Yours Cheerfully

by AJ Pearce

  After a moment, I heard some ladies come in. They seemed more interested in chatting about the meeting than using the facilities, so I went back to writing my notes. I planned to stay another couple of minutes and then head downstairs. I certainly wouldn’t earwig on their conversation.

  ‘Did you see that Vogue came?’ one was saying. ‘And that coat! So beautiful.’

  ‘Astrakhan,’ said the other. ‘Pre-war, surely? Gorgeous.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said the first one, sighing. ‘Do you know, I thought it was quite an exclusive event when I saw her, but then I looked around and they seemed to have invited any old sort. Did you see Woman’s Friend? I thought it had closed years ago, the poor old thing.’

  With that, not earwigging went straight out the window.

  ‘Oh, Freddie, don’t,’ said her friend. ‘I suppose the Ministry wants to get the message out to everyone, including the old ducks. Though Lord knows what war work they’ll be able to do. Knitting socks probably.’ She laughed, loudly.

  I opened my mouth but managed to hold my tongue. Shouting at a stranger from inside a lavatory cubicle would not have been in keeping with the occasion. Even Mr Jarrett, who had thought Mr Collins was dead, probably wouldn’t do that. But these women were the absolute limit.

  ‘Honestly, Diane,’ replied the other, ‘I thought even the old dears had given up on Woman’s Friend. They can’t keep their Editors either. First they dragged Henrietta Bird out of retirement and now apparently they’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel and given Guy Collins the job.’

  At this, I nearly shot out and went for them both. I stood up and shoved my notebook into my bag. Who were these women? Bending down, I looked under the door but all I could see were two pairs of legs, both in high-heeled shoes, one black suede, the other a flamboyant green crocodile.

  ‘Is he still going?’ said her friend. ‘Good grief.’

  ‘I assume so, if only just. Jarrett was talking about him.’

  I heard a powder compact click shut.

  ‘I thought he had some sort of breakdown? Collins, that is.’

  I stood stock-still, holding my breath.

  ‘No idea,’ said Freddie in a funny voice which I assumed was because she was putting on lipstick. ‘He’s a has-been either way, so I suppose spot on for the job.’ She gave a silly little laugh. ‘There, that’s better. Heaven only knows what we’ll do when Max Factor runs out.’

  Heaven only knew what I was going to do if she didn’t stop being so awful.

  I looked around me and felt ridiculous. Two minutes ago, I was on top of the world listening to a Ministerial briefing, and now here I was, hiding in a lavatory wanting to punch someone. How the mighty fall.

  But I wasn’t going to stand for this sort of talk. I pulled the toilet chain forcefully to give them fair warning, and then slammed the lock open on the door.

  Trying to exhibit every ounce of cold disdain possible, I went through the charade of washing my hands. The two women were still repairing their make-up and gossiping. They didn’t seem to notice me.

  I told myself I would not create a scene with them. After all, I was very lucky to come to the meeting in the first place. The women roundly deserved to be ignored. I dried my hands and headed to the door, putting my nose in the air, ready to feel the exhilaration of taking the moral high ground.

  But I’d never been a fan of moral high ground.

  So, I turned around.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, politely. ‘Emmeline Lake, Woman’s Friend. As you seemed to be rather interested, you might like to know that Guy Collins is doing a terrifically good job as Editor. But thank you so much for your concern. Good morning.’

  And then I did my first attempt at a Mrs Edwards smile that could shut up a Public Relations man, and left.

  As I began to head up the corridor to the lifts, I allowed myself to savour what felt like a small triumph. My point had been made, but in an appropriately dignified way.

  Then I realised I had left my bag on the back of the lavatory door.

  ‘Blast,’ I said, less appropriately, just as a man I recognised as Mr Boe walked past. He looked appalled, said, ‘Really!’ and speeded up. Unsurprisingly, swearing wasn’t the Ministry’s thing. I hung my head, less in shame and more in frustration.

  ‘Excuse me, miss, if you were part of the publishing briefing, might I ask you to move along to the lifts now, please?’

  A young man the colour of milk clasped his hands and looked at me dolefully. ‘It’s just that the meeting is over.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ve been rather a chump and left my handbag in the ladies’ lavatory. Might I just dash in and get it?’

  The man wrung his hands but nodded. ‘If you see any of your colleagues in there, might you have a word along the same lines?’ he asked. ‘Security, you do understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, now feeling in with the Right Sort. ‘Actually, I did notice a couple of ladies still in there. Not lurking or anything worrying,’ I added and then I frowned. ‘At least I don’t think so. I’ll go and get them out, shall I?’

  ‘Would you?’ said my new friend. ‘We can’t have that. Then I would be grateful if you could make your way to the lift.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’

  Feeling bolstered, I took a breath, pushed my shoulders back once again and returned to where my two adversaries were still deep in conversation and now mucking about with their hair.

  ‘The poor thing obviously has the worst crush on Collins,’ said the one in the crocodile-skin shoes. ‘It really is rather a scream.’

  ‘Oh Freddie, how desperate,’ said the other, licking the top of a finger and dabbing it along one of her eyebrows.

  ‘Isn’t it? I know there’s a war on, but . . .’

  They both laughed. It was cheap and uncalled for, and best behaviour promise or not, I wasn’t having it.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘I’m not sure that you do.’

  They both turned, openmouthed. I felt my heart speed up.

  ‘I mean it’s hardly the way to speak of a fellow member of the press, is it? “All stick together, Birds of a feather,”’ I said, quoting the song as if it was some sort of emergency law.

  Freddie recovered herself first. ‘Oh silly, I think you must have misheard,’ she said, which rather suggested I was deaf. ‘We were chatting about a friend. Come along, Diane.’

  She picked up her clutch bag from beside the sink and tucked it under her arm.

  ‘I don’t think I did,’ I said, quietly. ‘I distinctly heard you being most unpleasant about Woman’s Friend and Guy Collins. You know, you can say what you like about me,’ I added. ‘Even though it isn’t true. But please don’t be rude about our Editor. He has every right to be here.’

  Diane gave her friend a nudge. ‘Let’s go, Fred, this is dull,’ she said.

  But her colleague didn’t move.

  She just tipped her head to one side and looked at me as if I had tried awfully hard but still come last in the Egg and Spoon race. ‘Every right to be here? That would be a Stop the Press piece of news. You wouldn’t be the first secretary to fall into a bout of schoolgirl passion. I assume he is still doing his tortured artist act?’ She sniffed. ‘You silly girl, I’m afraid it’s only fair to tell you that your magazine is seen as quite the joke. And sad old Guy still plugging along on it. Sorry. Just thought you should know.’

  Now I nearly laughed. It was an extraordinary display. A grown woman spreading gossip and pushing me around because I was new. It was like being back at school.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, standing my ground. ‘It’s kind of you to care, but you really needn’t. Woman’s Friend’s War Effort Recruitment Plan has been in preparation for some time. Mr Collins won’t say a word if you ask, but I can tell you that the Ministry is due to receive it soonest. In fact, I assume that was why we were invited today. But I shouldn’t be saying a word.’

  So, stick th
at in your pipe and smoke it.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, sweeping dramatically (as far as I could in a confined space) past them and into the lavatory. Then I grabbed my bag, as if it were quite the done thing to leave it there in the first place, and walked out before either of them had a chance to say another word.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I did try, but they insisted they wouldn’t be rushed,’ I said to the worried young man who was waiting outside. ‘Thank you, again. Good morning.’

  And then, as I had no wish to encounter the two women again in the lift, I ran to the doors marked Stairs and rushed out as fast as I could.

  *

  As promised, Mr Collins was waiting outside the building, I could tell he had enjoyed the morning enormously.

  ‘Well, then, Miss Lake,’ he said, heartily. ‘What did you make of it all? I say, are you all right? You look rather red-faced.’

  ‘I’ve just run down the stairs,’ I said, which was true, although three flights had made no difference at all to the fury I felt over Freddie and Diane.

  Mr Collins nodded and didn’t enquire about the lavatories as generally no one in their right mind would.

  I wanted to put my thoughts in order before telling him about the fracas so that it didn’t look as if I had had some sort of over-excited brainstorm, and not only argued with complete strangers but showed off about a lofty plan that didn’t actually exist. I had already decided not to mention the nasty jibes the women had made about him.

  I shoved the incident to the back of my mind and focused on the meeting itself. Before Freddie and Diane’s nastiness had cast a shadow over things, I’d had the time of my life. It was one thing to be doing your bit as a matter of course – everyone in the country was doing that. But it was quite something to sit in a room full of proper journalists and be told we were needed to play a specific part.

  We stopped momentarily at a boarded-up newsagent so that Mr Collins could buy a copy of the Radio Times. Someone had painted, ‘BAD LUCK ADOLF – WE’RE STILL OPEN’, in large black letters on the boards.

  ‘If you ever want someone in journalism to look up to,’ said Mr Collins, tucking the magazine under his arm and thanking the lady for his change, ‘Monica Edwards is one of the best. She can paint an entire picture in one line, never misses a deadline and doesn’t shy away from the truth. Ignore the Jarretts of the world, Emmy. Monica is the sort of person to model yourself on.’

  I was eager to hear more about the people he had worked with in the past, and as I questioned him further, I tried to forget about Freddie and Diane. I was sure Mr Collins would not be put off by their nastiness, although I did hope he wouldn’t be cross with me for taking them on.

  When we arrived back at Woman’s Friend, Hester, who was looking unusually serious, handed Mr Collins a telephone message, at which he frowned but immediately called a meeting to debrief everyone on the morning’s events. As I would entirely expect from him, he had taken the directive that information should be passed only to key staff members to mean the entire Woman’s Friend team. He was clear that we were to keep everything close to our chests, but nevertheless, no one on the team was left out of the shared mission.

  ‘We’ll have a proper meeting on Monday,’ he said. ‘Bring in your ideas on how we can help the effort and we’ll speak then. One more thing,’ he added, looking thoughtful. ‘Don’t just think about how we can promote the Ministry’s recruitment campaign. Think about the women. They’re the ones keeping everything going while the boys are away. Think about the readers. Our job is to help them, just as much as we help the war effort.’ He looked at the clock on the wall. ‘Now you must excuse me as I will be out of the office for the rest of the day.’

  And with that, he had gone. My heart sank. It meant I would have to wait to speak with him about my argument and rashly promised Big Plan. I supposed at least it meant I could organise my thoughts.

  I did not read anything dramatic into Mr Collins leaving, but Hester had a different idea and rushed over to me as soon as the meeting dispersed.

  ‘IT’S A PERSONAL THING,’ she said in a deafening stage whisper that would have reached the Upper Circle in even the largest theatres of the West End. ‘MR COLLINS’ FRIEND ISN’T AT ALL WELL.’

  ‘Thank you, Hester,’ I said at a normal volume. ‘If it’s personal then it’s a good idea to keep it to ourselves.’

  Hester nodded, keenly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The lady calling said it was private, so I’ve made sure everyone knows.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said.

  ‘You know,’ whispered Hester. ‘Just in case it turns out the person is dead.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘So, telling everyone should avoid any upset?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Hester looking pleased that I’d managed to catch on. ‘Because if someone is dead, we can all pretend we don’t know, so there won’t be any kind of a scene.’

  ‘Very thoughtful,’ I said, thinking that this would be easier if we actually didn’t know, but it was a bit late for that now. ‘Good thinking. In the meantime, why don’t we try to come up with some ideas for how we can help win the war?’

  ‘Me as well?’ said Hester. ‘Do you think Mr Collins will be interested?’ She looked at me earnestly, her round face full of enthusiasm. It was impossible not to be charmed, even if she did have the broadcasting range of the BBC.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘We all will. Your ideas are as valid as anyone’s.’

  Hester looked chuffed, and now that the pressure was off in terms of keeping a confidential message confidential, returned to her usual MO by laughing like a maniac.

  ‘Imagine,’ she said, once she had calmed down. ‘The Government has asked us to help win the war.’

  I laughed then as well. Hester may have only been fifteen, but she sounded exactly as I felt.

  ‘I know,’ I replied, with more concern than I hoped Hester would grasp. ‘And it’s really very important that we come up with a plan.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My Dear Little Pickle

  AFTER SPENDING THE rest of the morning thinking up ideas, I decided to put all concerns about Woman’s Friend’s Entirely Fictional War Effort Recruitment Plan to one side until Monday. Charles had a rare and exciting forty-eight hours’ leave and he was coming up to London from his billet the next day.

  Or at least that was what we had planned until he phoned the night before.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Em, they’ve cancelled all leave for at least the next week.’ Charles sounded as downcast as I felt.

  ‘Not to worry,’ I said, building myself up to a lie. ‘Honestly, it doesn’t matter a bit.’

  ‘Are you sure, darling?’ said Charles. ‘I really hate doing this to you, especially so late in the day.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said, sitting down with a bump on the bottom stair. I had been counting the days to seeing him. ‘I wasn’t bothered about seeing you, anyway,’ I added.

  Charles made a good attempt to laugh. ‘You know you’ll have a far better time with Bunty,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right.’ I hammed it up. ‘I really couldn’t care less.’

  Then I ran out of steam on the chin-up front and neither of us said anything for a moment.

  ‘God, I’m browned off,’ said Charles.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  ‘Bloody war,’ I said.

  ‘Bloody war,’ he said back.

  That cheered us both up, momentarily. Charles would never swear in front of a woman and my parents would have been horrified to hear me swear at all. But this didn’t count. It was the way Charles and I checked if the other one was all right, just between ourselves. It had started when we first admitted we were serious about each other and I had said it as a joke in recognition of the fact that if it hadn’t been for the war, we’d never have met in the first place. It was the most peculiar thing, that something awful had led to finding someone you couldn’t imagine being without.

  ‘I’d better go,’ said Charles. �
��I’ll call you again later, so we can talk properly then. I want to hear about your meeting even though you won’t be able to say anything.’

  ‘You’re right, I can’t,’ I said, gratefully. ‘But it was awfully exciting. Lots of interesting people. A couple of odd sorts,’ I added. ‘But I enjoyed myself.’

  Neither of us mentioned names, places or specifics.

  ‘I knew you’d do well,’ said Charles. ‘You’ll be in charge of the lot of them before you know it.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said, pulling a face as I thought about the two women in the lavatory. ‘But you’ll get told off if I start going on about it now.’

  We said our goodbyes and I made a good stab at being hearty as far as I could. Putting down the receiver, though, I sighed heavily.

  ‘Oh well, that’s that, then,’ I said, in a low way now that I didn’t have to pretend otherwise.

  When Charles had first been posted back to England, I had been thrilled to bits, and he had said I was by far the best thing about being in a staff job here rather than fighting with the others overseas. But the fact was, the combination of his work and me haring around between Woman’s Friend and the fire station meant opportunities to see each other were few and far between. Snatched phone calls and long letters had got us through so far and I knew we were lucky to have that. Sending letters overnight was tons better than waiting ages for news from the other side of the world.

  As I sat feeling sorry for myself, the front door opened.

  ‘Hello, Em. You’ll never guess what,’ said Bunty breathlessly, as she fought her way through the black-out curtain, waving a small package and looking as if she’d won the Pools. ‘Mr Parsons has managed to get some elastic. I didn’t ask how but got a yard and a half. I say, you look a bit blue. Are you all right?’

  ‘Charles’s leave has been cancelled,’ I said. ‘Again.’

  Bunty looked sympathetic. ‘Oh no, what a stinker,’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘Sorry, I’m being mopey. I’d been looking forward to seeing him, enormously. I’ll be all right in a minute. Good news on the elastic.’