Keepsake (30 page)

The new job might be welcome but that first week was incredibly testing, being patronised by Burdock and Bunyon alike, and receiving vexed glares from Tupman, who had obviously hoped to see her sacked in revenge for her rejection of him and instead found her promoted.

‘I wonder how she managed to twist Dandy round her finger?’ she overheard Mr Vant muse between fits of coughing.

And Tupman’s wicked reply: ‘More relevantly, I wonder what she’s giving in return.’

What could she do to quash the rumours? Any attack on Tupman would bring instant dismissal, as would admitting that she was a married woman, but such gossip was offensive to her.

There was no option but to grin and bear it, and at least some of the bad feeling would come to an end when Miss Bunyon finally left on Saturday night. However, before then she was to give Etta much to endure. Loving every minute of having someone there to whom she could delegate the less attractive side of the job, the cashier made her polish every section of wood panelling in the office, plus every brass handle and each glass partition.

Knowing it was futile to object, Etta undertook every task, polishing until her arms felt as though they might drop off, but still it was not good enough for Bunyon.

‘You’ll have to make a better job of it than this.’ The arrogant cashier pointed out a few smears left on the glass.

Pretending to be unaffected, Etta swiftly buffed these away, telling herself that in another few days her oppressor would be off.

Yet, even as she exited the staff room for the final time Miss Bunyon found the capacity for one last hurtful comment. When, along with the others, Etta gave her best wishes for the coming nuptials, there came a smug reply. ‘That’s very magnanimous of you. I’m sure you must be eager to see me go, it is rather crowded in the office. Now you and Mr Burdock will be able to have it to yourselves.’

That was all Etta could take. ‘I’ll say this once!’ she boomed for all to hear. ‘I would never so much as consider besmirching my honour with a married man and anyone who makes such a suggestion should be thoroughly ashamed.’ She looked round at the shifty expressions. ‘Yes, I
have
heard the gossip!’

Mr Tupman gave a careless shrug, threw his mackintosh over his arm and went home. Mr Vant studied the shabby linoleum and drew long on his cigarette, whilst Miss Bunyon merely offered an innocent smirk. ‘I was merely commenting on the size of the office. What you make of that is all in your dirty mind.’ And she left.

‘We know you’d never do anything like that,’ Mary-Ann murmured soothingly, passing Etta her coat from the cupboard. ‘Don’t we, Miss Wimp?’

Maude gave earnest reply, though Etta knew she was not without blame for the gossip. Nevertheless, she replied, ‘Thank you. Well, at least that’s one of my enemies out of the way – and good riddance to her!’ she added with feeling.

But, left to do the job by herself, Etta found it somewhat daunting. Mr Burdock was eager to help in his puffed-up way, though the sight of their heads close together as they scrutinised the accounts did nothing to scotch the rumours.

It was all very annoying, but, attempting to cope alone this afternoon, Etta had more important matters to occupy her as she struggled to come to grips with the piles of receipts and invoices, the stocktaking and banking…and more. How the devil was one meant to work in such a confined space? Squashed against the desk by Burdock, who was involved in a telephone conversation with his superior, his weight on one leg and his fat backside taking up even more room than usual, she heaved a sigh, cleared her throat and threw him a look of annoyance over her shoulder, all of which he failed to heed. With a gasp, she turned away from the jutting backside and tried to concentrate on her ledger – but in seconds her head shot up again in response to a feminine squeal.

‘Wasn’t me!’ Tupman held up his hands as a protestation of innocence when the manager glared immediately at him.

‘A mouse!’ Mary-Ann, who had been carrying a wastepaper basket with the intention of emptying it, now threw it in the air and danced about hysterically as the rodent sprang out and in a blur of movement shot across the floor with everyone after it, customers looking on in bafflement.

Etta interrupted her book-keeping to watch the excited pursuit that wound its way back and forth across the shop, covering her mouth and laughing in anticipation of what would happen next.

Behind her, still leaning against the panelled wall with the receiver pressed to his ear as his superior droned on, Mr Burdock itched to deal with the explosion of noise but, for now, the only outlet for his annoyance was a tapping of his foot and a disapproving frown, for he dared not break off the important dialogue. It transpired he did not have to. In an extraordinary sequence of events the mouse ran into the office – straight under Burdock’s foot which instantly snapped down on it like a trap.

Its pursuers stopped dead with a unified exclamation for
the manager’s skill, before Burdock shooed them away with a wordless command, leaving only Etta to stare in horror and to watch the life being squashed out of the tiny body. Under his foot, the mouse struggled briefly then was dead.

Still on the telephone, Burdock reassured his superior – ‘Noise, sir? Oh, it’s from outside!’ – and maintained the conversation whilst gesticulating to his staff to get about their business and for Etta to remove the body from under his shoe.

Revolted, she scraped it up using two receipt books and carried it to the dustbin, her heart still thudding from the shock. Marty would never have done such a cruel thing. Gazing sadly upon the crushed mouse in the dustbin, the glaze of death upon its eyes, something inside her died too. He wasn’t coming back, was he? She couldn’t pretend any longer. He had truly gone. A wave of emotion threatened to swamp her. After working nine, ten, sometimes even eleven hours a day for months she had begun to appreciate how gallantly Marty had struggled to provide for them. Small wonder he had not the energy for anything else, small wonder he had been short-tempered with her. Why had she taken his efforts so much for granted? Well, she must no longer take it for granted that someone else would look after her. She was on her own.

Slamming the dustbin lid over the mouse with a noisy clang, she hurried indoors and tried to forget.

Which was impossible, for later it was discovered that before its demise the rodent had multiplied. In fact, the outside yard where they stacked the flattened cardboard boxes was suddenly alive with them.

‘I’ve just seen another!’ announced an excited Mary-Ann. ‘A right big un – oh, look, it’s there again!’ From the window of the staff room she pointed down into the yard.

‘That’s no mouse, it’s a bloody rat!’ exclaimed Mr Vant in a fit of apoplectic coughing over his cigarette.

His colleagues agreed, but the tight-fisted Burdock
refused to believe it and, insisting it was only a few mice, instructed Etta to take some money from the petty-cash tin and go and buy a couple of traps.

Huffing at this sudden demotion to lackey, Etta nevertheless welcomed the opportunity to wander through town and to spend the penny change on three stale buns for her children, a treat her own wage would never allow. Above anything else – mice, rats, or condescending managers – it was this that gave her most cause for anger. For, having access to all the confidential records she was now acquainted with the amount each member of staff received in comparison to her own pittance. Whilst she was indeed now better off than the other female assistants, despite the supposed importance of her position the men still received higher wages – why, even the schoolboy earned more than she did just because he was male! Though infuriated by the injustice of this, Etta was to think twice before doing anything about it.

Not until she had accrued several more weeks’ experience in the post and was therefore not so easy to replace did she confront her superior. Still, it was no easy fight.

‘A rise?’ stuttered Burdock’s fat mouth in response to her tremulous enquiry. ‘But you’ve already had one in being promoted to the cashier’s job, Miss Lanegan.’

She toyed with a corner of her ledger that had been nibbled by rodents. ‘I understand that and I’m very grateful to you, Mr Burdock. I wouldn’t even consider asking unless my need was very great…’

He gave a curt laugh. ‘So is mine, Miss Lanegan, but I doubt my superior would take kindly to my application for more. He would ask, “What makes you think you are worth it?” And I ask that of you.’

Knowing that any form of arrogance spelt financial death, Etta lowered her gaze and tried to look humble. ‘I’m sure I’m most unworthy, Mr Burdock. Please forget I said anything.’ Quickly dipping her pen into the inkwell she made as if to resume her book-keeping.

‘No, no!’ Burdock responded to her piteous stance. ‘I’m not a man to dismiss such a request out of hand.’

She lifted her eyes from the ledger, allowing her winsome expression to plead on her behalf, feeling Burdock’s gaze upon her and despising him.

‘Well…’ he said eventually, his brown eyes beginning to soften and to dart a look into the shop to see if others were in earshot. ‘I’m bound to say you’re doing a magnificent job, and I must say you’ve taken no time at all to pick it up. Most impressive.’ He bent nearer to whisper. ‘But if I did agree to recommend you to head office I shouldn’t like any of the others to know; they’d surely see it as favouritism.’

Etta formed her lips to issue thanks, but her bright expectation was instantly quashed.

‘I haven’t made my mind up yet –’ came his stern addition.

‘Of course.’ She hung her head again, playing the game that he demanded of her.

‘– but I’ll certainly consider putting in a good word for you.’ Realising that Tupman was taking an interest the manager smoothed his tufts of hair, gave her a barely perceptible wink then raised his voice again. ‘And let us hear no more about it, Miss Lanegan!’

In the staff room Tupman teased her as he had always been wont to do, but now there was a malevolent edge to it. ‘Lover-boy fallen out with you, has he?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Etta sighed impatiently as her ink-stained fingers unwrapped the slice of bread-andmargarine that served as lunch.

‘Heard you trying to wheedle a pay rise out of Dandy, but he didn’t seem too receptive. You must be losing your grip.’

Knowing he was goading her into a response that might earn her the sack, Etta tried to keep her temper. ‘Yes, well, some might consider it unfair to have all that responsibility and not be adequately compensated.’

Tupman scoffed. ‘What, for sitting on your derriere all day pushing a pen? There’s no responsibility in that.’

‘And you’d be a firm proponent of responsibility,’ retorted Etta.

Tupman brushed this aside with a cunning laugh. ‘We all know the reason you got that job, and it isn’t your brains.’

Stung, she revealed unwisely, ‘Apparently Mr Burdock does not agree. He has said he will consider my request.’

Tupman frowned. ‘If his fancy-piece is getting a rise I’ll want one an’ all.’ The other listeners echoed this feeling.

‘And do you intend to phrase your request like that?’ enquired Etta lightly, hoping it would conceal her anger. ‘I shouldn’t think Mr Burdock would take kindly to it.’ And with that she set upon her lunch.

‘Got him nicely under control, haven’t you?’ sniped Tupman. ‘I wonder how he’ll respond when he hears you’ve been moonlighting.’

‘What nonsense, you silly man.’ Etta remained unmoved, until he sprang his trump card.

‘Me and the missus saw you in Coney Street on Wednesday with a pram and three kids in tow. Doing a bit of nannying on the quiet, aren’t you?’ Though almost bursting with his discovery for the last couple of days, he had been biding his time in order to make the utmost impact and had obviously succeeded. Drained of colour, watched closely by her colleagues, his adversary fought for a reply.

‘What difference does it make to you if she is?’ Mary-Ann sprang to her aid. ‘We’d all like a bit of extra cash.’

‘Aye, but most of us have families to support. She hasn’t, she’s just raking it in so that she can buy that blasted sewing machine and open her shop and lord it over us.’

‘Etta isn’t like that,’ sneered Mary-Ann. ‘You’re just maungy because she spurned your advances – and quite right she was too.’

Tupman flicked a dismissive hand at her. ‘You don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘I do.’ Mary-Ann looked crafty. ‘She told me you tried it on with her.’

Etta groaned inwardly for this betrayal of confidence.

He snorted. ‘And you believe her? She’s just got too high an opinion of herself. Stuck up madam, looking down on us, talking with a plum in her mouth.’

‘Just because she talks nice doesn’t make her stuck up. If I spoke like that I wouldn’t want to work here neither.’

‘Why are you fighting her corner? She’s not bothered about you, just how much she can cram into her own pocket.’

‘When you’ve quite finished!’ Etta had finally had enough of being discussed as if she were not there. ‘Mr Tupman, you were mistaken when you said I was moonlighting. In fact, those were my own children you saw me escorting.’ Giving him only time to gasp, she went on, ‘And before you spring to any more of your scurrilous conclusions, no, they are not illegitimate. I am married to their father, who abandoned me –
that
is the only reason for my enduring the last six months of lewd innuendo and physical assault upon my person, so that my children might keep a roof above their heads and not starve!’

No one spoke, their mouths slack with amazement.

‘Now! May one eat one’s lunch in peace?’ Etta made brave play of biting into her sandwich.

Tupman stared at her for a moment, then without a word turned and left.

Etta felt the others staring at her and tried to appear unaffected, chewing quite casually.

Mary-Ann seemed amazed, not just by the revelation but by Etta’s cool reaction. ‘Don’t you ever wonder where your husband is?’ she asked eventually.

Etta swung to face her, her immediate reaction to shout,
Of course I do, you idiot, I think about him every bloody night!
But the enquiry was made with such genuine sympathy that she merely responded, ‘Sometimes…but
it’s best not to. Mary-Ann, I’m sorry for lying to you, to all of you,’ she looked around beseechingly, ‘but no one would employ me and I was so desperate…’