by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)
‘So you see, it wasn’t really my fault. I can understand how it must have looked that way, but it was all Betty Deurden’s doing. I reckon that if she can be reinstated, even though she was the one what flung that spindle at me, then I could be an’ all. We need the money, d’you see? Me mam does, anyroad. Our Willy isn’t well, and with me dad gone and no compensation for the accident…’
He did glance at her then, surprise registering on his face. ‘Compensation? You surely didn’t expect any? Not after your father was the one who first took a pop at Harold. He brought about his own end, by his own foul temper.’
This momentarily silenced Dolly and she swallowed hard. ‘I’m not defending him. I’d be the last to do that, I promise you. And I didn’t mean to imply that you, or Harold, was to blame. Only, as he never actually touched Harold – it being just an unfortunate set of circumstances – I did hope that happen you’d see your way to letting me have my old job back, for Mam’s sake if nothing else.’ By the time she was finished, Dolly had quite run out of breath.
He was on his feet, moving away from the desk, away from her. ‘And what sort of an example would that set to the rest of the workforce? Shall I tell you? They would imagine that they could do whatsoever they pleased to the overlooker as they’d be forgiven, with no punishment of any kind. I’m sorry Dolly, but I can’t possibly reinstate you. I’m surprised you even ask. That decision has been made, so best let it lie. Find yourself a job elsewhere.’
‘I’ve tried but no one will take me on, not after what happened, and without a reference.’ She could hear the desperation in her own voice. ‘Can you not give me one of those at least?’
He was holding open the door, his face rigid and Dolly experienced a pang of bitter disappointment. Despite him being so grand and proper, she’d thought that he quite liked her, following that meeting in the boiler room when he’d been so kind. Now she saw that he was as unfair and pig-headed as all the other mill owners. He was addressing the air somewhere above her head. ‘Cotton operatives flit from mill to mill, as you well know, largely without troubling about such things as references. If your reputation has gone before you and no one will take you on, that has nothing to do with me.’
Disappointment turned to hot fury that surged through her veins. ‘How can you stand there and tell me it’s nothing to do with you? If you offered decent wages and proper facilities folk wouldn’t be so desperate, then these things might not happen. And if by some misfortune they did, you could at least treat everyone the same instead of picking on me, particularly since I was the one attacked. Beside which, it was your daughter I saved that day during the strike. Have you thought about that?’
A flush of crimson crept up his throat but Barker stood his ground. ‘I am not responsible for Evie’s foolishness, although I thank you for your actions on her behalf. However, that does not influence my decision in the slightest. She has been punished too. The decision has been made and must stand.’
‘So you are not a man with a heart, after all.’
He looked wounded by this charge. ‘However much I might sympathise with the fact it was your own father and you are suffering a double blow, if I went against Harold’s judgement I’d weaken my position. I’d be considered easy meat in future and who knows where that might lead? It could well result in further strike action. I’m sorry, I can’t take the risk.’
‘I’ll never forgive you for this, never! Not as long as I live and breathe.’
The fierceness of her passion left him momentarily stunned. ‘I’m sorry, Dolly, but there’s nothing I can do. I must sacrifice you rather than lose the stability of the entire workforce.’
Hunching her shoulders and biting down tightly on her lower lip, chin tucked well in as she struggled not to shame herself by crying, Dolly strode from the room, mouth pressed into a grim line,. It had been a dreadful interview, a complete and utter failure. She’d got absolutely nowhere, gained nothing and even lost the last remnants of her pride. All she wanted now was to escape this dreadful house, go home and let out all this painful emotion in a good cry.
As if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when she reached the hall and did finally look up, there, lounging in the doorway, chatting to Evie Barker with that unmistakeable predatory glint in his eye, was Sam. Dolly knew at once that he was pouring out all his charm, and Evie was lapping it up.
He leapt to attention the minute he saw her, but Dolly marched straight past him out into the street, head held high. Not for a minute would she let him see that she cared one jot. Men! You could keep ‘em.
* * *
Dolly spent the following days and weeks going around the very same mills over and over again. Tight-lipped and filled with a choking fear, she barely spent a minute in the house, returning home only to eat and sleep, even then avoiding both Aggie and her mother. Maisie, because she couldn’t bear the look of agony and fear in her eyes as she worried over what lay ahead with so little money coming in, and Aggie because she never seemed to be in the house much at all. More often than not she would be off to the pictures or strolling by the canal with Harold Entwistle, the overlooker, no less. Apparently he’d taken quite a shine to her and it was generally assumed that they were walking-out. Aggie was certainly behaving as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘Some good has come out of this mess,’ she commented in silky, self-satisfied tones. ‘He’s very nicely placed is Harold. Most eligible husband material, I’d say.’
‘But he’s too old!’
Aggie tossed her head. ‘Nonsense, he’s thirty-one, only twelve years older than me.’
‘Thirteen. And what about Sam? I thought you and he were walking out?’
‘Whoever told you that?’ Aggie picked up her brush and began to tease her chestnut curls.
‘I rather assumed that you and he—’
‘Don’t you dare assume anything about me, madam. You can have him, if you want him,’ she said, as if he were one of her leftover frocks that she was done with.
Dolly thought about the way Sam had looked when he was chatting up Evie Barker, all glittery eyed and alive. ‘Why would I want him?’ Oh, but she ached for him, with every fibre of her being.
Aggie was riffling through her wardrobe for something half decent to wear for her latest date with Harold that evening but glanced up in surprise at this comment. ‘Ah, learning a bit of sense at last, are we? Sam’s all right, in his way, but he’s going nowhere. He might have good looks and reasonable intelligence, all of that and more, but he lacks ambition and thinks far too much of himself. Imagines he can have any girl he chooses, well he can’t have me. I want much more in a man than anything he can offer.’
‘You only say that because he’s stopped making a fuss of you. No doubt he’s getting to know your nasty, underhand little ways. He told me he was fed up with you blowing all hot and cold. He meant to dump you. Maybe he already has.’
‘He has not! Sam Clayton is nothing to me and never was.’ Aggie went quite pink cheeked, though whether that was because Dolly had hit on the truth, or she was simply having trouble getting into her dress, it was hard to say. ‘I can twist Sam Clayton round my little finger any time I choose,’ she said, coming up for air. ‘I just don’t want to, thanks all the same. He’ll never make any brass, not enough for my needs; certainly not to get me out of this flaming hole. Whereas Harold has already made his mark in the world.’
She fluffed out her curls, smoothed down the short skirt and smiled at her reflection in the tiny mirror on the washstand, giving her hips a little shimmy.
‘Harold is taking me out tonight for the third time this week, would you believe? I’ve said it before, our Dolly, and it bears repeating, the answer to this dire situation we find ourselves in, is to make a good marriage.’
* * *
Aggie was well pleased with herself. There were some who might not see Harold as quite such a great catch. He wasn’t the most handsome man on God’s earth, his face being round and his pale blu
e eyes often holding the expression of a startled rabbit behind the steel-rimmed spectacles that he wore, particularly when she let him kiss her, which was happening quite often these days. Although his lips, she was sorry to say, were rather thin. Some might claim that his recessive chin with its slight cleft indicated weakness, but Aggie thought it rather cute. Such hair as he did have, which admittedly wasn’t as much as one would expect for a man of his age, was of an indeterminate brown. And his clothes, she thought now, as they settled themselves in the back row up in the ‘gods’ at the Salford Palace, had a tendency to always look slightly stained and creased. But then he was in need of a good woman to look after him. He’d said as much himself a dozen times, which was encouraging.
He was certainly free with his money. Admittedly the Palace was a bit of a fleapit and she preferred the Oxford Picture House or the Winter Gardens but this was only a Thursday, and Aggie didn’t expect the best every night. At least he’d driven her there in his Ford motor, and there weren’t many of those around, not even among overlookers. She was also aware that Harold Entwistle had a bit put by, left to him by his long dead parents. A most satisfactory state of affairs!
On a Saturday afternoon, after the mill closed for the week, he’d take her round the market and buy her little trinkets and ribbons. There’d be tea and cakes at Lyons Tea Shop which stood on the corner of Princess Street, next to Albert Square. Later, she’d put on her glad rags and set her hair into waves with sugar and water, and he’d take her dancing at Dyson’s Dance hall on Devonshire Street. He wasn’t much of a dancer himself, being a big man, but he did his best, for her sake. He even had a go at the Charleston and the Black Bottom, though he wasn’t quite nimble enough to do them properly. Aggie was having a wonderful time, the best fun she’d ever had in her life. And it didn’t cost her a penny.
Tonight, he’d treated her not only to a good dinner of steak, chips and peas, but this trip to the pictures as well. He had his arm about her shoulders already, and his heavy body felt a bit hot and sweaty next to hers, not that she minded. Sex, so far as Aggie was concerned, was a means to an end. If you were attractive, why not use it to your advantage? The fingers of his other hand were sliding beneath her stocking tops to caress her bare thighs under cover of darkness, before slipping up to more private parts. Aggie didn’t object to his fumbling, not one little bit. In fact, it got her quite excited. She liked to hear his breath coming in little rapid gasps of pleasure. But she really did wish that she could have a pair of proper cami-knickers in crepe de Chine. These serviceable flannels bought at the Flat Iron Market, made her feel cheap and Aggie felt she deserved better.
After a while she pushed his hand away and feigned modesty, crossing her legs. ‘Ooh Harold, what will you think of me. What sort of girl do you take me for?’ Aggie was wishing she had a pair of silk stockings like the ones Vilma Banky was wearing on the screen in front of her, instead of these boring lysle full of darns.
‘I thought you were my sort of girl, aren’t you Aggie? Aren’t you my sort of girl?’ Harold was furtively doing up his flies which he’d optimistically unbuttoned.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea. Anyway, someone might see us.’
He thought about this for a moment, then leaning closer, whispered against her ear. ‘You could always come round to mine on Sunday, for your tea?’
Aggie looked at him askance, her heart beating with excitement. Did this mean what she thought it meant? A chap didn’t ask you round for tea unless he was serious. And Harold had such a nice house on Quay Street. She wasn’t against having a look inside. More importantly, nor would she be against the idea of taking up permanent residence there, but if she was to achieve that end, she had to play her cards right. ‘And would there be anyone else present, Harold?’ she coyly enquired. ‘Because if not, I’m afraid I must decline. I’m a bit surprised you’d ask, if that should be the case.’
A woman from behind shushed her, and Aggie dropped her voice to a soft murmur while hammering home her point. ‘Like I say, I’m a decent, respectable girl and I’m shocked if you should think otherwise. Perhaps we’d best stop seeing each for a while. Till you’ve calmed down a bit.’
Harold suddenly saw his heart’s desire begin to slip away from him. He didn’t wish to calm down. Not at all! He wanted Aggie Tomkins stripped off and in his bed. And he’d do whatever was necessary to get her there. ‘Nay Aggie,’ he murmured, stroking her knee consolingly before giving her ear a little nibble, thrilled when it made her giggle. ‘I’d never suggest any such thing. You know how I feel about you.’
‘Do I, Harold?’ Aggie uncrossed her legs. Harold did not miss the implication and his heart leapt.
‘Aye, course you do, Aggie.’ His hand slid a little further under her skirt and her elbow didn’t come jabbing down. He was making progress.
‘Perhaps you should tell me just how you do feel. Happen we should talk about it, you and me. Then I’d properly understand, and be more – shall we say – obliging.’
Harold felt his heart start to pound. What was she suggesting? What was she promising? Perhaps he wasn’t behaving quite as a gentleman should but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Perhaps they ought to put things on a more formal footing. Once this notion had occurred to him, he began to warm to the idea. ‘Aye, you come round to mine and we’ll talk about things, eh? There might well be something I want to ask you.’
He could sense the moist heat of her as he neared the top of her leg and he went all hot under the collar, knew his armpits were sweating unpleasantly. He’d offer her anything, anything at all.
She glanced sideways at him, saw the excited glitter in his eyes. ‘And what might that be, Harold? What might you want to ask me?’ She moved slightly against his hand and heard him groan with pleasure. She was winning. A little more daring and he’d be putty in her hands. She egged him on a little further, let his fingers slide beneath the elastic once more, and then with a little gasp, she pushed the hand away.
‘Ooh, you naughty boy.’ He always loved it when she called him a boy, or young man.
He sank back in his seat like a pricked balloon, took off his spectacles and began to polish them furiously on his handkerchief. Aggie smiled to herself, well pleased, but when he made no further move towards her, she began to worry that she might have put him off. She hugged his arm and gave it a little squeeze. ‘It’s all very confusing for a girl. Hard to know how to respond, and I worry what you might think of me, if I let you go too far.’ She managed a little sob of anguish.
‘Eeh Aggie, I’d never think anything bad about you.’ He could barely restrain himself from grabbing her delicate white hand and shoving it down his trousers, his agony was so intense.
‘And you’re making me curious. I don’t think I can wait till Sunday. Why don’t you ask me now, whatever it is?’ She giggled entrancingly, and Harold was lost.
Drawing in a deep breath and puffing out his chest he said, ‘Aggie, I’m that taken with you…’ but he could go no further. The words wouldn’t come. He was too aware of the woman behind listening to every word. ‘This isn’t the place. Come on Sunday. Say you will. I want to do right by you, Aggie.’
She turned her head to meet his wide, yearning gaze. ‘In that case, Harold, shall we say four o’clock?’
* * *
Dolly wished she could view life with her sister’s assured complaisance. But then, she didn’t have the overlooker panting after her, did she? In any case, she had no wish to talk to anyone about her problems, certainly not her mam. Dolly’s feelings towards Maisie were strangely ambiguous. She was still concerned for her mother, still wanted to put things right, to wave a magic wand and pay off all those burdensome debts but at the same time she couldn’t quite forgive Maisie for lying to her all these years. Dolly had always believed that she and her mother were close, so why had she never told her about this great love of her life, and the identity of her true father?
It made her feel as if there
was no one left whom she could trust. Not her mother, certainly not her jealous sister, nor even Sam, her best friend. It hurt her still to think of him. He’d offered to come along with her to the Barker’s house and give his support, and the minute her back was turned there he was chatting up another girl. Perhaps Aggie had a point. He was a bit too full of himself. But then weren’t all men? Wasn’t that part of their charm?
Of course, as Sam had frequently reminded her, there was none of that love-stuff between the two of them. They’d never been anything other than friends. Nevertheless, it still hurt. Aggie had rejected him and still he didn’t look her way. What was so wrong with her, that he never could see her as someone he might fancy? And the fact that it was Evie he was fawning over, the very girl he and his daft mates had threatened when they’d first come across her in that fancy jalopy, made it ten times worse. Now she too, the girl whom Dolly had saved and was the cause of all this mess, was also against her. Oh, it was too much.
Dolly’s one desire was to prove to everyone that she could manage on her own. She would trust no one, never again, and make her own way in the world. All she had to do was to find herself a job, then a place of her own to live and she’d be nice as ninepence. She wouldn’t need anyone. Oh, but she’d still see that her mam was all right. Once she’d got on her feet, she’d settle that flipping debt, then Maisie could be free of Nifty Jack too.
But how? She’d been all round the problem and was right back where she’d started. There was no denying the facts. They couldn’t all live on Willy and Aggie’s pay. Once they’d paid the rent; the Prudential burial fund; saved a few pennies for the gas and paid a sizeable portion to Edna Crawshaw at the corner shop off the growing list of items on tick, whatever was left went straight into the talleyman’s pocket, and the next week, with interest added, the debt would be as big as ever.