The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (25 page)

‘Yes, it has.' She scooped thick gravy onto her fork. ‘What's this if it's not a lump?'

‘A pea,' Eddie told her with a laugh.

After dinner the cat chose Violet's lap to sit on as she and Ida relaxed by the pond while Emily dozed by the unmade fire and the men tinkered with Eddie's motorbike in the front yard.

‘I wasn't joking earlier,' Ida confessed, kicking off her shoes, rolling up her trousers and dangling her legs over the edge of the rock. ‘I'm tired of trying to save up enough money to buy furniture and so on, not to mention a deposit on any house we might be able to afford to rent. Oh and then there's the cost of the wedding on top of that.'

‘It can't be easy,' Violet acknowledged then thought for a while. The cat settled down for a nap. ‘Have you and Muriel considered charging more for the dressmaking work?'

Ida shook her head. ‘That would defeat the object, remember. We keep the orders rolling in because we deliberately pin our prices down lower than Chapel Street Costumiers. That way it works for both parties.'

‘So we have to work faster and put in longer hours if we want to earn more,' Violet decided.

‘But then you know what they say: all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Harold and I are still young. We need to have fun.'

‘I suppose so.' In that case, Violet could see no way to help Ida save enough money to marry.

‘Besides,' Ida went on in a confidential tone, ‘I'm not sure I'm quite ready to give up my freedom just yet. I'm in love with Harold, of course I am. But I love my work, too. If I marry and have babies, bang goes my dressmaking time. Then how do I make my own way in the world?'

‘I'm not sure,' Violet murmured as she stroked the cat's soft fur. ‘Surely your mother would be able to help you?'

The comment made Ida laugh. ‘I can't imagine her getting involved in changing nappies again, can you? She'd tell you herself that she wasn't the best mother in the world when Eddie and I were little. She was too busy gallivanting with her friends – your mother and aunty included.'

‘Did your mother really go about with my mother?' Violet turned to Ida so sharply that the cat started from his sleep and jumped from her lap.

‘I expect she did,' Ida replied. ‘Why?'

Violet thought better of it and frowned. ‘Oh, nothing.'

‘Come on, Violet, what's eating you all of a sudden?'

Something about the warm isolation of the cosy nook they'd chosen and the confessional tone of the conversation made Violet open up to Ida in a way that she hadn't expected and explain to her all about the mystery of the bracelet and her search for her family.

‘You don't say.' For once Ida was at a loss after hearing Violet's story, but she soon rallied. ‘I see!' she said with fresh energy. ‘You're hoping that Mam will have some of the answers.'

‘Or someone who was part of the young crowd back then. But honestly, Ida, I don't want to upset anybody by asking awkward questions.'

‘Nonsense,' Ida decided, springing to her feet and hauling Violet up with her. ‘Mam won't mind. She loves a gossip as much as the next person.'

‘Wait – I'm still not sure,' Violet protested.

‘But I am,' Ida argued, marching Violet around the edge of the pond, through the yard and into the house to rouse her mother. ‘Wake up, Mam, and get your thinking cap on. Violet wants to talk to you about the old days.'

‘What was my mother like?' Violet asked Emily once they'd furnished her with a reviving cuppa and Ida had provided a rapid preamble to the questions that Violet needed an answer to.

Ida and Eddie's mother sipped her tea and strolled willingly down memory lane. ‘Florence was just like you to look at – the same hazel eyes and her hair had your auburn tint, though it was long and she wore it up – as we all did in those days. She knew how to make the best of herself too, did Florence Shaw … You'll have seen pictures of her, I reckon?'

‘As a matter of fact, no. Aunty Winnie was never big on photographs. There was no family album or anything like that.' Fascinated by Emily's snap-shot description, Violet was eager to hear more. ‘What was she like?'

‘She loved the music hall, if I remember rightly. She had a nice singing voice too.' Emily turned to Ida. ‘You know the album I keep in the pine chest of drawers?'

‘In your bedroom? Yes. Do you want me to fetch it?'

‘Yes. There's a photograph there of a group of us, including Florence, performing in a Christmas pantomime for the Hadley Players.'

Violet smiled at the odd coincidence and waited for Ida to bring the dog-eared album down. She watched Emily open it at the right page then leaned in for the first ever view of her mother.

‘This is her in 1913.' Emily pointed to a figure in the front row of a group of around a dozen women dressed in pale satin tunics and matching trousers, wearing elaborate stage make-up and with their hair tied back in pigtails. ‘We were in
Aladdin
, singing and dancing in the chorus. We had fun and games that year, I can tell you.'

Violet peered closely at the photograph, taken just two years before she was born. Her mother was taller than the others, her smile not quite so broad for the camera and her head was tilted at a shy angle.

‘My – even under all that make-up you can see how lovely she was,' Ida said in an admiring tone.

‘That was the trouble,' Emily commented. ‘She could have had the pick of the bunch, could Florence.'

As they looked and talked, Violet was aware that Eddie had come quietly into the kitchen. He stayed in the background while the talk continued.

‘What kind of trouble?' Ida wanted to know.

‘That's what I mean by fun and games. Joe Wheeler was falling over himself to ask Florence out, getting into scraps after rehearsal with Ben Hutchinson over who had first claim on her.'

‘Why does that sound familiar, I wonder?' Ida said with a meaningful look at Violet and Eddie.

‘Ben Hutchinson?' Violet echoed in disbelief, her gaze still fixed on the figure in the photograph.

‘Yes. Believe it or not, he was a smart young fellow about town back then, before he buried himself in dusty ledgers and stocktaking. There were others, too – I forget exactly who.'

‘So why did she plump for Joe Wheeler in the end?' Ida wanted to know.

‘Don't ask me.' Emily shrugged and closed the album with a dull thud. ‘Why does anyone plump for anyone? The war came along soon after that picture was taken and the two of them married quickly, just as so many people did. Kitchener was pointing his finger from bill boards in every railway station and outside every town hall, telling us that our country needed us and Joe, Donald, Ben and the rest of them – they all went off like lambs to the slaughter.'

A chill ran through Violet and she shuddered. ‘What about Joe?' she asked. ‘What do you remember about him?'

‘Not much. Only that he was the opposite to his brother, Donald. Not so po-faced and holier than thou. And he was handsome with it, so I could see why a girl might fall for him, except that he had a bit of a bad reputation.'

‘In what way?' Ida saved Violet the embarrassment of asking the obvious question, taking the empty teacup from her mother and refilling it from the brown pot on the hob.

Emily narrowed her eyes. ‘Joe had lost his steady job down the mine in Hadley for bad time-keeping. After that he went from one place to another, just scraping by. They seemed to think he wasn't reliable. That's why we were all a bit taken aback when Florence upped and married him.'

Saddened by the picture Ida's mother had painted and by how short and troubled the marriage seemed to have been, Violet felt it was time to draw the conversation to an end. She had one last question but she hesitated over how to frame it without giving too much away. ‘Was there anyone else my mother might have been interested in at that time?' she asked cautiously.

‘Besides Joe and Ben?' Emily racked her tired brain. ‘There was Walter Briggs for a little while, when he was renting a cellar room on Canal Road. But he was married to Rhoda Preston by the time I'm talking about. And there was a friend of Ben's – the two of them fell out over it. I forget his name. Oh, there must have been half a dozen others when I think about it.'

‘Anyone whose name began with a D?' Ida said, blunt as you like.

Violet's stomach churned and she glanced across at Eddie.

‘D?' Tiring of the subject and with her interest visibly waning, Emily gave over her second cup of tea to Ida and sat back in her chair. ‘Not that I can remember. Why?'

‘Vi was just wondering,' Eddie said quickly. He'd stood by with the intention of plucking Violet out of the situation as soon as it became uncomfortable. ‘Evie and Stan are here,' he told her. ‘They want to know if we fancy an afternoon ramble out to Little Brimstone. They're outside in the yard waiting for an answer.'

The impromptu hike out of town and into the countryside was just what Violet needed.

Stan was on his best behaviour with Evie, who took his arm and laughed at his jokes and seemed pleased as Punch to have a young man with whom she could walk out on a sunny September afternoon.

‘I'm building up a thirst,' Stan complained as they tramped the moor road on the way to the beauty spot.

‘Don't worry – we'll stop for tea when we get to Kitty's,' Eddie promised.

By this time, the two girls walked behind while the men strode ahead. For a while they chatted about Violet's upcoming birthday then the latest dress patterns and types of sewing thread before moving on to how Evie and Stan were getting along.

‘I like him,' Evie confessed cautiously. ‘When we're together he's not brash and pushy the way I thought he might be. I think that's all an act. Beneath it all he's a little bit shy.'

‘So he's quite the gentleman?' Violet asked.

‘Yes. He holds doors open for me and sees me home properly. He's polite to Father and funny with Arthur. To tell you the truth, I couldn't ask for more.'

‘Blimey, don't tell me he's turned over a new leaf.' Violet laughed. ‘Is this really Stan Tankard we're talking about?'

‘Should my ears be burning?' Stan turned and enquired. ‘I'm sure I heard my name mentioned.'

‘Evie's telling me what a gentleman you turn out to be.' Violet hurried to catch up.

‘That's because I know you'd tear me off a strip if I stepped out of line,' he said with the old bravado.

However, Violet caught the genuine, gentle smile that Stan gave Evie behind her back and she decided not to tease him any more. Instead, she seized Eddie by the hand and pulled him along. ‘Come on, slow coaches – I'll race you to the café!'

They hurried the final mile on tired legs until they came to the track leading to the tea-rooms-with-a-view where Eddie, Violet and Evie chose a bench to sit on while Stan went inside to order tea.

‘Eddie, you're the pantomime dame between two leading ladies,' Stan quipped on his return with the tray of refreshments. ‘Move along, Evie, make some room.'

They drank tea and ate fruit scones from plates balanced on their knees, taking in the panoramic view of the boulder-strewn, steep-sided valley until Violet and Eddie took a stroll to their favourite spot overlooking the waterfall while the other two polished off the last of the refreshments.

‘Let's sit for a while.' Eddie cleared early-autumn leaves from a ledge.

‘Yes, I'm happy as Larry here,' she said, edging close to Eddie and smiling up at him.

‘And it's good just to see you wearing a smile after Mother's stroll down memory lane,' he told her.

‘Yes. Well, I'm glad she showed me the picture.' The rush of water over worn stone almost drowned the sound of Violet's voice. ‘I thought it might upset me but it didn't. It was nice hearing about my mother but we didn't get far with what I'm really after, did we?'

Eddie squeezed her hand. He pulled at a grass stalk and chewed on the juicy end, keeping it hanging between his teeth as he went on. ‘What we need is a Sherlock Holmes type – someone with a razor-sharp memory and more of a bloodhound instinct to pick up clues. That's not Mother, unluckily for us.'

‘Perhaps I should have been more truthful about the reason behind it all.' Violet sighed, resting her head on Eddie's shoulder.

‘Not unless you felt up to it,' he consoled and they sat a while enjoying the green, secret place. Eventually he stood up and offered her his hand. ‘Are you ready to go back and see if Stan is still behaving himself?'

‘He'd better be.' Violet grinned, brushing herself down and leading the way. She and Eddie emerged from the leafy glen into the sunlit clearing to hear Stan render an out of tune version of ‘Daisy' in front of an embarrassed Evie while a small bunch of fellow ramblers laughed and generally encouraged him.

‘Dai-sy, Dai-sy, give me your answer, do …'

Violet ran to the rescue. ‘Shy my foot!' she exclaimed, knocking Stan out of the way and pulling Evie to her feet. ‘Stan Tankard, behave yourself. We've got a long walk home and Eddie and I will be keeping an eye on you every step of the way.'

Against the grimy bustle of mills and factories, of trams and buses loaded with their cargos of workers, of women shopping in Clifton Street market and children playing in the cobbled streets, the rich colours of late September shone forth. Leaves on the horse chestnut trees at the entrance to Linton Park turned to gold and in the distance, bracken on the moors showed russet brown. Early mornings brought silvery mist to the Common.

‘They say we're in for a hard winter,' Emily Thomson grumbled to Muriel on Monday morning when she called in at Jubilee with a message for Ida. ‘They can tell by the berries. When the trees are laden at this time of year, you can bet we're in for weeks of snow in December and January. Anyway, where's Ida got to? I haven't got all day.'