‘Crikey, who needs three bikes?’ Freda said out loud as she wheeled each one from the shed in the small back yard.
‘Four, if you count the one in Alan’s workshop,’ Lemuel noted as he lined them up side by side and lifted them in one hand as though they were as light as a feather. Throwing his knapsack over his shoulder, he headed back through the dark alleyway out into the sunshine. Freda followed, protesting that she should be helping, but he brushed off her comments with a broad smile before setting the load down on the small pavement in front of the house. ‘Have you thought what we are going to do with these?’ he asked.
Freda hadn’t, what with her mind being full of guilt over her part in Anthony’s injury. ‘I can store his clothing and personal items.’
‘Perhaps they should join the other bike up at Alan’s workshop. I can keep an eye on them during the night.’
Freda frowned. ‘You’re sleeping at Alan’s workshop?’
‘I’ve slept in worse places. It worries me none, so don’t look so concerned, little lady.’
‘I have a spare room. I did put a card up on the board at work advertising the room, but I can take it down . . .’ she offered, wondering at the same time if the single bed would be large enough for this giant of a man.
‘No, no,’ he protested, raising one of his large hands to stop her words. ‘Without an income I’m not able to pay my way and until I can, I’ll make my own bed – even if it is on the floor of Alan’s workshop,’ he added with a grin.
‘Oh, I feel so sad about your situation,’ Freda said, noticing the sign in the woman’s window again. ‘Life and people can be so beastly at times! I’m sure Alan would give you work, if he had any. He’s a decent sort.’
‘I’ll help him out where I can for a roof, of sorts, over my head. He’s been a good friend to me, and knowing his situation, I’ll hang around to help as long as I can.’
‘You are a good man, Lemuel Powell,’ Freda said, reaching up as far as her arms would stretch to give Lemuel a big hug. As he engulfed her in his arms and swung her round, she saw the sign in the landlady’s window and felt sick at the thought that such things could be happening in her beloved country. Then something else caught her eye. Two doors down, at the house the landlady had hinted had women coming and going at all hours of the day and night, the door was open. A young woman appeared, then hurried off in the opposite direction. Freda recognized her as Effie Dyer, who had come to the store for an interview earlier that day. Goodness – was a woman of ill repute about to join the staff at Woolworths?
Maisie stuck her head out of the door to her shop, Maisie’s Modes, and shouted across the busy street. ‘Oi, Betty! Can you spare a minute?’ Ignoring the women browsing inside the shop, she put her fingers in her mouth and made a shrill whistle that pierced the ears of those around her. She gave a smile as Betty turned and waved before crossing Pier Road and entering the shop, following the glamorous Maisie.
Anyone seeing Maisie Carlisle for the first time would have thought she’d just stepped from the screen of a Hollywood movie. She not only sold the favourite fashions of the day, but was always impeccably turned out in styles copied from the pages of Woman and Home, Woman’s Weekly and various others in her collection. What made the affable Maisie so popular amongst the women of Erith was that her outfits were all handmade in the workroom behind her shop, where she also sold remodelled gowns from second-hand clothing.
Maisie greeted her old boss with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Can you spare a couple of minutes? There’s something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Have you decided to ask for your old job back? I can always use another supervisor if you’ve fallen on hard times,’ Betty joked. She knew how much Maisie loved running her own business, which was next door to the premises of Billington and Carlisle, Funeral Directors. Betty still found it hard to believe that Maisie’s handsome ex-RAF officer, David, had joined forces with her own husband, and together they had expanded Douglas’s small undertaker business into a chain of four in the area. Their two surnames were now resplendent in gold lettering on black above all the shops, and both women were extremely proud of their hard-working husbands.
‘That’ll be the day,’ Maisie roared with laughter. ‘Let me just serve these ladies, and I’ll be wiv you.’
Betty checked her watch. She was running late for her appointment with a potential supplier, having been held up for so long in Wheatley Terrace with Freda and Lemuel. ‘Can I use your telephone, please? Then I’m yours for as long as you need me.’
Maisie pointed to the curtained-off part of the shop where she had her workshop. ‘You know where to find it,’ she said, turning back to a woman who was looking at a pattern for a summer dress. ‘Put the kettle on while you’re there? I’m fair parched.’
Betty filled the small kettle and put it onto the single ring before picking up the telephone and putting a call through to her office across the road. It felt rather indulgent for her to make such a call, but she knew that if she actually went into the store, she might not escape again for some time. Such was the life of a busy manager – a life she loved as much as her husband and family.
Hearing Maisie call out goodbye to her last customer, she poured the tea and added milk. Reaching into her handbag, she retrieved a bag of broken biscuits she’d placed there earlier to take home for the girls. ‘I have a treat for you,’ she said, picking out some of the larger pieces and placing them on a saucer.
‘I miss these,’ Maisie sighed as she sank into a shabby armchair in the corner of the workroom. ‘If you do need me back at Woolies, just lure me wiv biscuits. In my ’ouse they vanish in seconds. I swear my kids can sniff a biccie from a mile away.’
‘Who’d have thought we’d get so excited over a few broken biscuits! Let’s hope it won’t be too long before children can eat as many cakes, sweets and biscuits as they want without having to worry about shortages and ration books,’ Betty said, looking sad.
‘Sod the kids. I wouldn’t mind eating my way through a large box of chocolates without feeling guilty,’ Maisie snorted.
‘Not that we can lay our hands on such things.’
Maisie tapped the side of her nose knowingly. ‘I always know a man who can lay ’is ’ands on things,’ she grinned. ‘Now, I know you are a busy woman, so I won’t delay yer too long, but something cropped up when I was chatting to Maureen and it’s been playing on me mind a bit. ’Ave you got any idea what’s going on wiv Alan Gilbert?’
Betty sipped her tea thoughtfully, wondering how much she could tell her friend. What little Sarah had confided about the Gilberts’ money worries was not to be shared – at least not by her. ‘He has a charming man called Lemuel Powell visiting. It seems they knew each other from their RAF days. I’m told by Maureen that Lemuel will be sleeping in the workshop, and helping out a little where he can. It seems he was a dab hand at keeping planes in the air during the Battle of Britain.’
Maisie smiled, sure that Betty was not telling her everything. They’d been friends long enough to know when something was being held back.
‘I was thinking more of how Freda and Alan are getting too cosy,’ she said, noticing Betty blink rapidly. ‘You know something, don’t you?’
Betty sighed. ‘I don’t think what I know has anything to do with that. Please don’t ask me,’ she pleaded.
‘But others have noticed.’
‘What do you mean?’ Betty asked, looking startled.
‘Maureen overheard Alan and Freda talking up at the workshop, and they shut up as soon as she made her presence known. She told me and Ruby about it when she came for a final fitting for her dress. I reckon she thinks her son is carrying on with Freda.’
Betty looked distressed. ‘Oh my, this doesn’t bode well, does it? I may as well say now that Sarah intimated things were rather difficult at home. But I would never have imagined that . . .’
‘Alan’s ’aving a bit on the side, and wiv his wife’s best friend?’
&nb
sp; Betty winced. Maisie’s turn of phrase could be a little fruity on occasion. After all this time, she was still surprised that such words could come from a woman’s mouth. ‘Possibly,’ was all she said in reply.
‘I could bloody kill him if it’s true. In fact, I’ve a mind to go up that workshop and ’ave it out wiv him. I’ll shut the shop for an hour and do it right now,’ Maisie added, looking round for her coat.
‘No, don’t!’ Betty exclaimed, placing her hand on Maisie’s arm to keep her seated. ‘He won’t be alone.’
‘What – you mean Freda’s up there?’ Maisie said, looking indignant. ‘Shouldn’t she be at work, or is she sneaking off during the day to carry on wiv him?’
Betty wanted to laugh out loud. The whole situation was ludicrous. ‘No, it’s not like that at all. She left me to go with Lemuel, to take our trainee manager’s bicycles to be stored in Alan’s workshop. The poor man’s lodgings left a lot to be desired.’
Maisie gave a blank look. ‘You’ve lost me now. Are you saying Freda’s not carrying on wiv Alan? Or are you saying she is, but you don’t want me going up there ter bang their ’eads together?’
‘I’m saying I have no idea what is going on, but this afternoon is not the best time to say or do anything. With Maureen and George’s wedding only a few days away, we can’t afford for the family to fall out. I’ll be very disappointed in Alan if he is dallying with Freda.’
‘She’s always trotted around behind ’im like a lovesick puppy,’ Maisie observed as she reached for her now cooling tea.
‘It’s more like him being a big brother, and her liking motorbikes. I wouldn’t think in a million years that there’s anything untoward happening. Thinking positively, they’ll not be alone at the workshop now that Lemuel is going to be spending most of his time there. I suggest we do nothing for now, and see how the land lies.’
‘Then we’ll ’ave to ’ave a word with Maureen and Ruby, in case they do decide to say something and upset the applecart.’
Betty nodded her head in agreement. ‘Perhaps if you have a word with the two ladies, and I’ll see if I can get Freda to tell me whether she is courting. She just might let something slip, and then I can advise her.’
‘What about Sarah?’ Maisie asked.
‘She already knows her marriage is not that happy at the moment. I suggest we just be around to support her through the bloody mess.’
Maisie raised her delicately shaped eyebrows. ‘Bloody ’ell – things must be bad fer you ter swear.’
‘I thought you could do with this?’ Freda said as she placed a cup of coffee on Betty’s desk. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted after our lunchtime adventure.’
Betty gave a vacant smile as she placed her pen down. ‘It was something I wouldn’t wish to experience again in a hurry. Can you spare me a few minutes, Freda?’
The younger woman looked up at the clock. ‘I have five minutes before I need to be back on the shop floor. I’m keeping an eye on the two new girls. They seem to be shaping up all right, but it doesn’t hurt to watch all the same. Actually, I wanted to have a word with you about the girl who came for an interview.’
‘Effie? She starts on Monday. I felt it best to have a few days’ gap between new staff joining us. Do you know something I should be aware of?’
Freda wasn’t sure how to word her concerns. ‘Er . . . it’s just that I spotted her while we were in Wheatley Terrace at lunchtime. She was coming out of that house two doors along from Anthony’s lodgings. The house we were told women come and go from night and day . . .’
Betty frowned. ‘Do you mean . . .?’
Freda nodded, thankful that Betty had got the gist of what she was trying to imply. Now she could say it properly. ‘Yes, a house where prostitutes work.’
‘You have it wrong, Freda. I have it on good authority that it is where women go when they no longer wish to carry a child.’
Freda clapped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment. How could she have been so wrong? Then the penny dropped. ‘But that could mean that Effie . . .’
‘It could mean many things, Freda – and until we know all the details, I insist we don’t talk about such things. We could be scarring a woman’s reputation, and that would never do. Do you agree?’
‘Yes,’ she mumbled, thinking that all the same she’d be keeping an eye on Effie Dyer when she started work on Monday. ‘But shouldn’t we tell the police about that house? Isn’t it illegal?’
Betty thought long and hard as she stirred the cup of coffee. Perhaps now was the time to ask Freda about her friendship with Alan. It had only been a couple of hours since she’d left Maisie’s shop, and her mind was still swimming with what they’d discussed. She’d completely muddled her appointment with the supplier, accepting a price far higher than she ought to have paid for produce. In some ways she wished head office dealt with local suppliers, rather than putting the onus on the store managers. No, she’d keep to what had been agreed with Maisie; but there was no reason she couldn’t keep Freda busy, so that she had fewer opportunities to hang about the workshop with Alan Gilbert.
‘Mike Jackson is aware of what is going on in the house, so please don’t think about it again. I’m afraid the world can be a very sad place at times, but in some ways those women provide a service for women in a fix.’
‘But . . .’
Betty raised her hand to silence Freda. ‘Let’s not discuss it again. I have something to ask you, and it is of a personal nature. Would you like to sit down for a moment?’
Freda racked her brains to think of anything she might have done wrong at work. Although Betty was a good friend, she knew that while she was at work the woman was her boss, and she shouldn’t take advantage. Whatever had she done that Betty needed to talk to her about? She sat down nervously and waited.
‘I was wondering how you felt about having a male lodger?’
Freda was taken aback. ‘Well . . . I haven’t thought much about it. If you mean Lemuel, he prefers to put his head down at Alan’s workshop until he can afford a proper place to rent. He’s not very well off at the moment,’ she tried to explain, wondering why Betty was interested in someone she’d only met earlier that day.
‘Although I’m saddened by Lemuel’s predicament, it is a different young man I’m thinking of.’
‘Who?’
‘Anthony Forsythe. I had a word by telephone with the cottage hospital, enquiring about his situation and when he could expect to be discharged.’
Freda stared sullenly at her boss. She was not enamoured with the young trainee manager, and she felt he had a similar opinion about her. There was no love lost between the two of them. ‘I was under the impression he’d be in hospital for weeks?’
‘I’ve been told that with crutches he could soon be out of hospital. He is healthy apart from his mobility problem, and if he had somewhere to go, he could be allowed out by the weekend. As he has no next of kin, the almoner at the cottage hospital asked that I find him suitable lodgings. I explained his previous room is no longer available.’
Freda looked thoughtful. ‘The room I’m letting is upstairs, and I have a steep staircase. He’d not be able to get to his bedroom with his leg in plaster,’ she said.
‘I’d already thought of that. We have a single bed at home that is not in use. I could have Douglas bring it round and install it in your front room – it would be just right for Anthony. What do you say?’
‘But if he didn’t pay his rent money at the last lodging house, then surely he might not pay me either?’ Freda could hardly conceal her triumph at having found what seemed like a reasonable objection.
‘Freda, we both know that awful landlady was telling lies in order to extort money from us. I will admit to being galled at having to hand over more cash in order to retrieve Anthony’s possessions, but it’s much better he is away from that place and can make a fresh start. You will consider my proposal, won’t you?’ There was a look in Betty’s eye that challe
nged Freda to say no.
‘But the rent money . . .?’
‘I will ensure you are paid promptly each week. You need not fear – it is not my intention to see you out of pocket. Now, if that is all agreed I’d like you to take his clean pyjamas and wash things up to the hospital this evening and give him the good news.’
‘I’m going to the pictures with Sadie and Lemuel this evening,’ Freda said. Her sulky expression made Betty raise her eyebrows.
‘Then I’ll give you permission to leave half an hour early. I’d hate your plans to be ruined because of some poor, homeless soul who is confined to a hospital bed,’ she replied. It seemed to her that Freda had changed, and was no longer the girl Betty had thought she knew. What could have occurred to make her become like this?
6
Freda sat back in the cinema seat, arms folded across her chest. Even the Pathé News report on the engagement of Princess Elizabeth to her handsome beau could not lift her spirits. Next to her, Sadie snuggled against Lemuel, taking advantage of his large frame filling the plush seat high up in the balcony. It had been Freda’s treat, to thank Lemuel for his help carrying the bicycles to Alan’s workshop. Sadie, bumping into them as they’d headed up Crayford Road with the bikes, had wheedled an invitation to join them. She seemed smitten with Freda’s handsome new friend.
‘Try not to be so obvious,’ Freda hissed in Sadie’s ear. ‘You must be embarrassing poor Lemuel.’
In the dim light, Sadie turned and hissed back, ‘There’s not much room with him being so large. Besides, he isn’t complaining,’ she smirked, leaning further into the man’s arm. Lemuel, engrossed in the news feature, hardly seemed aware of his admirer.
Freda huffed and glared at the screen. Everyone seemed to have a boyfriend apart from her. As far as love was concerned, she’d always picked the wrong men, or she’d been deceived by them. No doubt she would eventually become an aged spinster with a couple of cats for company. Visiting Anthony Forsythe in hospital earlier had simply confirmed to her how irritating men could be. She kicked the back of the seat in front of her with frustration, causing the man sitting there to grumble over his shoulder. Oh, how annoying Anthony was!
Wedding Bells for Woolworths Page 9