by Pam Weaver
As she walked into the room, young Mrs Shilling was relaxing on the sofa smoking a cigarette. She was alone. Muriel didn’t look like a person in mourning. She was dressed not in the customary sombre clothing but a white pleated skirt and a sailor style blouse with blue piping.
‘Ah, Izzie,’ she said standing and going to the writing bureau. ‘Thank you for all you did for my mother-in-law. Of course now that she’s gone we have no need for your services. Your wage is in this envelope and I have written you a character reference.’ She thrust two envelopes into Izzie’s hands, leaving her in a state of shocked surprise.
‘That will be all,’ said young Mrs Shilling, resuming her seat and her cigarette.
Izzie was shaking when she got back into the hall. Tears smarted her eyes when she opened her wage packet to find she hadn’t even been paid for a full week. Today was Tuesday and she’d only been paid for two days. How mean can you get? How could she possibly get another job by tomorrow? The money in the envelope was less than a third of her normal wage. She looked around. All this wealth and that stingy woman could not even be bothered to show a little gratitude.
Now Izzie was in a quandary. It was half past one. Should she carry on packing Mrs Shilling’s books into the trunks or walk out now? She was so angry it was hard to think.
‘What’s up, duck?’ Mrs Dore said as she walked into the kitchen.
Izzie explained what had happened.
‘The tight fisted old bag,’ Mrs Dore murmured. ‘If I was you, I’d walk out right now. You’ve got your reference haven’t you?’
Izzie hesitated. She hadn’t had a chance to read it and right now she hadn’t the stomach for it. It was probably rubbish anyway. Part of her wanted to stalk out of the house and slam the door behind her but another part of her thought of Mrs Shilling’s stoicism in the face of her daughter-in-law’s animosity towards her. Izzie took a deep breath and made the decision to go back and finish the job. She would pack the books carefully and view it as the last thing she could do for dear old Mrs Shilling. If she left the packing for Muriel, she would probably throw the books into the trunk any-old-how or get the gardener to burn them.
Miserably, she made her way back to the garden room. As she reached the hallway, Mr Shilling came down the stairs.
‘Ah, Izzie,’ he said affably. ‘Last day I hear. Everything all right?’
Izzie’s cheeks flamed with anger. ‘Actually, Mr Shilling,’ she began haughtily, ‘now that I’m leaving, there’s something I wanted to say—’
‘You know you were a bloody marvel with my mother,’ he interrupted. ‘I know she could be a difficult old biddy at times but she was like putty in your hands. She was awfully fond of you, you know.’
‘That’s all very well but …’ Izzie began again.
‘Don’t think it wasn’t appreciated,’ he went on, completely taking the wind out of her sails. ‘You’re very young but I’ve never in all my born days known such a capable gel.’ With that, he thrust something in her hand. Izzie didn’t look but it felt like folded money. Mr Shilling put his finger to his lips and came closer. ‘Don’t tell the Memsab, eh?’ Izzie blinked in surprise. ‘Now what was it you wanted to say?’
‘Um …’ Izzie flustered as she blinked in surprise. ‘I … I’m sorry about your mother, Sir. I shall miss her.’
Mr Shilling chuckled. ‘Apart from me, you’re about the only one who will,’ he muttered as he walked away.
Izzie pushed the money into her apron pocket and went back to the job in hand. By three forty-five the shelves were bare and the trunks were full of dusted books. Izzie turned her attention to the writing desk. Most of the paperwork still there was to do with Mrs Shilling’s publisher but there were a few scraps of paper which Mrs Shilling had used to jot down her notes or something she wanted to look up. Izzie classed them as rubbish, which she screwed up and put in the bin, but then she came across a notebook she didn’t remember. As she was fanning the pages to see what was in it she came across a small envelope with her name on it. Izzie eased herself into the chair and opened it.
On the back of the envelope old Mrs Shilling had written, ‘Found in newspaper archive. Show Izzie.’ It contained a newspaper cutting. Izzie spread it out. The stark headline was Local boy dies. Underneath there was a picture of a small boy holding a jam jar containing a minnow. Izzie read the article itself.
Five-year-old Gary Sayers died in hospital last night of suspected food poisoning. Gary was one of fifteen children who were taken ill after eating meat pies and sausage rolls prepared for a Christmas party put on by the council for evacuee children who had returned home. The event, which was held in the Town Hall, was attended by some forty youngsters. Suspicion has fallen on a batch of sausage rolls which came from a local butcher and have been sent to a laboratory for analysis.
Izzie frowned. Which newspaper had Mrs Shilling got that from? She never went out except when Izzie went with her. Did someone send it to her? There was no date or newspaper reference, so when did it happen and what on earth had it got to do with her? Izzie knew Mrs Shilling had been anxious to help her find her mother. Was this something to do with it? She read it again and her blood ran cold. Gary Sayers. Mrs Sayers was the mysterious woman who came into the green grocer’s and she remembered her father’s reaction when Izzie had asked about her. Had she told Mrs Shilling about her? Izzie couldn’t remember. She remembered Mrs Sayers crashing into the wheelchair outside the bus stop but had she told Mrs Shilling her name? And what had her mother to do with this? Izzie fanned the pages of the notebook again but there was nothing else inside. How odd. Mrs Shilling obviously planned to give it to her, otherwise why would her name be on the envelope?
Izzie slipped the envelope and cutting in her pocket and looked around the room. Everything looked neat and tidy. It was time to go. What a good job she hadn’t walked out when Mrs Shilling had given her the sack. She didn’t know where the cutting would lead her but she was so glad to have found it.
A few moments later, and in the privacy of the toilet, she unfolded the money Mr Shilling had given her. She was holding five one pound notes.
*
Bill was in a quandary. As he examined the three pictures the old man had brought in, it was obvious that one of them was worth a bob or two. The beach scene and the waterfall were fairly good but only worth five quid each at the most. The picture of a Victorian gentleman was in a different league altogether. Should he tell the old boy or offer him just a few quid for the lot? He had two things to weigh up: his reputation and his chronic lack of funds. On the one hand, if he offered his customer a fair price, he might have other gems he could bring in. On the other hand, he could offer him fifteen quid for the three, not exactly an unreasonable amount, then sell the cheap ones in the shop and take the better quality painting to the auction rooms.
He opened his secret drawer in the desk. The William IV sterling silver table box was gone, as was the slightly smaller dark blue enamel box – he’d shifted them a couple of weeks ago to another dealer from Bognor, no questions asked – but the Edwardian silver box was still there. It was always a risk when passing on stolen goods and he didn’t really have the stomach for it anymore. Hadn’t he told himself he was going to be totally legit this time? It was all right ducking and diving when you’re young but not now. Not at his age. One taste of prison was enough to last a man a lifetime; which brought him back to the pictures. He sighed. Picking them all up, he went out onto the shop floor to chat with his elderly customer.
Sixteen
Izzie arrived back home with mixed emotions and went straight upstairs to her room. She was still upset about Mrs Shilling’s death and now she was reeling from the shock of being given the sack. She’d always known Muriel Shilling was a bit of a cow but to get rid of her in such a callous way was a bit rich, even for her.
It should be reasonably easy to get another job but it meant her dreams of going to night school would have to take another back seat. Not only that, bu
t also she would have to work a week in hand, meaning she wouldn’t have any money for two weeks. What a good job Mr Shilling had given her that five pounds. She wouldn’t use it unless it was absolutely necessary but it was a comfort to know it was there should she need it. She re-opened the envelope and spread the notes on the counterpane. As soon as she could she would put it into her Post Office Savings Bank. Once that was done she would have seventeen pounds twelve shilling. It should have been a good feeling but she suddenly felt bereft of an old friend and found herself succumbing to tears. A little later she heard the front door bang and Linda pounded up the stairs. Her sister turned her head as she went past Izzie’s room.
‘Oh hello. What are you doing home so early?’
Izzie blew her nose. ‘I got the sack.’
Linda gasped. ‘Blimey. What did you do?’
‘Nothing,’ Izzie said miserably, ‘but now that old Mrs Shilling has gone, they don’t want me anymore.’ She lifted her head and added bitterly, ‘They no longer require my services.’
‘Poor old you,’ said Linda, eyeing the money on Izzie’s bed. ‘I thought you were going to say you’d been caught nicking something.’
‘I don’t steal,’ Izzie retorted as she snatched the notes up. ‘Mr Shilling gave this to me, if you must know.’
Linda raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he indeed? Dirty beggar.’
‘For heaven’s sake Linda,’ Izzie snapped. ‘You’ve got a mind like a sewer. He gave it to me for being kind to his mother.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Linda, putting her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I was only teasing. Lucky you.’ She turned away and headed for her bedroom.
‘And you can keep out of my room,’ Izzie shouted after her. ‘I don’t want any more of my money going walk-about.’
‘As if I would,’ Linda shouted as she slammed her door.
Izzie looked around for a place to hide the money. She didn’t trust her sister as far as she could throw her. She kept her Post Office Savings book taped above the dressing table drawer. She reasoned that a thief (like Linda) might pull the drawer out and look on the bottom but they wouldn’t reach inside and feel the underside of the dressing table top. The Post Office book was quite flat but if she added five more notes there was a chance that it would be seen when opening the drawer. She looked around the room for another hiding place but almost all of them were immediately obvious. In the end, she put the money behind the photograph of her and Linda walking along the seafront, which stood in a frame over the fireplace.
*
Her father wasn’t very happy when she told him. They were all sitting together at the dinner table for a change. Usually one or the other of them was out, but tonight all three of them were in together. Izzie had waited until the meal was almost finished before she told her father the news.
‘Well you’d better get out there and find another job PDQ,’ he said crossly. ‘You’re not a kid anymore. You can’t expect me to support you.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ Izzie said indignantly.
‘And you can hand over your wage packet now.’
‘There’s not much in it,’ Izzie said mildly. ‘She only paid me for Monday and today.’
‘But Mr Shilling gave her a fiver,’ Linda piped up.
Izzie glared at her. Her father beckoned with his hand. ‘Hand it over.’
‘I need that money,’ Izzie protested. ‘Even if I get another job tomorrow, I won’t get a wage packet until Friday week.’
Her father continued to beckon.
‘Dad, please …’
But Bill Baxter was unrelenting. Izzie rose from the table, her cheeks flaming and her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She mounted the stairs with a mixture of anger, disappointment and pain. Why was he always so horrible to her? She recalled what Gran once told her. He never was much good with women and you look so like your mother. So why take it out on her? It was so unfair. I bet if Linda lost her job he’d be really nice to her, she thought bitterly.
Back downstairs she threw the five pound notes on the table in front of him. ‘I hate you.’
Her father winced. ‘Please yourself.’
Izzie turned away but not before she saw the sly smile on her sister’s face.
*
By the end of the week, Izzie had got a new job. What with the references Mrs Shilling had given her (which turned out to be not as bad as she thought they might be) and the glowing reference Mr Allen the green grocer had given her the previous year, she found a job in a sweets and tobacconist shop close to Worthing station. She was to start first thing on Monday. The wage wasn’t brilliant, three pounds ten shillings, which after stoppages left her with three pounds one and five pence a week. Any hopes of saving much money looked rather slim. Izzie felt more stuck than ever and it was a bitter pill to swallow.
As Izzie walked into the house after her interview, Linda was in a state of undress. She had her back to the door and she didn’t hear Izzie coming. Her sister was just stepping out of her skirt and under it she wore another one with the price label still attached.
‘That’s nice …’ Izzie began but the shifty look her sister gave her aroused her suspicion. Linda hadn’t bought the skirt, had she; she’d tried it on in the shop and then walked out with it under her own clothes. Izzie stood with her mouth open.
‘Oh shut-up,’ said Linda before Izzie had said a word. ‘Everybody does it.’
‘Oh no they don’t,’ said Izzie, snatching at the label to see which shop it came from. ‘If you keep this up you’re going to get caught.’
‘I’m too clever for that,’ said Linda as she gathered her things and flounced upstairs.
*
Having a whole weekend with nothing to do except the washing and the ironing was a God-send. Izzie decided to go and see her grandmother instead. Granny had sent her two pounds in her birthday card, so she caught the early bus to Horsham and got off at Dial Post. She hadn’t had the opportunity to write and tell Granny she was coming so she kept her fingers crossed that the old lady would be in.
Granny had moved since Grandad died as the cottage where Izzie and Linda had spent two years after their mother disappeared was too big for her to manage. Fortunately, there was a small dwelling on the edge of the village but it was in a bad state of repair. Out of respect for her grandfather, the owner of the estate, the landlord of the local pub and some villagers got together to make it habitable. Her advancing years made change hard for Granny but so long as she had her chickens and the vegetable garden, she was content. As Izzie walked up the lane and saw her hanging out some washing her heart surged with love. Her grandmother looked a little more stooped than usual but the sight of her in her colourful wrap-over apron brought a smile to Izzie’s lips for the first time since old Mrs Shilling had died.
‘Hello, Gran.’
Ada Baxter turned sharply. ‘Izzie!’ she cried. ‘Oh what a lovely surprise.’ When she enfolded her granddaughter into her arms, Izzie almost collapsed. Ada smelled of lavender talc and Izzie’s mind was filled with a rush of childhood memories. She bit back the tears. ‘Whatever’s wrong, child?’ she said, then added, ‘Come you on in and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Izzie sat at her grandmother’s kitchen table while the old lady filled the tea pot. She told her all about Mrs Shilling, about Muriel giving her the sack and how her father had taken all of her money. The only silver lining, she told her, was that she’d managed to find a new job starting on Monday.
‘My, my, you’ve had quite a busy week, haven’t you my dear,’ Gran teased in an affectionate way.
Izzie managed a wan smile. ‘Everything seems to be going wrong for me Gran. Everything.’
‘Oh Izzie my dear,’ said her grandmother, ‘it really will do no good thinking like this. Life is what you make it. I know you’ve had a bit of a setback but the trick is not to let it get you down. Things will get better, I promise you.’
‘I wish I could believe you,’ Izzie said miserably. ‘You don
’t know what it’s like. Dad and Linda take advantage of me all the time. He spoils her rotten and I get lumbered with all the work.’
‘I hope you’re not feeling jealous of Linda.’
‘Of course not!’ Izzie cried. ‘But I get so fed up with it all.’
‘Has your father said you have to do all the work?’
Izzie hesitated. ‘Well, no, but if I don’t do it, who will?’
Her grandmother rose to her feet and kissed Izzie’s forehead as she put their empty cups in the sink. ‘Try not to be a martyr, my dear.’
Izzie frowned crossly. She knew her grandmother meant well but she could have been a bit more understanding. Anyone could see that right now her life was so horribly unfair.
Ada Baxter turned on the tap to do the washing up. ‘Just remember that when the winter has gone, spring and summer are just around the corner.’
Izzie set her face. She didn’t want pious platitudes. She wanted sympathy.
Wiping her hands, Ada cupped Izzie’s face and smiled lovingly at her. ‘Now, dry your tears and come with me to the village hall. There’s a sale in there this afternoon in aid of the RSPCA and I’m after some of Freda Bishop’s lardy cake.’
By the time Izzie caught the five o’clock bus back home she had spent a very happy day, despite her grandmother’s apparent lack of sympathy. It was fun being back in the village hall where she caught up with old friends, drank gallons of tea and sampled some wonderful cakes. She had brought a little money with her so she managed to buy a couple of books and a rather pretty trinket box from the bric-a-brac table. When they got back to her grandmother’s cottage, they had one last cup of tea before she went to the bus stop. Izzie took the opportunity to show her grandmother the newspaper cutting.
Ada’s face paled. ‘I always hoped you would never have to know about this,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Who gave it to you?’
Izzie explained that she had found it in an envelope while clearing old Mrs Shilling’s desk. ‘I’m guessing she didn’t show me because she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure of the connection or maybe she found it just before she got ill. I don’t understand it, Gran. What has this got to do with me?’