The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (6 page)

Stan waited nervously for Violet outside the Victory. Unusually for him, he felt ill at ease in his dark blue blazer with the wide shoulder pads and the high-waisted twill trousers held up by braces – altogether more formal than his usual outfit of tweed jacket and open-necked shirt. Still, he was sure that Violet Wheeler was worth making the effort for.

She was late, though. He watched couples walking arm in arm down Canal Road and into the shiny foyer of the picture house, trying in vain to pick out her slim figure. Instead, Eddie drew up to the kerb and parked his bike outside the entrance.

‘Hello, Stan, what are you hanging about out here for?' Eddie asked, in a hurry to get inside. ‘Did someone stand you up?'

‘I might ask you the same question, only a little bird tells me they've been daft enough to put you in charge of the projector. Can that be right?'

‘Ha ha, Stan.' As his pal shoulder-shoved him and shunted him into the wall, Eddie caught sight of Violet hurrying towards them. He felt a moment of nerve-tautening uncertainty until Stan spotted her too and immediately straightened his tie and cleared his throat.

‘Wish me luck, Eddie,' Stan muttered.

‘You … and Violet?' Eddie was slow to understand but when he did an angry shock ran through him – not irritation with Stan but with himself for being too slow off the mark. He hid it by hurrying on across the foyer and through a door marked ‘Staff Only'.

‘Here she comes, her royal highness!' Stan greeted Violet with a joke which he knew had worn thin since Whit Monday but he was so bowled over by her appearance that it was the best he could come up with. Her brown eyes were bright, her mouth soft and full. Not to mention the rest of her, shown off to advantage in her slim skirt and close-fitting blouse. She was a looker, was Violet, and it was a miracle she hadn't been snapped up long ago.

‘Hello, Stan. Sorry I'm late.' She thought he looked smart and spruce, though the whiff of Brylcreem was overpowering as he offered her his arm.
This is only the flicks
, she told herself.
It's an hour and a half of Fay Wray being carried up a skyscraper by a giant ape. It still doesn't mean that Stan and I are officially walking out, not by a long stretch of the imagination.

‘I can't work her out,' Stan confessed to Eddie the following night.

The two friends had met in the Green Cross after a day's work.

Eddie emptied his glass and tried to change the subject. ‘Honestly, Marjorie can talk the hind leg off a donkey.' He'd helped his dad that day with a decorating job above Marjorie's bakery. ‘Mind you, she keeps us well supplied with tea and sponge cake while we work.'

‘I'm telling you, I was on my best behaviour with Violet,' Stan went on, ignoring him. ‘I sat next to her good as gold. I never laid a finger on her until the scene where the monkey climbs the Empire State Building.'

‘Don't tell me – I don't want to hear about it,' Eddie muttered.

‘Even then, I only held her hand. I was banking on her being scared by the gorilla and burying her face in my chest like the other girls, but trust Violet to be different – she never did.'

‘Honestly, Stan, I'm not interested in your love life.'
Especially if it concerns Violet Wheeler
, he thought to himself.

His friend, who was dressed in greasy brown overalls, with his dark hair hanging lank over his forehead, struck a pose. ‘Look at me – how could anyone resist?'

Eddie had the grace to laugh and order them two more pints.

‘I'm not letting it put me off,' Stan vowed, confidence undented. ‘Mark my words – I plan on taking another crack at Violet Wheeler as soon as ever I get the chance.'

‘I decided to call in and collect our order for a change.' Muriel stood patiently waiting for Ben Hutchinson to make up the usual Tuesday list for Jubilee. She turned to Violet who was up a stepladder tidying shelves. ‘It's been one of those days. We had to rush to finish a sewing job on that dress for Mrs Barlow then we found that she couldn't come in to collect it herself so we had to ask Eddie to break off from his job at Sykes' and ride all the way out to Bilton Grange with it. But did he get any thanks? Not one word, I assure you.'

‘No, I can imagine,' Violet sympathized.

‘But she helps us pay the bills.' Muriel's gaze ranged along the shelf stacked with boxes of cereals. ‘I'll take some porridge oats, please, Mr Hutchinson. And a jar of marmalade.'

Taking a pencil from behind his ear and with no glimmer of a smile breaking through his permanent frown, the middle-aged grocer added items to the list then barked at Violet to fetch them. When the order was complete, he took Muriel's money and rang it up on the till. ‘Would you like little miss to carry it down the street for you?' he asked.

‘No ta – I can manage.' Muriel took the box and left the shop with a cheerful goodbye.

‘Say what you like about Muriel Beanland,' Hutchinson commented as he wiped down an already spotless counter and Violet carried the stepladder into the stockroom at the back of the shop, ‘she's had her fair share of troubles but she never lets things get her down.'

‘What troubles?' Violet wondered aloud.

Hutchinson tapped the side of his nose. ‘Never you mind.'

That's just like you
, Violet thought, emerging from the stockroom.
Lead a person on then clam up on them. I'll ask Aunty Winnie. She'll tell me what things Muriel has risen above in her seemingly neat and orderly life.

Violet's curiosity about Muriel Beanland's past couldn't be immediately satisfied, however, because it was Uncle Donald and not Aunty Winnie who greeted her when she got home.

‘What's this I hear about you joining the Hadley Players?' he demanded as soon as she got through the door. He was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, but immaculately groomed as always.

Violet adopted the careless tone she used whenever her uncle came down hard on her. ‘What if I did? It's not a crime, so far as I know.'

‘Less of your cheek,' he snapped. ‘I only got to hear of it through Eddie Thomson when he came in for a haircut first thing this morning. You kept it quiet, though I expect Winnie was in on it. You two are always hugger-mugger.'

Violet drew a deep breath. ‘We kept it quiet because we knew how you'd react. And sure enough, we were right.'

Filling a kettle at the kitchen sink, Donald set it to boil on the gas cooker that he'd recently had installed, after years of nagging from Winnie.

‘Entering the contest for Gala Queen is one thing,' he grumbled, ‘but prancing about on a stage in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry is different. It's not something I hold with.'

Violet sighed and sat at the table. Suddenly the kitchen seemed small and dark, full of antiquated objects like the pair of white china dogs on the mantelpiece, the ticking wall clock and the heavy flat iron resting on its stand next to the fire grate. Her uncle was old-fashioned too – thirty years out of date and miserable with it. Whereas Violet thought of herself as a sort of Cinderella, dreaming of her prince but always prevented from going to the ball.

‘Are you listening to me?' Donald asked. ‘I get to know everything in the end, as long as I keep my ear to the ground. It was Eddie who gave you the lift back after the rehearsal, wasn't it? And I expect it was him you went to the pictures with on Saturday night.'

‘No, Uncle, it wasn't. It was Stan Tankard.' Violet ignored his startled expression and let a sullen silence develop between them. She was weary of it all – the dogs, the clock, the ashes in the grate and Uncle Donald's attempts to make her conform to his joyless view of life.

‘In any case, I want you to stay in more and help your aunt,' he went on with a heavy-handed switch of subjects. The kettle boiled and he warmed the teapot then put in two spoonfuls of tea. He poured in the water and waited for the leaves to mash. ‘She's not as young as she was.'

Violet considered this a blow below the belt, intended to give her a guilty conscience. ‘Honestly, Uncle Donald! That won't work with me and you know it – Aunty Winnie is fit as a fiddle.'

‘I knew my ears were burning,' Winnie declared as she opened the front door and set down her shopping bag full of vegetables from Clifton Street market. She smiled her way through what she could sense was the build-up to a serious argument. ‘And yes, here I am – fit as a fiddle, just as Violet says!'

‘No, sir – I did not know that my sister had gone to the races on the day she died.' Violet read carefully from the script that Ida had given her. ‘I believed she had gone to work as usual.'

‘Put a bit more life into it,' Ida urged. ‘Not so flat and stiff. Try again.'

Violet sighed and caught sight of Kathy and Peggy rehearsing their parts in a different corner of the hall, while Harold was painting scenery on the stage. So far there was no sign of Eddie. She repeated the line again, trying to follow Ida's advice.

‘Better,' Ida told her. ‘Try to show that you're nervous and upset. You have to pretend I'm a nasty policeman intent on tripping you up.'

What have I let myself in for?
Violet wondered. It turned out she wasn't a natural when it came to acting and the more she tried to get it right the more self-conscious she became.

For more than an hour she had tried to master the part of the murder victim's sister, taking tips from the director and concentrating on getting it right. When they broke for tea and biscuits, she drifted towards Kathy for advice.

‘The trick is to forget that anyone's looking at you.' Kathy sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. Her hair was pinned up to show the nape of her neck and she wore a pair of trousers with turn-ups, giving her the air of a fashionable girl-about-town.

‘Rather you than me,' Harold commented. He perched on a stepladder, drinking tea and smoking a cigarette. Broad-faced, with even features and wavy hair combed back from his forehead, he had an air of permanent cheerfulness, which made him easy to like.

‘I'll feel such a fool if I can't get it right,' Violet complained. ‘But the thing is, Uncle Donald is dead set against me doing this and I want to prove him wrong.'

‘Don't worry, you'll soon pick it up,' Ida said as she breezed by. She too was in trousers with a neat cream-coloured blouse tucked into a high waistband. Violet decided it was the look to copy in future; her own calf-length skirt and short-sleeved jumper felt dowdy in comparison.

‘Has anyone seen Eddie?' Harold asked from his onstage perch. ‘Or do you expect me to roll up my sleeves and finish this backdrop all by myself?'

‘He's working at the Victory tonight,' Ida told him before rushing everyone to finish their tea.

Hearing this made Violet realize how much she'd been looking forward to seeing Eddie, and perhaps even another ride home on his motorbike.

‘Oh, now someone's down in the dumps!' Kathy noticed Violet's disappointment and teased her for it.

She blushed then protested, ‘Don't be daft, Kathy. It's none of my business what Eddie gets up to.'

‘Oh no, that's right. A little bird tells me that it's Stan you're interested in these days,' Kathy smirked.

‘What makes you say that?' With a toss of her head, Violet went back to her corner of the hall to carry on rehearsing. For another hour she concentrated so hard that she didn't notice Eddie slip in through the side door and it wasn't until Ida called it a day that she realized he was up on the stage lending Harold a hand as before.

‘Aren't you glad? There's your lift home, after all.' Kathy winked as she, Peggy and Evie put on their coats, ready to leave.

‘No. I'll catch the bus with you.' Eddie was busy clearing dust sheets and washing brushes and Violet decided it would look wrong for her to hang around waiting for him. She was out in the yard, following the others to the stop when she heard a voice call her name and she turned to see Eddie standing by the side door of the Institute.

‘Don't you want a lift?' he asked.

The simple question flustered her. ‘No, it's all right thanks, Eddie. I can catch the bus.'

‘I'll only be five minutes.'

‘Oh, in that case … Are you sure?'

‘Course I'm sure. Wait there, I'll be with you in a jiffy.'

She felt a small thrill of excitement run through her. After all, Eddie had made a point of coming after her, which meant more than last week's casual, chance offer. He'd seemed shy, as if expecting her to say no, but determined in spite of that.
Perhaps he likes me
, was the thought that dawned on her and made her heart flutter.

Before long Eddie appeared in the main doorway. He put on his goggles and gauntlets in a businesslike way, sat astride his bike and kick-started the engine. ‘You know the routine,' he told Violet, winking at her as she stepped up on to the foot rest.

Soon she was on the bike, her arms clasped around Eddie's waist. He eased out of the Institute yard and rode slowly along the main street of terraced houses, passing the bus stop.

‘I thought you were meant to be working,' she mentioned.

‘I was. I got off at eight o'clock then came straight over to help Harold. Ida would've had my guts for garters otherwise.'

‘Yoo-hoo, Violet!' Kathy nudged Peggy and Evie and they all waved.

‘Hold tight,' Eddie said, picking up speed. They left the town then passed through fields and climbed towards the outcrop of boulders and cliffs strewn across rough moorland – a landmark known locally as Little Brimstone. The moors stretched out ahead, while the darkening sky held a herringbone pattern of fluffy clouds coloured pink and gold.

‘All right back there?' Eddie called over his shoulder.

‘Yes, ta. Just keep a lookout for sheep!' she replied. Her heart soared in all this space and beauty and she thrilled once more to the roaring speed of the bike. She was surprised when they came to the top of a hill and Eddie slowed almost to a halt.