Christmas for the Shop Girls

by Joanna Toye

  There was no limousine, just the usual walk through the blackout for the two of them to the street of terraced houses where Jim lodged with Lily and her mum. Lily wanted to hear how he felt the show had gone – it was important for him that it had gone well.

  ‘Big thumbs-up,’ said Jim. ‘A lot of the audience were marking their programmes as you all tripped on and off, and Beryl was almost mobbed at the end.’

  ‘Really? That’s wonderful!’

  ‘And she was thrilled it wasn’t Gloria in her dress.’

  ‘I bet she was! And did Mr Marlow congratulate you? Or Robert? Or Evelyn Brimble?’

  ‘I didn’t see them afterwards. Evelyn buttonholed me beforehand, though, full of her and Robert’s wedding plans. Don’t know why she thought I’d be interested, but that’s one order Beryl won’t be getting. Evelyn’s got her dress already – well, it’s being made by some posh place in London.’

  Lily wrinkled her nose.

  ‘No loss. I shouldn’t think Beryl’d want to deal with that spoilt madam!’

  A car passed them with dipped and slitted headlights, but in the brief moment of illumination, Lily looked at Jim and saw him grimace. Lily knew he felt that in marrying the pampered and demanding Evelyn, Robert Marlow might be getting his just desserts. They both did.

  Jim’s connection with the Marlows, father and son, was complex. Cedric Marlow had been married to Jim’s mother’s sister – a fairy-tale story of the shop girl who’d married the boss. Both women were dead now, Elsie Marlow soon after giving birth to Robert, and Jim’s mother a few months ago, but all her life she’d been resentful of her sister’s higher status and there’d been no contact between the two families. Jim’s mum and his dad, a farmworker, had been very much the poor relations, the country cousins, but his father had been badly gassed in the Great War and the family had fallen on even leaner times. Jim had only come to work at the store after his mother had swallowed her pride and appealed to Cedric to give her boy a helping hand.

  Jim and his cousin Robert were both only children, but they couldn’t have been more different. Jim had started at the bottom, quite happily, and never mentioned, let alone traded on, the family connection – he’d got where he had by his own efforts. Robert had also been working at the store when Lily first started. Cedric had hoped that one day he’d take over the business, but Robert had repaid his trust with a delivery racket for favoured customers, Evelyn’s father Sir Douglas included. When the mucky business had been uncovered, thanks to Jim and Lily, Robert had still managed to come out of it smelling of roses: Sir Douglas had offered him a job in his Birmingham stockbroking firm, and the next thing anyone knew, Robert and Evelyn Brimble were engaged.

  That reminded Lily of the man she’d seen Robert talking to.

  ‘Did you see Robert with a bloke who looked a bit – well, almost spivvy?’

  ‘Chalk-stripe suit and a carnation?’

  ‘Do you know him? Who is he?’

  ‘Yes … well, no, but I’ve seen him somewhere, I can’t think where. Maybe he was just out of context. Most men are, at a fashion show.’

  ‘I suppose he came with his wife. Oh, well. None of our business.’

  They were nearly home and Lily suddenly felt exhausted. The evening was still playing out in her head, but it was going all blurry, one outfit merging into another. She yawned, loudly.

  Jim unhooked his arm from hers and put it round her shoulders.

  ‘Missing your limousine? Or your glass coach? Come on, Cinders, not far to go.’

  Thanks to Miss Frobisher, Lily had a lie-in next morning – she’d told her mum not to wake her – and by the time she came downstairs Dora was assembling her purse and string bag ready for the daily trip to the shops to see what, if anything, was on offer.

  ‘I hope what was left of that make-up hasn’t wiped itself all over your pillowslip!’ was her mother’s opening remark. ‘Clean on Monday, that was!’

  Dora Collins’s mouth had practically fallen open the previous evening when she’d seen Lily all primped and made-up and heard how it had come about. But, good mother that she was, she’d seen that Lily was exhausted, and instead of pressing her for details, had spared some of her precious Pond’s cream to get the worst of Lily’s war paint off before shooing her into bed.

  Now, over tea and toast, Lily relayed the whole story with relish, and Dora lapped it up. Small and trim, a thrifty housekeeper and a devoted mum, she lived for the children she’d brought up alone since their father had died.

  ‘Honestly!’ Dora exclaimed. ‘If I’d have thought when you started at Marlow’s you’d be getting up to that kind of caper – wait till you tell Sid and Reg!’

  Lily’s handsome, happy-go-lucky brother Sid was in London ‘with the Admiralty’ as Dora liked to say, though in reality it was a lowly clerking role after an injury in training had ruled him out of active service in the Navy. The elder one, Reg, on the other hand, was out in North Africa, a mechanic with the Eighth Army. He wasn’t the best letter-writer, which could mean weeks of worry. Letters were rare, and uninformative when they came, which wasn’t his fault – they were censored anyway. The family could only go on what they heard when they gathered every night round the crackly wireless. Reg, they assumed, was advancing steadily westwards with the so-called Desert Rats, set on driving Rommel and his Afrika Korps into the sea.

  Her mum was right, thought Lily – it’d be a nice change to have something to tell her brothers apart from a bit of feather-pecking in the hens they kept in the back yard, or that Gladys’s gran’s latest (imaginary) ailment was a ‘funny pain’ in her big toe.

  Dora suddenly noticed the hands of the mantelpiece clock.

  ‘The butcher’s making sausages!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d better get a wriggle on!’

  Lily stood up to take her plate and cup to the scullery.

  ‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘Back to reality!’

  Lily left her mum at the shops – the queue at the butcher’s was already curling round the corner – and made it onto the sales floor just in time to let Miss Temple, the older ‘salesgirl’ on Childrenswear, go off to her morning break.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Miss Frobisher.

  ‘Like a forest of logs!’

  Miss Frobisher smiled and nodded towards a customer hovering by the boys’ shirts. Lily knew what a nod from Miss Frobisher meant: enough of the small talk. She sped off to assist.

  When the customer had gone – she’d come out with the wrong book of coupons – Jim sidled over, looking mysterious.

  ‘I’ve had a message from upstairs,’ he began. He didn’t mean God, he meant the management floor, but it came to much the same thing. Lily’s eyebrows asked the question, and he went on: ‘No, not the old man – from Robert. He wants me to meet him. For lunch. Today.’

  Lily’s head poked forward in surprise.

  ‘What about?’

  Jim shrugged.

  ‘I’ll have to go to find out. One o’clock. At the White Lion, no less.’

  Chapter 4

  Lily had a lunch date herself as it happened, with Gladys and Beryl – not at the White Lion, but at Lyons. They usually favoured a small café called Peg’s Pantry but they were treating themselves so they could chew over the fashion show in a bit more luxury with their cheese on toast. Lily and Gladys had to get passes out to leave the store at dinnertime, and Beryl had decided she could probably risk shutting up shop for half an hour without losing any business.

  ‘It was a dream come true, Miss Frobisher in that frock,’ she said as they settled themselves at a table. ‘She carried it off beautiful. I wouldn’t have had half the enquiries I’ve had if it had been Gloria.’

  ‘It’s done you some good, then?’ asked Lily. Jim would be keen to know.

  ‘I’ll say! That dress alone’s been booked out six times before the end of the summer! And quite a few of my others! I can never thank Jim enough for getting me in that show. And I’ll tell you something else.
If Peter Simmonds isn’t sweet on Eileen Frobisher, then I’m a monkey’s auntie.’

  ‘No! Do you think so?’ This was Gladys.

  Lily smiled. Up on the catwalk, she’d easily picked out Gladys in the audience, eyes fixed, mouth slightly open, seeing nothing but her own wedding. Her fiancé, Bill, was in the Navy and his ship was on convoy duty – as far as they knew. But he was getting leave in the summer when his ship, the HMS Jamaica, was due for a refit, and he’d promised Gladys they’d be walking down the aisle.

  ‘Course he is!’ exclaimed Beryl. ‘His hands were shaking so much fumbling for his script he nearly knocked the microphone off his lectern. Couldn’t see what he was doing with his goo-goo eyes. Didn’t you notice, Lily?’

  ‘I did think he looked a bit odd.’ Lily had graced his look with a bit more dignity than ‘goo-goo eyes’ but it had certainly been something more than shock at the departure from the expected running order.

  ‘Ahhh, wouldn’t that be perfect?’ sighed Gladys. ‘He’s on his own, isn’t he, a broken engagement in his past, they say, and, well, if what we think is right – her husband’s not in the picture any more – it’d be lovely for her little boy to have a daddy.’

  Gladys wanted nothing more than happy endings for everyone. She’d even fantasised about a double wedding with Jim and Lily, who’d quickly put her right. She and Jim were very clear-sighted about their relationship, and their careers. They were far too young and they both wanted to go as far as they could at Marlow’s before any of that sort of stuff got in the way.

  The waitress approached, doing that clever waitress thing of balancing one of the plates on the heel of her hand. Lily looked at the thin skin of cheese and the thick slice of National Loaf – National Load, Jim called it, it was so heavy – and tried not to think of what lunch at the White Lion might be.

  ‘There’s no brown sauce.’ Gladys looked around but the waitress had gone.

  ‘You’ll have to pinch some off another table. If there is any.’ Beryl was already cutting into her food. ‘’Scuse me starting, but I’ve got to get back.’

  Gladys went off on the hunt for sauce. Lily sawed at her toast. Now she could ask what she’d been dying to know.

  ‘Did you see Robert Marlow there, Beryl? Did he see you?’

  It would have been their first encounter since Jim and Lily had caught him trying it on with Beryl in her shop, expecting her to sleep with him in exchange for waiving her rent.

  ‘He saw me all right!’ sniffed Beryl. ‘Looked away pronto, I can tell you, went and glued himself to Evelyn. As if I wanted to talk to him! I could have done, made things right awkward, but I didn’t want a scene, did I?’ She swallowed a large mouthful. ‘Did you see her suit though? Got to be Chanel.’

  ‘Chanel? French? Not very patriotic, is it?’

  ‘It’s a copy, more like. But a good copy.’ Beryl sighed. ‘I’d have had that off her back, no messing. But she’s welcome to him.’ She forked in another mouthful.

  ‘And vice versa,’ said Lily firmly. ‘She’s a proper little madam, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘They deserve each other then, don’t they?’ said Beryl, with her usual practicality. ‘At least they won’t be ruining two other people’s lives.’

  Lily refrained from saying that Robert stood a pretty good chance of ruining his life anyway, given how he carried on. And he deserved that too.

  Gladys came back disappointed.

  ‘Not a bottle in the place, I even asked at the servery. Beryl, you’re half finished! I want to hear all about who’s booked out which dress! And if you’ve found one for me yet!’

  ‘Sorry, Glad,’ said Beryl. ‘I’m on the lookout, but I haven’t seen the right dress for you yet. But I will, and with the money I’m going to be raking in after last night, I shall make sure it’s a stunner.’

  Gladys beamed.

  ‘And one for Lily too, don’t forget.’

  Beryl’s stock also included bridesmaid’s dresses and what she grandly termed ‘occasion wear’.

  ‘Yes, I’m not splashing my coupons on Number Sixty-Nine from Marlow’s,’ cautioned Lily. ‘Even for you, Gladys.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to!’ said Gladys. ‘But you did look nice in it.’

  ‘“Nice”? We’re not settling for nice!’ exclaimed Beryl. ‘Your wedding’s going to knock Evelyn Brimble’s into a cocked hat, Gladys, for all her six bridesmaids and her two pageboys and her fancy trousseau!’

  Gladys beamed again as Beryl laid down her knife and fork, but Lily knew it was about more than making sure their friend had a day to remember. It was Beryl’s way of showing Robert Marlow that she, and her shop, were doing just fine without any of his so-called ‘help’ with the rent.

  Beryl glugged down her glass of water and laid some coins on the table for her share of the bill and the tip.

  ‘I’ll love you and leave you,’ she said. ‘Back to business!’

  Lily smiled and Gladys waved her fork, both chomping their way through hefty chunks of cheese on toast. Lily often felt that you burned up more calories chewing the National Loaf than it gave you in energy.

  ‘So,’ she said, swallowing the doughy lump with difficulty. ‘Any word from Bill? I don’t suppose you’ve had a letter?’

  She knew what the answer would be: she’d have heard about it – at length – if there had been.

  ‘Not a dicky bird,’ Gladys replied. ‘Five weeks now. And till they retrain seagulls as carrier pigeons, it could be another five.’

  Lily made a sympathetic face.

  ‘You’re very brave about it, Gladys,’ she said.

  ‘We’re all in the same boat, aren’t we?’ replied Gladys. ‘That’s what Bill says, anyway!’

  Bless her, she even managed a smile.

  The White Lion was their small town’s smartest hotel. To be fair, it didn’t have much competition, but it still tried hard, with a Union Jack fluttering outside and a uniformed bellboy to help you with your suitcases, if you had them. Jim didn’t, so he went straight through to the dining room. Robert was already there. Inevitably, they’d given him the very best table in the centre of the room.

  Jim wasn’t used to this kind of setting. When he’d first confessed his connection with the Marlows, Lily had imagined him living in luxury with servants, starched tablecloths and silver cutlery himself, but he’d soon explained that his family were very much the poor relations. They lived in a simple cottage and did their own cooking and cleaning – and there was no family silver whatsoever.

  Robert waved him over and stood up to shake hands.

  ‘Great to see you, Jim. Have a seat.’

  Jim’s senses prickled: the last time he and Robert had had dealings, they hadn’t been exactly friendly ones. He sat down without comment, but Robert blithely carried on.

  ‘What’ll you have? I’m on Scotch and a splash, but I suppose it’s Adam’s ale for you as you’ll be going back to work?’

  ‘Yes, water thanks.’

  Robert poured him a glass from the carafe on the table.

  ‘Let’s order, then I’ll tell you why you’re here. I’m sure you’re wondering.’

  Jim picked up the menu. Never mind the Ministry of Food’s motto of ‘fair shares all round’. Meals out weren’t included in the ration: if you could afford it, you could eat out every night without sacrificing a single coupon.

  ‘If it helps, I’m having asparagus soup, then saddle of lamb, leeks à la crème and straw potatoes,’ Robert advised.

  ‘I’ll have the same.’

  Anything to get the whole thing over with.

  Robert gave their order, along with a glass of Chablis for himself, and once his wine had arrived, he leant forward.

  On the face of it he was attractive, handsome even, broad-shouldered with smooth blond hair, blue eyes and healthy pink cheeks, set off by a well-cut suit, snowy white shirt, silk tie and matching pocket square. It was his character that was so unattractive.

  ‘I’l
l come straight out with it,’ Robert began. ‘When I was here in Hinton over the winter, I indulged in a bit of, shall we say, extracurricular activity.’

  After the devastation of the bomb, Robert had come back to Hinton for a couple of months to buoy up his father and help get the store back in business. He’d worked hard alongside Peter Simmonds and Jim, who was increasingly Mr Simmonds’s second lieutenant, and Jim had been pleasantly surprised. Until that evening when he and Lily had caught Robert trying to force himself on Beryl.

  ‘You mean Beryl,’ said Jim coldly.

  Surely there hadn’t been more women on the side? Among Marlow’s staff perhaps? Surely Robert wasn’t going to tell him one of them was pregnant? If so, what was Jim supposed to do about it? But Robert shook his head.

  ‘No, not that. Extracurricular in the sense of – oh, look, I met this chap. The long and short of it is, he proposed a deal. He’s a haulier, and he’d had a nice little number going with Burrell’s over their fuel supplies. Whatever their allocation, he delivered a ton less, sold it off on the BM, and he and his Burrell’s contact split the proceeds. So—’

  Horrified, Jim was there before him. Burrell’s, Hinton’s other big store, had been all but wiped out in the pre-Christmas bomb.

  ‘So with Burrell’s out of action, he suggested the same to you. Don’t tell me you agreed?’

  Instead of a reply, Robert picked up his glass and took a swig.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Jim. ‘That delivery racket you set up when you worked at the store before – it’s obvious that was to get in with Sir Douglas as a way of getting in with Evelyn. But the black market! Something that risky! What were you thinking? What could possibly be in it for you?’

  Robert shushed him as their soup arrived. When the waiter had flapped their napkins onto their laps and departed, he picked up his spoon.

  ‘It’s just a different way of doing business, isn’t it?’

  ‘Business? It’s a crime. A serious crime.’

  Robert drank his soup.

  ‘Don’t be so wet. No one got hurt.’