Sophie Street

by Grace Thompson

  Seeing Carl walk in that Saturday afternoon carrying a new fishing rod and reel, he went to speak to him. Small, like his mother Dora and with her red hair, Viv no longer felt his lack of height to be a disadvantage. He was king of this particular castle and he made sure everyone knew it.

  “Come to see how it’s done?” he asked as he approached Carl. “Or some lessons in fishing?”

  “Both I suppose.” Carl grinned. “I fancy a bit of fishing and thought to go off to one of the beaches. What d’you think?”

  “I think you’re fishing for ideas to take back to Miss Francis.”

  “It’s Mrs. And, no, I wanted to see your set-up, I admit that, I might be looking for extra work, fitting carpets and some carpentry, you know, shelves and the like. But I was hoping for a bit of information on the best spots for a bit of sport. I hear that you and Jack Weston are the local experts.”

  “Us and the Griffiths brothers, yes, I suppose we are. Jack and I are the legal side and the Griffiths brothers more the ‘what the hell’ brigade.”

  “I’ve heard about the wild Griffiths boys. Often in court for fighting I understand. I’d like to meet them,” Carl said, matching Viv’s smile. “They’ll be the ones to show me the best spots for some catches but, fishing aside, will you bear me in mind when you’re short of a carpet fitter?”

  “I’d have to see your work first.”

  Carl took out a notebook and offered it to Viv. “These are some of my customers. I’m sure any of them will let you have a look-see, and you can judge for yourself.”

  “Meet me in The Railwayman’s tonight and we’ll talk about it,” Viv said, turning to attend to a nearby customer. Carl nodded and went out. A date with Mair for Sunday afternoon and an arrangement to discuss work with Viv Weston. Not a bad day’s work. Learning that Mair’s father worked shifts and was sometimes out all night was an added bonus to the promise in Mair’s eyes. Mair for amusement and Viv opening the way to earn more money. Yes, things were looking up. He only had to persuade Jennie to sell her stock at a low price and he’d consider himself very fortunate. Hope after months of misery.

  * * *

  Jennie and Peter had hardly exchanged a word since the evening when he had gone out without her. She had said nothing about his father’s ultimatum regarding the loan and she didn’t attempt to discuss her decision to close down the business. What was the point? All he’d say was, told you so, and remind her how foolish he thought his parents had been to lend her the money in the first place. She’d heard it so often before and knowing he had been proved right only added to the misery of her failure. She would ring the bank first thing on Monday morning and make an appointment to discuss the best way of sorting out the closing down of her shop. The stock was not large, most of her orders were taken from pattern books, but there were tins and tins of paint and dozens of rolls of wallpaper, besides several rolls of carpets and a dozen or so rugs. A sale was a possibility, but it would be rubbing salt into her wound to advertise a closing-down sale.

  “I’ll buy the stock,” Carl offered when she told him her decision on Monday morning. “I’ll give you what you paid plus a little extra, how’s that?”

  Jennie regretted being so open with Carl regarding her situation, he would know the mark-up to the last penny and she wouldn’t be able to argue. She had made so many mistakes.

  “Perhaps I’ll have a sale, at least that will bring the customers in, if only to search for a bargain.”

  “Take you a couple of weeks, mind. And then you’d be left with your least popular colours,” he warned.

  “Wait until I’ve seen the bank manager, then I’ll decide, Perhaps he’ll have a better idea. But thanks,” she added, wondering with some bitterness why she was thanking him for taking advantage of her predicament.

  Two hours later she walked back into the shop, knowing that even if she accepted Carl’s offer and sold him all her stock, she still wouldn’t have enough to pay her creditors and settle the loan from Peter’s parents. She had to find a way of retrieving more of her money.

  Leaving Carl to look after the shop she went to see Viv Lewis in Weston Wallpaper and Paint Store. The woman who came forward obviously knew her because, although there were other people in the store needing assistance, Joan Lewis, Viv’s wife, came to her at once.

  “Mrs Francis? How can we help?”

  “I’d like to talk to your husband if he has a moment. Later today will do if he’s busy.”

  “My husband is busy, but I am not!” Joan’s voice was sharp. She had no patience with people who thought she was the lesser partner simply because she was a woman. Really, Mrs Francis should know better having taken on a business herself.

  “Sorry,” Jennie said quickly. “What I meant was that I would like to talk to you both, if that’s possible.”

  “Viv will be back in half an hour, will that suit?” Joan’s voice was still sharp, and Jennie knew she hadn’t been forgiven.

  “That will be fine, and thank you.”

  Rather than go back to her shop for ten minutes or so, Jennie went to the Blue Bird Café and joined the morning shoppers gathered there. Monday wasn’t a busy time but three tables were occupied. While she waited for her tea and toast, Jennie looked around at the other customers and recognised Gladys Weston, her loud voice penetrating the rest of the chatter to announce that her darling granddaughter, Megan, was getting married at Easter, to one of the Jenkinses of Montague Court. Jennie knew that was no longer true. Edward Jenkins had once owned the rather grand old house but it had been sold and he now ran a very successful sports shop on the High Street. Jennie smiled and admired the old woman for putting up a front, when everyone knew that her granddaughter, Megan Fowler-Weston had a child, a little girl of about five months old called Rosemary, and the man she was marrying was not the father.

  Poor Glady Weston. She’d had such hopes of her twin granddaughters, only to face Joan marrying Viv Lewis, one of their employees and helping him to manage the shop she and her husband, Arfon, owned. Now the other one, Megan, had an illegitimate child and was marrying the owner of a sports shop. Not an emporium or a store, but a shop. So common, she thought, even if Edward was a Jenkins of Montague Court.

  Knowing Gladys Weston was aware of her and knew who she was, Jennie smiled and said, “Good morning,” as she left. Gladys responded rather cautiously. Then, as Jennie left the café, she turned to her companion, her shoulders curled protectively against being overheard, her face wearing a look that showed she was ready to impart some gossip.

  “You know who that is, don’t you? The woman who thought she could do better than the Westons, that’s who! She took on more than she could manage there, I can tell you!”

  Jennie heard this and smiled grimly. There was nothing better than the failure of an impertinent upstart to create gossip. It was something she’d have to accept over the next few weeks.

  Viv and Joan Lewis were waiting in their office, which over looked the sales floor when Jennie returned and was shown up by an assistant.

  “Mrs Francis. Do sit down. How can we help?” Joan asked.

  “I’ve decided to sell up,” Jennie began, her voice bold but her heart thumping. If only they would agree to buy her stock, she might come out of this with only a small debt. “I wondered whether you would like to look at my stock and consider buying it?”

  Viv and Joan both shook their heads sorrowfully and Jennie had the the firm conviction that they had been expecting this and had prepared their response.

  “I’m sorry, but we have all the stock we need and we deal straight from the wholesalers wherever possible to avoid over stocking,” Viv replied.

  “It isn’t all that much, and I don’t expect to make anything, just clear the shop and give up the lease.” She looked at them, unable to hide her distress. “Will you at least look at it?” She fumbled in her handbag and handed Joan a list. “That’s all the good stuff. I know you wouldn’t want to bother with small offcuts, small room size
s, or some of the older tins of paint. I thought I’d have a sale to dispose of those.”

  Joan and Viv glanced at each other and Jennie felt a surge of hope.

  “All right,” Viv said, “on the understanding that we aren’t promising anything, we’ll come at lunchtime and have a look.”

  “Thank you.” She stood up and Viv stepped past her and opened the door. She walked out on the edge of tears. If she had done what she had originally planned and not been talked into stocking paint and paper, if Peter had been more supportive, if she had borrowed from someone other than his father, if, if, if.

  At lunchtime, Carl was out on a job. He was making cupboards in the kitchen of a house where he had fitted carpets a week before. Most of his work came from people he met while fitting carpets. He would miss the business gleaned from Jennie’s customers. Today, Jennie told him there was no hurry to come back. He guessed she didn’t want him overhearing her discussion with Joan and Viv Lewis. He was very good at eavesdropping.

  He didn’t mind. He’d arranged to call for Mair in the cottage near the woods, and have a cup of tea before driving her back to the sports shop. He wouldn’t go straight to the shop though, but drop her a few streets away. Best not take risks of their being seen together. He had hinted to her that they needed to keep their friendship a secret for a while. “No wife,” he had assured her firmly. “It’s just a bit of business I have to sort out before we can be open about the way we feel about each other. Nothing for you to worry about, just trust me for a little while and I’ll explain everything.” He was pleased with the way his planned seduction was going. Her father working nights was a godsend, he thought irreligiously.

  Viv and Joan looked around the small premises and Joan made notes on his muttered comments. Jennie didn’t follow them about. She sat at her desk near the phone with her fingers tightly crossed. At the small kitchen unit behind the shop she had offered them tea but they had refused, explaining their need to get back to Westons to open at two o’clock. So she sat and wondered what their decision would be.

  The phone rang, startling her. A voice asked if she would send someone to measure up for a new hall and stair carpet. She took the details and wondered whether she would see the job through or hand it over to Westons with the rest of her business. She looked for Carl’s notebook to write the address and time, but couldn’t find it. She went into the store room where Viv was lifting a rug to see others underneath.

  “I’m looking for a red notebook,” she explained. “Carl usually leaves it on my desk once he’s taken the details from it.” To her surprise, Viv took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “He left it when he called in on Saturday.”

  “Oh?”

  “He came to ask if we needed a fitter. Didn’t he tell you?” Joan asked.

  “No, I haven’t really spoken to him today.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did he tell you I was thinking of closing down?”

  “Yes. I thought you must have known. He didn’t seem to be secretive about it.”

  “He offered to buy my stock and I thought—”

  “You thought he’d beat you down if he was the only one offering?”

  “Yes,” Jennie said. “I really hope you will buy it.”

  “Bit of a sharp one is he, this Carl?”

  “Perhaps I’m being unkind, but he’s built up a nice little carpentry business by touting for custom when he works for me.” She shook her head and waved a hand as though trying to wipe the words from the air. “I’m being spiteful, I know I am.”

  Viv took the notebook from Joan, did a few calculations and named a price. It was lower than she had hoped, but more than she would have got from Carl, she was sure of that, so she accepted. With a signature and a formal handshake she said goodbye to her hopes of independence.

  That evening Jennie was home before Peter. She had steak grilling with mushrooms, tomatoes, and fresh vegetables ready to serve. He walked in, looked at the delicious meal – one of his favourites – and said, “I’m eating out.”

  “Peter!” She ran up the stairs behind him and watched in dismay as he hurriedly stripped off his suit and changed into more casual clothes. “At least tell me where you’re going and why you didn’t mention it!”

  “I’m eating with Mam and Dad.”

  “And I’m not invited?”

  “Correct.” With hardly another word, he left and she went down to stare at the plates of food as they slowly cooled and congealed.

  * * *

  Viv and Joan Lewis went to see Arfon and Gladys Weston when they closed the store that evening.

  “Why did you agree to buy the woman out?” Arfon asked. “She was doing her damnedest to close us down not long ago!”

  “I don’t think there was ever any chance of that, Grandfather.” Joan laughed. “She did expand the wallpaper and paint business to sell carpets just before we did, but with a small back street position she was bound to fail, wasn’t she?”

  “No way she could win against us,” Viv said, reaching over and kissing his wife’s cheek affectionately.

  Gladys turned away and tutted in disapproval. The Westons were above showing affection in public, but Viv was a Lewis and didn’t know any better.

  “You still haven’t explained why you bought her stock to help her out,” Arfon grumbled in his pompous manner. “It seems to me a foolish idea.”

  “The price was good, very good and, although most of the carpet pieces are room sizes only, I think we can make a reasonable profit. The carpets are excellent, better than some of ours. She obviously went for quality. Besides, I think it’s time Westons had a sale. The paints and decorating stuff will go well as people are thinking about spring cleaning, don’t you think?”

  Gladys groaned. “Spring cleaning, and I don’t have anyone to help me. What will I do, Arfon, dear?”

  “Ask Victoria’s mother,” Joan replied.

  “I can’t. Not now Victoria is married to a Weston!”

  “Jack won’t mind, his mother-in-law has to live and her piano lessons don’t keep them all fed. Mrs Collins still has six children at home, remember.”

  “As if I could forget! Jack might not worry about what people will think, dear, but I do.” Beside the disappointments of her two granddaughters marrying men who, in her opinion, were far beneath them, her only grandson, Jack, had failed her too. He had married a girl who had once been her servant! Where had she gone wrong? “How can I ask Jack’s mother-in-law to clean for me?” she wailed.

  “I hope you didn’t make a mistake, buying Jennie Francis’s leftovers,” Arfon grumbled, ignoring his wife’s worries about housework.

  As the young couple were leaving, Joan took Gladys aside and asked, “Shall I ask Victoria whether her mother would like to help you with the cleaning, Grandmother?”

  “No, dear. I’d be too embarrassed every time I saw dear Jack and Victoria. I can’t forget that Victoria worked for me before she married Jack. Who would have imagined it, my dear grandson marrying my servant and running away to Gretna Green, too. It’s such a difficult situation. Having her mother here would make everything worse.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open for a suitable person. Don’t worry, it’s only January, we don’t have to worry for a couple of months, do we?”

  Gladys didn’t like to admit that the house, with its four bedrooms and three reception rooms and a large garden, was becoming too much for her to cope with, so she smiled and thanked Joan and told her she was a dear.

  As they walked home. Viv and Joan discussed their forthcoming sale.

  “Best if we plan it for the week after next. No time like now. And, if we sort it quickly, we might also get that order Jennie Francis was taking while we were examining the stock!”

  “I’ll get onto the printer tomorrow morning,” Joan said. “We’ll need posters for the window and I think we should put an advertisement in the paper.” Chatting excitedly about their plans, they strolled home, arm in arm, calling in for f
ish and chips on the way. “Too late for cooking,” Joan explained, “but don’t dare tell Grandmother!”

  * * *

  Jennie told Peter what she had done but he refused to discuss it.

  “I should be able to repay the loan to your parents, but there will still be a few debts to clear.”

  She was hoping he would tell her his parents would wait, that they would agree to her paying off as much as she could afford and then settle the remainder when she could. But he just nodded and said, “As quickly as possible if you please.”

  He went out again that evening, this time not telling her where he was going, but later there was a telephone call from his parents and she could hear his voice in the background, so she knew he had eaten with them.

  It was her father-in-law, goaded no doubt by her mother-in-law, reminding her that they expected the loan to be repaid as soon as the shop closed. “Such a mistake on your part, Jennie, trying to compete with Westons. No room for two in a small town like Pendragon Island, you should have known that.”

  “Perhaps if I’d opened a gift shop as I originally intended, it would still be open,” she argued.

  “No. People don’t have the money for luxuries.”

  Jennie knew this wasn’t true: that after so many years of shortages, 1956 was exactly the right time to offer luxuries to people bored with surviving on minimal essentials and very little more. No point in arguing though. She put the phone down and poked out her tongue, enjoying the childish response.

  It was only eight o’clock. She was too miserable to find herself something to eat. The evening would drag. She had no heart to work on her closing accounts. What was the point? She had a leisurely bath and, choosing a book, went to bed. When Peter came home at ten thirty he ignored her and slept on the very edge of the bed as though touching her would contaminate him. She thought she would never know greater misery.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon she decided to go to the pictures. Peter worked on Saturday mornings so she decided to leave before he was due home. If he expected her to prepare lunch he’d be disappointed. Normally she would have stayed in the shop but having agreed to the disposal of her stock she put a notice in the window telling her customers she was closed, sent out a few accounts that were still outstanding and closed the door.