Christmas for the Shop Girls

by Joanna Toye

  ‘We won’t stop in town,’ Bigley observed, his eyes on the road. ‘Just in case.’

  Only Bigley could have enough petrol – and swank – to drive any further, thought Jim. How he could run around in a car was itself a mystery, when petrol had been banned for private use for over a year, and sizeable cars like this taken away and converted into vans or ambulances. He must have every policeman in the district in his pay.

  After ten minutes or so, Bigley pulled up in a quiet suburban road.

  ‘If you’re going to stop anywhere, stop outside a nice little semi with a diamond pane in the door and a rose bush in the middle of the lawn,’ he grinned. ‘We might be a couple of insurance salesman having a chat before doing the rounds.’

  If only!

  ‘Look,’ said Jim, half turning in his seat. ‘Before you start, you’d better understand. I don’t know if you think I’m another Robert Marlow, but I can tell you now I’m not having anything to do with a scheme like the one you and he had going last winter.’

  ‘You say that—’ Barry began, but Jim interrupted.

  ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I said no and I mean it. I know what a hundredweight looks and feels like. I’ve worked on farms since I was a kid. I’ve been lifting hundredweight sacks of grain with an awl since I was fourteen, so you needn’t think you can get short weight past me. I’ll only sign for the weight of coal you deliver and I’ll insist you bring the rest. I’m not interested in cheating anyone – not Mr Marlow, not the miners, not the Forces, not the Merchant Navy, not the Ministry of Fuel and Power!’

  ‘Nice speech, Jim. Well said!’ Barry was still jovial. ‘Ever thought of going into politics?’

  ‘Is that clear?’

  ‘What’s clear is you haven’t said thank you for the little present I had dropped round to Brook Street,’ smirked Barry. ‘And I thought Marlow’s knocked such posh manners into everybody.’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ said Jim. ‘I don’t want it. You can take it back.’

  ‘That’s not very nice,’ said Barry. ‘Ungrateful I call it. I mean, it’s there now, isn’t it? And it’d be a shame if the police had a tip-off about a householder having some knock-off coal. And firewood. And paraffin. Especially if that householder was a nice respectable widow like Dora Collins.’

  Jim gulped.

  ‘A nice lady like that …’ Barry sucked his teeth theatrically. ‘Of course, the defence’d bring out her previous good character, all the voluntary work she does. And the hard life she’s had, bringing up her children since her old man died. Two boys, isn’t it, and young Lily that you’re sweet on? Yes, our Dora might get away with a fine, if she’s lucky. But it depends on the charge, doesn’t it? And the magistrate, of course. Might have to make an example of her. It could be prison.’

  Jim looked at the man. That really would be a skunk’s trick, but he had no doubt Barry would stoop to it.

  ‘So I think you can see,’ Barry went on smoothly, ‘that it’d be best for everyone if you could see your way to co-operating. Like other people do.’

  Other people – like spineless Robert Marlow and sneaky Sergeant Hudson? Nice company Jim was keeping these days.

  He reached for the door handle.

  ‘I’ll walk back, thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Barry pleasantly, which was more unsettling than any threat. ‘As I say, I’ll keep in touch. To finalise arrangements, you understand.’

  Jim got out and slammed the car door so hard it echoed off the pebbledash. Barry gave him a cheery wave and drove off.

  Jim had lost the battle. It was up to Sam to win the war.

  The thing about war, they should have known from experience, was that at times, when your nerves were already on edge, everything went quiet – and this was no different.

  ‘What do you think’s going on?’ Lily asked Jim when almost a week had passed. ‘Sam hasn’t been to the tea bar, either. He’d better get in touch soon or Mum’ll be getting worried.’

  ‘She thinks he’s on manoeuvres,’ replied Jim. ‘That’s what she told me anyway, when we were sorting salvage last night. And he is, we hope. Just not the sort she thinks.’

  Then, at last, there was news – or seemed to be, when Bessie again ventured across to summon Jim to the telephone. But he was disappointed, as he followed her to Fashions, to learn that the caller was only a supplier of tea trays. They’d be dented old British Restaurant things, Jim thought, or from a bomb-damaged factory – no good for Marlow’s at all.

  ‘Jim Goodridge speaking,’ he said into the receiver as politely as he could. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘It’s me!’ hissed Sam. ‘I guessed they wouldn’t like you taking personal calls.’

  Behind Jim, Miss Wagstaff loomed up menacingly. There was no chance to ask Sam how he’d come up with the notion of tea trays, of all things – this was going to be awkward.

  ‘Ah!’ Jim said carefully. ‘Yes, indeed! Well, it’s good to hear from you! Erm … what have you got to offer me?’

  ‘Success!’ Sam was too jubilant to register Jim’s restraint. ‘We’ve got him!’

  ‘Really? That’s marvellous!’ Jim glanced over his shoulder. Miss Wagstaff was close by, ostentatiously running her finger along a spotless rail, looking for a speck of dust. ‘How many trays do you think you can supply?’

  ‘Eh?’ Sam took a moment to catch on. ‘Oh, there’s someone there, right? OK, let me do the talking.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ said Jim blandly.

  ‘I took it to the captain,’ Sam began, ‘and to be sure – because of what you said about how high it might go – I took it separately to the colonel as well. As it turned out, they were both on the level – and they took it to the CMPF – that’s our Military Police – your “red caps”.’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ Jim let out, then remembered he was only supposed to be talking about tea trays. Maybe they were inlaid mahogany with brass handles. He forced himself to damp down his excitement. ‘But go on—’

  ‘OK, so yesterday Bigley’s was due with a coal delivery at five. At three o’clock, the captain got Hudson to lead a cross-country run. He was not amused, he clearly wanted to make sure he was around when the coal came – God, I felt sorry for the poor guys he’d be haranguing round the course! Anyway, while he was gone, we tested the weighbridge. And sure enough, it was five tons out.’

  Five tons! Jim did a quick calculation. At roughly eighteen hundredweight a ton …

  ‘Miss Wagstaff?’ A voice spoke behind him. ‘Could I trouble you to come and look at something for me?’

  Deliverance! Miss McIver was leading Miss Wagstaff away.

  ‘It’s OK now,’ Jim said quickly into the receiver. ‘There was someone listening, but they’ve gone. But five tons – that’s the coal ration for about five households!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And if Hudson and Bigley have been knocking off that amount every time …’

  ‘It mounts up.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Jim urged. He glanced over his shoulder. Miss Wagstaff was with Miss McIver and a customer, giving her opinion on the fit of a jacket. ‘Was Hudson back in time to oversee the actual delivery?’

  ‘You bet he was! Looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but yeah. So Bigley’s lorry arrives, the coal goes over the bridge – and our police guys appear.’

  ‘Caught in the act.’

  ‘He tried to wriggle out of it, of course. Said he knew nothing about it. But our boys had had him under surveillance. Photographed him earlier in the day tampering with the weighbridge scale.’

  ‘So what’s happened to Hudson now?’

  ‘He’s in detention awaiting court martial. And I don’t think they’ll deal kindly with him.’

  ‘And Bigley?’

  ‘That’s the other end of the exercise. We’d tipped off your local police. They arrested the driver.’

  ‘Hang on, that’s no good!’ Jim burst out. ‘He’ll say he knew noth
ing about the short weight – and maybe he didn’t! The police’ll call in Bigley, but nothing’ll happen because of the sway he’s got at the station!’

  ‘Not when the colonel’s had a word with the chief constable.’

  Sam sounded smug, as well he might.

  ‘The chief—’

  ‘They have a lot to do with each other at that level. They’re on committees together – Civil Defence, public order, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I suppose they are,’ said Jim wonderingly.

  ‘So I can tell you, ’cos the colonel’s told me – Barry Bigley won’t be getting away with anything this time – nor will the so-called detectives he’s been bribing.’

  ‘Mr Goodridge!’ Jim had been so absorbed he hadn’t noticed Miss Wagstaff’s return. Now she was at his elbow and in full military mode herself. ‘I really must insist that you end your call. I am expecting Mrs Beresford-Tate to telephone this morning about her dress for the Conservative Club ladies’ luncheon and I don’t want her to have to hear that the line is engaged!’

  Jim spoke politely into the receiver, back in supplicant mode to a supplier of that rare commodity, tea trays.

  ‘Would you excuse me for a moment, sir?’ Hoping Sam would understand, he made a play of covering the receiver, then turned to Miss Wagstaff. ‘Of course,’ he said, ladling on the charm. ‘I’d hate to get in the way of something as important as that.’

  ‘I think we’ve got him!’ he said triumphantly to Lily at dinnertime. It was hardly sunbathing weather any more, and the store roof was occupied solely by the hen coops, so it was nice and private for a confidential conversation. ‘Sam’s played a blinder.’

  ‘Oh, I want to believe it!’ cried Lily, her hands clasped in front of her in excitement. ‘But he’s such a snake …’

  This time, though, the snake had been scotched. By the time they left the store that evening, there it was on the newsagent’s placard:

  LOCAL BUSINESSMAN ARRESTED FOR BLACK MARKETEERING

  Jim jingled a handful of coins.

  ‘How many copies do you want?’

  Lily smiled and threw her arms round his neck.

  ‘Enough to paper the entire house!’

  Chapter 26

  After the second – and successful – battle for El Alamein in the Western Desert, the Prime Minister had said something which, Jim reflected, was turning out to be very true. What you thought might be the end of something was really just the beginning of something else.

  Because next day, Jim was summoned to see Mr Marlow. Looking positively shrunken, his uncle was behind his desk, a copy of the Hinton Chronicle open in front of him.

  ‘Barry Bigley,’ Cedric moaned before Jim had even sat down. ‘Who’d have thought it? I didn’t see it coming for a moment, did you?’

  Jim thought it better not to say that he hadn’t just seen it coming, he’d had to stop it in its tracks, but he didn’t have the chance to because Cedric hadn’t finished.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ the older man muttered. ‘Such a respected businessman! And a philanthropist – those generous donations to so many local organisations!’

  Chiefly the Barry Bigley Profiteering Fund and the pension pots of who knew how many in the Hinton police force, thought Jim.

  ‘What’s the world coming to?’ his uncle went on. It was another rhetorical question which Jim thankfully didn’t have to answer, as Cedric continued, ‘I hope he didn’t suggest to you that Marlow’s might get mixed up in anything untoward?’

  On the way upstairs, guessing what this little interview would be about, Jim had wondered what to say if asked the question. He’d decided that now, at last, he could answer truthfully.

  ‘I’m afraid he did,’ he replied.

  Cedric shot up in his chair as if it were electrified.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told him I’d never be party to such a thing.’

  His uncle sank back again.

  ‘Thank goodness for that! And he accepted that, did he?’

  ‘Well …’ Jim thought of the coal, the kindling wood, and the paraffin padlocked in the coal shed at 31, Brook Street, and the threat about Dora. ‘No, he wasn’t keen – he put me under all sorts of pressure, to be honest, which I was resisting. But luckily this, er, operation by the police caught him in time.’

  Nettleford and the involvement of the Canadian military had, evidently by joint agreement, been kept out of the press reports, which hadn’t said where the fateful coal delivery had taken place.

  ‘We’ve had a lucky escape,’ quavered Cedric.

  ‘It seems so.’

  Yes, Marlow’s had – as long as Bigley only put his hands up to the coal scam at Nettleford. And why would he admit to anything else, past, present or future? Anyone involved on the other ends of his dirty little schemes would surely want to keep their mouths shut. And the police would be far too busy digging out – and then covering up – the rot in their own ranks to start raking over every job Bigley had ever been involved in.

  At least, that was what Jim had to hope – for his own sake, for Lily’s, for Dora’s – and for Robert Marlow’s too. One thing was heartening – Jim’s instincts had been right. If Cedric’s reaction to this news was anything to go by, any inkling of his son’s duplicity with Bigley last winter would have devastated him.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, sir,’ Jim said gently now.

  ‘But I do! We’ve got to find another coal haulier for the winter!’

  ‘Mr Simmonds is looking into that already. He’s lined up two possibilities who are putting in tenders.’

  ‘That’s something.’ Cedric Marlow relaxed again.

  ‘Of course,’ said Jim, ‘it still leaves us with one problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A sleigh for Father Christmas,’ said Jim. ‘But I promise you I’ll get him here, if I have to go between the shafts of a dog cart myself!’

  Cedric Marlow might have been reassured, but there remained the problem, as Lily pointed out, of what to do about the contraband coal in the shed.

  ‘Our own coal on the ration’ll be arriving soon,’ she said. ‘Mum’ll want the shed opened up and swept out. We’ve got to get rid of what’s in there!’

  ‘Oh, that had never occurred to me,’ retorted Jim caustically. ‘So what’s your idea? Chuck it lump by lump in the canal? Wait till the Flying Scotsman goes through Hinton and shake it into the coal tender from the bridge?’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’

  ‘Well, have you got a better plan? And how do we get it away, anyhow? We need a set of wheels! What do you suggest – Bobby’s pram?’

  Lily considered for a moment.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea … But no, we daren’t involve Beryl. She’d want to know what we wanted the pram for, and if she hears there’s some coal going begging she’d want it for herself, and if she gets caught …’

  ‘We’re going round in circles,’ groaned Jim. ‘Maybe I could get hold of a barrow and dump the wretched stuff somewhere at dead of night. Somewhere deserving – the doorstep of the children’s home, or in a church porch. A gift from God.’

  ‘No,’ said Lily suddenly. ‘It’s all right, you won’t need a wheelbarrow. We’ve got transport – Sam! He can take it away!’

  Jim bit his lip. It was a thought. But …

  ‘Hasn’t he done enough?’

  ‘Yes!’ agreed Lily. ‘He has. But like the war, like all of us, he’ll have to do a little bit more.’

  Sam had apologised to Dora for his unexplained absence (‘Something came up – a kind of covert operation, you might say’), and the bunch of chrysanths he’d brought her to say sorry were still gracing the table when he next came round for tea.

  Now he knew them better, and Lily had assured him they’d certainly not feel insulted, Sam had taken to bringing something tasty for the table every time. Today it was iced buns.

  When they’d savoured every sweet and sticky crumb, and Dora had told them to leave the
washing up, Jim lured Sam out into the yard with a supposed worry about an infestation of red mite in the hens. There, he and Lily outlined the real problem. Sam scratched his head and blew out a breath.

  ‘I see what you’re getting at,’ he said slowly. ‘But if I do take this coal off your hands, I’ve still got to get rid of it somehow.’

  ‘Can’t you just take it to the base?’ Lily had been giving the matter a lot of thought. ‘You must have heaps of coal and firewood up at Nettleford.’

  ‘True, but—’

  ‘Bigley’s been diddling you, so it’s only putting back a bit of what you should have had,’ she persisted, and as Sam still looked dubious: ‘For all we know, what’s in our shed should have been in one of Nettleford’s deliveries in the first place!’

  ‘So what are you saying? Would this be official, or do you expect me to slip it back in unseen?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ said Jim. ‘But I think if you tell your superiors, even though they’ve been on our side, it raises too many questions. Where did it come from, how did you come to have it – all of that.’

  Sam blew out his cheeks again.

  ‘I don’t know – I’ve got to sneak it out of here, and sneak it onto the base …’

  ‘Sam, please,’ Lily put a hand on his arm. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask.’

  ‘Too right it is! Do you realise what could happen to me if I’m found out?’

  ‘I do. And I’m sorry to ask. But do you realise what could happen to Mum if she’s found out to have it here?’

  Jim hadn’t had to tell Lily of Bigley’s thinly veiled threat: she’d worked it out for herself. And while Bigley was still under investigation by the police, he could drop Dora in it at any time – and just might, out of spite.

  ‘Any day now,’ pleaded Lily, ‘we’re going to have to open up the coal shed for our own coal. If Bigley’s stuff is still there … if Mum thinks Jim or I have been involved in anything dodgy, even though we didn’t want to be … please, Sam. If you’re not keen to do it for us, do it for her.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s blackmail now, is it? Bigley’s taught you well!’

  Sam shook his head wryly.

  ‘Will you do it?’