by Joanna Toye
Lily scanned the canteen – ah, there they were, in the corner. She wove her way to their table. Both had pushed away their plates and were poring over sheets of figures. They looked up, surprised to see her.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Simmonds,’ Lily began. ‘But I thought you’d both like to see this.’ She held out a copy of the Chronicle with the Bigley story deliberately uppermost. Jim’s eyes widened.
‘Sorry, silly me,’ said Lily, as if to correct herself. ‘Our Father Christmas story is below, so not the main headline, but still main news – and a lovely photograph!’
Jim dutifully flipped the folded paper, scanned the Father Christmas piece and handed it to Peter Simmonds. While he was reading it, Jim met Lily’s eyes. They shared a look of disbelieving triumph.
‘Thank you,’ mouthed Jim. ‘And thank God!’
It wasn’t till the evening that they had the chance to really enjoy the outcome of the whole sorry saga. Lily was washing her stockings in the scullery sink, her hands all soapy.
‘Read it out!’ she begged. ‘I want to hear it again!’
‘Tch!’ tutted Jim. ‘Talk about enjoying someone else’s misfortune!’
‘Can you blame me?’
‘What do you think?’
He began to read: ‘Prominent local businessman Mr Barry Bigley of Bigley’s Hauliers, Stoney Road, Hinton has been formally charged with conspiracy to effect black market sales of coal, petrol and sheet metal across this and neighbouring counties. He has been remanded in custody—’
‘Custody!’ shrieked Lily.
‘Remanded in custody pending trial,’ Jim continued. ‘I suppose they thought he might interfere with witnesses. And they were probably right.’
Lily shivered.
‘Ugh! That man!’
Jim carried on reading:
‘“This is a shocking example of racketeering and exploitation,” said Chief Constable Mr James Carruthers in a statement, which went on: “There can be no doubt that such activities seriously undermine the war effort and make a mockery of the sacrifices both of our brave fighting men and the millions of law-abiding citizens of this country.”’
He lowered the paper. ‘That’s pretty strong stuff from the police.’
‘Well it’s about time!’ Lily squeezed the suds from her stockings. ‘But there’s still nothing there about how many police have been charged with dereliction of duty or corruption or whatever, is there?’
‘That’s a bit much to expect,’ said Jim. ‘But you notice it’s not Bigley’s pal Detective Chief Inspector Gregson giving the statement. He usually does. It looks to me like this whole thing has gone over his head, which was exactly what Sam said would happen if he took it to the Canadian top brass.’
‘I hope Gregson’s not going to get away with it!’
‘We’ll just have to hope there’ll be a full internal enquiry at Hinton police and the next headline we’ll read – or most likely won’t because he’ll be quietly retired – is that Gregson has been removed from duty.’
‘Hm.’ Lily lifted the bowl of soap suds to one side – Dora wouldn’t stand for them being thrown away after only a couple of pairs of stockings had been washed in them. She ran cold water into the sink for rinsing. ‘Read me the editorial as well, Jim. That really gives Bigley a kicking.’
‘Your blood’s properly up, isn’t it?’ Jim grinned. But he turned the page and began:
‘Shocked as we are by the wicked crimes perpetrated by one of Hinton’s formerly most respected citizens, the Chronicle can only agree with the Member of Parliament for Manchester Platting, the Right Honourable Mr J. R. Clynes, who stated last year that such actions amount to “treason of the very worst kind”.
The Chronicle has no hesitation in calling for the strongest possible penalties to be exacted. A fine and a long term of penal servitude are only to be expected: some would wish to go further. Interment, flogging and even making such acts a capital crime are, in the opinion of this newspaper, not too harsh a punishment for such heinous behaviour which truly threatens the very safety of the country we are fighting for.’
He put down the paper and pulled a face.
‘Hang ’em and flog ’em, that’s going it a bit. I’m not sure I’d want to see Barry Bigley hanged. Would you?’
Lily thought about it. She thought about how Robert Marlow had piled the pressure on Jim to sort out the mess he’d got himself mixed up in and how Bigley himself had tried to get Jim even more embroiled. The bribe of the coal and the firewood and the paraffin arriving by dead of night, and the threat about Dora. Having to drag Sam into the equation and get rid of the stuff by dead of night as well, and the consequences for any of them if they’d been found out. Of course her blood was up! But, but – Bigley obviously hadn’t dropped any of them in it – he’d only owned up to the coal scam they’d arrested him for, up at Nettleford, and the business about the scrap metal and the petrol must have come to light through paperwork the police had found in his office that he hadn’t had time to destroy. It could have been so different if Bigley had confessed to the business at Marlow’s as well, and Lily supposed she should feel grateful to him for that. And then there was the question of the shoes. The plum suede uppers and the leather soles didn’t squeak, but Lily still felt a bit self-conscious wearing them. The wages of sin? But they were gorgeous, and who did she have to thank for them …?
‘No,’ she said reluctantly in answer to Jim’s question. ‘I can’t say I would. I think hanging’s barbaric and a horrible way for anyone’s life to end, whatever they’ve done. But I never want to see him round here again. I hope they lock him up and throw away the key.’
‘Me too,’ Jim agreed. ‘But heavens, I’m glad it’s over.’
Chapter 30
Now she was in on Gladys’s secret, Lily watched, and watched over, her friend with extra affection in the weeks before Christmas. She made sure Gladys ate up all her dinner and checked that she was getting the fruit and drinking the full pint of milk a day which her special green ration book entitled her to. She couldn’t help noticing how good Gladys was with the little ones queuing for the grotto, keeping them chatting as the line inched forwards, earning grateful looks from parents already wearied by their children’s over-excitement. She helped toddlers up on to Dobbin the rocking horse, fitting their feet gently into his stirrups and making sure they didn’t rock too wildly. She enthused as they came out of the grotto clutching their little present, telling them to ‘keep on being good for Mummy’ until the day itself, and earning yet more grateful looks.
Gladys was going to be such a good mother, thought Lily warmly. Now the first three months had passed she’d got her colour back and was already looking fuller in the face and more rounded of figure. She wouldn’t announce her pregnancy in the store till after Christmas, she’d decided, and would work as long as possible, but Lily had to face the fact that her best friend would still be leaving. Of the three of them who’d been shop girls there in the beginning, Lily, Gladys and Beryl, only Lily would be left – and Jim, of course.
Jim was busy in the pre-Christmas rush, inevitably, but Lily still wondered as he took her hand for their walk home or kissed her goodnight on the landing if he ever thought, as she did, about where their relationship was going. Was he ever going to give her any indication? He loved her; she loved him. She’d said so, he’d said so, and she knew he meant it. So what was holding him back? Lily wasn’t a patient person. She liked to make things happen. Even her own self-imposed deadline of next year’s leap year day seemed too long to wait, and her next birthday, and possibly joining the ATS, which might wake him up a bit, was even further off.
She could always join up under-age; lots of people did, but she’d have to go away for training and then very likely be posted away. If that happened, and with Bill away at sea, who’d support Gladys when the baby was born? And then there was Marlow’s … only a year ago her beloved store had been half-ruined. She and the rest of the staff had wor
ked so hard to restore its shine and reputation – and she’d had her promotion to second sales.
If she left for the ATS, would she get her old job back after the war when other Marlow’s staff would be returning too? She didn’t want to leave everything she loved with the risk of it not being there when she returned – and the same applied to her and Jim.
As the store closed on Christmas Eve, Lily breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an exhausting day. Last-minute shoppers – mostly men, it had to be said – had raced in, panicked, after a business lunch, to buy gifts for their wives and secretaries, and to pick up the toys they’d promised weeks ago they’d take care of. The grotto was still doing a brisk trade right up to closing time, and as Gladys was busy serving, Lily had taken over crowd-marshalling and Dobbin duties.
When all the customers had finally left, there was more work to do, but with something of a festive atmosphere. Miss Frobisher took off her jacket; Miss Temple eased her bunions out of her shoes and padded around happily in stockinged feet. Lily tidied the rails and the drawers behind the counter as the other two moved around the department, noting which goods would be heading for reduction in the sale. On Toys next door, the grotto had to be dismantled and taken away. Jim, Les and Mr Simmonds loaded it onto a trolley for Les to trundle off.
‘Put it somewhere safe till next year!’ Jim called after him.
Takings from the grotto had far exceeded their expectations and, even after deductions for Albert’s wage and the cost of the small gifts, it was showing a healthy profit. As hoped, it had benefitted other departments too. With their children pacified, the mothers had gone on to spend time and money in Perfumery and Cosmetics, Toiletries, Accessories, even Small Household, a satellite of Jim’s department, treating themselves to a new tray cloth or tea towel – the excitement when those had come in! – to impress seasonal visitors.
Mr Simmonds had decreed that re-siting Dobbin and restoring Toys and Childrenswear to their usual layouts could wait until the store opened again after Christmas, and by seven o’clock, Lily, Jim and Gladys had joined the rest of the staff in the canteen for the traditional glass of punch, a mince pie and a ‘thank you’ from Mr Marlow himself.
The canteen had had its Christmas garb on for weeks – paper chains and strips of lametta. Now several of the tables had been pushed together to form one long row, swagged with red crepe paper and laden with food and drink. It was also the tradition that the canteen staff were off duty for the occasion. There were two huge vats of punch at one end of the table: Mr Simmonds stood behind one and Mr Bertram, the ground-floor supervisor, behind the other. Miss Frobisher, Miss Kendall and Miss Drake were stationed behind the trays of sandwiches to serve them out with tongs, and Miss Wagstaff, a rictus smile on her face, was holding a tray of mince pies, ready to circulate with them.
When everyone had a glass and a plate of food, Miss Garner clapped her hands and called for quiet. Mr Marlow, who’d greeted everyone as they came in, but after that had stood quietly chatting to Jim’s boss, Mr Hooper, stepped forward.
There was no doubt that the last year had aged him and looking at his uncle Jim knew he’d done the right thing in shielding him as much as possible from Barry Bigley’s – and Robert’s – misdemeanours. Lily could see the change in Mr Marlow too. Standing next to Jim, she felt for his hand and squeezed it as the older man started what Mr Simmonds called his address to the troops.
‘Thank you, everyone,’ Mr Marlow began. ‘It’s been quite a year. I don’t want to dwell on what happened last Christmas, but I have to mention it, because I want to pay tribute to you all for your supreme efforts to rebuild Marlow’s. When I say rebuild, I mean in the literal sense, of course, but even more importantly to rebuild our reputation. Today, our customers can once again look to us to supply the best we can in these trying times – the best quality at the best possible prices we can negotiate. For that I would like to thank our hard-working buyers, every one of them.’
Everyone shuffled their plates and glasses so they could applaud; there were a few ‘hear hears’ and murmurs of agreement. Lily caught Miss Frobisher’s eye and smiled. Miss Frobisher smiled back. She was wearing one of the outfits that Lily most admired, a navy dress in spotted voile with a white collar and cuffs. She’d undone the top two buttons and turned back the cuffs for her duties serving the food. Along with a few strands of her usually immaculate hair which had come loose, it made her look even prettier and less severe – not that she really was, as Lily knew. She turned her attention back to Mr Marlow.
‘Those customers would not, however, shop here unless they could also be assured of the most attentive service at all times. So I want to thank every member of staff, from the most experienced salesmen and women …’
Lily glanced over to Miss Temple and Miss Thomas, who between them had almost eighty years of service. They looked both pleased and proud.
‘… to the very newest junior, who I believe is …’
Miss Garner whispered something in his ear.
‘Ah, yes,’ Mr Marlow continued. ‘Miss Miller, on Ladies’ Fashions.’
Poor Bessie blushed and nearly dropped her glass, but Mr Marlow hadn’t finished yet.
‘So when you receive your wages for this week, or your salary for the month, you will find a slightly larger bonus than has been paid in recent years. That’s my way of saying thank you for all your hard work in this most difficult year.’
There were louder murmurs this time, of appreciation and thanks. Some brave soul even shouted ‘hurrah!’
Mr Marlow acknowledged this with his fleeting smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now, there are two other members of staff I’d like to single out. They’ve worked beyond the call of duty to get the store back on its feet, building on a challenge I set them some time ago, to come up with ideas to … well, to keep Marlow’s a going concern. They are Peter Simmonds and Jim Goodridge.’
Lily flashed Jim a smile. He’d turned as crimson as Bessie and was shaking his head in embarrassment.
‘I asked them for ideas to keep up staff morale, hence our very successful football and cricket teams, and the staff newsletter, The Marlow’s Messenger. They both give up a lot of their free time to make these a success.’
There was a pause and a smatter of applause – mostly from the cricket and football teams punching each other on the arms and congratulating themselves.
‘The female members of staff aren’t forgotten – several take part in rounders and netball matches. Many more take advantage of the hairdresser who comes in fortnightly.’
No one could disagree with that. Lily’s hair had benefitted hugely from the ‘relaxant’ that had calmed down her flyaway curls – for a while, anyway.
‘In recognition of the hard work these two gentlemen have put in, and because Mr Bertram, our ground-floor supervisor, will shortly be retiring, I am creating a new post of senior supervisor. Mr Simmonds will in future oversee both floors. Miss Frobisher will become first-floor supervisor, but as she will retain her responsibilities as the buyer on Childrenswear, I’m appointing Mr Goodridge as her deputy, retaining his role on Furniture.’
There was a moment’s silence while everyone took this in – a development no less of a surprise to Lily than to everyone else – and to Jim as well, it seemed, from his stunned look. Miss Frobisher and Mr Simmonds, however, must have been in on the plan; they looked as though they’d been practising their pleased-but-modest faces.
Another, louder round of applause broke out. So many people crowded round Mr Simmonds and Miss Frobisher and even Jim that Lily found herself pushed away from him and pressed up against Gladys.
‘Jim promoted! How about that!’ exclaimed Gladys.
‘I know!’ marvelled Lily. ‘I can’t take it in!’
‘And you had no idea?’
‘Not just me, Jim too! Didn’t you see his face?’
‘Mr Marlow’s a sly one, isn’t he?’ Gladys shook her head. ‘He’s not quite pas
t it yet. Still likes to be the boss.’
‘And spring these surprises,’ Lily replied thoughtfully. ‘I suppose that was why he was talking to Mr Hooper, squaring Jim’s new role with him.’
‘Seems to me there could be a new role for you in it as well,’ observed Gladys. ‘If Miss Frobisher’s got two jobs now, you’ll be first sales before next year’s out, you mark my words.’
Lily tried to look sceptical, but the thought had crossed her mind. It amused her that Gladys had thought of it too: impending motherhood had done something to her. She was already sounding older and wiser – and a positive mother hen.
They were called to attention by Miss Garner clapping her hands again.
‘If you could charge your glasses, please, Mr Marlow has a few more words to say.’
More? What had come over him? There was a surge towards the refreshment table, empty glasses waving in the air. Lily still had half a glass of punch and felt she’d had quite enough already. She left Gladys mother-henning Bessie and made her way back to Jim.
Someone had refilled his glass and he took a swig as she approached.
‘I don’t know if I’m drunk on punch or—’
‘Success?’ Lily smiled. ‘Congratulations, by the way. I take it you had no idea?’
‘None at all! But it’s something to celebrate!’
He swooped down and kissed her. His mouth was warm and soft. Lily was shocked.
‘Jim! Hardly the behaviour of a deputy supervisor! You’ll get the sack before you’ve got the job!’
‘I set the rules now,’ swanked Jim. ‘Just watch me!’
Before Lily could reply (he could think again about that!) Miss Garner chinked a knife on her glass and the buzz in the room subsided again. Mr Marlow resumed.
‘I shan’t go on much longer,’ he said. ‘You’ve all got homes to go to.’
Les, in fact, had already slipped off. He was meeting Beryl and Bobby at the station to start the journey to Worcestershire where his mum had promised them ‘a proper country Christmas’. Ivy and Susan, Les’s sister, had really taken to their new life looking after Jim’s dad, who Jim and Lily would go and see at New Year.
