by Cathy Sharp
‘’E’s a pig and a brute,’ Nellie said bluntly. ‘You know that, Mabel Hollis, so don’t come round ’ere blamin’ that girl; ’e’d ’ave anythin’ in a skirt and Jinny’s a lovely young girl – in case you ’adn’t noticed …’
‘Too damned pretty,’ her mother said and started crying tears of self-pity. ‘What chance ’ave I got when she’s around? They look at me an’ then they look at ’er and I’ve ’ad it …’
‘That ain’t Jinny’s fault. She don’t encourage Jake and you know it – but she’s stayin’ wiv me now so that’s it …’
Mabel glanced round the neat kitchen, taking in the painted dresser, which was fresh and bright and set with blue and white crockery, the scrubbed pine table, blue and white voile curtains at the windows, and mismatched chairs, and shining linoleum on the floor. Nellie didn’t have a better home than she did, but it just looked better – and it smelled better – and perhaps in that moment Mabel was aware of her failings as a mother and housewife.
‘Well, she’s better orf wiv you any road,’ she said and stopped crying. ‘I’ll bring ’er fings round then …’
She’d seemed ashamed of herself as she left, but when she’d brought the old clothes round later she’d been in a temper again, and had obviously decided that she would dispose of the better clothes that her daughter possessed.
Jinny was nearing the market in Petticoat Lane. The thought of the ten shillings in her purse was so exciting that she could hardly contain herself as she wandered from stall to stall, keeping her hand in her pocket to protect it from wandering fingers that might try to rob her. Pickpockets frequented the various lanes that housed the several markets in the area; all kinds of merchandise was sold in these lanes, second-hand clothes, shoes, and better clothes, as well as crockery; leather and cloth bags, straw hats, curios, and a variety of other goods in the lane itself, but in the next streets there were caged birds, food stalls, rags and pens containing rabbits and small livestock, like one-day-old chicks and ducks.
Jinny lingered by a stall selling new clothes. She looked through a rail of skirts, none of which were more than ten shillings, and found a tweed one she liked a lot, but what she really needed was a new blouse.
‘Sell yer that fer seven bob if yer want it, luv,’ the stallholder said and winked at Jinny. He had a nice smile and she didn’t feel in the least threatened. She was tempted, but knew she needed a blouse more than another skirt.
‘I like it, but I need a blouse,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps another week – if I get my job …’
‘Yer can ’ave it two bob down and half a crown a week,’ the trader offered. ‘Yer’ve got an ’onest face, luv.’
‘Thanks,’ Jinny said and smiled. ‘I need to see how much I can get a blouse for first – and maybe I’ll come back …’
‘Maybe you’ll win lots of money on Ernie’s new Premium Bonds,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘I’m gonna buy one fer a quid next month and if I win the big prize I’ll be rich – and then I’ll give all me customers half price …’
He nodded and Jinny moved off, passing the stalls selling new blouses, most of which would take the whole of her ten shillings and more, to the second-hand stalls further down. In the previous street the goods shown were much worn and unwashed, but on one stall with a notice proclaiming the goods were nearly new, the clothes were hung on hangers and nicely presented.
Jinny saw some lace blouses and went to look. She immediately saw two pretty ones that she liked; one was yellow voile with little white spots and the other was cream silk and had a lace frill at the cuffs and tiny pearl buttons. Both looked as if they might have been new, and she looked at the price tags with some apprehension. They were priced at six shillings each – which meant she could afford one of them and still put a deposit on the skirt.
‘Do you like ’em?’ The young woman came round from the back of the stall with a friendly smile. ‘They’re a bargain they are – cost you two guineas each new they would.’
‘They look as if they were expensive,’ Jinny agreed. ‘Is there anything wrong with them?’
‘Nah, they’re perfect, and I washed ’em meself,’ the girl said proudly. She was wearing a full skirt, pretty blouse and white bobby socks with winkle-picker shoes. ‘I’m good at things like that – you ’ave to be careful with real silk …’
‘Are they both silk?’ Jinny asked, feeling a flutter of excitement, because she’d thought they were lovely without knowing what they were. ‘Why did the woman who owned them sell them?’
‘She ’ad a baby and they wouldn’t fit – ’sides, she’s got loads of money … she was tellin’ me she were at Wimbledon when Althea Gibson beat Angela Mortimer. I ’eard it on the radio, but I’d love to ’ave been there – wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, I’ve never thought about it … I did play tennis at school, but I wasn’t very good.’ Jinny touched the material of the silk blouses reverently. ‘I’d like them both but I can only afford one,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure which to choose …’
‘How much ’ave yer got?’
‘Eight shillings to spend on a blouse … I need two for something else,’ Jinny said and took the money from the purse in her pocket. ‘I think I’ll ’ave the cream one …’ she decided but before the stallholder could act someone snatched the money from Jinny’s hand and started running. ‘My money …’ she cried and started after him. ‘He’s pinched my money …’
People stared but made no attempt to stop the rogue from fleeing through the crowded market. He was getting away from her and Jinny’s heart sank as she saw him disappearing into the throng. The money Nellie had given her had gone and she wasn’t likely to see it again, and that meant she couldn’t buy anything. Tears pricked her eyes and she felt such a fool for holding the money out so eagerly to show the stallholder. What an idiot. She should’ve waited until the blouse was wrapped and kept a tight hold on it. Feeling miserable, Jinny turned away, knowing that she’d lost her money and there was nothing she could do.
Retracing her steps, she went back to the stall selling the blouses and almost in tears told the girl that she couldn’t buy either of them.
‘If you’ve got them next week, I’ll buy one – if I get my new job …’
‘Wanted it to make a good impression I expect?’
‘Yes, but my school …’ Jinny broke off as a hand clutched her arm and she turned to see a somewhat out-of-breath Micky Smith. He grinned as she stared at him and handed her the ten-shilling note he was holding. ‘What …?’
‘Sorry it took me so long to get ’im,’ Micky said, looking proud of his achievement. ‘I didn’t realise straight away what he’d done and then someone said you’d been robbed. I managed to get it off him but he got away … I’ll find ’im though and I’ll make ’im sorry …’
‘You got my money back?’ Jinny was disbelieving and then overwhelmed. ‘That’s so kind …’ She choked as the tears became very real. ‘Thanks. I can buy my blouse now …’
‘You can have the two for nine bob,’ the girl said. ‘I reckon you deserve it after a nasty turn like that. I don’t like thieves. They nick things off the stall if me and Dad don’t keep an eye out.’ She smiled at Micky. ‘You was brave and clever to get that back, Mick.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, his grin widening as the purchase went ahead and Jinny parted with the note for her paper bag and a shilling change. ‘Be seein’ yer, Maisie. Tell yer father I’ve got a bit of business fer ’im later …’
‘Righto,’ Maisie said and looked pleased as Jinny took her purchases and moved off, Micky at her side. ‘I’ll see yer later then …’
Micky nodded but didn’t look back at her. He walked with Jinny as she moved away. ‘The bugger didn’t hurt yer, did he? I wish I’d seen him sooner …’
‘No, I’m all right,’ Jinny said. ‘I’m going for a job interview tomorrow at St Saviour’s, and I needed a new blouse. I was just deciding which to buy and got my money out too quick – and he
snatched it before I knew he was there.’
‘Probably been followin’ yer, waiting to get yer purse,’ Micky said. ‘They do that in the market when it’s busy. Was there anything else you need now?’
‘I was looking at a skirt but I bought two blouses so I can’t afford the deposit now …’
‘Let me buy it for you,’ Micky offered immediately and Jinny sensed his eyes on her dress. ‘You can’t go like that …’
‘I’ve got a decent skirt,’ Jinny said, ‘but the trader was kind – offered to let me pay so much a week. I’ll just tell him I may come back next week if I get my new job.’
‘Which stall is it?’
‘This one,’ Jinny said and blushed as the young stallholder came out to her. ‘I was just telling Micky I can’t buy the skirt today but if you’ve got it next week I may buy it …’
‘What yer, Mick,’ the trader said and grinned. ‘Nice bit of work. If this young lady is yer girl she can take the skirt and pay me later … no deposit needed …’
‘I’m no one’s girl,’ Jinny said quickly. ‘I’ve got a shilling – if you’ll take that as a deposit I’ll pay you as soon as I get my first wage …’
‘If Jinny says she’ll pay, she’ll pay,’ Micky assured him. ‘Wrap it up, Dave, and take her shillin’ …’
‘Anythin’ you say, mate,’ Dave said and put the skirt in the bag, accepting Jinny’s coin with a grin. ‘If it ain’t right you can bring it back – and pay me when yer like …’
‘I’ll pay next week if I get my job,’ Jinny said, her cheeks warm. ‘Thanks so much. I wanted to look smart for my interview and now I’m spoiled for choice.’
‘A pretty girl like you deserves nice things,’ Dave said. ‘I’ll see you right any time you want something new and can’t afford it …’ He grinned at her as she walked off with Micky.
When they were out of earshot, Jinny looked at Micky. ‘I got a bargain with my blouses and it was nice of Dave to let me have this before I paid him – but you’re not to give him the money, Micky. It wouldn’t be right. I’m not that sort of girl …’
Micky laughed softly, but there was a faint look of hurt in his eyes. ‘Did you think I would try to buy yer for the price of a skirt off the market? I wouldn’t be so cheap, Jinny – and I know you ain’t like that …’
‘I didn’t mean that …’ She blushed hotly, because she had and now She was ashamed of thinking ill of him. ‘I know you’re generous but …’
‘No, I ain’t.’ Micky shook his head. ‘I like yer, Jinny. I always ’ave – but if I decide to make a play fer yer, you’ll know – right? If yer my girl I’ll treat yer proper …’
Jinny shook her head, embarrassed. She was too young to be anyone’s girl and wasn’t sure what she wanted from life yet. Once upon a time all girls ever thought about was getting married, but these days life could be more exciting and, having made the break from her home, Jinny wanted to enjoy it before she settled down.
‘Who says I’ll be your girl?’ she asked crossly, more because she didn’t know what to say than because she was angry or disliked him.
‘Oh, you’ll have me if I ask,’ he said and smiled. ‘I ain’t the ignorant lout you think I am, Jinny. I can talk proper if I want but it suits me to be the way I am, especially with the market lads, right? Let me tell you now, Micky Smith is goin’ to be someone one day – one day soon – and when I am I’ll be lookin’ for the right girl. It might just be you, if yer lucky …’ He winked at her. ‘I’ll give yer a ride on me motorbike if yer good …’
‘You’ve never got a motorbike …’ Jinny stared in disbelief.
‘Oh, ain’t I?’ Micky laughed. ‘I’ll be orf to the Isle of Man one of these days – you’ll see …’
Jinny stopped in her tracks as he walked off laughing. Was he joking or had he really got a motorbike? He was such an odd mixture, the flashy wide boy at one moment, a dashing hero the next, chasing that thief to recover her money even though he was out of breath when he came back. His speech was as mixed up as he was and she believed that he could put on a posh voice when it suited him, just as he could be one of the lads in the market. She wondered again what he did to earn the kind of money he so obviously did; he wasn’t going to tell her, but whatever it was both Maisie and Dave had respected him, almost as if they looked up to him – as if he had influence or importance in their lives …
Jinny frowned. She had reason to be grateful to Micky but she wasn’t sure how she felt about him, or whether she wanted him to be important in her life or not. At the moment all she wanted was to be accepted for the job at St Saviour’s …
CHAPTER 5
‘Oh, damn,’ Rose said on seeing her bus disappear round the corner just as she got to the stop. She’d been busy all morning, visiting Mary Ellen at her home and giving her a hand with some washing in return for being able to use her new electric washing tub for her own things. She’d been interested in hearing all about her sister’s progress at teaching college and forgotten the time. ‘Damn, I’m going to be late.’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing that …’ Rose turned to look at the man who had spoken. He must have been in his late twenties with fair hair worn a little too long and falling into his eyes; he was dressed in work overalls stained with paint, black boots, a short-sleeved shirt and a red spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat. ‘I’ve got my van across the road. Can I give you a lift, nurse?’
Rose hesitated, because she’d never seen this man before, but he had a gentle smile and she was inclined to trust him. ‘Well, I need to be at St Saviour’s in Halfpenny Street – if you’re going anywhere near there …’
A grin broke out, making him seem far more attractive than he’d looked at first glance. ‘You’re one of those ’Alfpenny angels,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve got an appointment with your Sister Beatrice this mornin’. Hop in and I’ll take you there …’
‘Did Sister Beatrice ask you to call and see her?’ Rose said as he opened the passenger door for her to get in. The smell of paint and turpentine would have told her that he was a decorator by trade even if she hadn’t already guessed it. His radio was playing something that sounded like skiffle but he switched it off. ‘Are you from Thompsons?’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he said and went round to the driving seat. ‘I’m Rob and my brother Nick and me started up about two years ago. We’d both had enough of working for wages so we decided to give it a go on our own. I’m just thankful they took that petrol rationing off. I know they had to after that trouble with the Suez Canal last year, but I’m glad we’re not still restricted. You need a vehicle in this job.’
‘We had rationing for years during the war.’
‘I know, but I wasn’t driving then. I was seventeen when it ended.’
‘And now you have your own business …’ she said as he drew out into the traffic. ‘I know it can be hard starting up on your own. You can’t afford to employ many staff, but that means you have to work all hours yourself …’
‘That’s about us,’ Rob replied without looking at her. ‘It’s easier for me, because I’m not married, but Nick is a widower with two young boys – and his house is mortgaged.’
‘I know what it’s like to worry where the next penny is coming from. My father died when I was quite young and Ma could never quite manage. It took me years to earn enough to look after myself.’
‘As long as the work keeps coming in, we’ll manage,’ Rob said. ‘Nick has gone after a big contract on a new housing estate this morning, and if he gets it, it could make all the difference.’
Rose didn’t say anything to that, but she could understand what it meant to a fledgling business. It was 1957 now and the country had just about shrugged off the hardships of the war; the prime minister said the country had never had it so good, but Rose had known what it was like to be really poor. After their mother became ill and died, Rose had been forced to put her younger sister in St Saviour’s and train as a nurs
e for very low wages. She’d tried to help Mary Ellen along the way, to see that she had a few treats, but it had been difficult for a long time.
Rose had buried her grief as she trained hard to become a nurse and she’d done well at the hospital. Matron had wanted her to go on and rise to the top of her profession, but Rose had fallen out with one of the senior doctors and left before he had her sacked. She’d been lucky to get the job at St Saviour’s and was enjoying her work. Love hadn’t come her way, but she had friends and she got on well with Mary Ellen and her husband Billy these days, although just now and then she was very aware of the passing years and sometimes wondered if she would ever have a family of her own.
‘Here we are.’ Rob’s voice brought Rose back from her own problems and she realised that she hadn’t spoken to him for several minutes.
‘Oh …’ she said, feeling embarrassed. ‘Thanks so much. I’m sorry; I was lost in my thoughts …’
‘I expect I was rabbiting on too much.’
‘No, of course not.’ Rose smiled at him. ‘It’s just that you talking about what you want for the future made me wonder about my own …’
‘Ah, thinking of getting married and settling down?’
‘No, nothing like that … Just thinking about work and whether I should make a change …’
‘I see … well, good luck whatever you decide,’ he said and jumped out of his van, coming round to open the door for her.
Rose smiled; she liked being treated like a lady. ‘Good luck to you, too,’ she said. ‘I hope you get that big contract.’
‘My brother needs the luck,’ Rob said and smiled too. ‘I’ve just got to hope that Sister Beatrice has accepted our price for the work …’
Rose almost told him that his price would have gone to St Saviour’s Board for the decision, but decided not to mention it. He was a pleasant man and she was grateful for the lift, but she didn’t expect she would see much of him, even if he got the job. Pushing all other concerns from her mind, Rose hurried up to the sick ward to relieve Staff Nurse Wendy. It was Wendy’s afternoon off and she was planning on a visit to the hairdresser and then she was going out for the evening with a friend. They had tickets for The Mousetrap, Agatha Christie’s long-running play.