Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  Joyce grabbed the tea towel and wiped it across her forehead. Thank goodness the day was nearly over, and she was looking forward to going home. Peering out through the serving hatch, she watched Philip flop back in the chair watching everyone around him. She had to sort out his schooling; maybe she’d talk to Arthur tonight. Joyce raised her eyebrows as she watched Barbara march over to him. She leant forward to try to hear what was being said but was too far away. Philip was concentrating on Barbara and suddenly he smiled, lighting up his whole face. Joyce stepped back as Barbara turned and headed for the counter. Once Barbara had moved away again she watched her take a small slice of cake and a glass of milk over to Philip. He smiled and tucked into the cake ravenously and gulped down the milk.

  Joyce sighed. ‘Well, this isn’t going to get the kitchen cleaned.’ She turned away from the hatch; her heart was aching. She didn’t know how she’d got into this position but was sure she was failing badly.

  The kitchen door swung open and Barbara breezed in. She frowned at Joyce. ‘I don’t think it’s right that you bring Philip in here every day. He’s bored stiff. You need to make better arrangements for him.’

  Joyce threw the tea towel down onto the kitchen worktop. ‘Do you not think I don’t know that? I’m sick to death of you coming in here feeling like you know everything that’s going on when you know nothing, so please just leave me alone.’

  ‘I don’t know it all. I’m just trying to help but you clearly don’t want any help and that’s because you think you know it all.’

  Philip pushed the door open slightly. ‘Joyce, there’s a man here to see you.’

  Joyce sighed. ‘All right, thank you, Philip. I’m coming out.’

  ‘I’m bored,’ Philip whined. ‘I wish my grandmother was here or maybe we could go out and play hide-and-seek.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Philip, can’t you see I’m busy?’ Joyce snapped. ‘You can’t have your grandmother here, and no amount of whining changes that. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.’

  Philip’s shoulders slumped as he quietly stepped back into the café.

  Joyce followed Philip out. She stood still when she caught sight of the landlord. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Harris?’

  ‘I know Mr Hitchin isn’t here, but we need to talk about the rent.’ Mr Harris put his hand to his mouth as he coughed a couple of times.

  Barbara followed Joyce out into the café. ‘That sounds nasty. You might want to get something for it before it gets too deep-rooted.’ She stared at the man towering over Joyce. He had a glint in his eye.

  Joyce pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘I’m not in a position to talk about the rent with you. You should’ve discussed it with Mr Hitchin before he left.’

  The landlord glowered at her. When he finally spoke his voice was more hoarse than usual. ‘I would’ve done had I known he was leaving but he kept that a secret, so I’m afraid you’ll have to pick up the pieces or I’ll have to evict you.’

  Joyce took a deep breath, worn down by all the hard work and Simon leaving. ‘What do you wish to say to me?’

  The landlord smirked. ‘The rent is going up. Mr Hitchin didn’t pay the extra last time but I’m afraid you now have no choice.’

  It was Joyce’s turn to smile. ‘That’s quite interesting because Mr Hitchin left me a copy of his father’s contract – the contract his father made with your father putting him on a fixed rent for all the time the family was in business at this property.’

  The man clenched his hands by his sides.

  ‘So I think you need to check your facts with your father because you’ve no right to put the rent up.’ Joyce smiled triumphantly.

  ‘Unfortunately, my father is no longer with us so his contract has died with him. That means you will have to pay the increase.’

  Joyce again smiled. ‘You’re not trying to intimidate me are you? I’m not an expert but I’m willing to pay a solicitor to look at the contract, because my interpretation, and indeed Mr Hitchin’s, was it says all the time it is open as a café or restaurant. So I think you’ll find it is you who doesn’t have the power to put up our rent, but I’m happy to get it checked and get it in writing for you.’ She paused. ‘It’s a shame you don’t have your father’s head for business.’

  Barbara gave Joyce a sideways look. ‘Do you think we should pay it?’

  Mr Harris looked from one to the other. ‘I’m sorry I don’t think we’ve met. You are?’

  Barbara flushed with colour. ‘I’m Miss Hitchin, the café owner’s sister.’

  Mr Harris smiled and tipped his head slightly, lifting his hat at the same time. ‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you. I don’t believe I’ve had the honour in the past because I would’ve remembered.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘Miss Hitchin is not in charge of paying the rent. So you can save your charm for somebody else.’ She opened a drawer and picked up an envelope and waved it at him. ‘I have the contract and I’m happy to show you it, if you don’t have a copy, but I can tell you I’ll take legal advice rather than pay any more than is written down.’

  Barbara lifted her hand and rested it on her chest. ‘Simon wouldn’t thank us for losing his business for him.’

  Joyce pinched her lips together and glanced over at Barbara. ‘No, you’re right he wouldn’t, but he also wouldn’t thank me for spending more of his money than I need to.’ She clenched her jaw as she peered at Mr Harris before returning to give Barbara her full attention. ‘This business doesn’t earn as much as you think, and it needs to keep a roof over yours and your mother’s heads.’ She threw the envelope she was holding back into the drawer and pushed it shut.

  Mr Harris rounded on Joyce. ‘You know I can make life very difficult for you, don’t you?’

  Joyce clenched her fist down by her side.

  Barbara’s eyes widened at the underlying threat. ‘Maybe it’s something we should discuss together with my mother.’

  Mr Harris turned and smiled at Barbara. ‘That sounds like a sensible solution. Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow; however, if I do, I can assure you I’ll not be leaving without my rent increase.’

  Joyce studied him. ‘And let me assure you, Mr Harris, I will not be paying the rent increase and, if need be, I will take it further. I will not accept any of your bully-boy tactics so I suggest you leave us alone because if you come back tomorrow it will be exactly the same answer.’

  Mr Harris lifted his hat to them both. ‘And let me reassure you, as the saying goes, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

  12

  The bell chimed behind Mr Harris as he closed the café door behind him. He shivered, and fastened his suit jacket button. He peered back at the café with its steamed-up windows. He was going to have to sort that woman out; she seemed to believe that she had all the answers. Maybe it was time for him to act. What he needed was a plan to take back control. Pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he mopped the beads of perspiration from his brow; perhaps he should find something for this cold. He squeezed the handkerchief into a ball. He wasn’t his father and had no desire to be the easy-going poor person his father was. Everybody had loved him, but growing up they had nothing. His father would always say if you have food on the table and a roof over your head what more could you possibly need.

  Mr Harris sighed. Now he was left with all these fixed rents, which meant he would also die with nothing unless he got some of the tenants out. Shaking his head, he pushed his handkerchief back into his trouser pocket, careful not to spoil the crisp line of them. He hated wearing his black suit but he had an image to keep up. Mr Harris moved to step off the pavement when a car horn sounded. He jerked back and waved his apologies at the driver, who shook his head and mouthed something that couldn’t be heard. He turned and stepped forward on the pavement, and immediately bumped into a young man wearing a fitted three-piece suit and a trilby hat. He recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t remember where.


  Two boys ran past pointing their fingers and pretending to shoot each other. One stopped and faced the other. ‘It’s your turn to be German; it’s not fair that it’s always me getting shot.’

  ‘Mr ’Arris, we meet again.’ The young man pushed his hat back a little and eyed the older man in front of him. ‘I hope yer ’aven’t bin threatening the young lady in the café.’ Frank bent down to stroke the matted fur of a stray dog that had stopped to sniff his leg and shoes. The dog leant into him before licking his hand and moving on down the road.

  Mr Harris stared at him. ‘I don’t know what your interest is in my café but I suggest you don’t interfere with my business.’

  Frank chuckled. ‘That’s just it, it’s not yer business and yer just trying to bleed them dry.’

  Mr Harris shook his head before giving him a condescending smile. ‘You youngsters have got a lot to learn, but let me tell you I’m entitled to ask for a rent increase and it has nothing to do with you.’

  Frank frowned as he stepped aside to let an old lady get past. He reached and caught her arm as her footing slipped on the pavement. ‘Yer all right, lovey?’

  The old lady smiled. ‘Thank you, yer saved me from an embarrassing fall there.’

  Frank beamed. ‘As long as yer good, yer too precious to get ’urt so just take care now.’

  The lady’s eyes lit up. ‘Get away wiv yer.’ She chuckled, lifting her gnarled hand to stroke his arm. ‘Yer’ve made my day, yer ’ave.’ She nodded and carried on walking down Shaftesbury Avenue.

  Frank watched her bent figure moving slowly away from him.

  Mr Harris watched the younger man, deciding he was all talk with his threats. He moved to walk around him when he found his arm in a vice-like grip.

  Frank squeezed his hold of him. ‘I ’ave my own fish to fry and I’d ’ate for yer to come unstuck with yer behaviour over a rent increase.’

  Mr Harris studied him, only letting his fear show for a split second, before yanking his arm free. ‘What is it with you? Do you fancy her or something?’

  Frank chuckled. ‘She’s a pretty little thing, I’ll grant yer that.’

  Mr Harris shook his head. ‘Then ask Joyce Taylor out, but don’t get involved in my business or you’ll regret it.’

  Frank’s eyes widened, but only for a second. He had learnt from a young age to think about his reactions. ‘Not only will I not allow yer to get in the way of my business but I won’t stand by and watch a young girl threatened by someone who’s just worrying about pennies. I told yer I’ve got bigger fish to fry so just make sure yer stay away from her.’

  Mr Harris lifted his head slightly and jutted out his chin. Pulling himself upright, he straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m not threatening anybody and I will not have someone come in and threaten me, or my business. I don’t even know who you are so you’re clearly a nobody around here.’

  Frank stared at the landlord for a moment. ‘No, yer don’t know who I am, and that’s ’ow I work, but I know exactly who you are. Yer like to dress as though yer a gangster and threaten yer tenants.’

  Mr Harris tried to hide his sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m not answerable to you.’

  Frank smiled. ‘No, yer could be though if yer don’t watch yer step.’

  ‘I’m a landlord.’ Mr Harris lifted his arm in disgust. ‘And for your information if I didn’t threaten them then most wouldn’t pay anything.’

  ‘I’m well aware about threatening people so they’ll pay up but not women and children. Yer ’ave to be a low life to do that.’ Frank took out a packet of Navy Cut cigarettes from his pocket. He pulled open the lid and removed one of them. He tapped it up and down on the closed box for several seconds, all the time not taking his eyes off Mr Harris. ‘I’m sorry, I never offered yer a cigarette. Would yer like one?’ Frank didn’t open the box or pass it over to him.

  Mr Harris caught a glint in Frank’s eyes; he didn’t know what it meant. Fear suddenly gripped him. Was he out of his depth here? ‘No thank you, I prefer cigars.’

  ‘So does my father. Yer may have ’eard of him, Mr Simmons, Mr Mickey Simmons; ’e’s a nice guy but ’e don’t like to be crossed.’

  Mr Harris stepped back slightly. His eyes took in the people who were shopping around them. Were any of them with this young man? He couldn’t afford to take a chance. He’d heard of Mickey Simmons, his reputation definitely went before him, and he had no desires to get mixed up in that circle. ‘So you’re Slips?’

  Frank smiled and rested the unlit cigarette between his fingers. ‘When we’re done ’ere I’m sure ’e’ll send yer ’is love – when I tell ’im about yer.’

  *

  Joyce leant out of the large dining room window, peering up and down the street to decide when it was best to shake the old piece of soft rag outside. Holding the material in a tight ball, she waited for a grey-haired man to hobble past the house. The light breeze came into the dining room and chased away the overpowering smell of beeswax. Once the man had passed the window she thrust her arm out as far as she could, and shook the rag vigorously, watching the dust particles fly away. She turned back into the room. ‘You know, Philip; it’s this time of year when we do what we call a spring clean. That means pulling out everything and cleaning in places we don’t normally have time for. Would you like to help me?’

  Philip nodded.

  ‘Right.’ Joyce picked up another smaller rag. ‘Would you like to take this cloth and just wipe it over the table. Do it carefully. Then the side tables next to the armchairs and make sure you do the legs as well.’

  Philip reached out and took the frayed white material that had seen better days from her.

  Joyce watched him vigorously rub it over the tabletop. She smiled, not noticing Arthur stepping into the dining room carrying a handful of papers. ‘You’ve got post.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t hear the postman. He’s early this morning.’ Joyce started to put some of the porcelain figurines back in the cabinet.

  Arthur looked up from the page he was reading. ‘Yes, he is.’ He paused as he read the letter again. ‘I’ve been thinking about taking Philip with me to the village to see Dot and the rest of her family. What do you think?’

  Joyce stopped, clutching a Victorian figurine she was about to place back into the cabinet. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, give it some thought. I was thinking of going in the next day or two and I thought it might be good for Philip, and to give you a break. I get the impression he’s never been in the countryside.’

  Joyce turned and put the figurine back in the cabinet, adjusting its position slightly.

  Arthur watched her. ‘You love those figures don’t you?’

  Joyce tilted her head as she glanced over them. ‘I think they’re beautiful.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘I can tell by the way you lovingly dust and handle them. You do know they will all be yours one day, especially when I move away from London and into a smaller house.’

  Joyce spun on her heels and stared at Arthur. ‘Are you moving then?’ Panic ran across her face. ‘Are you selling this house? If you are, I need to find somewhere else to live.’ Her eyes narrowed. She lowered her head, and slowly dropped down onto the nearest wooden chair. Her mind jumped about as she thought about this new problem that she now faced.

  Arthur held his hand up. ‘No, no, no, no, I have plans for the future but not yet. Although, even if I was going to move in the foreseeable future you can still live in this house, as you do now. I owe you that much if nothing else.’

  Joyce visibly relaxed. ‘You don’t owe me anything. Life has been hard at times but you’ve kept a roof over my head. I can’t ask for more than that, so if there’s something you want to do then please do it. I just need to know so I can make arrangements.’ She glanced over at Philip who was vigorously wiping the legs of the table before she looked back at Arthur. ‘You know, having Simon’s sister at the café has made me think a lot about family. I have a problem with his sister, and I
can’t pretend to know how to deal with it, but it’s made me realise that my hands are tied because she’s his family.’

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s always hard working with family, mainly because you have to live with them afterwards.’

  Joyce stared at him before once again looking at Philip. ‘I shouldn’t be selfish about Philip.’

  The young lad looked up at the sound of his name.

  ‘It’s all right, Philip. Would you like to go with Uncle Arthur to the village where I grew up and see some chickens? Maybe climb some trees, just run free and not worry about the traffic or anything else?’

  Philip stared at her wide-eyed before nodding.

  Arthur smiled at him before looking back at Joyce. ‘What made you decide?’

  Joyce shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s all about his safety. It’s not about me, or what I want.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘It could be good for Philip for lots of reasons but it will let him see another way of life outside of the city, but don’t feel he has to go this time because I’ll be going again.’

  The front door banged shut. Annie and Rose came rushing into the dining room.

  Annie beamed at Joyce.

  Joyce smiled as they both giggled. ‘What are you two looking so happy about? You look like the cat that’s got the cream.’

  Annie clapped her hands. ‘How do you feel about trying to do the food for Kitty’s wedding?’

  Joyce’s eyes widened. ‘What? I couldn’t do that. I’ve never done food for a wedding before, let alone getting it to where it’s going to be held.’

  Rose giggled. ‘It could be held at the café. We could put cloths on the tables, some flowers as centrepieces. We might have to move the tables around a little bit, and pretty up the walls in some way, but there’s your wedding venue.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘You two are mad. How am I going to manage that? It’s not like it’s my café.’

  Annie took a step nearer to Joyce. ‘Are you saying that Simon’s family would say no?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that but I’ve never done a wedding breakfast before. I’m only used to doing everyday meals.’