The Girl from the Corner Shop

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘I’d like to see you try!’ He kicked her hard on her shin, slipped out of her grasp and ran across the grass and disappeared down the road.

  ‘Is he always like that?’ she asked the other boy.

  ‘Nah, he’s worse. You’re lucky he didn’t rob you as well.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You’re not the peelers, are you?’

  ‘Not really, I help the police. Are you staying in the rest centre?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Me mam says there’s no rest for the wicked in there.’

  ‘Will you show me where it is?’

  He led the way across the large entrance hall towards some steps leading to the lower floor, but, before they reached it, there was a loud shout. ‘Hello there!’ Helen turned to see a well-dressed woman coming towards her, hand outstretched. ‘Well this is a first – a visit from the constabulary, and a woman too. I’m Margaret Pilkington, director of the gallery.’

  Helen shook her hand. ‘I’m WAPC Harrison.’

  ‘Good, good, now that you’re here,’ she went on, still with the loud voice she had used to greet her, ‘I’ll give you the tour and maybe we could discuss a few concerns that we have.’ Helen could only follow her and listen.

  ‘We packed up the exhibits soon as – sent them to Wales. I told the council the basement was available to house those poor people who would certainly be bombed out. We have space for two hundred, reached full capacity during the Christmas Blitz, over a hundred have since been rehoused. Thing is, we’re left with, shall we say, the most challenging and vulnerable homeless. Ah, here we are.’ They had reached the bottom of the steps and Helen had a clear view of mattresses covering the floor and the meagre belongings salvaged from the people’s homes. ‘I worry about the mothers, they once had a home to keep, family to feed, but now all they can do is sit around. And as for the children, well, they get into all sorts of mischief.’

  They moved on into a kitchen and a sort of refectory. ‘Ah, let me introduce you. This is Warden Walker. He’s in charge of the everyday goings on. Ex-prison guard, so that’s useful.’ The sour-faced man barely acknowledged Helen before he started on what sounded like a well-rehearsed moan. ‘They have it too easy: free food provided by the Co-op and paid for by the council while they wait for a house also paid for by the council. And as for the kids… Don’t get me started.’

  ‘Well, let’s move on. There’s someone else I want you to meet,’ and Helen could have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye.

  A knock on the door and a man’s voice called, ‘Come in.’ It was a doctor’s surgery and there was Laurence in his white coat, stethoscope in hand, listening to a little boy’s chest. He looked up and his smile was enough to turn her day around. ‘Right, Sam. Your chest is much better now, so you can play outside, but don’t be out in the rain.’ He ruffled the child’s hair. ‘Now off you go.’

  He seemed really pleased to see her. ‘Helen, you’re here. That’s great.’

  ‘Are you two acquainted?’

  ‘We certainly are,’ said Laurence. ‘I asked Helen to come and see if there was anything the police could do to make life easier for the people here.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid! Well, maybe you could carry on from here, Laurence?’ She was beaming. ‘I look forward to hearing your thoughts, my dear.’

  When she’d gone, Laurence asked, ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Good, what did your doctor say about the wound?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t had time to go to the doctors.’

  ‘Helen, I told you to get the stitches out.’ He reached over and removed her cap. ‘Sit down, I’ll do it.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ll go to the doctor next week, I promise.’

  ‘No need to promise. I’m doing it right now.’

  He gently moved her hair away from the wound and held it back while he carefully snipped the stitches. When it was done, he let her hair fall and smoothed it into place. ‘You’re lucky the person who stitched you up knew what he was doing. There won’t be much of a scar and nobody will see it under your hair.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, but her thoughts were still focused on the touch of his hands.

  ‘So now what do you want to do?’ he asked.

  She didn’t have a plan. She’d come on a whim to see him and somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she might ask the women if there was anything she could do to help.

  ‘I suppose I could speak to some women; there were a dozen or so of them in the refectory.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I don’t think anyone bothers to ask what they think. Why don’t you go and do that? I won’t come; they’d probably not say as much if I was there. Come back to my office when you’ve finished.’

  The women looked up as she came in; they didn’t look very welcoming and all talk ceased. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘Hello, I’m Helen, I work for the Women’s Auxiliary Police Corps. Would it be all right for me to ask you about the rest centre?’

  A young woman, nursing a sleeping baby, spoke up. ‘Why would a policewoman want to ask questions about us? We’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not what I meant.’ She took another tack. ‘Look, do you have any problems, like people stealing from you, or disturbing the peace? Maybe I could…?’

  The young woman finished Helen’s sentence, ‘…get us a house to live in, instead of a basement?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry?’

  An older woman spoke more kindly. ‘If you could stop some of these young’uns running wild it might help.’

  ‘We could do with a lot more disinfectant, there’s only five toilets for the lot of us,’ said another woman.

  ‘And what about the wash house down the road? They say we can only use it in the afternoon, because we don’t come from round here, so all the local women get in early and that gives them time to get their washing dry and we end up with damp clothes.’

  Now they were thinking about how their lives could be easier, and they made some other suggestions that Helen wrote in her notebook. They weren’t asking for much.

  ‘You mentioned the children before. I saw a big lad with ginger hair outside beating up a child.’

  There was an immediate reaction. Every one of them had something to say about the lad’s behaviour and that of his brother. ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ they said.

  Helen was already thinking that a police constable could come and talk to the troublemakers. Put the fear of God into them. ‘Look, I can’t promise anything, but I’m going talk to my sergeant back at the police station – she might be able to help.’

  Most of the women thanked her, a few looked sceptical, but at least she had listened to them and now she was determined to get something done.

  She was on her way back to Laurence’s office when the older woman caught her up. ‘Can I have a word with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Those brothers we told you about, the Howards.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They don’t just beat up the other kids. They’re thieves.’

  ‘Really? Do they steal from people in here?’

  ‘They’re worse than that. Him and his brother are always boasting about robbing houses. It’s their auntie gets them to do it, then she sells the stuff. Gives them a few shillings and when that runs out, she sends them out again. It’s a disgrace, they should be in borstal.’

  Helen was taken aback; she never expected to walk in here today to be told about burglaries. ‘Thank you for telling me, I’ll look into it. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me.’

  The woman tapped her finger on the side of her nose. ‘You can trust me.’ And off she went.

  *

  ‘Well, how did that go?’ Laurence asked.

  ‘I thought they were going to eat me alive. They’re not happy, are they? But they talked about a few things that would make their lives easier. By the way, can you get extra disinfectant? They’re not happy abou
t the toilets.’

  Laurence laughed. ‘You don’t let the grass grow, do you? Sounds like a health hazard to me. I’ll sort it. Anything else?’

  ‘There’s something I need to speak to my sergeant about.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘It could be something or nothing. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘So, are you coming back again?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  He looked so pleased. ‘Come on then, I’ve finished here. I’ll take you home.’

  ‘No, I’m going to Bootle Street. My sergeant’s on duty this afternoon so I’ll call in and speak to her about the centre.’

  ‘I’ll take you there.’

  ‘No, you won’t, I’ll get the bus. You shouldn’t be wasting petrol giving me lifts.’

  He put his hand in his trouser pocket and produced the half crown. ‘Heads I take you home, tails you catch the bus.’ The coin was already in the air. He caught it, slapped it on the back of his hand and laughed. ‘Let’s go, Harrison.’

  It was such a short journey, but every moment spent with Laurence raised her spirits. She looked sideways at him as he focused on the road, chatting away nineteen to the dozen. Then he’d turn to her and smile. Maybe he liked being in her company too.

  He pulled up outside police headquarters. ‘The next time you come to the rest centre, I’ll take you for a drink after.’

  She should have said no, but he was almost a colleague now and definitely a friend.

  The desk sergeant looked up as she came in. ‘I thought you were off duty all day.’

  ‘I just wanted to have a word with Sergeant Duffy. Is she still here?’

  ‘Upstairs in the canteen.’

  Sergeant Duffy was on her own, hand round a pint mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She didn’t seem surprised to see Helen sit opposite her. ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘There couldn’t have been a sadder funeral.’ Helen swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘He was only a lad. What kind of world are we living in?’

  Sergeant Duffy took a long drag of her cigarette and picked a bit of tobacco off her tongue. ‘Ach, nasty, brutish and short,’ and she blew out a stream of smoke. ‘So, what are you doing here? Your name’s not on the rota.’

  ‘I went to the rest centre in the Whitworth Art Gallery.’

  Sergeant Duffy raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I was invited by a friend… well, I hardly know him, really… Laurence Fitzpatrick, the doctor we met that night Marilyn died? He has a surgery there once a week.’

  Still Sergeant Duffy said nothing.

  ‘Some of the women talked to me about having to live in an overcrowded basement. I wondered how safe it was for them. Anyway, when I was leaving, a woman took me to one side…’ and Helen explained about the brothers and their aunt robbing houses. ‘I thought CID might be interested.’

  Duffy flicked ash into the ashtray. ‘Did you get any names?’ Helen nodded. ‘Right then, away you go and write down the details and put it on my desk.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Helen. ‘Some of the boys cause trouble, bullying the younger ones and disrespecting the adults. Would it be a good idea to send a police constable round there to give them a good talking-to?’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t do that yourself, while you were there.’

  Helen was about to answer when she noticed the hint of a smile on Sergeant Duffy’s face.

  Chapter 25

  Helen pulled back the curtains and raised the sash window on a beautiful morning. It was twenty-six Sundays since Jim had died and every one of them had been sad and lonely. Out of the blue, she recalled the seance and whispered, ‘Hello, Jim, are you here, my darling?’ There was no answer and certainly no smell of smoke in the air. But somehow, she had the feeling that the darkness in her life was receding a little.

  She would get her chores out of the way: wash the bedding, mop the lino, tidy up; then the whole day would be hers. She had bought a second-hand Butterwick pattern for a dress and a good-sized remnant off the market a few weeks before, but she’d been so busy at work that she hadn’t the concentration to do all that pinning and cutting. Maybe she could make a start on it today, then, in the afternoon, she could go for a walk in the park.

  There was one egg left for breakfast – should she fry it, boil it, scramble it? Choices were a luxury to savour. She had just put the kettle on when there was a knock at the door. She went through to the parlour and peeped out. It was Gwen.

  As soon as she opened the door, Gwen rushed in. Helen had just enough time to notice her red eyes and uncombed hair, before she burst into tears.

  Helen put her arm around her. ‘Shush now, come into the kitchen and tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. It’s Frank.’ Gwen wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’ve lost him.’

  Helen froze. Oh, dear God, had something happened to him? ‘Gwen, calm down and tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘It’s Frank, he’s finished with me.’ Helen let out a sigh of relief; Frank was safe and Gwen was trying to explain. ‘We went to the pictures last night then a drink before last orders. The pub were packed and I’d barely had two sups when he said he had summat important to tell me. He didn’t want to be courting me any more. He were sorry, he said, but he weren’t the marrying kind.’ She was sobbing again and could hardly get the words out. ‘He wanted to do the right thing, so he were telling me straight. Then he said he’d walk me home.’ Gwen’s face was full of anger. ‘I told him he could bugger off and I never wanted to see him again. Then he comes out with all the shit about how I’d find somebody else who’d make me happy. Can you believe he would treat me like that? Two years we’ve been together and I thought…’ She shook her head.

  ‘Did you have any idea he might do that?’

  ‘Oh, he’s been a bit down in the dumps for a while. But I couldn’t blame him – it’s a horrible job. You know that too, Helen, the things they have to deal with. Like I told you before, it got so he didn’t want to go out much and he said less and less. To be honest, I think he hasn’t been right since Jim died. Did he ever say anything to you about how he felt?’

  Helen thought about the trip to Saddleworth Moor when he had cried. ‘We’ve spoken about Jim, shared a few memories. He was devastated by his death.’

  Gwen sighed. ‘He never mentioned Jim to me. One time I said, “It must be hard for you, losing a mate,” and when I asked him if he was all right, he didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say after that. What should I have done, Helen?’

  ‘I don’t know. Men can be funny sometimes; they don’t like to look weak.’ She didn’t let on that Frank had poured his heart out to her. ‘Have you had any breakfast?’

  Gwen shook her head.

  ‘How would you fancy sharing a fried egg with plenty of bread and marge?’

  They sat at the table and ate the breakfast and drank a whole pot of tea with Gwen trying to recall the moments when she should have realised he was falling out of love with her.

  ‘I can’t understand it,’ said Helen. ‘When I saw you at the Whit walks you looked so happy and you thought he was going to propose.’

  ‘Ha! How stupid was I?’ She looked away.

  Helen waited, not wishing to pry, but she could guess.

  Gwen shot a look at Helen and lowered her eyes. ‘I’d never done it with a lad. You know what I mean? Too scared in case I’d end up with a bun in the oven and me da would kill me. But there’s things you can do that won’t end up with a baby. I wanted to please Frank and I thought it would tempt him to marry me. But it didn’t work, so in the end…’ She didn’t meet her eye and she was crying again, great sobs that shook her, and Helen hugged her until she was calm.

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘You know what the worst of it is? I have this awful feeling that he’s fallen in love with someone else.’

  ‘Frank wouldn’t do that to you, Gwen. It’s more likely that he’s got cold feet.
Who knows, in a few months he could come back to you because he’s missed you so much.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised and, if he doesn’t, you’re better off without him. You’re a bonnie girl. You’ll meet someone else and fall in love again.’

  ‘I don’t know if I could.’ Gwen looked hesitant. ‘Can I ask you something, Helen? You loved Jim so much, could you see yourself marrying again?’

  Her words took Helen by surprise. ‘No, I wouldn’t marry again. I’ve already had my only love.’ She shook the notion from her head. ‘Come on, let’s not get morbid. Do you fancy going out for a walk? It’s a lovely day.’

  The bedding didn’t get washed, the lino wasn’t mopped, nothing was tidied, instead they went on a long walk to Daisy Nook and sat on a bank by the canal. ‘We’ll get freckles in this sunshine,’ said Helen.

  Gwen laughed. ‘We’ll look like we’ve been to Blackpool.’

  ‘It’s so peaceful sitting here. Hard to believe that just down the road there are people who’ve been bombed out of their homes and all those people killed, some of them children. Did you hear that the police station where I work was bombed? Two young lads died.’

  There was a shout from further up the canal. A man was waving to them at the door of a stone cottage. ‘Come on, girls, do you want to have a go at this?’

  ‘It’s the lock-keeper,’ said Helen. ‘Look, there’s a barge waiting to go through.’

  They ran to meet him and he set them to work pushing what looked like a heavy beam to open the lock gates. The barge moved forward into the lock. They closed the gates behind it. ‘Now this is the clever bit,’ said the lock-keeper. ‘You see how it’s caught between the two closed gates?’

  ‘How can the barge move on?’ asked Gwen. ‘The water on the other side is too low.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ and he showed them how to use the paddles and they watched in amazement as the water level fell and with it the barge. Then they opened the final lock gates and, with Helen and Gwen waving from the canal side, the barge went on its way.

  The lock-keeper’s wife had been watching and came out with a tray. The four of them sat in the little garden drinking apple juice and eating seed cake. ‘You’re lucky to live here, it’s so peaceful,’ said Helen.