“Was I? I didn’t realise . . .”
“It’s probably me.” The shopkeeper’s tone was apologetic. “It’s just occasionally I find it difficult to catch certain words.”
“I’ll make sure I slow down.” It had never occurred to her that anyone would find her difficult to understand.
She went towards the two elderly ladies. “Can I help you?” She enunciated each word carefully.
“I’m looking for a pattern and wool for a nice thick cardigan,” the taller of the women said.
Sarah felt her heart lift on hearing a familiar Irish accent. “Oh, which part of Ireland are you from?”
The smaller woman beamed. “Kildare – and where are you from yourself? I didn’t catch the accent there.”
“Tullamore.” Just as she said it, Sarah suddenly realised that they might know someone who knew her or Con’s family. She held her breath.
“Tullamore! It’s not that far from us really, but it’s not a place we’d know very well.”
Sarah was relieved.
“And I’d say you’re fresh off the boat?” The woman’s eyes were bright and friendly.
Sarah nodded, a warm feeling spreading through her now. The old lady reminded her of Sheila Brady’s old mother back in Tullamore. She suddenly felt rescued from the cloak of unfamiliarity all around her. “I just came over yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Imagine . . . You’ll still be getting used to things so. Big difference. What’s your name?”
“Sarah – Sarah Love.”
“Love? That’s unusual, isn’t it, Agnes? We’re Bradleys.” She gestured to her sister. “Agnes and Bridget.”
“I hope you’re staying,” said Agnes, “because it’s nice to see a cheery face in here for a change.” She nodded towards the back shop. “That one never smiles,” she said in a low voice. “There are times when you’d dread coming in, only you’d need something.”
Bridget dug her in the ribs. “She’ll hear you, big gob!”
Sarah almost laughed out loud. This was exactly the kind of banter that went on with Mr and Mrs Brady back in Tullamore. She suddenly felt lighter and more at home. “I’ll show you the cardigan patterns I have,” she said, lifting the large, heavy pattern book from the counter. She thumbed through it, until she came to the cardigan section, and then she opened it flat and turned the book around to face them. “What type of sleeve did you want? Raglan or set in?”
“Raglan, of course.” Agnes Bradley’s voice was high with surprise, as though Sarah had known her preference of sleeve type for years. “I was in Tullamore a few years ago when I was home on holiday. I suppose it’s a nice enough place.”
Again Sarah had to stop herself from smiling at Tullamore being damned by faint praise. “How long have you been in Newcastle?” she asked.
“Over forty years. We never imagined we’d be here that long, did we, Bridget? If you’d told me that when I first came over, I would have died.”
Sarah felt her jaw clench.
“We only came over for a year to see how we liked it.” Bridget laughed and shook her head. “And then we stayed on for another year and another year. But that’s life – that’s the way it was meant to be.”
Sarah didn’t know whether to be comforted or horrified at the thought of living in this strange city for the next forty years. She hadn’t thought any further ahead than the next few weeks. She hadn’t even thought about Christmas which was only a few months away. “You obviously settled . . .”
“Oh, aye, we did that,” Agnes agreed.
Sarah noticed that the last sentence was spoken in what she now recognised was the Geordie accent. Most of the people who had come into the shop spoke that way. She supposed they were bound to have picked it up having lived here so long. The sisters spent a good half an hour in the shop, choosing a pattern and wool, then, as Sarah was totting up their bill, Bridget indicated towards the door behind the counter.
“Would you ask herself if she found the name of another seamstress for us? Since Miss Shaftoe left, we’ve had nobody to do any alterations for us.” She looked over her shoulder, and then said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “We know a very good second-hand shop that sells beautiful clothes, but because we’re smaller than average we often have to get them altered.”
“Is the second-hand shop near?” Sarah also spoke quietly, not wanting her employer to hear her making chit-chat with the customers. “I wouldn’t mind paying it a visit, myself.”
“Oh, we’ll give you the address,” Agnes said, digging into her handbag for a small notepad and a pen. “It’s only five minutes’ walk, just the other side of Grey Street, and the woman who serves in it is lovely.” She wrote the address down and drew a little map.
Sarah suddenly thought. “I could do any alterations if you like . . .” Then she hesitated. “Just let me check that Miss Harrison hasn’t organised anyone else to do it.”
She tapped on the backroom door and then went in. To her amazement, Lucy Harrison was sitting engrossed in a book. She looked up startled when Sarah came in.
“I have some customers asking whether you’ve taken on another seamstress to do alterations?”
Lucy’s brow deepened in thought. “No . . . I haven’t. Not yet.”
Sarah looked at her. “I can do alterations if you like. I noticed you have a sewing machine in the stock-room.”
Lucy looked blankly at her.
Sarah suddenly thought that her boss might feel she was trying to get out of serving in the shop during working hours. “I can buy one to use at the house in the evenings as well.” She presumed it would be relatively easy to find a second-hand machine in a city of this size.
“Are you sure?” Lucy said. “We’d have to work things out . . .”
The shop bell went signalling another customer.
“Is it okay if I tell the ladies to bring their suits in?”
Lucy lifted her dark eyebrows. “You decide . . . If you don’t mind doing the work, then that’s fine by me.”
Sarah went back to the two sisters. She felt a little surge of achievement that she’d sorted this out. Doing alterations back at the house would fill the long, empty autumn evenings and take her mind off her old life. And it would also give her something to do when the shop was quiet, which it seemed to be most of the time.
There was another lady waiting to be served, so Sarah quickly told the women her news and then wrapped up their items and totted up their bill.
“We’ll drop our stuff off in the morning,” Bridget told her as she took the change. “We’ll sort through our wardrobes this evening and see what needs altering.” She shifted the handles of her shopping-bag further up her arm, as though rolling her sleeves up, ready to get stuck into the work.
“See you tomorrow so,” said Sarah happily.
As she measured out two yards of curtain lace for her following customer, the woman said: “Did I hear you talking to those other ladies about alterations?”
“You did,” Sarah said confidently.
“It’s my first time in this shop,” the woman said, “and I didn’t realise there was a seamstress working here. I have a coat that needs altering and my husband has a pair of heavy work trousers that needs a new zip. Would you be able to do it?”
“Of course.” Sarah said it as though she had been doing alterations in the shop for years. Inside, her mind was racing. If she was going to have to measure clothes on people for taking up or letting out, she would have to provide a place for them to try the garments on with a mirror. She would have to ask Lucy Harrison if she could make a space in the back-shop somewhere. She would suggest curtaining off an area of the stockroom and putting a full-length mirror and a chair in it. It would take no time to do. It was just a matter of finding a suitable remnant of material for curtains and using one of the chairs from the kitchen until she found time to pick a nice one up in a second-hand shop.
But she couldn’t do anything without checking with her new employer.
>
The door clicked shut after the customer and Sarah took a deep breath and walked towards the kitchen. She was slightly anxious about looking as though she were trying to run before she could walk, but it was outweighed by the feeling of doing something she loved with all the empty hours that loomed ahead.
“Lucy, I was just wondering . . .” she started, then halted at the door.
Her employer was sitting at the table with her head on her folded arms, fast asleep.
Sarah stared at her for a few moments. Then, remembering the conversation she overheard with the young nurse, she tip-toed out backwards into the shop.
She served six customers as the morning went by and Lucy Harrison still had not appeared. Sarah had also spent time gazing silently out of the shop window, thinking about what she had been doing this time the previous week and all the weeks before. The weeks when she was planning her wedding to Con Tierney. The weeks when Patricia Quinn was being fitted for her bridesmaid dress.
The door to the back-shop opened.
“I’m very sorry . . .” The shopkeeper blinked the tiredness out of her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me at the moment. I’m awake at night and then tired all day. Did you manage all right by yourself?”
“I did,” Sarah quickly reassured her. She could tell her employer was embarrassed. “Most people were looking for wool, but I measured and cut material for two customers as well.”
“And the till?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes – I think I’ve got the hang of it.” She lifted a small square receipt book with a navy carbon-copy sheet. “I wrote down everything I sold down in the book, and gave the customers one copy and kept the other in the book like you told me. The money is easy enough once you get used to it. I just have to stop myself from comparing it to the Irish coins.”
The shop-keeper’s face brightened. “Well done, Sarah,” she said. “For a first day, you’ve got off to a flying start.”
Sarah felt a little wave of relief, and then decided to take a chance. “Can I suggest something, Lucy?”
“Go on . . .”
“You know we talked about me doing alterations?” She went on then to explain that if she could spend an hour in the back-shop, she could set up an area where she could do the alterations and beside it, a small changing-room.
Lucy looked dubious. “Wouldn’t it be a lot of extra work for you?”
“I thought I could get on with sewing when the shop was quiet.” If this morning was anything to go by, there wasn’t enough work for two of them. And yet, there was something that made her think her employer wasn’t sure about her suggestion.
“It’s just that there will be times when I’ve got to go out . . . and did I tell you that I always have Thursday off? I can change my arrangements this Thursday, if you feel you need me. Since it’s your first week, I understand you might need me around.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine to be left on my own by then,” Sarah said. “If we’re quiet and I’m working in the back, I’ll hear the shop bell and come straight through. On the other days when we’re both working, if it suddenly gets busy you just have to call me and I’ll come to help.”
Lucy nodded, still thinking. “I suppose we have nothing to lose.” She glanced at her watch. “Gosh – it’s nearly half past twelve. Would you manage here if I pop out to the bank? I might stop off and pick up a pie or a sandwich when I’m out, but I’ll probably get back around one o’clock. We close between one and two, so you can take an hour for your lunch then. Did you bring anything for your lunch?”
“I haven’t had time to get to the shops yet,” Sarah told her. “I’ll take a walk out and see what there is.”
Lucy went into the back-room and got her coat and handbag. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
“I’ll be grand,” Sarah said. “I’ll give the shop a tidy around while you’re gone if it’s quiet.”
Lucy put her rain-coat on and then went towards the door to check if she needed her umbrella. It wasn’t actually raining, but the sky was overcast so she went back into the kitchen to collect it.
Sarah watched as the slightly built, dark-haired figure went towards the door and noticed a definite slump of her shoulders. She found it confusing that although Lucy Harrison’s face looked like someone in their late thirties, her posture and movements were that of an older woman. And then it struck Sarah. Her demeanour was that of an older, dispirited woman. Sarah wondered if she had always been old for her years, or if something might have happened that had suddenly made her like that.
Sarah stared after her for a few moments, then her mind turned back towards Tullamore. Back to the fiancé and friend who had betrayed her. Back to the family who didn’t want her.
A feeling of determination rose inside her. She would not let what had happened hold her back. No matter what – she would keep going. She would make the best of this fresh start in a new country. She would work hard at her new job, and she would help Lucy Harrison to build the dilapidated shop back into a good business.
Chapter 11
Sarah walked to the door to look at the windows on one side and then the other. The windows were the first thing that customers saw when they came up to the shop. They had made a terrible impression on her – and they would obviously do the same for the customers. She would start on them first.
She went into the kitchen and filled the electric kettle to the top and put it on to boil, then she found a clean navy and white apron, a brush and pan and an empty waste-paper bin. She went to the window that held the piles of wool first and picked the balls out. She held them one by one over the bin and brushed each down before placing it on the counter. Then she started brushing the dust and the cobwebs and the dead flies, and when she had cleared it all, she gathered up the dusty sheets of brown paper and rolled them up tightly and put them in the bin. She took the bin through the back to empty it into a bigger one, and then came back with a basin filled with hot water and disinfectant to wash the window and shelves down.
She made several more trips to renew the water, finished the shelves and afterwards climbed into the window. She was just polishing Windolene off the glass when she saw a figure gesturing to her from the door. David McGuire was standing, smiling at her. He pushed the door open, making the bell ping, and came in.
“I saw your boss go off a few minutes ago, so I thought I’d look in and see how you’re getting on, like.” He grinned and pointed towards her apron. “I see she has you working hard already.”
“She didn’t ask me to do this, I offered,” Sarah said, stepping out of the window and down onto the floor beside him. For a moment she wondered whether to be curt with him to make him keep his distance, but there was something about him that made her think of the harmless, friendly lads at home. “I feel the whole shop needs a good clean, and I can’t relax inside while I know the windows look a mess.”
“Well, it looks a whole lot better to me already,” David said. He put a finger on his chin. “I’m just thinking . . . I have some lining paper I could give you for the windows.” He gestured across to the bookshop. “The boss sent stuff up from the shop in London and we’ve got a good bit left over, like. It’s quite nice, a striped sort of design in different colours.”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll get if for you now.”
By the time he came back with the paper, Sarah had finished polishing the window and had gathered up balls of bright red, green, yellow and blue wool and stuck needles through them. She had also got a few cheery-looking knitting patterns for children’s hats and scarves and sweaters, and had thought of a few more ideas for the display.
“Do you sell things other than books in the shop?”
“We sell stationery and pens and pencils and all those sorts of things.”
“Would you have any of those plastic things with the letters of the alphabet for making signs? I think you can get them in capitals and small letters.”
“Yeah,
” he said, “I think we do.”
She had just put the fresh lining paper in the window when she had to stop for a customer. The lady was looking for crochet needles and wool, and had brought a pattern with her. Sarah was relieved that the woman knew what she needed, as crocheting was one of the areas she had no experience in. She made a mental note to buy a beginner’s book about it, so she would have some idea if any of the customers asked her advice.
She was back at the window finishing off her display when David came back, with two letter templates and three large pieces of card in black, red and white, a thick black pen and a small container of glue.
“That should be everything you need to make signs,” he told her.
“Oh, that’s grand,” Sarah said, delighted. “How much do I owe you?”
He winked at her. “I’ll sort it out later. I might be able to get you a bit of a business discount.”
“Are you open during lunch?” Sarah asked. “I was going to come in after one o’clock to buy a book on crocheting, and I can sort out what I owe you then.”
He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Another new customer! I’m glad my business charm still seems to be working.” Then he looked at her serious face and said, “Aw, I’m only kidding, like. We stagger our lunch breaks so we don’t have to close the shop. We sell weekly and monthly bus tickets, and folk often come in to buy them when they’re out for lunch.”
“That’s grand,” she said.
She glanced past him now, to see if there was any sign of Lucy. She wanted to get at least one of the windows finished before she came back, and she also didn’t want to be caught chatting to a lad on her first morning at work.
He seemed to sense her thoughts. “I’ll leave you to it then . . .” He looked at the freshly washed shelves and the gleaming glass in the window. “You’re doing a great job there – it looks like a different place already.” He moved towards the door. “Aw, look at that! The flaming rain is on again. Don’t go wasting your time washing the outside of the windows ’cos they’ll only get ruined.” He paused. ”Come to think of it, the lad who does the shop windows every month is due round Thursday, so there’s no point in doing them any road.”
Sarah Love Page 9