‘I presume you have a receipt for the item?’ repeated the store assistant, not believing a word Frankie had said.
‘Course I got a receipt! Wot d’yer take me for then? I ain’t no shop-lifter, yer know!’
To the assistant’s intense irritation, he took the receipt that Frankie was wagging in front of his face. The burly man scrutinised it carefully.
‘Of course, if yer don’t believe me, yer could always go an’ ask the gel at the counter.’
The Police Constable awaited a nod from the assistant that the receipt was indeed genuine. When he got it, he let go of Jeff’s arm. ‘On your way, son.’
‘Can I ’ave my cufflinks back, please?’ Jeff held out his hand triumphantly to the store assistant.
The assistant dropped the cufflinks into the palm of Jeff’s hand. ‘If I was you, I’d be careful next time.’
‘Same goes for you,’ Jeff came back with a smug grin on his face. ‘If I may say so?’
As the assistant was about to go, Frankie then held out his hand. ‘’Scuse me. My receipt, I believe?’
The assistant slammed the receipt into Frankie’s hand. Then he and the Police Constable turned their backs, and strolled off together, probably blaming each other for the blunder.
‘So?’ Jeff snarled at the crowd of onlookers. ‘Wot you all gapin’ at then?’
‘Let’s go!’ snapped Frankie anxiously, trying desperately not to draw any more attention to themselves.
The crowd quickly dispersed, allowing Jeff and Frankie to make their way together out of the store and into Holloway Road. They only spoke when they reached the Nag’s Head pub on the corner of Holloway Road and Seven Sisters Road.
‘Fanks a lot, Frank,’ Jeff said, incongruously patting Frankie on the back. ‘I’ll pay yer the tanner back next time I see yer.’
‘Keep it!’ Frankie’s reply was like stone. ‘Spend it on gettin’ yerself a brain-surgeon!’
‘I only did it fer a dare. It was that bleedin’ Patty. She put me up to it.’
Frankie turned to go.
‘Looks like I owe yer one, Frank?’ Jeff held out his hand for Frankie to shake.
Frankie looked at Jeff’s hand only briefly then slapped something straight into it. ‘Yer owe me nuffin’, Jeff! Absolutely nuffin’!’
Jeff watched Frankie as he turned and walked off down Seven Sisters Road. Then he looked to see what it was that Frankie had slapped into his hand. It was the receipt, together with the second pair of cufflinks, Frankie had quickly bought in order to get a receipt. Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, Jeff also turned, and hurried off.
Elsa told Frankie that she wanted him to look after the shop in the afternoon, on the following Monday week, because she had made an appointment to see her solicitor. Ever since she’d told him that she had been advised to sell the shop to Jack Barclay, Frankie had not stopped trying to persuade her that it would be a mad thing to do. He made no secret of the fact that he didn’t trust Barclay and Elsa always listened intently to Frankie’s advice and concerns, without ever letting on that she had absolutely no intention of selling the shop to anyone. Despite her solicitor’s anxieties about the strain on her health, the shop meant far more to her than just money. But there was no doubt that these days, for certain reasons, Frankie’s help was becoming more important than she had ever imagined.
When Frankie and Winston arrived at the shop first thing on the Monday morning, they were both angry to see Jack Barclay’s car parked near the traffic lights.
‘Ah, there you are! Good morning, young man!’
The moment he entered the shop, the sound of Barclay’s voice made Frankie feel sick and he had to keep a tight hold of Winston’s collar, for the dog was growling and bearing his teeth at Elsa’s unwelcome visitor.
‘I’ve been hearing what a great help you’ve been around the place.’ Barclay, sipping from a cup of Camp coffee, looked up and smiled brightly at Frankie. Since the last time he met the boy, he had decided that it would not be in his interest to antagonise someone who had become so friendly with his sister-in-law. ‘It’s such a good idea your working here full time. Poor Elsa could do with the rest.’
‘Elsa isn’t poor Elsa!’ she snapped quickly. ‘And she doesn’t need anything of the sort! We’re too busy to think about rest.’ Then she turned to Frankie, and asked haughtily, ‘Isn’t that so, Frankie?’
Frankie knew exactly what she meant him to say. ‘Yes, Elsa.’
‘Busy?’ Barclay put his cup back on to the saucer and looked around the shop. ‘Is it always as busy as this?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Jack!’ Elsa snapped. ‘You don’t expect customers at this time of the morning.’
Barclay raised his eyes with a curious smile. ‘Then why open so early?’
‘Monday mornin’s are always quiet,’ said Frankie, speaking for the first time. ‘It picks up later.’
‘Oh really?’ Barclay gave Frankie a sneering look, forgetting briefly that he was supposed to be nice to the boy. But he quickly put things right again with another big smile. ‘I can see how lucky Elsa is to have someone like you working for her. I’ll bet you’re a wonderful salesman.’
Frankie did not respond. He wasn’t taken in for one minute by Barclay’s new-found admiration of him.
Barclay put his cup and saucer down on to the counter and got up from the high stool he was sitting on. Winston immediately started to growl at him again, so Frankie had to take him to the back room.
‘I wonder,’ said Barclay, resting both hands in the pockets of his tweed jacket. ‘I wonder if there will still be a need for places like this in years to come?’
‘If you need to wear clothes, you need a shop to buy them in,’ Elsa replied, wryly.
Barclay started wandering around the shop, inspecting not only the goods on sale, but also the walls, ceilings, and plumbing pipes. ‘What I mean is, as soon as the war with the Japs is over, things are bound to be different – business will want to invest in new ways of selling and buying.’ He stopped briefly to peer back at them from between a row of shelves containing a large selection of home-made pickles and sauces. ‘I’ve heard that in America people are now doing their shopping in places called supermarkets. It’s apparently one big shop where you can buy absolutely everything.’
‘Can’t see it catchin’ on ’ere,’ said Frankie, firmly. ‘Not wiv this new Labour Government in power.’
Barclay’s smile faded immediately. ‘Even a Labour Government can’t ignore the march of progress!’ he snapped.
To Elsa’s delight, the first customer of the day walked in, an elderly lady who was looking for a table-fan to keep her husband cool during the current terrible heatwave. To his dismay, Frankie couldn’t help her. ‘Sorry, madam,’ he said, in his best shop-manner voice. ‘I’m afraid we’re out of stock just at the moment.’
After the woman had gone, Barclay had his best opportunity to force home a point. ‘You see what I mean? In a small shop like this, you can’t sell everything. It’s not worth it, Elsa. It’s just not worth it.’ Then he cast his glance upwards. ‘I mean, just look at the place . . . that huge crack in the ceiling. And the plumbing, the woodwork, the wiring . . . The building’s in a terrible condition, Elsa. If you’re not careful, you’ll have the Council condemning the place as unsafe.’
So that was it, thought Frankie! That’s what the git’s up to, trying to scare Elsa into thinking the place’ll be condemned if she doesn’t sell it to him. The crafty, conniving sod!
Barclay was watching eagerly for Elsa’s reaction. ‘And you know what will happen once the Council start poking their noses in!’ He shook his head in false concern. ‘You’ll have an office block or a supermarket here quicker than you can say Jack Robinson!’
‘I don’t care if they want to build an Ice Skating Stadium here!’ Elsa snapped back. ‘They’ll have to carry me off in my coffin if they want to get me out of this shop!’
Frankie’s spirit surged with excitement. If wh
at Elsa had just said was true, it sounded as though she wouldn’t be taking her solicitor’s advice after all.
Realising that he had made yet another futile visit, Jack Barclay put his cup and saucer down on to the counter and made an excuse to leave. By the time he reached the shop door his initial attitude towards Frankie vanished. ‘Oh, by the way, young man,’ he said. ‘Would you mind telling your parents that from next week I shall be putting up the rent. It’s quite unavoidable, I’m afraid.’ He opened the door and turned back with an apologetic smile. ‘These are hard times we’re living in.’
Frankie glared angrily at Barclay, and Elsa had to grab hold of his arm to restrain him.
Barclay left and within a few minutes Elsa and Frankie heard his car roaring off down Hornsey Road.
That afternoon, Elsa went off to see her solicitor, leaving Frankie to manage the shop on his own. He had four customers within an hour, and it gave him great satisfaction to think how much Jack Barclay would have disapproved. He made the princely sum of seven shillings and sixpence, which included the sale of two kitchen chairs, a velvet-covered cushion, two empty pickling jars, an enamel bucket, and a pair of children’s shoes. Feeling very pleased with himself, Frankie made a cup of tea and sat back to share a few broken Lincoln biscuits with Winston.
Just before four o’clock, Frankie had yet another customer. This time it was Bert Gorman. As usual, he was wearing a plain blue short-sleeved shirt with a blue and white polka dot bow tie, and, as the sun was still burning out of a clear blue sky outside, he wore a white flat cap.
‘’Ow are yer, young Frankie, young feller-me-lad? And ’ow many millions ’ave yer made for Mrs Barclay terday?’
Frankie had a broad grin on his face. Even though they always told the same old jokes, he found the Gorman brothers a breath of fresh air. ‘It’s bin a good day, Mr Gorman. If business carries on like this, we’ll ’ave ter open anuvver shop!’
Bert laughed. ‘Oy – watch it! I tell the jokes ’round ’ere!’ He took off his cap, and used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from the top of his thinning head of hair. ‘I’m ’ere as a payin’ customer. I wanna buy somefin’.’
‘Anyfin’ special, Mr Gorman?’ Frankie followed him around.
‘Yeh! I’m lookin’ fer a weddin’ present.’
‘Oh – right. ‘Ow much d’yer wanna spend?’
‘It’s gotta be somefin’ nice,’ said Bert, picking up some second-hand kitchen saucepans. ‘After all, ’e is me bruvver.’
Frankie swung him a startled look. ‘Pardon?’
These days Bert had to look up to Frankie, who was now taller than him. ‘I want a weddin’ present fer Mike. ’E’s gettin’ married in a coupla weeks.’
Frankie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He imagined that the Gorman brothers must be in their late seventies at least, and was sure he hadn’t heard right. ‘Mr Gorman – Mr Mike Gorman – your bruvver – gettin’ married?’
Bert responded as though he was surprised by Frankie’s reaction. ‘Yeh. Why not? ’E is old enough, yer know.’ Again, he laughed at his own joke. But it was a hollow laugh.
For a brief moment, Frankie left him to continue looking through the pots and pans, and then asked, ‘Who’s ’e gettin’ married to?’
Bert stopped and turned. ‘Edie, of course. Edie Robson – number 49 next door. Luvely woman. They’ll make an ’ansome couple.’
Frankie was absolutely amazed. He couldn’t imagine two people of that age getting married. ‘But Mrs Robson’s been livin’ at number 49 for years. Isn’t it – well, a bit sudden?’
‘Sudden?’ This time Bert didn’t look up, but continued with looking over a china tea-set. ‘Yeh. I suppose it is a bit sudden. Anyway, I’m sure they’ll be very ’appy. Let’s face it, Mike won’t be very far away. ’E’s moving in wiv Edie next door.’
For the first time, Frankie noticed a slight reticence in the old boy’s voice. He had known the Gorman brothers all his life; they were practically the first people he remembered when he was still in his pram. And Frankie couldn’t remember a time when he had not seen the brothers together. Not only were they identical to look at, they also dressed alike, and thought and acted as one person. How would Bert cope without his other self?
‘Still, if two people like each uvver enuff, why shouldn’t they get tergevver. It don’t matter ’ow old yer are. Yer’ve gotta make the best outa whatever time yer’ve got left.’ Bert paused briefly while he pretended to look at some table-linen, then added with a sigh, ‘Yeh. I suppose I will miss ’im though.’ He quickly snapped out of his temporary lapse into feeling sorry for himself, and reverted to the old comedy patter again. ‘Never mind, me old feller, me old son! As the farmer said to the turkey on Christmas Eve – ’ere terday, gone termorrer, eh?’
Frankie didn’t think it was a funny joke, but he laughed because it was quite clear that poor old Bert needed someone to laugh with.
‘Still, after wot’s ’appened terday, it looks as though we’ll soon be rid of them nasty littel yeller people.’ Bert picked up a chunky-looking bronze statue of Adonis, and inspected it. ‘Mind you, if anyone starts doin’ the same fing to us, I’d say we’ll all be in the same boat – ’ere terday, gone termorrer!’
Frankie looked puzzled. ‘Wot d’yer mean, Mr Gorman? Wot ’as ’appened terday?’
Bert slowly turned round to look at Frankie. ‘Din’t yer ’ear it on the news?’
‘’Ear wot on the news?’
‘About the Yanks. They’ve dropped a bomb – a real biggun. On Japan.’
Chapter Twenty-five
And so the second great world war of the twentieth century finally came to an end with the surrender of all Japanese armed forces on Wednesday, 15 August 1945. The two horrific atomic bombs that were dropped on Japan – one on Hiroshima and then Nagasaki – were not only the end of a brutal reign of terror that stretched right across the Pacific Ocean, but also the start of a new era of fear and confrontation around the entire world.
It was also the beginning of a new era in Merton Street.
In the middle of August, Helen and Eric Sibley had their eagerly awaited first child, a little girl they called Josie Sandra. Everyone thought she was a pretty little thing but apart from Eric, the one who was most excited by the new arrival was Frankie. The idea that he was now an uncle made him feel immensely proud, and as he was now earning a regular wage at the shop, he immediately opened a Post Office Savings Account for his little niece, and started it off with a contribution of two shillings and sixpence.
When September came, Frankie’s fortunes weren’t quite so happy. He had failed to pass his Matriculation exams though he had got his School Certificate. He was disappointed with the result, even though he’d never really expected to do any better, but, as always, it was Elsa who offered him what he considered the wisest advice: ‘If you read books, you learn as much as any school can teach you,’ she said. And how Frankie read books! He must have read over a hundred of them, since he first met Elsa, by authors as diverse as Charles Dickens and Captain W. E. Johns. As he had decided to stay on at the shop full-time, he had ample opportunity to choose and read as many books as he wanted.
For the rest, the best part of Frankie’s life was being with Maggs. However, their relationship was put to the test when, early the following year, they accidentally bumped into Patty Jackson again, at a dance in Islington Town Hall.
With Jeff now away doing National Service, Patty was currently going strong with Alan Downs. But it was easy to see that Patty was merely stringing him along, and that she would drop him for the first bloke who came along that she really fancied. When she caught sight of Frankie being taught to dance a waltz by Maggs, she clearly thought the time had come to try her luck again.
‘Din’t ever think I’d see you on a dance floor, Frank.’
Frankie and Maggs turned with a start to find Patty and Alan dancing alongside them.
‘Maggs,’ said Frankie, reluctantly, raising his v
oice to be heard above the sound of the three-piece band. ‘This is Patty Jackson and Alan Downs.’
Maggs had never met Patty before, and her smile froze on her face. ‘Hallo.’
Alan looked uneasy. ‘’Ow are yer, Frank?’
‘This is Maggs Fletcher,’ Frankie said, and added pointedly. ‘My gel.’
Patty grinned at Maggs. ‘You used ter go ter Highbury Fields Girls’ School, din’t yer?’
‘I still do.’
Frankie was only too aware that Patty was wearing a shoulderless black dress that left nothing to the imagination. ‘Maggs is stayin’ on an extra year,’ he said. ‘She might go on ter University.’
‘Oh yes?’ Patty was having to shout above the fractured sound of the music. ‘One o’ the brainy types, eh?’
‘That’s right,’ Maggs yelled back. ‘There are one or two of us around.’
Patty liked that. She sensed a duel, and wanted to get into it as soon as possible. ‘Why don’t we all ’ave a drink tergevver? It’s too crowded here ternight.’
‘No fanks, Pat,’ Frankie said immediately. ‘We’re not stayin’ late.’
‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Frankie. I’m feeling a bit thirsty.’
Frankie was flabbergasted to hear Maggs respond to Patty’s invitation. He couldn’t believe what was happening when she suddenly took hold of his hand and led him off the dance floor. As they were all under age to buy alcohol, the four of them finished up at the tea-counter in the hall outside.
‘So,’ said Patty, stirring her tea, ‘’ow long you bin comin’ up ’ere then, Frank? The last time you an’ me ’ad a dance tergevver at your school do, you preferred ter sit it out.’
Frankie knew what Patty was trying to suggest in front of Maggs, but he refused to rise to her bait. ‘We in’t bin ’ere before. You know I’m no dancer.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ Maggs said, sipping her tea with one hand and holding Frankie’s hand with the other. ‘He was doing very well.’
‘Yeh,’ leered Patty, her eyes watching Maggs slyly over the top of her teacup. ‘Wot ’e needs is a good teacher.’
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