by Fiona Kidman
After she had washed, she went out and joined Alice at the table. A meal of cold meat and salad had been prepared and Harriet grasped her knife and fork eagerly.
‘Gently, dear,’ said Alice with mild reproval. She bowed her head and murmured with seemingly endless emphasis, ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful.’ She raised her head, and observed Harriet, whose eyes were fixed straight ahead. ‘You don’t give thanks, I see.’
‘Not till I know what I’m giving thanks for,’ said Harriet. ‘And then I like to say it to people’s faces.’
Alice made no comment, and Harriet started her meal. As she ate, she felt herself recovering completely. The history teacher’s face flashed in front of her. It was possible that Alice was made of sterner stuff than the history teacher, but on the whole, although a cursory examination of the situation didn’t make it immediately apparent, she herself held most of the cards.
Putting her knife and fork together on the plate, she said deliberately, ‘Thank you, Alice. That was very nice. I was very hungry.’
The forget-me-not eyes looked as if they’d been left in the frost overnight. ‘I thought we’d discussed the subject of my name,’ said Alice.
‘You made a suggestion, I’ve considered it. Now I’ll tell you what I think of your suggestion.’
Alice looked as if she was about to fling Harriet straight out into the street on the spot. ‘Please go on. I’m fascinated.’
‘Thank you. Well … the point is, you are my cousin, as I said before. Only my second cousin, I know, yes, you’ve reminded me of that. So I should prefer to address you correctly. I’ll call you Mrs Harrison if you like, I’ll call you Cousin Alice at all times if you like, or I shall address you as Alice in private and by no name at all in the company of your friends if you like. Or I shall simply leave here tonight. I have money. I know you didn’t expect my parents to provide me with any money, but they have. I’ll find a room in Weyville for the night and leave for Auckland in the morning. There should be work there for me. After all, what’s the difference between a factory in Weyville and a factory in Auckland?’
‘You couldn’t do that,’ said Alice.
‘Yes, I could. Easier than I could call you my aunt when you don’t happen to be my aunt. I might be a child by your standards but I’m not a baby.’
‘You may be excused,’ said Alice coldly.
In her room Harriet sat shivering. Trust her to make such a total idiot of herself, she thought. As if she had enough money to get herself from here into the middle of Weyville, let alone Auckland. She couldn’t do a thing except shiver in this unlovely room. But there was no way she was going to go home. However bitterly she might have missed her parents a short time before, however attractive Ohaka might seem from this distance, there was no going back. She’d laid herself on the line. Is this to be the story of my life? she wondered. Always sticking my neck out, taking chances, not weighing up the outcome of things.
There was a tentative knock on the door. Harriet didn’t reply. Slowly the door opened, and her cousin’s voice said, ‘It’s Cousin Alice. May I come in?’
She came in, and sat down beside Harriet. For some minutes neither said anything, then they turned to each other at the same instant. ‘I’m sorry,’ they said together.
A faint awkward smile crossed Alice’s face. ‘I suppose we had better try and get to know each other a little better, hadn’t we?’ Harriet nodded.
Taking a deep breath, Alice continued, ‘I’ll help you find a job. You’ll need to have a little attention paid to your appearance if you don’t mind my saying so. I expect a little help round the place, not much, no more than I expected from my own family when they were your age, the dishes, the garden, that sort of thing … board will be a lot less than you’d get anywhere else, you know. Apart from that, I won’t interfere in your life, provided you don’t interfere in mine. Do you understand?’
‘Not entirely,’ said Harriet.
‘You’re not my child, but I’ve got a responsibility for you, and I’ve got a position in this town. Whether you approve of that or not is of no great interest to me, providing you do nothing to bring my position into disgrace. I don’t want any scandals round here. Do you understand now?’
‘I think so.’
‘You’re a great deal cleverer than I’d expected,’ said Alice. ‘I apologise if I treated you … less than civilly. Now tell me, what do you want out of life?’
‘I want …’ began Harriet, and stopped. What did she want? ‘I want to do well. I want to do better than my parents.’
It was a betrayal, a sellout to this woman; still, it had to be said. And it was the truth. Again, Alice measured her with a long look, re-evaluating, re-estimating.
‘That’s up to you. If you mean that, I think we should get on very well. In the meantime, shall we say three months’ trial for both of us? Do you consider that fair?’
‘Yes. Extremely fair. If I were you, I’d have sent me packing tonight.’
‘I know. That’s why I find you so much more interesting than I had anticipated.’ A real smile crossed her face for the first time. ‘Don’t consider the battle won on the strength of one victory.’
‘How could I?’ said Harriet. ‘I’m not at all sure that I have, anyway. Only a splendid tactician could turn a retreat to such advantage.’
If that remark nonplussed Alice, she didn’t show it. ‘I think you should get some rest … Cousin Harriet. We’re going to be busy tomorrow.’
The upshot of this was that Harriet, somewhat better groomed, with her thick brown hair layered into the back of her neck, a fresh new linen skirt and light print blouse covering a properly constructed brassiere, took to the job circuit, a day or so later.
Finding a job proved no easy task. Weyville had its problems. While the surrounding forests were beginning to provide some employment, particularly for young men, it was limited. Most young people who displayed any ability at all had been smartly shipped off to Auckland or Wellington to find better jobs or to go teaching, particularly if they were girls. Harriet quickly realised that her fury about Ohaka’s policy of doing exactly the same thing was rather futile; Weyville simply did it on a much larger scale.
What was worse, she also realised that Alice knew this and that she held very little hope for her prospects, long or short term. Alice might be curious, perhaps even bewildered, by some conflicting aspects of Harriet’s personality, but basically she saw her as an indifferent scholar from a whistle-stop Auckland farming village, whom she had taken off Mary’s hands out of the goodness of her heart, so that she could find some employment, however menial. To underrate Alice’s knowledge of the local scene was unrealistic, as she had been through job placement for her own children years before, not long after the war. They had proved no particular problem for her, because they were clever and diligent, and Alice and Ted, her late husband, had sunk the appropriate amounts of money into seeing that they were justly rewarded with a place in the academic sun. Alice thanked God (a very important figure in her life) that she’d never been placed in the position of some parents, and felt that it would break her up if she’d ever had to try and place a child of hers in Weyville. Of course as Harriet wasn’t hers, she felt a certain challenge in trying to find her a position, without the emotional trauma that would have attended the matter if Harriet had been her own child. Harriet discovered this by surreptitiously listening to equally surreptitious telephone calls, to people whom ‘Ted used to know’ and who might be able to help.
Alice’s general view of Harriet seemed fairly depressing, and within a couple of days, despite the confidence that her appearance now engendered, Harriet felt herself slowly slipping. It had never occurred to her that she wasn’t good. Of course, she was going to be very good. Not good at anything specific, just good — the question of her ultimate goodness was never in doubt. But serious doubts were forming in her own mind, and she was beginning to see very little reason to challe
nge Alice’s view of her.
To make matters more difficult, the previous year’s school leavers who had stayed on in Weyville already had the available jobs.
Finally, when things were starting to seem fairly desperate, and Alice was going around with a distracted expression, the phone rang. The caller was a friend of hers who had gone back to work in a local department store when her children had left home. Elsie had rung to pass on a bit of gossip. Julie, who worked on the haberdashery counter, was having a baby. And she wasn’t married, either. An awful tragedy for her mother, but there you were, and now wasn’t that the end?
Alice agreed, and they commiserated over Julie’s mother for some minutes. Then, with a gleam in her eye, Alice pounced.
‘Who is going to take Julie’s place?’ she asked.
It seemed that Elsie hadn’t thought about that, and supposed that they could really get by without a replacement After all, Julie hadn’t done much work round the place, and now all she could think about was weddings. The little hussy was actually thinking about getting married in white, could you believe it?
Within half an hour Alice and Harriet were being interviewed by the store manager. With considerable deference to Alice, whom Harriet guessed had probably been a very good customer for many years, he said he could really see no reason why Harriet shouldn’t start the following day. Mr Stubbs looked remarkably like his name, being short and thickset, with tufty gingery hair round his coarse-skinned face, yet with oddly tiny white soft hands. He blew his nose, mopped his face with a handkerchief and said that the sooner this other girl got on her way the better. Not that he could exactly sack her, but he wouldn’t encourage her to stay any longer than a week or so. It would not hurt her and Harriet to be on the counter together for the time being, either. Julie mightn’t be much use, but at least she knew where the buttons and hooks and eyes were and what size was kept in what drawer, and what with having her School Certificate and all, Harriet was certainly a better sort of girl than some they employed.
Alice asked if it would be possible for Harriet to leave five minutes earlier on Thursday nights so that she could go to her typing class at night school.
Mr Stubbs’ eyes narrowed. ‘Doesn’t Harriet intend to stay?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Alice assured him hurriedly. ‘But Harriet could find it useful to have a bit of typing, you know. And,’ she added with a flash of inspiration, ‘she is the sort of girl who might work herself up in your organisation. After all, you do have quite a large office staff, don’t you?’
Mr Stubbs scratched the back of his thick neck, causing an explosive-looking pimple to start suppurating. He flinched at the pain of it, but finally agreed that this was quite a laudable ambition. However, he would have to take two shillings a week off Harriet’s pay.
‘What would the total be, then?’ faltered Harriet, feeling that after such an enormous concession she should be grateful for anything that came her way.
‘Three pounds eighteen clear.’ His look challenged her to take it or leave it.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Harriet.
Alice was very cheerful that evening, and roasted a chicken dinner. It was a good meal, and Harriet felt her spirits lifting. At least she was employed. In a week’s time she would have three pounds eighteen of her very own, and the week after that, and the week after that. It didn’t do to dwell too long on the fact that the point of her adventure was so far contained in a job on a department store haberdashery counter, only vacated by its previous incumbent because of an unfortunate condition. The world wasn’t exactly shouting out for her talents, but it was a start.
Julie turned out to be a sallow girl with permed blonde hair. She seemed indifferent to Harriet’s presence, but considerably more methodical than Harriet had anticipated from the comments she had heard. Hooks and eyes, buttons and thread came in a variety of weights and sizes and it was no good trying to fool customers who were their own home dressmakers that they wanted anything but what they specifically asked for. If you did, eyebrows would be raised in long-suffering supplication and fingers would be drummed on the counter.
The weather in Weyville was hot and oppressive day after day. By midday, the shop was like an oven. The customers were almost all old, or mothers of querulous children, sweltering in prams or held in harness by leather reins. After the lunch break, Harriet felt as though she were suffocating. The whole weight of her loneliness had started to bear down on her afresh. It was an exhausting process.
Julie was staying on for another fortnight, but they had hardly exchanged a dozen words that did not deal with the shapes and sizes of domes and buttons or the ever-present heat. Whatever was going on in her mind, and it was obvious that there was a great deal, she didn’t seem prepared to share it.
When closing time came on the second Tuesday that Harriet was at the shop, Julie followed her into the cloakroom.
‘You want to walk along with me?’ said Julie.
Harriet looked up in surprise. ‘Yes, please,’ she said, trying to conceal her eagerness. She didn’t find her pale pregnant workmate particularly appealing, but being with anybody in the world was better than being alone.
The two girls walked along in silence. Harriet hadn’t asked where they were going, but it seemed to be in the general direction of Alice’s house. Perhaps Julie lived near there. She hadn’t thought to ask, and it wouldn’t have meant much anyway.
Near the lake that Alice had pointed out on the first day was a milk bar. Harriet had noticed it as she walked home, and, again, as on the first day, she had seen a group of young people gathered around it. She had been too shy to look up as she passed, but there had been a whistle or two. The atmosphere made her very nervous.
‘Coming in?’ said Julie.
‘You mean … into the milk bar?’
‘Why not? Don’t you like milk bars?’
‘I’ve never been in one,’ admitted Harriet.
‘What?’ Julie looked at her as if she was some strange curiosity. ‘Wait till I tell the kids!’
‘No, please don’t,’ begged Harriet. ‘No, honestly, I won’t come in if you do.’
Julie shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
As they walked in, the whistles became deafening. They drowned out the jukebox in the corner, which seemed to be fairly jumping off the floor with ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’
Harriet knew something must be expected of her. She forced herself to look around. There were about a dozen boys in the room and six or seven girls. A couple had been jiving in the corner. As Harriet looked around they stopped; the whistles died down.
The boys wore stovepipe trousers, and their hair was slicked back with grease. Some of the girls wore the huge circular skirts she had noticed before, others were in tight skirts that showed their bottoms. In spite of the warmth of the evening, most of them were wearing cardigans back to front, buttoned down their backs, sleeves pushed back to their elbows.
‘Hi, everyone,’ said Julie. ‘This is Harriet.’
‘G’day, Harriet. What’re you having?’ asked one of the boys at last.
‘Er … a milkshake, please,’ said Harriet, wondering if she was meant to pay for it. ‘Chocolate.’
‘Choc-o-late for the little lady,’ said the boy, with an imitation of what Harriet imagined was meant to be an American accent. She started scrabbling round in her purse.
‘I’ll pay for it,’ she said anxiously.
‘Oh, Ay’ll pay for it, will Ay? Say, Julie, where’d you pick up this twanky doll from? She suck a plum for lunch?’
The kids had pimples and spots, and she noticed that none of them was particularly good-looking. She felt as she had in the days at school, and yet she’d had a chance to stop it being like that. Only a year before, she’d made a stand for herself. It hadn’t won her any friends amongst authority, but she supposed that this lot didn’t stand for authority, except maybe that of the group. That’s the way it had been at school, the last years, and things had been all right
then. She took a deep breath.
‘I’m not a twanky doll,’ said Harriet firmly. ‘I come from up north because there was no work up where I lived. My family are English, but I’m not, I’m a Kiwi. I can’t help sounding like I do. There weren’t that many people living near us for me to talk to besides my parents, so it’s hardly any wonder if I talk more like them than anyone else. So either you like it or you lump it.’
The kids were listening intently.
‘And if you don’t like it okay, then I have been eating plums, but if you stand too close I might just spit the stones in your face.’
The boy who’d offered her the milkshake grinned.
‘All right, Twanky Doll. Wanta jive?’
The atmosphere had turned all right. He said ‘Twanky Doll’ in a friendly sort of way that suggested that if she wanted to stay it was as good a name for her as any, nothing malicious intended. She smiled back.
‘I can’t jive, but I don’t mind if you teach me.’
‘Well, what d’you know!’ The boy let out a whoop and a holler and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, baby, let’s go. Hey, feed the machine, we got learning to do here this day.’
‘You going to dance with Noddy, then?’ asked one of the girls. Harriet glanced at Julie and back to the other girl.
‘Not if you don’t want me to. I only want to learn the dance.’
The girl lifted her shoulder and let it fall with a flounce. ‘Nobody’s stopping you doing that.’
The money in the jukebox fell into the slot with a jangle and the beat started. It was ‘Blueberry Hill’. Harriet felt the music in her head, her thighs, right down to her feet. Noddy took her hand, his feet slid apart, knees bending. He jerked her towards him and she half fell.
‘Not like that, Twanky Doll, lean back, that’s right, like you was fighting me, good, good, fight baby, fight, rock, that’s right, that’s right … follow me feet, beautiful …’ He let go her hand, she lurched into space and he caught her, as it seemed she must surely fall headlong into the seat beside them. ‘And around you go when I let go, twirl baby, again like this, and around, come on Larry an’ Jill, come along with us … let her see …’