Amelia had gone to sleep. Thinking of her brought a frown to Evelyn’s face. How could she get ahead in life when her daughter would always be holding her back? For Evelyn was under no illusion about her new boss. The admiration and desire in his eyes would soon disappear if he found out she had a seven-year-old daughter.

  Evelyn saw her tram stop looming up, and made her way down the aisle to the platform. As she waited for the tram to come to a shuddering halt, she reminded herself that her daughter would be eight a week on Saturday, and was having tea with Miss Maudsley then. This gave birth to an idea of how she could manage an evening being wined and dined by Mr Philip. Stepping down on to the pavement, Evelyn told herself it would be simple enough to find an excuse for asking her neighbour if she would allow Amelia to stay with her until ten o’clock. After all, there would be no school the next day so the girl could have an extra hour in bed. Oh, there would be a way around it, she was sure. There had to be if she were ever to get out of the working-class rut she was in.

  While her mother was thinking of ways to off-load her daughter on to her neighbour, Amelia was in Bessie’s kitchen helping to dry the dishes. Her pretty face was flushed with laughter. Oh, the last two hours had been the happiest of her life! Miss Bessie was so funny, and it was a nice change not to have to worry about what she said. ‘I can come tomorrow, can’t I, Miss Bessie? We can play Snakes and Ladders again, and you won’t have to let me win ’cos I know how to play it now.’

  ‘Of course yer can come, sweetheart, it’s been a pleasure having someone to talk to and laugh with.’ Bessie handed a plate over to be dried. ‘I usually talk to the fireplace, and though we get on fine, there’s not much fun when yer never get an answer to a question.’

  Amelia’s chuckle filled the tiny kitchen. ‘You don’t really talk to the fireplace, do yer, Miss Bessie?’

  She kept the smile on her face, but groaned inside. Already there were signs of a Scouse accent creeping into the girl’s voice, and her mother would not be very happy about that. But Her Ladyship couldn’t put all the blame on Bessie, for the girl had been telling Bessie about the friends she’d made at school, and how she played with them in the playground. It was a dead cert they all had accents you could cut with a knife. ‘Don’t lose that nice way of speaking yer have, sweetheart, or yer mother will think it’s my fault and have me life. It’s no good saying I’ll learn to speak posh, ’cos I’m too old to change the habits of a lifetime even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I believe everyone should be natural, and not try and change themselves to please other folk.’

  ‘My friends all speak like you, Miss Bessie, and I do when I�
��m in school. Only not in front of my mother because she’s very strict.’

  Bessie took her hands from the soapy water and pulled the plug out of the sink. As she watched the water running away, she thought what a sad life this young child had. In a roundabout way, when they were playing board games, she had asked what games Amelia had at home. Her face as innocent as a new-born babe’s, the child had answered that her mother didn’t believe in games, they were a waste of time. She was set homework to do by her mother apparently, and not allowed to leave the table until it was completed and every question right.

  ‘I think I heard the latch on the entry door open, sweetheart, so yer mother must be here for yer,’ Bessie told her now.

  The expression on Amelia’s face changed completely, from a happy little girl’s to that of someone afraid they are going to be reprimanded for doing something wrong. ‘Don’t forget to tell my mother I’ve been good, and ask if I can come again tomorrow?’

  This was all that could be said before the knock came on the door. ‘Come in, Mrs Sinclair,’ Bessie called. ‘Your daughter has been helping me wash and dry our dishes. I hope yer don’t mind me giving Amelia some dinner, do yer? It just means me cooking a bit extra, but if you have any objection then I’ll just give her a cup of tea and she can wait until you come home for her meal.’

  No matter what Bessie had asked, Evelyn would have agreed. She needed this little woman, for she had no friends she could call on to mind her daughter. ‘That is extremely kind of you, Miss Maudsley, and I do hope Amelia was gracious in her thanks.’ Her voice was so sickly sweet, Bessie turned her head away. If it weren’t for the girl, and her affection for her, she would have told this false, lying snob to go to hell.

  ‘Amelia has been a pleasure to have as a guest. She is very polite, doesn’t answer back or give cheek, and we get on very well together.’ And for good measure, she added, ‘And her table manners are impeccable.’ That was a big word for Bessie, who felt like sticking out her tongue and telling Her Ladyship she wasn’t the only one who could get her tongue around big words and know the meaning of them. ‘If you still want me to mind her for two hours every night I’ll be delighted, and I’ll give her a meal.’