Christmas for the Shop Girls

by Joanna Toye

  ‘It’s not good for him, you know,’ Miss Frobisher said. ‘Even if it was Christmas Day!’ But she gave Lily a smile before switching smartly into business mode.

  ‘I’m sure it’s occurred to you,’ she began, ‘that if I’m to supervise the first floor as well as run this department, it will need a full-time first sales. You’re still very young, but the experience on Schoolwear will count in your favour. That’s what I shall be arguing, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Miss Frobisher,’ breathed Lily. ‘I had wondered – and hoped, but …’

  ‘It won’t be for a while. We’ll have to see how the new roles work out in practice, but I would guess that within six months, there’ll be a promotion for you as well. In the meantime, Mr Simmonds needs you on the ground floor.’

  Lily stared. She knew he was helping out there already, but why was she needed?

  ‘We’re hardly rushed off our feet here, are we?’ Miss Frobisher pointed out. ‘It’s a different story downstairs. You remember all those men who surged in on Christmas Eve panic-buying for their wives?’ Her expressive eyebrows indicated amused contempt. ‘Toiletries and Accessories anticipate quite a number of returns.’ She was scanning the pre-Christmas sales figures as she spoke. ‘Well, off you go!’

  Dismissed, Lily scuttled downstairs. In a way, she was flattered. Miss Frobisher obviously thought she could cope under pressure on the busiest of departments – and it wouldn’t do her promotion prospects any harm at all.

  It also meant she’d have something different to tell Sid when he came home for his belated Christmas leave in a couple of days’ time. He did his best to show an interest in baby vests and rompers but they could hardly hold much fascination for him. Sid would never have a family of his own – not in that sense, anyway. But to hear that he was still with the ‘someone’ he’d told her about in London, and that he was happy in himself – that they were happy together – would be yet more icing on what already felt like a loaded Christmas cake.

  Chapter 34

  With Lily and Jim back at work, Dora’s days resumed their normal rhythm as well – the shops, the queues, the housework. She’d been sorry not to see Sam on Christmas Day, but he’d been on duty in the morning and in the afternoon he’d booked a long-distance call to the sanatorium in Canada where his wife was a patient. He was hoping she’d feel well enough to speak to him: often he’d go to the expense and trouble of a call, only to have the nurses say that Grace was ‘not really up to it’. Dora’s heart ached for him.

  They’d arranged to meet on the day after Boxing Day to take Buddy for a walk. Dora had tried to dissuade Sam from giving her a Christmas present. He’d protested, but she told him firmly that the food and treats he brought them were more than enough. She was convinced, however, that he’d take no notice, so she’d knitted him a muffler and a pair of gloves in maroon three-ply that she’d scoured the town to get. They were wrapped and in her handbag. She was particularly pleased with the cable pattern on the backs of the gloves – it had been a right fiddle to do, but he was worth it.

  She heard Sam and Buddy before she saw them, because Buddy set off his usual joyful ‘ruff’ on seeing her as they rounded the corner by the laurel bushes.

  ‘Howdy!’ called Sam. Other dog-walkers turned their heads: Sam sometimes enjoyed playing up to the brashness the British seemed to expect of North Americans. Dora waited till he drew nearer before calling hello in reply. He arrived beside her, sternly advising Buddy against jumping up. Naturally, Buddy ignored him.

  ‘And they say you can train spaniels! Down, Buddy!’ Sam scolded. He kissed Dora lightly on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas! How are you? Did you have a good day?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you,’ Dora said warmly. ‘I didn’t lift a finger! Lily and Jim did the lot.’

  ‘Great stuff! If anyone deserves a day off, it’s you. Now, are you ready to roll?’ He offered his arm and they began strolling around the duckpond. The ducks had long since disappeared – into someone’s cooking pot, it was assumed – but that didn’t stop Buddy from nosing hopefully along the water’s edge.

  ‘And how about you?’ Dora asked. ‘Did you get through to Grace?’

  She had to ask, but wished she hadn’t as Sam shook his head.

  ‘She was having a bad day. “Not up to it” again. I wish I knew if she was not up to speaking to anyone or just not up to speaking to me. The nurses don’t give much away.’

  Dora sighed.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sam. It must be agony for you.’

  ‘Yes. I—’ He stopped. ‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down a while.’

  The benches had all been taken away for armaments or for wood but there was a low wall round the memorial to the fallen of a previous, long-ago war and they sat on that. Buddy, sensing a change in the mood, lay down quietly at their feet. Sam took off his forage cap and turned it in his hands. Dora knew something important was coming, and she braced herself. Like Hugh, he was being posted away, she felt sure of it.

  ‘I wish things were different, Dora,’ Sam began, ‘But you know better than anyone that we have to accept them as they are. I’m going to ask for a compassionate discharge – to be sent home.’

  What? Of everything she’d imagined, all the places he might go – Italy, the Far East, France – Canada itself had never figured.

  ‘I see,’ she said weakly.

  ‘I hope you do.’ Sam’s eyes held hers. ‘Maybe I should never have left – never have left Grace – in the first place. I thought it was the right thing at the time, the only thing I could do. She didn’t seem to need or want me and I don’t know if she does now – it certainly doesn’t sound like it. But I owe it to her – to our marriage – to find out. I’m not doing any good being away. I’m not avenging Bruce’s death, and I’m not helping Grace get better – if she can be helped. Going home may make no difference, but in all conscience I can’t stay over here and not even give it a try.’

  Dora looked down.

  ‘Say something. Please.’

  She raised her head and gave him a smile.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, Sam,’ she answered. ‘I’m sure of that.’

  ‘I wish I was,’ he replied. Then he shocked her by seizing her hand. ‘If things were different, Dora, I’d like to think we could have had a future, you and me. You’re a remarkable woman, brave and true, kind and generous, loving …’

  Remarkable? Not knowing where to look, not daring to look at him, Dora looked down again, at her feet in their sensible lace-up shoes, the darn in the heel of her stocking, the worn cuffs of her coat. She didn’t feel very remarkable. And as for loving …

  ‘Don’t, Sam, please. Don’t say any more.’ Gently she extracted her hand from his. ‘I won’t pretend I haven’t become …’ She hesitated. This was going to be quite a declaration for her. ‘I won’t pretend I haven’t become fond of you. But as for us having a future, or the chance of one … you’re the one who said we have to accept things as they are, and I do. We’re too old for castles in the air when there’s wives in sanatoriums and I have my life here. Let’s not kid ourselves.’

  Sam sighed.

  ‘Can we keep in touch?’ he asked. ‘Will you write to me?’

  Expecting him to announce a posting, Dora had thought about this already, and the fact he was going to Canada didn’t change that – not for the moment, anyway.

  ‘Of course. I don’t see why not. As a friend.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He made as if to take her hand again, then drew back, as if he didn’t dare. She touched his hand briefly.

  ‘Let’s walk, shall we? Buddy’ll be getting restless.’ A thought struck her. ‘Buddy! What’s going to happen to him when you go?’

  ‘Funny you should ask.’ Sad, but perhaps relieved to have the serious part of the conversation out of the way, a note of mischief had crept back into Sam’s voice. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. He needs a good loving home. A permanent home. I thought perhaps a kind widow with grown-
up children might appreciate some company. Well, Dora, what do you think?’

  What Dora thought was unprintable, but what she said was that she’d think about it.

  She told Lily and Jim about Sam’s decision as they laid the table for tea. Jim knew about Sam’s wife, and he and Lily looked sobered by what Sam was going home to, though like Dora, they could understand why he felt he had to.

  ‘Poor man,’ said Lily as they sat down. It was obvious Dora had been preoccupied by his news; she hadn’t achieved the usual crispy burnt bits with the bubble and squeak that Lily loved. ‘It’s awful for him.’

  But Dora didn’t want to dwell on Sam’s departure. She knew what would happen: Lily would start saying it was a shame for her as well, and she couldn’t deny it, so she cut some bread, told them to help themselves and moved the conversation on.

  That had the desired effect. Amazed, Lily reacted immediately.

  ‘He’s giving Buddy to us? Permanently? That’s some Christmas present!’

  It wasn’t the kind of present Dora had imagined either but then she hadn’t imagined anything correctly, had she? Only Sam’s delight with the muffler and gloves had been in line with her expectations.

  ‘We’ve got to work out the details,’ she replied, calmly reaching past Lily for the salt and pepper: she’d been so distracted by Sam’s news she’d forgotten the seasoning in the bubble and squeak as well. But the more she’d thought about Sam’s suggestion, the more she’d liked the idea.

  Buddy would have to have a kennel in the yard, of course. No one as house proud as she was would tolerate a dog indoors – scratching the furniture and the skirtings, hairs all over, making the rugs smell. But after the war, if they were all spared, Sid was bound to stay in London and Reg was very likely to settle in Welshpool with Gwenda. That only left her and Lily at home and that wouldn’t be for ever. Lily and Jim would surely marry one day – she could see that Lily was already getting restless – and want a place of their own. So why not a dog for company?

  ‘How are we going to feed him?’ Jim was, as always, the practical one. ‘We’ll miss Sam’s contributions to the larder as it is.’

  ‘He’s going to open a Post Office account,’ Dora told him. ‘He’ll put some money in to start us off. There’ll be less going to the pig bin, and I’ll have to make friends with the butcher for whatever I can get. And once the war’s over, well, surely things’ll be easier?’

  Typically, Lily had already got her own ideas.

  ‘We’ll manage somehow. And it could be fun, Jim. We can teach Buddy to do tricks and take him round children’s parties.’

  Jim looked sceptical.

  ‘Are we talking about the same dog? He’s got a lovely temperament, but when it comes to concentration, Buddy’s got as much brainpower as the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz.’

  ‘Poor Buddy! Now you’re being mean. I think it’s a great idea, Mum.’

  ‘Good.’ Dora forked up a mouthful of potato and cabbage. ‘Now here’s a challenge for you. There’s a rasher and a half of bacon in here if you can find it.’

  It was her way of closing off the conversation and it worked. Jim made a comment about lance-corporal bacon – it was what everyone called streaky bacon now, because it only had one stripe. With that as a bridge, Dora could ask Jim and Lily about their day at work. Lily quickly obliged with tales of despairing women whose husbands had bought them woollen scarves and highly scented soap for Christmas when, as one had complained, ‘You’d think after thirty years he’d know I’m allergic!’

  As they washed up, though, Lily brought up the subject of Sam again.

  ‘I’m sad for you, though, Mum,’ she said. ‘I know you’ll deny it, but I think you were really quite fond of him.’

  ‘We all are!’ said Dora quickly.

  ‘I know.’ More than that, Lily knew that she and Jim owed Sam so much for getting rid of Barry Bigley’s unwanted gift without Dora ever knowing. ‘But it’s hardly the same. And I know he’d got fond of you. I just hope it’s made you realise, Mum, that you’re – well, you’re still in your prime!’

  Dora bent her head over the sink so that Lily couldn’t see her smile. It had come to something when her own daughter was giving her advice on her love life! She’d never have dreamt of speaking to her own mother, also a widow, the same way.

  But Lily meant well, bless her. How she’d grown, and grown up, in the years since she’d started her job at Marlow’s. It was the war, as well – all the youngsters had had to grow up fast. But maybe that was a good thing. The world was changing fast, too, and they’d need all their resources to cope with it.

  Lily was thinking much the same, if Dora had known. Here she was telling her mother how to conduct her love life, and what about her own? Christmas had come and gone and she was no closer to knowing how seriously Jim saw their relationship. The locket he’d given her was thoughtful and lovely, but did it mean anything? Was it a step on the way? Miss Frobisher and Mr Simmonds had made more progress in six months than she and Jim had made in eighteen! She picked up the bunched tablecloth and took it out into the yard. The vicious shake she gave it was the shake she really wanted to give him.

  Sid would make her feel better, she knew, and the thought kept her going all evening. He’d be home the next day and Lily was desperate to see him – if anyone could help her make sense of her situation and see a clear way through, he could. But when she, Jim and Dora gathered round the radio for the nine o’clock news, what they heard would wipe all thoughts of her own predicament from Lily’s head.

  ‘This is BBC London,’ intoned the announcer as usual. ‘Here is the news, and this is John Snagge reading it.’

  There was a pause, which was also usual, but when he started to speak it was as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

  ‘It is reported that the German battleship Scharnhorst has been sunk in the Barents Sea between the North Cape and Spitzbergen, Norway. The Scharnhorst had been attempting an attack on a convoy bound for northern Russia. A report follows from our correspondent …’

  Lily didn’t hear any more. The sinking of the Scharnhorst would have struck home in any case. At the end of that dreadful January of 1942, when the Germans had sunk more British ships than there were days in the month, the Scharnhorst had added insult to injury by sailing brazenly up the Channel without being intercepted. Ever since, it had been the Navy’s top target, and Lily should have been jumping for joy. But Bill’s ship was on convoy duty in the Northern Passage, getting supplies to the desperate population of places like Archangel and Murmansk – Lily had looked them up in the atlas. That was how she knew exactly where the Scharnhorst had been sunk. And something told her, as soon as she heard the words from the wireless, that it was Bill’s convoy that was involved.

  ‘… the Scharnhorst was surrounded by no less than nine ships of the British fleet,’ the BBC correspondent was saying. ‘Four cruisers, four destroyers and the battleship HMS Duke of York.’

  Bill’s ship, the Jamaica, was a cruiser.

  ‘A fierce and intense battle ensued,’ continued the reporter. (How could he be so calm?) ‘Yet thanks to the superiority of British firepower and positioning, in under three hours the Scharnhorst was sinking. There are as yet no confirmed reports of any survivors of the Scharnhorst, nor yet of any British casualties or fatalities.’

  Casualties? Fatalities? British? But naturally in a battle, even a battle won, there would be injuries and deaths on both sides. Lily was suddenly aware of a pain in the heel of her hand. She looked down; her nails were digging in. She opened her hand and reached for Jim’s. He knew what she was thinking – so did her mum.

  ‘Gladys,’ said Dora. ‘That poor girl.’

  Not just Gladys, thought Lily. Gladys and the baby.

  Chapter 35

  There was no sign of Gladys in the cloakroom next day, and since Lily was downstairs on Toiletries, and not on the first floor, no chance to see if she was absent or merely late. C
ustomers, even those whose exchanges or refunds she had to refuse – one tin of talcum powder had obviously been opened and liberally used, Lily could tell from the weight – were in jubilant mood, all commenting on the sinking of the Scharnhorst. Lily could have shaken them – not something the staff manual recommended.

  Mr Simmonds was downstairs too, darting from department to department adjudicating on returns and sorting out problems. Unable to stand it any longer, Lily intercepted him as he swept past.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Simmonds, but is Gladys Webb – Miss Huskins – in today, do you know? Her husband’s on the Jamaica and he’ll have been involved in …’

  Mr Simmonds stopped and turned back. He knew Lily and Gladys were friends.

  ‘I gathered that,’ he said. ‘She’s here, but she doesn’t look well. If it weren’t half-day closing I should tell her to go home, but I think she’ll last the course.’ He looked grave. ‘I’m sure you’ll do all you can to support her. I hope she gets good news soon.’

  Lily had never known a morning go so slowly and as the clock crept round to one o’clock, customers had never seemed more inclined to linger. One had the temerity not to even arrive at Lily’s counter till a quarter to, and then start dithering over her purchase. Honestly, some people!

  As soon as the staff were given the signal that they could go, Lily shot to the cloakroom and waited for Gladys to appear. When she did, she was like a wraith, and fell on Lily, sobbing.

  Lily patted her back ineffectually.

  ‘Shh, Gladys, shh. You mustn’t assume the worst. It all went our way, after all. No reports of damage to any of our ships.’

  ‘Yet!’ cried Gladys. ‘And you know they never tell us the full story! Not for days, if we get it at all! I haven’t slept a wink and I don’t see I will till I hear!’