The Girl from the Corner Shop

by Alrene Hughes

  Then the heavens opened. She was drenched within minutes and close to tears, but Gwen’s house was just two streets away. ‘Flippin’ ’eck, Helen, have you been tramping the streets in this weather? Take off that wet coat. There’s a brew on the side, if you want it.’ Helen nodded. It was warm and steamy in the kitchen with the smell of meat in the oven and pots bubbling on the stove. A wooden maiden in front of the fire was festooned with damp clothes.

  ‘I’d better mind my Ps and Qs with an officer of the law in the house.’

  ‘Frank told you, did he?’

  ‘Oh yes, he said you’d got the job, and I have to tell you he wasn’t best pleased. “No job for a woman,” he said.’

  ‘But he’s wrong, Gwen, they need more of us in the police. Imagine the women bombed out of their homes, evacuees on the streets, children abused.’ Gwen gave her a look. ‘No, really, people take advantage of them or they get into trouble. If something happened to you, you’d want to talk to a woman, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I can see that, but do you like doing it?’

  ‘I haven’t done a lot yet, but I did reunite two little girls with their father after they were found sleeping under the arches by the Irwell.’ Helen gave a wry smile. ‘Mind you, I could end up being homeless myself if I don’t find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ She handed Helen a cup of tea so strong you could stand a spoon up in it. They sat at the table and Helen explained about the house being in Jim’s name. ‘I didn’t think to get it changed. Now I’m to quit by the end of the week. I’ve been trekking all over trying to find somewhere.’

  ‘But why did he just come along now to get you out?’

  Helen couldn’t lie, but she was so embarrassed. ‘It was that Ada next door. She told him I was living on my own and—’ Helen could feel her face flush.

  ‘And what, Helen?’

  ‘She said I had men coming to the house.’

  ‘What?’ For a fleeting moment Gwen looked confused. ‘You mean…’

  ‘Yes, men visiting me in the house. You know what I’m saying.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! You can’t let her get away with that. Did you tell the landlord she was lying?’

  Helen looked down at her hands in her lap.

  ‘Helen? You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘One night, my boss brought me home. He didn’t come in – Pearl was in the car as well. Then a man I met through work; he came to my house…’ Helen wiped her eyes. ‘I wasn’t even in, he left me flowers on the doorstep. And then there was Frank, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Frank?’

  Helen suddenly had the uneasy feeling that Frank hadn’t told her about his visits: the paraffin heater; the firemen’s whip-round, fish and chips, helping her to buy furniture.

  ‘Yes, when he brought me the widows’ pension papers.’

  ‘Oh right, he never said.’ Gwen went on, ‘Helen, this is awful. It just shows you how people can ruin a woman’s reputation. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to find somewhere else to live, but it won’t be easy, there’s not much out there.’

  ‘You could stay here, if you like. It’d be a bit of a squeeze sharing with me and my sister, but we’ll manage.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, Gwen, but I can’t impose on you. I’ll find somewhere, don’t worry.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back to your mam’s? It’ll be different now you’re working.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t live under the same roof as her again.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s here if you want it and you’ll stay for your tea, won’t you? You know what? When you’ve found somewhere else to live, we’ll have a Saturday night out to celebrate. We haven’t been dancing for ages, just the two of us.’

  ‘But what about Frank, are you not out on Saturdays with him?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Helen, he never takes me anywhere. We end up in the pub every time and he’s got nothin’ to say to me. I don’t know what’s goin’ on in his head, these days.’

  *

  Helen lay in bed that night thinking about her house. She didn’t have much, but she loved what she had – especially her bed. If she went into lodgings, she would have to sell everything, probably back to that man in Collyhurst. She hadn’t realised that just having her own furniture had made her feel more secure, a person in her own right, who chose, bought, and paid for every item. And her house too… She loved its sounds: the creaking of the stairs; the rumbling of the pipes; the way the damper of the fire drew the flames up the chimney on windy nights.

  She had been content here. Jim was gone, but they had chosen this little house together and she could, if she closed her eyes, imagine him here looking out of the bedroom window over the park or hear his laugh again in the kitchen where he had kissed her that time when they came to look at the house.

  She awoke in the early morning, cold and sad with the remnants of her dreams lingering – a bombed house where she clawed at the rubble searching for lost children and there was Jim, so handsome in his uniform, who took her in his arms and carried her away.

  On the bus to work, she put aside her own problems and thought about the children she had interviewed. Hopefully, Sylvia and Janet would already be reunited with their father and when the girls were released from hospital they would be a family again. And she had an idea that might help her find Cynthia’s mother in Rochdale. She worried too about the other children. They had seemed wilder somehow, and resentful that they had been found. There might be places in a children’s home for them, but she suspected they might run away from there also.

  Before she left work on Saturday, she had written a note for Sergeant Duffy about finding the girls’ father and, when she signed on, the duty sergeant told her to report to her immediately. She knew she’d been a bit overeager and had completely forgotten that she’d been told not to take any action. As she walked away there was a shout from the desk sergeant, ‘Hey, get your cap on and make sure it’s straight.’

  She knocked on the door and there was a sharp ‘Come!’ in reply. Sergeant Duffy looked up as she came in, then back again to the report on her desk.

  Helen stood to attention, looking straight ahead. A couple of minutes passed, then Sergeant Duffy looked up. ‘What did I say about taking action?’

  ‘That I wasn’t to do it, Sarge.’

  ‘What action did you take?’

  ‘I went to the street where the girls lived and talked to a shopkeeper. Then I went to Maine Road to the football match.’

  ‘And then what did you do?’

  ‘I asked them to make an announcement at the ground.’

  ‘And why would they do that for someone who had absolutely no authority?’

  Helen said nothing.

  ‘I take it you told them you were a police auxiliary?’

  Helen whispered a reply.

  ‘Speak up!’

  ‘I didn’t tell them I was an auxiliary.’

  ‘You’ve been in the job for just over a month and you’ve the nerve to have public announcements made to a crowd of sixty thousand at a football match!’

  ‘But I had to do it.’ Helen’s voice was strained. ‘It was the only way I could find the girls’ father.’

  Sergeant Duffy shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to do with you, Harrison. Sure, you’re a bright girl, but discipline is so important in the police.’ She picked up the report again. ‘And what’s this you’ve written at the end? “I think I know how to find the mother of Cynthia Green in Rochdale.” Will this lead to more subordination?’

  ‘No, it won’t, and it’s a chance we could reunite mother and daughter.’

  Sergeant Duffy leaned back in her chair and stared at her. Helen had no idea whether she was about to be sacked or sent back to her filing, never to be allowed on the beat again. ‘All right then, convince me.’

  *

  It was a bright March day, with a chill wind and she was glad of her WAPC greatcoat over h
er uniform. She had been to Rochdale only once before when Jim took her to meet his sister and family to tell them they had got engaged. She could never have imagined then that she would be back eighteen months later, a widow and WAPC. She got off the train and headed to the town centre. It felt good to be out and doing something with a purpose. There was the open market and the splendid town hall and, close to that, the police station.

  Outside, she paused a moment to check her tie, straighten her cap, and take a deep breath. The desk sergeant, a stout man with silver hair, looked up briefly as she came in, then looked again. ‘Mornin’, miss, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m WAPC Harrison from the Manchester police, and I’m hoping you can help me. We’ve picked up a homeless young girl who’s lost contact with her family. The only clue we’ve got is that her mother is in Rochdale staying with Betty Greaves, her aunt. We’d like to reunite them.’

  ‘Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Do you have the address?’

  ‘Ah, no I haven’t.’ Helen caught his ‘this is going to involve me in some work’ look. She smiled. ‘But I think I can find her if you or one of your officers could answer one question.’

  He looked sceptical, but nodded. ‘Go on then, pet, ask your question.’

  ‘Do you know where Gracie Fields was born?’

  He laughed. ‘Our Gracie? Well, you’ve come to the right man. Walked every beat in this town over the last thirty years. I knew her mother, you know, nice family. Hang on a minute, I’ll get someone to cover the desk and I’ll take you there myself. It’s not far.’

  As they walked, he asked her about the WAPCs. ‘Heard of them, of course, never met one before. What do you do then, find lost kids and take them back to their parents?’

  Soon they were standing outside a row of shops on a main road. Helen was disappointed. ‘Is this it?’ she said.

  ‘Not quite. You see, this shop used to be a chippie. Now look up.’

  It was quite a grand-looking building above street level, but Helen was disappointed. ‘Gracie Fields lived above a chip shop? I thought it would be a street of terraced houses where I could knock on a door and ask where Betty Greaves lived. On a road like this it could take ages to find her.’

  ‘So now what?’ asked the sergeant.

  She was determined not to give up. There must be a way. ‘Is there a butcher’s on this road?’

  ‘Why do you ask that?’

  ‘Because Betty Greaves and her address would be registered with a local butcher so that she could get her meat ration.’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Aye, lass, there’s one just down the road.’

  *

  When Helen returned to Bootle Street, the desk sergeant greeted her. ‘So, the wanderer returns; all right for some who can go on a jaunt.’ But he had a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m to tell you to report to Sergeant Duffy on your return.’

  For the second time that day Helen stood in front of her superior officer. ‘Now then, Harrison, did you solve the mystery of the missing mother?’

  ‘I did, Sarge.’

  ‘Good work. You spoke to the mother and aunt?’

  ‘Yes, they had no idea she was so unhappy with the neighbour, who was supposed to be looking after her, and they were so grateful that we’d found her.’

  ‘Very good and, when we’re sure she hasn’t got scarlet fever, you can take her there. You might like to know that I telephoned Rochdale nick half an hour ago. I spoke to the sergeant you met, asked him what he thought of the WAPC officer I’d sent to find the mother.’

  Helen held her breath – would she be in trouble again?

  ‘He was impressed, said you did exactly what he would have done. He also liked the way you spoke to the mother and aunt and your professional manner towards him. What do you say about that?’

  Helen blushed. ‘I don’t know what to say. I just did my best for the girl.’

  ‘Aye, that’s all well and good, but you must understand that I can’t guarantee you’ll get opportunities to handle cases like the missing children. And I warn you, Harrison, don’t think you can go off pretending you’re a detective. You’re an auxiliary, a clerk, freeing up police officers, and don’t forget it.’

  Helen went from elation to deep disappointment in a few seconds. ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Look, I know you want to do more and if I can, I’ll try to get you involved in some real police work. Maybe you could put your name down for an extra shift on Saturday night. That would certainly be an eye-opener for you.’

  Helen hesitated. ‘I’d like to do that only…’

  ‘You’ve probably got family and things to do.’

  ‘No, I’m on my own, but it’s a bit difficult at the moment…’

  ‘Is it anything I can help you with?’

  Helen was reluctant to explain. ‘Not really, it’s just that I have to move house and I’m busy looking for somewhere.’

  ‘Why are you moving?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. I didn’t realise that there would be a problem with the tenancy when my husband died. Nobody told me I couldn’t stay on in the house. Anyway, the landlord found out and he’s evicting me. I’ve to be out by the end of the week.’

  ‘He can’t do that.’

  ‘But he’s done it and I have to go.’

  ‘I take it you’re up to date with the rent.’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t care.’ She didn’t say anything about him propositioning her.

  ‘That shouldn’t be allowed. Sure, don’t be worrying about it, I’ll look into it. Come back to me at the end of the day.’

  Helen couldn’t concentrate on her work for thinking about the eviction. To begin with, she was hopeful that Sergeant Duffy might be able to change the landlord’s mind, but by the time she went for her afternoon tea break, she was certain not even her formidable sergeant could help her.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Sissy greeted her. ‘Lost a pound and found a penny.’

  Helen explained the simple version. ‘So, if Sarge can’t do anything, I could be homeless by the end of the week.’

  ‘Well, you’re very welcome to stay with me until you find somewhere.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Sissy.’

  Helen returned to Sergeant Duffy’s office before she went home. ‘Come in, come in, Harrison.’ She was beaming. ‘I’ve good news for you. Seems your landlord had made a mistake and he’s very sorry for the distress you suffered. He’ll post a new rent book through the door with you named as the tenant. It’ll be there for you when you get home.’

  ‘But how—’

  ‘The Failsworth police have had a word. You’ll have no more trouble from him.’

  She could hardly believe it, the weight on her shoulders lifted in an instant. ‘I don’t know what to say, I’m so grateful.’

  ‘Ach, think nothing of it, Harrison.’ She winked. ‘We look after our own.’

  Chapter 16

  Saturday night and the Plaza was packed. She and Gwen had queued up in the rain then paid their one and ninepence and had their hands stamped in case they wanted to go outside and get back in again. The last time she’d been here was with Jim just before their marriage. The moment she entered the ballroom the memories of that night flooded back. She had been so much in love and they had danced almost all night. She caught her breath and felt again the closeness of him: a slow waltz; his body against hers; the taste of him on her lips.

  Gwen grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, Helen, stop daydreaming. Let’s get a lemonade and find a seat.’

  They sat out a few dances, just listening to the music and looking at the couples moving around the floor. ‘We’d better watch ourselves.’ Gwen giggled. ‘There’s a lot of men in uniform tonight and you know what they’re after.’

  ‘We’ll just say we’re spoken for, that usually works.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, if there was a handsome sailor I might be tempted.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’

  Gw
en raised an eyebrow.

  ‘But what about Frank?’

  ‘Helen, when will you understand he’s gone off me, I know he has. We don’t go anywhere, and he hasn’t said he loves me for months. Anyroad, forget about him, let’s have a dance.’

  There were plenty of women dancing together, while groups of men stood around watching. Every now and again one of them would pluck up the courage to ask a girl to dance, but as the evening wore on, fortified by the alcohol they’d sneaked in, they became bolder. Helen was quite happy to partner a man but, when the music changed, she thanked him, walked away and went back to the table. On one occasion she had noticed a very tall young airman watching her as she sat out a lively jive. Then later when she took a rest, he winked at her. She looked quickly away and was glad to see Gwen coming back to the table.

  ‘You see that RAF lad over there, he keeps looking at me,’ she told Gwen. ‘Let’s go to the Ladies.’

  Helen stared at her reflection in the mirror and combed her blonde curls, powdered her nose and added some more of her tea-rose lipstick. Strange, that she looked just the same as she did that night with Jim, but inside she had changed beyond recognition. In some ways she was stronger and she had her work and her home, but there was an empty space where once there had been love and joy and a deep satisfaction.

  ‘Hey,’ Gwen whispered, ‘let’s make a night of it.’ And she pulled a bottle of Yates’s Australian wine from her handbag and took a slug. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘I think you need it more than me.’

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘Oh, go on. What’s the worst that could happen?’

  Back in the ballroom, they bought more lemonade, topped it up with the Yates’s, and had a few more dances. Then Gwen went off to quickstep with a corporal and didn’t come back straight away. It was embarrassing sitting alone. A man in civvies asked her to dance and she declined. She drank the rest of the lemonade and wine and thought about leaving.

  ‘Hello, can I sit down?’

  No need to look, she knew it was the airman. ‘If you want.’