by Joan Jonker
John didn’t even bother to answer. Instead he asked, ‘How many hours does Mildred work and how much does she get?’
Maureen was now looking decidedly flustered. ‘Five hours a day, unless I’m having guests for dinner, then it could be eight hours.’
‘All those hours for a cleaner just for this place?’ John tried to keep control of his temper. ‘Do you ever do any work yourself, Maureen – or is that a stupid question?’ He saw his wife was trying desperately to think of something convincing. ‘Don’t bother, Maureen, I’ve been married to you for ten years and have never yet seen you do a tap. Anyway, how much a week does Mildred get?’
She coughed nervously. ‘Two pounds a week. But she does put a lot of hours in, and she’s a good cleaner.’
John wondered how long he could keep a rein on his anger. He had nothing against Mildred, she was a nice woman and a good worker. But she wasn’t a poor woman; her husband had a decent job. She didn’t need two pounds a week! No wonder she dressed well – a fact in her favour so far as his wife was concerned. She wouldn’t have anyone coming to the house who, in her eyes, looked scruffy.
Without conscious thought, Ada Perkins came to John’s mind. If she got two pound a week she’d consider herself rich. But John didn’t use her to press home his point. ‘I have collectors working for me who have big families to provide for and they don’t take home much more than your cleaner’s getting. From now on, Mildred will work three hours a day and no more. And her wages will be one pound a week.’
‘I’m not standing for that! Have you gone out of your mind? What am I supposed to do if I have a dinner party?’
‘That’s entirely up to you. If you require Mildred’s services at night, then you do without her during the day. Or have you forgotten how to make a bed?’
‘Something’s happened today to put you in a bad temper,’ Maureen said, keen to get away. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning when you’re more rational.’
‘I haven’t finished yet, so you’d better sit down.’ His tone brooked no argument and Maureen quickly seated herself. ‘I’m also cutting your clothing allowance. You will no longer have a credit account at Cripps or any of the other stores.’ He heard her sharp intake of breath but carried on. ‘In future you will ask me for any money you want for clothes or household items. I won’t be miserly with you, far from it, but your free-spending days are over and you’ve only yourself to blame. For ten years you’ve treated me like a stranger in my own home. The only use you had for me was my money, which you have spent without a thought of where it came from. You have never once asked how my business was doing because as long as the money was there you didn’t care.’
John stood and looked down on his wife, who was dumbstruck. ‘One thing more. Tonight was the last time you humiliate me in front of your so-called friends. And by the way, just out of curiosity, have you never wondered why these friends of yours never invite you to their homes?’
He reached the door and turned. ‘In future when you’re having guests I’ll stay the night at my flat.’
Chapter Ten
‘Hello, Grandma!’ Polly kissed the old woman’s nose, and with a cheeky grin whispered in her ear, ‘Close yer legs, everyone can see yer bloomers.’
‘Right,’ said Sarah Jane, making no effort to cover her indignity, ‘put a penny on all the flowers. If they’re gettin’ a peepshow thrown in, it’ll cost a bit more.’
‘I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do with you,’ Polly said, her curls swinging as she shook her head. ‘Our neighbour, me Auntie Dolly, would call yer a shameless hussy.’ She put a hand on each of Sarah Jane’s knees and pushed them together. ‘There, that’s better.’
‘I can’t sit like this all day, all prim an’ proper like a ruddy school-teacher! Anyway, I’m not comfortable, an’ I can’t sit not bein’ comfortable for hours on end.’
‘Then pull the legs of yer bloomers up, they’re round yer ankles.’
‘The ruddy elastic has gone, they won’t stay up.’ The old lady bent down and fumbled under her skirt. ‘There, if I don’t move they’ll stay like that an’ no one will see them.’
‘We should be busy today without your little peepshow,’ Polly said. ‘The sun’s goin’ to shine an’ everyone will be comin’ into town.’
Sarah Jane gave her toothless smile as she gazed up at the girl whom she’d grown very fond of over the last six months. ‘We don’t need the sun when we’ve got that sunny smile of yours. It’s that that sells me flowers, girl, make no mistake.’
‘Go on, yer old flatterer.’ Polly took off her coat and folded it before laying it on the ground beside the stool. ‘I’ll get the flowers sorted out, then yer can tell me the prices.’ She was a dab hand at arranging the flowers now and could have the stall set out in no time. And she loved the job. Particularly now with the wide variety of summer flowers. ‘Ooh, I love these red roses, they look like velvet.’
‘The ones yer holdin’ are threepence a bunch. The others, the ones just in bud, yer sell them single at tuppence each ’cos they’ll last a long time.’ Sarah Jane grimaced as she rubbed her knees. ‘Me ruddy legs are givin’ me gyp today; it took me all me time to get out of bed this mornin’.’
Polly was at once concerned. ‘If yer feel like goin’ home, Grandma, I can manage on me own. I could give Auntie Mary the money an’ she could take it to your house.’
‘No, I’ll be all right. It’s just that I like to moan now an’ again just to let people know I’m still alive. Anyway, if I went home I’d only be starin’ at the four bare walls until it was time to go to the pub.’ Sarah Jane’s laugh was so loud and hearty most of the flower-sellers stopped what they were doing to listen. ‘When I was a young girl an’ didn’t feel like goin’ to work, I used to try an’ pull a fast one on me mother. I’d lie in bed moanin’, sayin’ I had a belly-ache or a sore throat. But I don’t know why I bothered because I never got away with it. She’d drag me out of bed by me ear an’ say if I was fit to go dancin’, then I was fit to go to work.’
‘My God, you’ve got a bloody good memory, Sarah Jane!’ Florrie shouted, laughing as she waved a bunch of iris. ‘That must be all of a hundred years ago!’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Florrie.’ Sarah Jane took after her mother in at least one respect. No one ever got the better of her. ‘You should know ’cos yer were there, weren’t yer, girl?’
‘Yer cheeky sod!’ Florrie laughed good-naturedly and went back to her flower-arranging while she tried to think of a witty reply.
Polly’s first customer bought two bunches of roses and after that business became brisk. As she’d predicted, the warm sunny weather had brought the people out in large numbers and the city was bustling. Many just wanted to get out of the house and had only come to window shop, but their presence added to the happy atmosphere.
‘Those rose buds are not goin’, Grandma. I haven’t sold one yet.’ Polly handed over the twopence she’d taken for a bunch of sweet william. ‘I think they’re too dear. As soon as I tell anyone the price they pull a face an’ shake their head.’
Sarah Jane rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sellin’ them off cheap, Polly. I’ve got to get back what I’ve paid for them an’ make a bit of profit. What yer could do, if a woman has a husband with her, is work yer charm on him. Tell him he’d look very handsome with one in his buttonhole.’
Polly looked doubtful. To have a buttonhole you had to have a suit, and none of the men in her street possessed a suit. Most of them had jackets which they wore with odd trousers. And like her dad’s, they usually came from a second-hand stall at the market. She couldn’t imagine any of them walking down the street with a flower in their lapel, even if they were given one free. But it would be such a shame if they didn’t sell because they really were beautiful.
Polly picked a stem out of the bucket and was admiring it when she saw a smartly dressed man approaching. He seemed to be in a hurry but there was no harm in trying. She stepp
ed from behind the array of buckets and when he was almost on top of her, she moved into his path. ‘Buy a lovely flower, mister, for yer buttonhole?’
He brushed past her, seemingly oblivious to her presence, but after half a dozen paces he slowed down and turned his head. ‘I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?’
Scenting a customer, Polly ran towards him, the rose in her outstretched hand. ‘Would yer like to buy a flower, please, mister? Only tuppence, an’ it would look lovely in yer buttonhole.’
The man turned and came towards her, his eyes quickly taking in the scruffy shoes and the shabby clothing. It was only when he was facing her and saw the mass of curly hair framing a smiling visage that the beauty of the rose was put in the shade. ‘You’re very young to be selling flowers, aren’t you? Are you with someone?’
Polly’s first thought was that he was a School Board official. Then she remembered it was Saturday, so she was safe. ‘I’m helpin’ me grandma ’cos she’s not well.’
‘I see.’ The man looked down at the flower. ‘How much did you say it was?’
‘Tuppence, mister. But it’s worth it ’cos it isn’t opened up yet an’ will last a long time.’
The man’s lips curved at the corners but he kept the smile at bay. ‘If you’ll make the stem shorter, I’ll take one.’
‘Oh, thank you, mister! I won’t be a tick.’ Polly nearly knocked a bucket flying in her haste to get to Sarah Jane. ‘How short shall I make it?’
‘Three inches, just enough so it won’t stick out of the side of his lapel.’ The old lady winked. ‘Nice goin’, girl.’
‘There yer are, mister.’ Polly pushed the end of the stem through his buttonhole and stepped back. ‘Yer look dead posh an’ dead handsome.’
At this, the man’s smile broke through. ‘If it makes me look handsome then it is indeed worth the money because it must be magic.’ His hand was in his pocket jingling the coins there, when he asked, ‘Do you have any decent wrapping paper? If you have I’ll take half a dozen as a present for my wife.’
Polly’s face fell. ‘We haven’t, mister. Not nice enough for what you want it for. I’d run to Woollies an’ get a piece for yer, but I can’t leave the stall.’ She looked dejected at losing the sale. ‘It’s a shame ’cos …’ she almost said because they hadn’t been selling well, but caught the words back just in time and replaced them with, ‘I’m sure yer wife would like them.’
‘I’ll be passing again in about an hour. Perhaps you’ll have been able to purchase the wrapping paper by then?’
Irish Mary had been keeping a watchful eye. The man looked very respectable but you never could tell. She walked over and stood next to Polly. ‘We’ll have them ready for you, sir. In an hour, did you say?’
The man nodded. ‘I’m meeting a colleague in the Athenaeum Club around the corner. I’ll be at least an hour.’
Irish Mary nodded. ‘They’ll be ready for you, sir.’
The man took a handful of change from his pocket. Looking directly at Polly, he asked, ‘Let’s see now, how much will seven at twopence each be?’
‘One an’ tuppence, of course.’ Fancy that, thought Polly. Dressed up like a toff and he can’t add up!
‘Here’s one and six.’ He handed the coins over. ‘That should cover the cost of the paper as well. Any change, buy yourself some sweets.’
‘Oh, thank you, mister!’
Sarah Jane was beside herself with delight. Watching Polly, and the way she had with people, was better than going to the pictures. ‘The paper will only be a ha’penny, girl, so yer’ve made yerself a threepence ha’penny tip! How about that, eh?’
‘Yes, me darlin’, yer did very well.’ Irish Mary gave her a quick, noisy kiss. ‘It’s daft I must have been to let Sarah Jane have yer. I should have kept yer for meself.’
‘Could I have two of the roses instead of the money, Grandma?’ Polly asked. ‘Me mam can take them to the hospital with her tomorrow an’ give them to me dad.’
Sarah Jane turned her head. This young girl didn’t have a selfish bone in her body. The sole was hanging off her shoe, she wasn’t wearing any socks today, which meant she didn’t have any, she handed all her money over to her mother, and now when she had a bit extra which she could have spent on herself, she wanted to use in on flowers for her dad. ‘I’ll buy one for him as well.’ The old woman blinked away a tear. ‘After all, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be lookin’ forward to me Saturday night out ’cos I’d be stony broke. And three roses will look better than two.’
‘Make that four,’ Irish Mary said. ‘Sure, I’ll not be lettin’ Sarah Jane get the better of me, that I’ll not.’
Polly’s smile couldn’t have been wider. She knew this morning when she got out of bed that it was going to be a good day, and how right she’d been.
Charles Denholme walked away bemused. What on earth had come over him? The last thing his wife needed was more flowers … the house was full of them! It was the girl who’d caught his eye. It was obvious by her clothes that the family were as poor as church mice, but even when she was asking him to buy a twopenny flower there was nothing subservient in her manner. When she spoke she looked you in the eye as an equal. And she was so unaffected, she didn’t realise she was prettier than the flowers she was selling. By Jove, it would do his two children good to swap places with her for a week. Perhaps then they’d appreciate what they had and not take it for granted.
He walked through the doors of the Athenaeum Club and as he looked around for his colleague, he was thinking that if she was dressed in decent clothes and had some elocution lessons, that little lady would hold her own in any company.
Ada turned into Faulkner Square on the run. The offices closed at twelve-thirty on a Saturday and usually she met Aggie at half-five, like the other nights. But last night Aggie had asked if she’d come early so they’d be finished about half-three and she could have a lie down until it was time to go to the pub. But it had been one mad rush for Ada after she finished her morning job. Running home on the double so Polly could go out, then tidying up and getting the washing on the line before seeing to Joey. Then she had to get some shopping in or they’d have had nothing in the house to eat. It’s a good job it wasn’t Saturday every day, she’d never be able to keep up the pace.
Aggie opened the door, heard Ada’s hard breathing and pulled her inside. ‘Yer shouldn’t have rushed, girl. Yer’ll be doin’ yerself an injury if yer keep that up.’
Ada leaned against the wall. ‘It’s yer fault! You an’ yer ruddy pub, yer’ll be the death of me!’
‘Hold yer horses now, girl, ’cos yer’ll be singin’ a different tune in a minute.’ Aggie tapped the side of her nose. ‘Who is it that thinks so much of her mate she’d come in an hour early an’ get started on the work? Go on, just tell me.’
Ada chuckled. ‘Agnes Theresa Connelly, who else?’
‘Right first time! I wasn’t very popular with the staff, mind you. They didn’t like me chasing them while I did under their desks. Still, I redeemed meself by makin’ them a nice cup of tea an’ worming me way back into their good books.’ Aggie took hold of Ada’s arm and pulled her along the hall. ‘I’ve got the kettle on the boil so we can have a quick cuppa.’
‘Aggie, yer an angel.’
‘I know that, girl. Them’s not me shoulder blades stickin’ out of me back, I’ll have yer know – it’s me ruddy wings! Anyway, all the ground floor’s done. So when we’ve had a drink an’ yer get yer second wind back, I’ll start on the next floor an’ you can do Mr John’s place. We can be finished in an hour.’
After working there for five months Ada was used to the routine and knew the house like the back of her hand. She started on the stairs up to the top floor, then the landing followed by Mr John’s sitting room and his bedroom. He often left clothes lying around and she was no longer shy about putting them away in drawers or hanging them in the wardrobe. As she handled the fine materials, she found herself wondering why he kept su
ch a selection there. But she reminded herself that he was a busy man, and if he needed to change during the day it made sense to have the clothes on hand rather than have to travel home.
Ada had left Mr John’s office until the last and she was on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace when he came in unexpectedly. ‘Oh yer gave me a fright!’ she gasped. ‘I wasn’t expectin’ yer.’
He was immediately apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Perkins. Agnes told me you were here and I did whistle on my way up the stairs. Obviously I didn’t whistle loud enough.’
‘It’s me own fault, I was miles away.’ Ada sat back on her heels. ‘I’m goin’ in to see me husband temorrer an’ I’m always a bit on edge the day before.’
John walked around his desk and was about to sit down when he noticed the hole in the sole of Ada’s shoe. He dropped his eyes quickly, not wanting to embarrass her. ‘I should think your husband is out of danger now, surely?’
Ada shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s a hell of a lot better than when he went in; he could hardly hold his head up then, or even speak. But he’s still in what they call isolation because of the disease being catching. I mean, they won’t let the kids go in to see him. But they take him out in the hospital grounds so he gets plenty of fresh air.’
John nodded, trying to keep his eyes off the sole of her shoe. ‘He will pull through, Mrs Perkins, it will just take time.’
‘Yeah, about another eighteen months!’ Ada threw the floor cloth into the bucket of water. ‘Eighteen months … sounds like a lifetime.’
‘They won’t let him home until they’re absolutely sure he’s clear of it, and that’s not only for his sake, but also for you and the children.’
‘Yeah, I know, Mr John.’ Ada went back to polishing the fireguard. ‘I keep tellin’ meself I should count meself lucky, ’cos he was awful sick an’ I really thought he was goin’ to die. But it gets lonely without him. The kids are good, but it’s not like having a man to cuddle up to.’
