Home Front Girls (4 page)

She was very well spoken, which made Lucy feel even worse. ‘Y-yes,’ she stammered, suddenly feeling very dull and dowdy.

‘Hm, so am I,’ the girl said, sounding none too pleased about it. ‘I must have been here for
hours
already. I wonder how much longer they’ll keep us waiting? I’m Annabelle Smythe, by the way. How do you do?’

Lucy managed to flash a weak smile. ‘I’m very well, thank you, and I’m Lucy – Lucy Ford.’

The conversation was stopped from going any further when the office door suddenly opened and a middle-aged woman with a tight bun on the back of her head and a sour expression called out, ‘Miss Smythe.’

As Annabelle rose, Lucy noted that she didn’t look the least bit nervous, whereas her own heart was thumping so loudly that she was certain everyone within a mile radius would surely hear it.

Annabelle straightened her skirt and followed the woman without a qualm as Lucy swiped her sweaty palms down the side of her dingy navy-blue coat. I may as well go home now, she thought despondently. I stand no chance against that one if there’s only the one job going, but she forced herself to carry on sitting there. The savings that Joel had left behind to tide her and Mary over were dwindling fast now, and Lucy knew that she would
have
to find a job – any job, even cleaning public lavatories if that was all she could get – or how were they to live? Her thoughts moved on to Mary – poor little scrap. Already it was apparent that there was something not quite normal about her. The health visitor at the clinic had told Lucy quite callously that Mary was ‘backward’. Lucy hated that term. Mary was very slow in her development, admittedly, but Lucy still had high hopes that the little girl would catch up with other children her age, given time. Still, at least she had found someone who was prepared to care for her sister, if and when she found a job. Their kindly neighbour, Mrs Price, affectionately known as Mrs P, was an amazon of a woman with a heart to match, and since the Ford family had moved in next door to the Prices, the woman had been a godsend. The two younger Price children, Barry and Beryl, had been evacuated to the country a couple of months earlier, and now the big woman was happy to pour all the love she usually reserved for them onto Mary.

Momentarily forgetting her nervousness, Lucy grinned as she thought back to the day she had been told that Mary was ‘backward’ and Mrs P’s indignation.

‘Silly buggers,’ she’d declared angrily. ‘What do they know? Happen the poor little mite is just a bit slower at graspin’ things than other kids her age, but she’ll catch up – you’ll see.’

Lucy’s thoughts were dragged back to the present and the nervousness returned with a vengeance as the door opened and the striking blonde reappeared. She whispered to Lucy as she sailed past in a gust of Chanel No. 5, ‘Looks like I just got myself a job,’ but Lucy had no time to do anything other than nod before the stern-faced woman appeared again.

‘Miss Ford,’ she barked.

Lucy shot to her feet and almost stumbled in her haste to follow the woman into a room where a gentleman with the most enormous bulbous nose she had ever seen was sitting at a desk waiting to interview her.

Ten minutes later, she left the place in a daze. She was to start as a shop assistant at eight o’clock sharp the following Monday morning.

‘So ’ow did it go, sweet’eart?’ Mrs P asked when Lucy went to pick Mary up half an hour later.

‘I got the job,’ Lucy informed her.

‘Well, what yer lookin’ so glum for then?’ Mrs P raised an eyebrow as she jiggled Mary up and down on her plump knee. ‘That’s good, ain’t it?’

‘Oh yes,’ Lucy assured her hastily. ‘I suppose I’m just feeling a little . . . Oh, I don’t know – nervous, I suppose. Most of the girls who work there seem very glamorous and pretty. I just wonder how I’ll fit in. And are you
quite
sure that you won’t mind caring for Mary whilst I’m at work?’

‘Huh, I’ve hardly got a lot else to do to pass the time, have I? An’ this little soul is as good as the day is long. It’ll be a pleasure, so don’t you go frettin’ about that. As fer you fittin’ in . . . . Well, yer as good as any o’ them an’ better than most, I don’t mind bettin’,’ Mrs P replied as she eyed the girl up and down.

Lucy really was an extremely attractive girl, although she appeared to be completely unaware of the fact. She was tall and slim with lovely shoulder-length auburn hair that turned to fiery red in the sunshine, and big green eyes that looked almost too big for her heart-shaped face. Given smarter clothes and with a little bit of make-up on, Mrs P was certain she could have been quite striking. But then she supposed the poor kid didn’t get an awful lot of time for titivating as most girls her age did. She was too busy caring for Mary and keeping her home running, which was a crying shame as far as Mrs P was concerned.

In actual fact, the Ford family were a little bit of a mystery and very tight-lipped about their past. All Mrs P knew about them was that they had lost both their parents five years ago, although she had no idea how they had died, and whenever she asked any questions about them, Lucy closed up like a clam. Mrs P supposed it was too painful for the girl to talk about. But there was no doubt she was as good as gold to her little sister, like a little mother, and she kept their tiny terraced house as neat as a new pin. Mrs P still felt that it was an awful responsibility for such a young woman, even more so since her brother had been called up. Now Joel was a nice lad an’ all. Good husband material for some lucky girl, although he’d not have much chance for romance now till this damn war was over.

The big woman sighed as she thought of her own son, who had also gone to fight for his country. With her two youngest sent off to the country too, she and her husband Fred were rattling around like peas in a pod and sometimes she felt that her life had no purpose any more. Were it not for little Mary, she was sure she would have gone stark staring mad. She had been used to the small house teeming with kids and noise, and laughter bouncing off the walls, but now the quietness often threatened to choke her. And she was painfully aware that things could get much worse. All the young men, including her oldest son, Freddy, had already been called up, but if the war didn’t end soon then there was a faint chance that her husband might be called too, even if he was working in a munitions factory and was a bit long in the tooth. It just didn’t bear thinking about.

She put Mary down and struggled out of the easy chair at the side of the fireplace. A fire was licking up the chimney and despite the fact that the furniture had seen better days, the room was cosy and welcoming.

‘I’ll make us a nice cuppa,’ she declared as she headed for the kettle, then on a more serious note she confided, ‘I’ve half a mind to get the kids back from the country. I mean, there ain’t nothin’ happened here as yet, is there? An’ so they might as well be at home, the way I see it.’

‘That doesn’t mean that nothing
will
happen though, Mrs P,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘And at least you know they’re safer there.’

‘Yes – but what if they ain’t bein’ properly looked after?’ the woman fretted as she rinsed the heavy brown teapot and carefully spooned tea leaves into it.

‘I’m sure they are.’ Lucy’s heart went out to her. Mrs P adored her family and she could well imagine how hard being separated from them all must be for her.

In no time at all, she and Mrs P were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of Typhoo as Mary played with a pile of brightly painted wooden bricks on the hearthrug. She’d had a beaker of milk and a Royal Scot biscuit from Mrs P’s polkadot biscuit barrel.

‘Now then,’ Mrs P took a noisy slurp of her tea before asking, ‘What are you to wear for work then? Do you have to wear a uniform?’

‘Not a uniform exactly but a white blouse, a black skirt and sensible black shoes.’ Lucy hadn’t given it much thought up until now, but she suddenly realised that she didn’t possess such a thing as a white blouse, and with funds being as tight as they were, how was she going to afford one?

‘I’ve got the shoes and a suitable skirt, but I don’t know what I’m going to do about a blouse,’ she said worriedly.

Mrs P chuckled. ‘Well, you’ve no need to worry on that score. I just happen to have two good white linen pillowcases that would make a lovely blouse, and thank Gawd I’m a dab hand wi’ a needle an’ thread. I’ve had to be, wi’ my tribe over the years. I’ll get me old Singer sewin’ machine out from under the stairs an’ I’ll run you one up in no time.’

‘But I couldn’t let you do that,’ Lucy objected. ‘You do more than enough for me already.’

‘Rubbish!’ Mrs P topped their cups up and stirred in another spoon of sugar each, saying sagely, ‘I dare say this is somethin’ else we’ll have to get used to doin’ wi’out soon. My Fred loves his sweet cuppa, but the ration we’ll be allowed won’t last a day, let alone a week. Still, on a more cheerful note I heard from our Freddy today. Now that he’s done his trainin’ he’s been sent to Preston an’ he thinks they’ll be shippin’ ’em over to France any day.’

Seeing the deep concern on the older woman’s face, Lucy’s heart went out to her. She knew how much she worried about Freddy, but then most women with sons the same age were in the same position. Each of them dreaded seeing the telegraph boy cycling towards their house and prayed that he would pass them by. Freddy was actually a very nice young man and had made it more than clear that he liked Lucy, but the girl wasn’t interested in having a boyfriend, much to Mrs P’s disappointment. Her boy could have done a lot worse than take up with young Lucy as far as she was concerned, but then who knew what might happen when the war was over? She could live in hope.

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ Lucy said as she patted Mrs P’s hand. The words sounded so inadequate even to her own ears, but what else could she say? Rising from her seat, she began to gather Mary’s things together now, and once they were ready to leave, she gave Mrs P an affectionate hug.

‘Thanks so much for having Mary and I’ll see you tomorrow, shall I?’

‘You will that, luvvie.’ The woman forced a smile as she saw Lucy out, then moving back to the table she took up Freddy’s letter again and reread every word, wondering if the whole damn world had gone mad. The war won’t last for long – it can’t do, not after the last lot, she told herself, and helped herself to a Garibaldi biscuit to dunk in what remained of her tea.

‘Right then, young ladies,’ Mrs Broadstairs said the following Monday morning as she eyed the new recruits critically. ‘A few rules before I show you to the departments where you will be working. First of all, you must remember that the customer is
always
right! You must never, and I repeat
never,
argue with a customer even if you feel their choice is unwise. Customers are hard to come by in these difficult times. And Miss Smythe, I have to say those shoes are
most
unsuitable. You were told to wear flats, not high heels. I have no doubt you will wish you had by the end of the day when your feet are aching.’

Annabelle stared back at her haughtily. ‘I don’t own any flat shoes, nor do I wish to.’

Mrs Broadstairs positively bristled. She could see that she might have problems with this one. Miss Smythe was a right little madam if she wasn’t very much mistaken, but then no doubt she wouldn’t be quite so cocky after a long day on her feet. The other girl, Miss Ford, looked all right though. Her clothes were plain but smart and her auburn hair was tied neatly back into a ribbon at the nape of her neck. She didn’t appear to have a cocky attitude like the other girl either, which was something to be thankful for.

‘You two will have your morning break at eleven a.m. The staff dining room is located on the top floor but you will be back in your departments at eleven fifteen promptly. Your lunch break is from one to one thirty, and afternoon break three thirty until three forty-five. Is that quite clear?’

When both girls nodded, Annabelle somewhat resentfully, Mrs Broadstairs went on, ‘Neither of you will have access to the tills until you have more experience – you are junior sales personnel. And you will both do exactly as the shop-floor manager tells you, be it dusting or stock-taking.’ She got a little thrill of satisfaction when she saw the look of horror that flitted across the blonde’s face. She obviously wasn’t used to such lowly tasks if her clothes were anything to go by, especially the white ruffled blouse she was wearing, which looked suspiciously like pure silk; Mrs Broadstairs wouldn’t have minded betting that they’d probably cost more than the girl would earn in a whole month here. Still, there was a war on and everyone was having to make sacrifices, so why should this young woman be exempted?

‘For now you will both work on whichever floor you are needed on, on any particular day,’ the woman continued. ‘It could be that one day you may find yourselves in the shoe department and the next on lingerie or wherever. Sadly, many of our gentlemen employees have gone to join the war, so we have to do our best to keep the shop running efficiently whichever way we can. Working in different departments will also give you a wider knowledge of the way the store is run. As I have explained, for the first few weeks you will probably do the more menial jobs, but when the floor managers feel that your skills are sufficiently developed, you will be allowed to start to serve the customers.’

Mrs Broadstairs was quick to note that Annabelle was looking gloomier by the minute, although Lucy appeared quite happy with the arrangement. ‘Come along then, girls,’ she told them. ‘Before you begin work I will give you a brief tour of the store and introduce you to the various floor managers. Follow me.’