by Joan Jonker
‘If you think you’ve got problems, what about me with our Steve? I can’t get short trousers to fit him! He’s gone out today in the first pair of long kecks he’s ever worn. They’re a pair his dad got on his round an’ they fit him a treat.’
‘He can’t wear long trousers for school, though. They won’t allow it, will they?’
‘Nah.’ Dolly clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. ‘But the pair he’s got on today are the pair he’ll be wearin’ to school on Monday, whether he likes it or the school likes it. It’s not worth buying him any more short trousers, he’ll be startin’ work after Christmas.’
‘Ah, don’t let the lad get into trouble with his headmaster.’
‘He’ll not get into trouble, don’t worry. I’m goin’ to chop the legs off the trousers at the knees, put a hem on, an’ no one will know any difference.’
‘Yer a crafty beggar, Dolly Mitchell.’
‘Thanks, girl.’
‘Hello, Mr Denholme.’ Polly gave a wide smile to the man she considered one of her regular, twice a week, customers. ‘Is it a rose today, or will yer have a carnation?’
‘I’ll let you choose, Polly.’
‘A carnation,’ Polly said without hesitation. She tilted her head and closed one eye as she inspected him. ‘Seein’ as yer wearing a grey suit, I think a pink one will be best.’ She glanced to where Sarah Jane was looking on with interest. ‘What do you think, Grandma?’
‘You’re a better judge than me, girl,’ Sarah Jane cackled. ‘My taste is in me … er … in me … er …’ The old woman was stuck. If she said ‘backside’ in front of the toff, Polly would have her guts for garters. But she couldn’t think of a word to replace it with so she said, ‘I’ve got no taste, yer know that.’
Polly was dying to laugh but she kept her face straight. She’d laugh about it tonight when she was telling her mam that it was the first time she’d seen Sarah Jane stuck for words. ‘Right, pink it is then.’ She pushed the shortened stem through his buttonhole and pulled it down behind his lapel. ‘There yer are, an’ very nice yer look too.’
Going through the change in his hand, Charles Denholme asked, ‘Is the lady really your grandmother, Polly?’
‘No.’ Polly took his threepenny bit. ‘But I wish she was ’cos I love the bones of her.’
‘And that boy, the one standing at the back – I’ve seen him here a few times lately, but he’s always been in short trousers before. Is he your brother?’
‘No, me brother’s only five!’ Polly’s infectious laugh rang out. ‘That’s Steve Mitchell, he lives next door to me. During the school holidays he’s been comin’ down to give a hand clearin’ away.’
‘Ah, a secret boyfriend, eh?’
Again her laugh rang out. ‘I’m too young to have a boyfriend, but Steve’s me very best mate.’ She could see several people who seemed interested in the flowers and Polly didn’t want to lose a customer. ‘I’ll ’ave to go, Mr Denholme, but I’ll see yer again, I hope?’
‘Yes, of course, Polly.’ Doffing his bowler hat first to Polly, and then to Sarah Jane, Charles went on his way.
‘If he wasn’t old enough to be yer dad, I’d think he fancied yer,’ Sarah Jane called.
‘Don’t be daft, Grandma, he’s just a nice man. A real gent, that’s what he is.’
Steve had also been watching with interest. He marvelled at Polly’s ability to get on with people. Rich or poor she treated everyone alike. The old lady who’d asked her to split a bunch of flowers because she could only afford a penny got the same friendly treatment as that toff in the bowler hat who spoke as though he had a plum in his mouth. Polly was good with folk, there was no doubt about that. And she was a good mate, better than any of the boys in the street. Look how she’d got him this little job for during the summer holidays. It wasn’t really a job, he just helped the women empty their buckets and brushed the pavement when they’d cleared everything away. He only got threepence a day for it but it was better than hanging about in the street or kicking a ball around in the park. Just standing here watching was an eye-opener. The different expressions on the faces of people passing by, or listening to the flower-sellers laughing and cracking jokes with customers who tried to bargain them down, it was all new and exciting. He wouldn’t half miss it when school started. The only good thing about next Monday was that it was the start of the last four months of his schooldays.
Steve pushed his hands into the pockets of his long trousers. They didn’t half feel good on him and they fitted him perfect. He could see by his reflection in the window of a shop opposite that they made him look grown-up. He reckoned he looked at least sixteen.
When the day was over, the flower-sellers were in high spirits because it had been a good day. There was a lot of banter as they began to clear away, and with Steve’s willing hands to help them they were finished and on their way home in no time. Only Sarah Jane and Irish Mary were left with the two youngsters.
‘Are yer goin’ to be able to get home on yer own, Grandma?’ Polly looked anxious when she saw the pain on the old woman’s face as she tried to walk.
‘Me legs are playin’ me up, girl, with sittin’ in the same position all day. But once I can get them movin’ I’ll be all right.’ Sarah Jane took a faltering step. ‘That’s the worst of growin’ old. All yer bits an’ pieces start to give up on yer.’
‘I’ll see her home, she doesn’t live far,’ Irish Mary said. ‘You two toddle off home.’
‘Are yer sure?’ Polly still looked anxious. ‘Me an’ Steve could take her.’
‘It’s only a stone’s throw, Polly, me darlin’, an’ she’ll be sittin’ in her rocking chair in no time at all, so she will.’ Mary held out her large wicker basket. ‘Would yer be after takin’ this for me? If I have me two hands free Sarah Jane can lean her weight on me.’
‘I could give her a piggy-back,’ Steve said, smiling. ‘I often give our Clare a piggy-back.’
Sarah Jane gave him a gentle push. ‘Ah, but your Clare doesn’t wear fleecy-lined bloomers, does she?’
Steve blushed. ‘I don’t know what she wears.’
‘Come on now,’ Mary said briskly. ‘Let’s get goin’ before yer have the poor lad not knowin’ where to put his face.’
So to Steve’s delight, he had Polly to himself on the walk home. ‘I’ll carry the basket, Polly.’
‘Thank yer kindly, sir.’ Every Saturday Polly bought a bunch of flowers for her mam to take into the hospital. Today she’d chosen carnations and she placed them carefully in the basket before handing it over. ‘Me dad will like those, they’ve got a lovely smell.’
Steve glanced sideways at her. She had a smile on her face and it struck him that he’d never seen her in a bad temper. Not like his sister, who was always throwing tantrums and moaning if she couldn’t get her own way. But Polly wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a cissie like most girls; she was one of the lads, mucked in with everything.
Steve swung his arm and puffed out his chest. He felt so proud in his long trousers, and Polly was a pretty girl to have walking by his side. In fact, he told himself, he’d never seen a prettier girl.
‘Have yer still got that marble, Polly?’
‘Of course I have!’ Polly looked surprised. ‘I told yer I’d always keep it to remind me of yer.’
Steve’s chest expanded a few inches. ‘I’ve still got the birthday card yer gave me. I’ll never throw that away.’ He wasn’t going to tell her the trouble he had keeping it a secret. Every Monday morning he had to take it out of his pillowcase and find a new hiding place for it. Monday was wash-day in their house, the day his mam changed the bedding. Still, like he told Polly, he’d never throw it away. ‘School again on Monday, Polly.’
‘Oh, don’t remind me. I dread it! But it’s all right for you – only four months before yer leave.’
‘Yeah, an’ it can’t come quick enough. I’ll be a workin’ man just after Christmas.’
‘Have yer made up yer
mind what yer want to be?’
‘Me dad doesn’t want me to go near the docks, said it’s not a steady job. He reckons I’d be better to try an’ get an apprenticeship in one of the trades. The wages would be lousy until I was twenty-one, but he said if yer’ve got a trade at yer fingertips then yer’ve likely got a job for life.’
‘He’s right.’ Polly nodded her head in agreement. ‘My dad hasn’t got a trade an’ he’s always regretted it.’ She went on quickly in defence of her father, ‘It wasn’t his fault, though, it was the war. He was learning woodwork, but he got called up at eighteen and never finished his apprenticeship. When he came back from the war he was too old to start again, and there were no jobs anyway.’
‘I think I’ll go in for plumbing. Me mam said there’ll always be work for plumbers as long as the water doesn’t dry up on us.’
Polly giggled. ‘That sounds just like your mam.’
‘I know it’s a few years off, but when I’m workin’ an’ I’ve got a few bob in me pocket, will yer come to the pictures with me, Polly?’
‘Of course I will.’ She gave him a dig in the ribs. ‘What picture shall we go an’ see?’
Ada was polishing the dressing table in John Roscoe’s bedroom when he came in to stand beside her. ‘I’ve got a very big favour to ask, but knowing how you dislike upsetting Agnes, I’m going to call her up and discuss the matter in front of you both.’ He smiled and raised his brows. ‘Does that meet with your approval?’
‘I only work here, Mr John, you’re the boss.’ Ada continued polishing the already gleaming dressing table. ‘Whatever you do is all right with me.’
‘Good!’ John went on to the landing and leaning over the curved bannister rail, called down, ‘Agnes, would you come up for a moment, please?’
Ada grinned when she heard Aggie puffing up the stairs, muttering loud enough for anyone to hear: ‘What the bleedin’ hell does he want now?’
Waiting on the landing, John gave a silent guffaw. As far as he was concerned, Agnes could call him fit to burn and get away with it. She’d been part of his life for so long, he regarded her as family. The only real family he had. He’d offered to set her up in a little house in any area she chose, and pay her a weekly allowance so she would never have to work again. But the old woman, as outspoken as ever, had told him precisely where he could put his money. She’d also told him she was grateful and loved him like a son. But Agnes Theresa Connelly had always worked to keep herself and would do so until the day she died.
Aggie reached the top stair and glared at him. ‘If yer must live at the top of the ruddy house, get a bleedin’ lift in!’
‘Get in, woman, and stop harping.’ John waved an arm towards his office. ‘In there, if you please.’ He turned to Ada who was trying hard to keep a straight face. She couldn’t believe the things Aggie got away with. No other boss would put up with it. ‘Ada, would you honour us with your presence?’
They entered the office together to find Aggie seated in John’s chair behind the desk. ‘Sod that for a joke, Mr John! Those bleedin’ stairs will be the death of me. Me heart’s poundin’ like mad an’ I can’t get me breath proper.’
‘Then just sit where you are, I’ll stand. Ada, you can perch on the corner of the desk.’
‘I’m all right, I’ll stand.’ Ada winked broadly at the old lady sitting in style behind the desk. ‘After all, I haven’t just walked up those you-know-what stairs.’
‘If you must blame someone for having to walk up those you-know-what stairs, then blame Ada,’ John said, rubbing his hands together and smiling. ‘Because you are head of the cleaning staff, she insists that no business is conducted without you being present.’
‘My God, what an education does for yer,’ Aggie huffed. ‘Teaches yer a lot of big words that yer feel yer have to use ’cos yer’ve learned them, and yer’d hate to think yer’d wasted yer time. But yer not half longwinded, Mr John. Get on with it, for God’s sake.’
‘I belong to a card school in the club I go to. Three friends and myself have been playing at the same table for years. On several occasions I have been invited to the home of my friends for a night of whist, but I have never returned their hospitality. I would like to do so now by inviting them here one night.’ He quirked an eyebrow at Agnes. ‘Am I being brief enough for you?’ When she nodded, he went on, ‘I would need to ask for your help in providing some refreshments. Nothing cooked or elaborate, just a selection of sandwiches and what-nots.’
‘Huh!’ Agnes growled. ‘Can yer imagine me waitin’ on anyone? They’d think yer were hard-up, Mr John, if they got an eyeful of me.’ There was affection in her eyes as she gazed at him. There was pity in her heart, too, but she wasn’t going to let that show. ‘I’ll give Ada a hand to make sandwiches and get things set out, but I’ll not wait on.’
‘Hey, hang on a minute!’ Ada cried. ‘I’ve never waited on in me life. I wouldn’t know what to do!’
‘There’s no “waiting on”, as Agnes calls it,’ John said. ‘Just serve a selection of light refreshments, a cup of coffee, then leave my friends and I to our own devices. We are all capable of pouring a glass of whisky, and that will be our liquid refreshment through to the early hours. You work an extra hour anyway, Ada, and that’s all the time I would need you for.’
He shouldn’t have to beg it of me, Ada thought, not after all he’s done for me. But she had grave doubts about what he was asking of her. All his friends would be rich, like himself. They’d expect someone more refined than her, and she didn’t want to let Mr John down. ‘I’d do it for yer, Mr John, willingly, but I’d only let yer down in front of yer friends. Yer need someone who’s used to that sort of thing – someone who can talk proper.’
Agnes jumped in here. ‘Ay, girl, there’s nowt wrong with the way you talk. Don’t ever run yerself down ’cos yer as good as the next one.’ She tutted loudly. ‘If I was a few years younger I’d do the ruddy job meself an’ wouldn’t give a sod what me laddo’s friends thought about me bleedin’ language.’
John rocked on his heels with laughter. ‘Agnes, my friends would be delighted with your language. They’re not snobs, they have a good sense of humour, and I’m sure they’d find your colourful version of the English language far more interesting than a game of whist.’
Ada was only half-listening to what was being said. She’d do it for him, she decided. She’d help him out like he’d helped her out. It wasn’t for her to question why his wife wasn’t doing the honours – that was his private life, away from Faulkner Square. But she’d do her damnedest not to let him down. All she had to do was smile and keep her mouth shut. And she had a decent dress to wear now, she wouldn’t be letting him down in that respect.
‘I’ll do it for yer, Mr John,’ Ada said, ‘as long as Aggie helps prepare and set out the food. But,’ her eyes twinkled with merriment, ‘if I fall flat on me face with a tray of butties in me hand, and shout, “Oh bleedin’ hell”, don’t say yer weren’t warned.’
Chapter Twelve
Ada walked to Faulkner Square in her working clothes, carrying a small case she’d borrowed from Dolly. The cheap case had seen better days and had originally come off Les’s rag cart, but it had come in useful today because it was carrying Ada’s maroon dress, carefully folded and wrapped in a piece of sheeting. She was wearing the only pair of shoes she possessed but they’d been blackened and polished until she could see her face in them.
‘I haven’t got any tea brewing,’ Aggie said when she opened the door. ‘I thought we’d best get crackin’ and have a drink later if we’ve got time.’
‘My nerves are a wreck,’ Ada told her. ‘I just hope I don’t make a show of meself.’
‘You won’t, girl! Mr John will see yer all right, so don’t worry.’ Aggie spoke with confidence. ‘Anyway, I came a bit early to make a start an’ I’ve nearly finished down here. It’s only had a quick flick of the duster, mind, but we can’t be expected to perform bleedin’ miracles.’
&n
bsp; ‘I’ll go straight up,’ Ada said, her hand on the bannister as she mounted the stairs. ‘I want the whole top floor shining for Mr John’s friends coming. Will you give the second floor a quick goin’ over, Aggie?’
‘That’s all it’s goin’ to get, girl – a quick goin’ over. I’ll be that ruddy quick the room won’t know it’s been done.’
They met up an hour later, both puffing with exhaustion. ‘If he makes a habit of this,’ Aggie panted, ‘he can get someone else in ’cos I’ve just about had it.’
‘Away with yer! Yer think the world of the man, yer’d never let him down.’
‘I know that, girl, an’ so does he, but it doesn’t do to say it out loud. An’ I’m so used to moaning, I can’t get out of the habit. In fact, if he didn’t hear me carryin’ on, Mr John would think I was ailing for somethin’. But yer right, I wouldn’t let him down as long as I was able to put one foot in front of the other. He’s never let me down, yer see, girl.’
Aggie moved away from the wall she’d been leaning against. ‘One of these days I’ll tell yer just how good he’s been to me, but tonight we haven’t got time. So let’s shake a leg an’ get those refreshments ready.’ As they walked to the back of the house where there was a small staff kitchen, Aggie muttered, ‘Bleedin’ toffs an’ their bleedin’ refreshments, they make yer sick. Why can’t they just have sarnies like the rest of us?’
Mr John had ordered all the foodstuff from Coopers. Everything was of the best quality. Ground coffee with an aroma that had Ada sniffing up in appreciation, boiled ham that made their mouths water, and smoked salmon that had Aggie pulling a face and saying it was a good job she wasn’t rich because she couldn’t stand the bleedin’ stuff.
The small delicate cakes were an eye-opener to Ada. As she placed them on the glass cake-stand she said, ‘I’ve never seen cakes like this. I wish the kids could see them.’
Aggie chuckled. ‘They don’t sell them round our way, either. There’d be no call for them ’cos they’re too flamin’ dear.’
