Christmas for the Shop Girls

by Joanna Toye

  ‘The new appointments,’ continued Mr Marlow, ‘are only the beginning. Mr Simmonds and Mr Goodridge are determined to drag this store – and me, it has to be said’ – he permitted himself a little laugh, though no one else dared join in – ‘into the twentieth century – or the latter half of it. So I can tell you that assuming, God willing, the war continues to go our way, when we finally see victory there will be changes.’

  Lily felt for Jim’s hand again. She wasn’t sure what was in the punch, but she was beginning to feel reckless herself. Could these be the changes he’d been hoping for for so long? That would be an even better Christmas present than a promotion.

  Mr Marlow was warming to his theme.

  ‘The lifts,’ he declared, ‘will be upgraded and there will be escalators between every floor. Every department will have a modern cash register instead of the current pneumatic tube system.’

  Everyone was nudging each other now, pulling faces, raising their eyebrows. But Mr Marlow, sensing that he had the audience of his life, was working up to a climax.

  ‘These will have to wait; the materials and the labour simply aren’t available. But one thing can happen now – or very soon, and with minimal effort. It brings me back to where I started – my heartfelt thanks to all of you for what I think I can call true teamwork over the past twelve months.’

  He took a deep breath. A sea of expectant faces awaited his final pronouncement, but when it came, there were still gasps of amazement.

  ‘I intend to remove,’ said Mr Marlow, ‘the apostrophe from the store’s name. I hope that will show you that I no longer regard this store as my family’s personal fiefdom. As “Marlows” with no apostrophe it will belong to us all – to you all. I want you to feel more than employees; more than colleagues. We will be partners. And I hope we will continue to work as a team to deliver the very best service, value and quality to the people of Hinton for many years to come.’

  It was a Churchillian moment: all Mr Marlow needed to complete the image was a cigar and a Homburg hat. He even seemed to swell in stature – taller, broader – as massive applause broke out. This time the ‘hurrahs’ were louder, and someone called for three cheers, after which some of the younger salesmen, who’d been making free with the punch, burst into ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.

  In the hubbub, not caring who saw, Lily flung herself at Jim. He was grinning from ear to ear. He hugged her tight, then released her.

  ‘At last!’ he said, raising clenched fists to the ceiling in triumph. ‘At last!’

  Trying to mask the emotion he was obviously feeling too, Mr Marlow stood silently, blinking and nodding and occasionally holding up his hand as if to say ‘Enough!’

  When the singing had subsided, he uttered one final, modest ‘thank you’ and stepped back before Miss Garner took the floor. With her usual no-nonsense briskness, she wished everyone a very Merry Christmas and a safe journey home, before puncturing the mood entirely by adding that she’d be grateful if they could return their used plates and glasses to the table.

  The party was over. But what a party!

  Chapter 31

  Gladys was one of the staff that needed to get off home. Her gran would be worrying – as well as impatient for her night-time cocoa – and Gladys had their Christmas dinner, modest as it would be, to prepare for tomorrow.

  ‘Night-night, Lily, and Merry Christmas!’ she said, pulling her scarf across her chest and buttoning her coat. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, in all the fuss, I had a card from Mrs Quartermain, by the way. Lovely it is, addressed to me and Bill.’

  ‘I suppose she didn’t tell you how she’s getting on with her divorce?’ queried Lily. ‘Not quite the thing to add after “Season’s Greetings”, is it?’

  ‘No, and I haven’t heard anything from Bill since I wrote and told him I’d found her. Nor since I told him about the baby. Oof, I can hardly get the belt of this coat round me and I don’t think it’s just the mince pies!’ Gladys gave up and let it hang loose. ‘I don’t suppose Bill’s even got the letters. You’d need a polar bear to deliver them up between the icebergs where he is.’

  ‘Come here,’ said Lily, pulling her into a hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Webb. Your Bill will be home safe and sound, you’ll see, and you can introduce him to his mum – and the little one.’

  ‘Let’s hope,’ said Gladys. ‘See you after Christmas, Lily. Love to your mum. Have a nice time.’

  Lily hung back in the cloakroom. There was no hurry: along with Peter Simmonds and some of the other salesmen, Jim was putting the canteen back to rights. She checked her reflection in the mirror fixed to the wall and ran a comb through her hair. With the baby coming, Gladys had her future sorted. But what did Mr Marlow’s announcements really mean for hers – and for Jim’s?

  One person had been conspicuous by his absence that evening – Robert Marlow. In previous years he’d made a point of coming to the Christmas Eve get-together, even when he’d left the store. Now he lived in Birmingham, that wasn’t so easy, and no doubt Evelyn and her parents would have had Christmas Eve plans of their own. But even so … never mind all the talk about everyone being equal in the new, apostrophe-free Marlows, were some more equal than others? Jim was a relative, after all – could his promotion be the first indication that the family connection might lead to more? Cedric Marlow couldn’t go on for ever … Lily pulled herself up short. She wasn’t wishing Mr Marlow dead, she never would, but if he stepped back, a future for the store with Mr Simmonds as general manager and Jim as his deputy didn’t seem such a far-fetched idea.

  Then there was Gladys’s prediction for her. Miss Thomas and Miss Temple were both well over sixty: they’d come back out of retirement when younger staff had begun joining up. They were senior to Lily in every sense, but neither worked full-time and wouldn’t want to. A first salesgirl was needed on the department, really, and that only left Lily. In her heart, she felt sure Gladys was right – Miss Frobisher had been so good to her, she was bound to recommend a further promotion – and reasonably soon. What did that do to her grand plans to join the ATS?

  She’d lingered long enough. She shrugged on her coat, collected her bag and gas mask and found Jim lounging at the timekeeper’s office. He was in such high spirits – probably literally – that he didn’t even look pointedly at his watch but held the door open for her as they went out into the fresh night air. The narrow back street was pitch-black and Jim switched on his torch. The first people they saw in its wavering light were Miss Frobisher and Mr Simmonds walking arm-in-arm ahead of them.

  ‘Let’s not catch them up,’ said Lily quietly. She wanted to savour her time with Jim; they had so much to talk about.

  ‘Fine by me.’

  But the other pair were walking slowly too, chatting, heads together, and by the time the two couples reached the main street, Lily and Jim were just a few feet behind. There was a black car waiting at the kerb with its lights off, but in the thin beam of Jim’s torch, Lily saw two men approach Mr Simmonds. One was small and dapper in a belted raincoat and a trilby hat. The other was bare-headed, thick-set, in a dark overcoat.

  Jim motioned her to hang back and drew her into a shop doorway.

  ‘Who are they?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jim. ‘But if there’s going to be trouble, I might have to help out.’

  Peter Simmonds had boxed not just in the Army but for the Army and he’d taught Jim, her gentle, peace-loving Jim, to throw a few punches. Lily had seen the force of them last year when Jim had flattened someone he thought was a rival for her affections. Nothing had shocked and appalled her so much since Percy Fleming, who lived in their street, had painted a swastika under his door knocker when there’d been a threat of invasion three years ago, and she was equally appalled now.

  ‘You can’t start brawling in the street!’

  ‘Two against one? If they set on him, I’ll have to! What do you think I’m going to do, run away?’

 
But the men showed no sign of attacking Peter Simmonds: they seemed to be having a conversation. Miss Frobisher could be heard intervening, though not what she was actually saying, but after a couple of exchanges Mr Simmonds held up his hands as if in agreement, or perhaps resignation, and moved with the two men to the car. The burly one opened the back door and they both got in. The other man went to the front passenger side and, in the light of a moon which had popped out from behind a bank of cloud, Lily saw a third man in the driver’s seat. The moon showed her something else as well. A sign on the roof of the car read ‘Police’.

  Lily was frozen to the spot, but as the car drew away with its slitted headlights dipped, Jim sped to Miss Frobisher’s side.

  ‘What was that about?’ Lily heard him say as she joined them.

  ‘I have no idea,’ answered Miss Frobisher slowly. ‘I don’t know what to think. They said they needed him to answer a few questions. I – I suppose I’ll have to … I can’t go to the police station and ask – or wait around. I have to get back for my little boy.’

  ‘They probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway,’ said Jim.

  ‘They didn’t tell us anything now! Just asked Peter to go along with them. I don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Lily helplessly.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Miss Frobisher’s usual self-possession had vanished and her voice sounded shaky. ‘Just go home and enjoy your Christmas.’

  Some chance now!

  ‘Can we walk you home?’ offered Jim. ‘Let us do that at least.’

  ‘No, no, thank you.’ Miss Frobisher gave a thin smile. ‘You’re very kind, but it’s not far. I’ll be all right.’

  Miss Frobisher might have said she’d be all right, but she obviously wasn’t, and Lily’s head was reeling.

  ‘What can it be?’ she asked as she and Jim hurried hand in hand through the park. ‘What can the police possibly want with Mr Simmonds?’

  ‘It’s a mistake. Mistaken identity,’ said Jim. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘You think so? It’s Christmas Eve, Jim. They’re not going to come out tonight of all nights on a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got faith in our local police, have you?’ retorted Jim. He was loping along as usual; Lily scurried to keep up. ‘They may have cleared out the rot, it doesn’t mean they’re any more competent than they ever were. They’ve got the wrong bloke.’

  ‘Well …’ To Lily, it sounded a bit as if he was trying to convince himself. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  On top of Cedric Marlow’s shock announcements and the unaccustomed punch – what had they put in it? – she felt quite light-headed with it all.

  ‘Let’s get home.’ Jim hurried her along even faster. ‘Your mum’ll be worried. Not a word of this to her, OK? We’ve got to act as if nothing has happened. We’ll tell her the good news, of course, Uncle Cedric’s little speech, but that’s it. And tomorrow we open the presents, we eat the food, we laugh at whatever daft comedy show is on the wireless and all the rest of it. It’s only the three of us, and your mum’ll be feeling that, so we’ve got to make the day the best we can for her.’

  Lily pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Jim was right. It was almost two years since they’d seen Reg, and Sid had volunteered to work over Christmas so that married men could have the time with their families. He’d promised he’d come up for a couple of days before New Year, but Lily and Jim would be back at work by then, and it wasn’t the same as having him there on the day itself. Dora would miss her boys: they all would.

  By the time they got in, Dora had gone to bed, leaving their stockings pinned to the mantelpiece: she’d be up at six to pop a few small gifts in them, Lily knew. There was no tree: there were none to be had, not at a price they could afford anyhow, but Lily and Jim had strung paper chains across the ceiling and cut sprigs of holly for the picture rail. Like most households, they were making the best of what they had, or could get hold of.

  Jim took hold of Lily. He held her tight and kissed her lingeringly before they went upstairs.

  ‘Try not to worry,’ he whispered as they parted on the landing. ‘It’ll all look better in the morning. Christmas morning, Lily. You love Christmas, don’t let this spoil it.’

  Chapter 32

  Dora woke early on Christmas Day. She said her usual prayer for Reg and Sid, then one for every fighting man and woman, and, today, one for those whose loved ones were dead or captive, and who’d be spending their first, or another, Christmas without them. She knew how that felt. The children’s father had died in December and that first one without him, with Lily just a baby, had been one of the bleakest days she could remember. But Dora had resolved that after that, Christmas would be magical and special again for the children’s sake; she’d make it that way. She scrimped and saved all year to put things aside for their stockings and for a proper dinner and even when they were older, her determination didn’t waver. By then, she’d even come to enjoy the day herself once more; the secret preparations, the hoarding of little treats, planning the meal – the children’s excitement and pleasure made it all worthwhile.

  Swinging her legs out of bed, shivering as she pulled on her dressing gown, she crept downstairs in the dark to fill the stockings, light a fire and arrange the chairs in a semi-circle around it. By the time Lily and Jim came down, she was dressed, the tea was made and the table had been laid with the holly-and-ivy embroidered cloth for a festive breakfast.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ she greeted them, as they gave her a hug. ‘Good party last night?’

  ‘Yes! Lots to tell!’ said Lily, pouring herself and Jim a cup of tea. ‘But only after our presents!’

  Dora gave a ‘Tch’, but one of amusement.

  ‘You don’t change!’ she said. ‘Same as when you were six! Now don’t get excited, it’s only bits!’

  But Lily had already opened her stocking and was cooing over a tortoiseshell hair clip while Jim expressed delight at yet another pair of socks. A toothbrush each (a valuable commodity these days), a pot of Vaseline for Lily and a second-hand paperback for Jim, a bar of ration chocolate and a shiny Cox’s apple each and they were done.

  ‘Now for the presents proper!’ said Lily, handing over a small box. ‘Here’s yours, Mum.’

  Last year she’d had a brooch put aside for Dora at Marlow’s, a black cat with green glass eyes, but the bomb had put paid to her plans and she’d never been able to buy it. This year she’d chosen a kingfisher enamelled in blue and green: it would brighten up Dora’s old blue coat. As she hoped, Dora was entranced and promptly went to the hallstand to pin it on the lapel.

  Lily watched as Jim opened his present – a pen, the best she could afford, engraved with his name. His face when he saw it told her she’d got it just right.

  ‘It’ll go with your new swanky deputy supervisor status!’ she teased.

  ‘Yes, to give you a black mark!’ he retaliated, swooping to kiss her. ‘But thank you, it’s perfect. Though I suppose you expect something from me now?’

  ‘It is the custom,’ said Lily, primly.

  Jim handed over his present. It was a long slim box – not a ring, then! – but not having expected one, she was still excited. It looked like jewellery and she knew he’d consulted Gladys and Beryl about what she’d like. He’d even managed to wrap it in a bit of brown paper – tied up with something that looked familiar.

  ‘You …! I’ve been looking for this!’ she exclaimed, holding up her royal blue hair ribbon.

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ said Jim. ‘You left it downstairs and I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Thank you very much! I thought I’d lost it—’

  ‘Come on, love, what have you got? Open it up!’ Dora sat down again.

  Lily did as she was told. Inside was a locket – chased silver, oval, on a delicate chain. Jim had even put photographs of each of them inside, snipped out of Gladys’s wedding group.

  Lily was moved almost to tears.
r />   ‘Oh Jim! It’s beautiful! Thank you!’

  She meant it. It was the nicest thing he could have chosen, and she threw her arms round his neck.

  ‘Now for my present!’ Dora held out a slim square package. It was the same paper as last year – and the year before that – pressed under a cool iron, but even so, the Father Christmases on it looked more wrinkly than twinkly. Lily opened it carefully: she knew she’d be seeing the paper next year as well. Then she gasped:

  ‘Stockings! Proper stockings! Mum! Where did you get these?’ Overwhelmed, overjoyed, Lily turned the shiny packet in her hands. ‘Sam, I suppose!’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ Dora retrieved the paper from Lily’s lap and smoothed it out. ‘But please don’t bother. And certainly don’t go asking him!’

  She didn’t want that, not when the stockings had been given to her by Hugh. She’d been embarrassed about accepting them in the first place and had always intended to give them to Lily, but last Christmas, with the bomb and everything, hadn’t been the right time.

  Lily jumped up and kissed her.

  ‘I won’t say a word! But wherever and however you got them, thank you!’

  ‘You like them, then,’ said Dora drily, accepting Lily’s hug. ‘Good!’

  Then it was time for the presents Gladys and Beryl had brought round, as well as those in the lumpy parcel that had arrived from Egypt a full two weeks ago.

  ‘That’s Gwenda, she’s got him organised!’ Dora had correctly surmised. She’d probably had a hand in choosing the presents too, because they were perfect: a wallet for Jim and soft leather purses for Lily and Dora, Dora’s a sensible navy, Lily’s lipstick-red.

  Lily brought hers to her face and inhaled the luxurious scent of the leather. Dora smiled to see her delight. Lily had had her girlhood snatched away by the war; she deserved all the nice things she could get.