Christmas for the Shop Girls

by Joanna Toye

  ‘I don’t think Bill’d be angry!’ Gladys sniffed and smiled at the same time. ‘He doesn’t know how to be, bless him! We’ve never had a cross word. He doesn’t get angry, does he, Lily?’

  ‘He’s a lovely chap,’ Lily confirmed.

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ said Mrs Quartermain sadly. ‘And it’s no thanks to me.’

  ‘Well, that’s something else I’ve thought about, more and more lately,’ said Gladys. She was surprising Lily minute by minute and Lily was starting to feel she’d grossly underestimated her friend for all this time. ‘They told us at the home you’d been upset to leave him, and you were going to go back and get him as soon as you could. When you never did, I thought at first you were … well, I’m sorry, but that you were horrible! That you must be completely selfish and just have preferred the money and the life you’d found for yourself to bringing him up. And I thought I could never forgive you. But then I thought you must have had some reason. And I thought more about what you’d said, about your husband and that, and I wondered what kind of pressure he might have put you under, and what maybe your marriage was like, and that maybe you had no choice.’

  Mrs Quartermain had been turning her spoon in its saucer. Now she raised her eyes.

  ‘I think I’d better start at the beginning,’ she said.

  Chapter 28

  ‘My husband’s first wife was an invalid,’ she began. ‘I was asked at my interview for the job if I had, or had any intention of having, children and before I could answer I was told that that would rule me out. There had to be complete quiet in the household: there could be no question of a small child growing up there and running about. I took the job anyway. All I wanted was a secure position where I could live in, save money, and in a couple of years, set myself up again in some kind of home with young Bill.’

  ‘It didn’t work out like that, though, did it?’ asked Gladys gently.

  ‘No. After Ernest’s – my husband’s – wife died I was absolutely astonished when he asked me to marry him. I had no idea he had feelings for me … I’m not sure now that he really did …’ She compressed her lips again. ‘But I thought if he felt like that about me, and the whole question of the house having to be quiet had been removed, I’d be able to tell him about Bill and bring him to live with us.’ Gripped, Gladys and Lily nodded encouragement, and she went on. ‘When I fell pregnant soon after our marriage, I was delighted. I thought that if we started a family, it would be even easier to fetch Bill and absorb him into it. But when I told Ernest I was expecting, he hit the roof. He wanted me to get rid of the baby.’

  Lily looked at Gladys, shocked, then back to Mrs Quartermain. They’d gathered from what she’d said when they’d first sought her out that her husband was a tricky customer, but Lily had never imagined a bully quite like this. Let alone that there might be more children!

  Now Mrs Quartermain had started, it was as if years of dammed up emotion was coming pouring out.

  ‘You’ll have gathered by now, perhaps, that Ernest is … rather a difficult man. I’d worked for him for a couple of years by then, I knew as an employer he liked things done a certain way, you expect that. But it was only when I got to know him as a man … he has to be the centre of his world. He likes – needs – his own way, or things … well, let’s just say he makes life very awkward …’

  She tailed off, and this time it was Gladys whose hand went out to touch the older woman’s. Mrs Quartermain squeezed it briefly, then, as if strengthened, went on.

  ‘I stood up to him though, about the baby, and I’m glad I did. I don’t know what I’d have done over the years without my girls – I had twins, you see. But after that – well, he withdrew pretty much all affection. I never dared to admit that I already had a child, let alone that I’d wanted to bring him to live with us.’ She closed her eyes momentarily, as if she was trying to shut out some unpleasant scene. ‘That would have been the end of it. He’d have thrown me out and made sure I never saw the girls again.’

  Gladys and Lily were watching her, horrified.

  ‘Yes, I can see what you’re thinking.’ Mrs Quartermain gave a sad smile. ‘It sounds Victorian, doesn’t it? But Ernest is quite a bit older than me. He is a Victorian, really, in his attitudes.’

  Gladys seemed speechless, so Lily asked the question.

  ‘Your girls … your daughters … how old are they now?’

  ‘Fifteen, and away at school – it’s been evacuated up to Yorkshire.’

  ‘Bill’s got sisters!’ Gladys spoke at last. ‘Half-sisters.’

  ‘Identical twins,’ said Mrs Quartermain. ‘Iris and Rose.’

  ‘What pretty names!’

  ‘Would you like to see a photograph?’

  ‘Oh yes please!’ breathed Gladys.

  Mrs Quartermain reached for her bag and brought out a photograph wallet. She laid a couple of snaps on the table, and Lily and Gladys bent over them eagerly.

  The first seemed to have been taken in a park, or possibly, having seen the style in which they lived, the garden of the house in London. Mrs Quartermain was sitting on a fancy wrought-iron bench, a teenage girl on either side of her. Gladys picked up the photograph and examined it, no doubt looking for any likeness to Bill. From what Lily could see there wasn’t much; the girls had longer faces, more pronounced eyes and darker, straighter hair. All three were smiling at the camera, but to Lily they had a sort of forced, frozen look. Sometimes that was to do with the exposure and the time it took to take a picture, but in this case she wondered if it was because of who was behind the camera, the forbidding Ernest Quartermain, perhaps.

  Gladys laid the photo down and picked up the other. Again, Lily leant over to see. This one had been taken at the seaside, probably by one of those photographers who roamed the promenade. Again, Mrs Quartermain was flanked by the two girls, one on each arm, and they were well wrapped up against the wind, one of the girls holding onto her hat. But they were all smiling broadly; they looked completely carefree.

  ‘I love that one,’ offered Mrs Quartermain. ‘It was only taken about a month ago. I went up to see them at their half-term. We went to Scarborough for the day and spending time with them alone, away from the house – and on top of finding out about Bill – it made me realise I had to do something.’

  Lily and Gladys looked at her. So this was why it had taken her so long.

  ‘They’ll be sixteen next year, you see,’ said Mrs Quartermain. ‘And that’s what’s made the difference. They’ll be able to decide for themselves what they want to do, and which parent they want to live with. I’m going to separate from Ernest.’

  ‘What? But, but … will he let you?’

  To Gladys, Ernest Quartermain was a modern-day Bluebeard.

  ‘I think he’ll have to.’ Mrs Quartermain sounded suddenly much more confident. ‘Oh, I didn’t say, did I? The other way in which my husband’s Victorian is that he has a mistress.’

  Lily gaped. She must be naïve, but the way some people lived their lives!

  ‘I’ve known about her for years,’ said Mrs Quartermain, ‘and put up with that as well, for the girls’ sake. But I’ve had enough, and I’m going to tell him so. I’ve seen a solicitor and I intend to divorce him.’

  Good grief, thought Lily. Gladys’s simple quest really had put a bomb under the woman’s life. Mrs Quartermain acknowledged it too.

  ‘It’s thanks to you, Gladys.’ The older woman’s rings flashed again as she touched Gladys’s hand. ‘You getting in touch, and more than that, not taking no for an answer, not letting go, and restoring Bill to me, if you like. I’ve missed so many chances. I’ve missed another while he was in the country over the summer and goodness knows I’m torturing myself over it, but God willing, if he survives this war, I’m not going to let it happen again. I want to do what’s right, what’s always been right, and now – or very soon – I can. That’s if you’ll let me – if you feel sure that Bill would want to know me.’

  The tears Gladys had
been holding in coursed down her cheeks and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. Unable to speak, she nodded her head vigorously. Lily knew she could speak for her.

  ‘I’m sure he would!’

  Time had sped by, and it was a good job Lily looked at her watch. Gladys had produced the photographs of Bill that she always carried with her and she and his mum were poring over them, Gladys explaining every detail right down to the colour of Bill’s shirt and how it suited him. Lily nudged her friend.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Quartermain,’ she said, standing up and collecting her things, ‘but we’ve got to get back.’

  Mrs Quartermain understood at once.

  ‘Of course, I don’t want you to get into trouble! But you’ve had nothing to eat – I’ll get them to wrap the sandwiches for you.’

  She signalled to the waitress, who took the plate away and came back with two greaseproof parcels. While she’d been gone, Gladys and Mrs Quartermain – Agnes, as she’d told Gladys to call her – had been discussing how best to tell Bill. They decided that Gladys should prepare the ground in a letter, and his mother would only write once he’d responded.

  ‘It’ll take a while,’ Gladys warned her. ‘I write to the Jamaica’s shore base, you see, but it can take weeks – months, sometimes – before letters even get to him, let alone a reply come back.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Mrs Quartermain. ‘Things aren’t going to move very fast at my end either.’ She shrugged her coat back on. It was a beauty, but from what she’d told them, she’d paid a high enough price for it over the years. ‘My solicitor’s told me that to stop Ernest simply denying everything, I have to be sure of my facts. I need to find a private detective to follow him and get photographic proof. Pretty sordid, but there you are, it’s how it’s done.’ She spoke frankly enough, but she looked rueful. ‘I’ve wasted so much time.’

  ‘You had your reasons,’ said Lily. ‘Your daughters. You were protecting them.’

  ‘Yes,’ urged Gladys. ‘To be a mother to them and give them a home. Like you would have done for Bill, if you could have.’

  Before the two of them could start going over it all again, and getting weepy, Lily butted in.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but we really do have to go.’

  As they stood outside saying their goodbyes, Gladys took a deep breath.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ she said. ‘I haven’t told anyone this, not even Bill. Not yet. I was going to wait a bit longer, till I could be a million per cent sure, but now, since you’re here, I’m going to say it. Fact is, I’m expecting!’

  ‘Gladys!’ Lily burst out.

  ‘Oh my dear—’ Mrs Quartermain’s voice shook. ‘Really? This is too much!’ She took Gladys in her arms and pressed her against her coat. ‘When will you—’

  ‘In June,’ said Gladys, tears welling once more. ‘So you’re a mum again and a grandma all in the same day! How about that?’

  There was a lot to talk about on the way back to work, and no chance to say any of it because they were in such a rush. But now it made sense, thought Lily, as they dodged the shoppers and the shop and office workers hurrying to and from their own lunches – the way Mrs Quartermain had rebuffed them, and her silence ever since despite Gladys’s attempts to make contact. And that wasn’t all.

  ‘Now I understand!’ Lily said as they turned into the relative quiet of Brewer Street and headed for the staff entrance. With that in sight, they could afford to slow down a bit.

  ‘About Bill’s mum?’

  ‘That, yes, but about you, too – looking so rough the last few weeks!’

  Gladys’s wan appearance and hollowed eyes hadn’t just been about missing Bill, they’d also been down to morning sickness and the exhaustion of the first few weeks of pregnancy.

  ‘Oh, thanks very much!’

  ‘You know what I mean! You haven’t been yourself. But I’m so happy for you – and Bill. Everyone will be.’

  ‘Yes. And I’m starting to feel a bit better now,’ Gladys confided, as they passed through the swing door into the behind-the-scenes part of the store.

  ‘I wish you’d said though!’ Lily signed back in with the pencil tied to the timekeeper’s ledger. ‘You must have known for a while. But I suppose you wanted to tell Bill first.’

  ‘Well … yes, I do, but I wanted three months to go by before I even tell him.’ Gladys took the pencil from her and signed back in too. ‘My mum miscarried quite a few times before she had me, I was scared I’d do the same. But I should be twelve weeks next week, the doctor says. Baby’s due in June.’

  ‘It’s such good news! I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ Lily assured her as they hurried to the cloakroom to drop off their bags and gas masks. ‘And I promise I’ll keep mum till you give me the OK … oh!’ They both giggled at the turn of phrase. ‘It’s your news to tell, anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps in a few weeks, at Christmas,’ said Gladys with satisfaction. ‘A little extra surprise for everyone.’

  ‘Perfect! That still leaves Mum plenty of time to knit!’

  They were stuffing their things in their lockers now, but as Gladys went to stow her packet of sandwiches, Lily stopped her.

  ‘I’ll make an excuse to Mr Bunting,’ she said. ‘Explain you’ll be a bit late back. If I call it “feminine problems” he won’t dare ask any more.’

  ‘But I won’t be late,’ Gladys protested. ‘We can make it.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Lily firmly. ‘You are going to go to the canteen and eat your sandwiches. I can last till afternoon break, but you’ve got to keep your strength up. You’re eating for two now. Or,’ she added wickedly, ‘now we know there are twins in the family, it could be three!’

  Chapter 29

  Lily had already felt that Christmas was rushing in on her – now it seemed, in the nicest of ways, to have come early. She dashed off a letter to Sid, telling him that the agonising weekend they’d spent looking for Mrs Quartermain had paid off in the end, and she told Jim in person as they walked home that night. He was pleased, of course, for everyone’s sake, but Lily could tell he was much more preoccupied with getting the store dressed up for Christmas on Sunday, and even more so with the arrival of Father Christmas the next day.

  After scores of phone calls, he’d managed to persuade a local brewery to convert one of their drays into a sleigh for the occasion, and though Mr Marlow had baulked at the idea of Father Christmas perched on an empty beer crate, Jim had explained it was their only option. The crate, in any event, would be covered with sacking. Mr Marlow had finally given way, bought off with the happy news that Peter Simmonds had found another haulier who’d guarantee the store’s coal deliveries over the winter.

  In the event, Monday’s grand entrance of Father Christmas was everything Jim could have wished for. Posters had gone up well before, and a good crowd of mothers and excited children were gathered behind the red ropes set up on the pavement. A pale December sun was shining against a wintry blue sky, and when the dray-cum-sleigh rounded the corner, horse clip-clopping proudly, bridle bells ringing merrily, an excited cheer went up. Albert, one of the store’s retired carpenters, his costume padded out with a pillow, beamed and waved and ‘ho-ho-ho’d’ till his jaw must have ached but the children loved it. As he descended, bulging sack on his back, and made his way through the store – Jim had had him in to rehearse the route, he wasn’t taking any chances – the children and their mothers followed behind. Then they patiently queued again to enter the grotto, pay the small entrance fee and receive a gift from his sack.

  ‘Well done, you!’ said Lily to Jim halfway through the afternoon. The grotto was still busy; older children had evidently nagged their mothers to bring them in after school. ‘It’s been non-stop, and this is only the first day. There’s weeks to go yet!’

  ‘Hm, well, let’s see,’ Jim replied. ‘As long as it makes headlines in the Chronicle—’

  ‘Oh, you’re never satisfied!’

 
; ‘High standards, that’s all,’ said Jim piously. ‘Isn’t that what Marlow’s teaches us?’

  But Lily could tell he was pleased. She was on her way to her afternoon break when they met on the stairs and he dragged her into the cleaners’ cupboard for a surreptitious smooch.

  Next day, Lily got a dinnertime pass out just so she could get the Chronicle’s lunchtime edition for Jim. Gladys came with her: she wanted to post her Christmas parcel to Bill to make sure it arrived on time.

  Gladys was chuntering on about the special green ration book issued to all pregnant women, and how, as such, she’d had first pick of some Bramley cooking apples the grocer had had in.

  ‘I’d eaten a whole half of one before I got it home. It was that sharp and fresh, it was lovely, but I didn’t half pay for it later on – ooh, the indigestion … Lily, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! What is it?’

  Lily had stopped dead in the middle of the pavement.

  ‘Nothing,’ she improvised quickly. ‘Sorry. I saw something that … We need to go our separate ways here, Gladys. You get off to the post office.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gladys doubtfully. ‘If you’re sure you’re OK.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Lily, smiling now. ‘Very fine. Don’t worry about me.’

  What she’d seen was the newspaper seller’s placard. In huge black letters it read:

  LOCAL BUSINESSMAN CHARGED

  That could mean only one thing – Barry Bigley! And it did. Lily bought two copies of the paper – one for salvage, one to keep – and shot straight back to work.

  She knew Jim was having lunch with Peter Simmonds: if the grotto proved a success, they were hoping to capitalise on it to reintroduce some of their other ideas to keep the customers coming and to keep Marlow’s moving with the times. Jim’s pet project was to get Cedric Marlow to drop the apostrophe from the name (‘So old-fashioned!’ he constantly lamented). None of their plans could be raised with Mr Marlow till the New Year, of course. The grotto had to prove its worth first.