‘No, not really. It’s a bit on the embarrassing side,’ Ruby all but whispered, looking from left to right. ‘You’ve got a man living with you, and he might have overheard.’
Freda felt her face twitch as she tried not to smile. ‘Anthony doesn’t live with me,’ she explained. ‘He’s a lodger, and rents my front room. It’s all above board. Why do you mention it– has Vera been saying things? I fully expect her to start stirring things up, now her Sadie’s moved in with me.’
‘I know what you mean about Vera, but so far she’s kept her distance. No doubt she will turn up on my doorstep to moan before long, when she hears that I’ve given Lemuel a room. No – it’s just that what I’ve got to ask you, I can’t really say in front of a man.’
Freda was intrigued, and leant closer so that no one could overhear them. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘It’s that Lemuel. I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve got a problem with him . . .’ Ruby looked a little ashamed.
Freda was surprised; she hadn’t imagined Ruby as someone who would have a problem with black men. There’d been a few men coming off the ships over the years, and to Freda’s knowledge Ruby had always treated everyone fairly – not like some she could think of who would call out names, or even cross the street rather than interact with a person from foreign shores. She also remembered the card she’d seen in the boarding house the other day. The words ‘no darkies’ still made her feel ashamed that someone in her adopted town could be so uncaring. Perhaps it was Ruby’s age that was the problem? ‘Ruby, Lemuel is no different to us, you know,’ she explained, carefully picking her words.
‘I know that, you daft ’apporth. It’s just that I was doing some washing and though I’d run his few bits through while I had some hot water, and what I see made my heart ache for him.’
If Freda hadn’t been intrigued before, she was now. ‘Come on, Ruby – spit it out,’ she hissed, as she spotted an assistant waving to her for help. ‘I’m going to have to go in a minute.’
‘It was his unmentionables. They’re so threadbare, I thought I’d treat him to some new ones, but I have no idea what size he wears. I have his ration book so I can use his coupons, but it’s to be my treat for all he’s done. I thought you’d know about sizes seeing as you’ve served on all the counters here in Woolies.’
Freda couldn’t help but burst out laughing. ‘Oh Ruby, you had me thinking all sorts,’ she giggled. ‘Look, I’ve got to get cracking or Betty will give me the sack for chatting. Leave it with me, and I’ll sort out what’s needed. I’ll pop over later,’ she said, giving the older woman a kiss on the cheek. ‘I want to ask Bob’s advice about something, so there’s no time like the present – or after I finish work, at any rate.’
Ruby got to her feet, giving a wince as she did so. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m all right,’ she said as she saw Freda about to say something. ‘It’s just me old bones. I’ll expect you about half past six.’
Freda watched as she walked away. There was most definitely something wrong with Ruby, she thought with concern. Sarah didn’t seem very talkative these days, so perhaps she’d pop over to see Maisie in her tea break and kill two birds with one stone. After watching Ruby leave the store, she headed over to where a young assistant had been trying to get her attention.
‘Please, Miss, we haven’t got any paper bags,’ the girl said with her hand still in the air.
Freda thought how strange it was that the younger shop assistants treated her like a grown-up when she still felt as though she was that shy sixteen-year-old who had walked through the staff entrance not so many years ago. A lot of water had gone under the bridge since those days. ‘You can put your hand down, Jeannie. You aren’t at school now.’ She smiled gently, not wishing to intimidate the young girl, who hadn’t long started her full-time job at Woolworths. ‘When you had your tour of the store on your first day, do you remember being shown the stock room?’
‘Yes, miss, it’s upstairs,’ Jeannie said, lowering her arm.
‘Then take yourself up there and ask someone to give you a box of bags. Bring them down and place them under the counter on the shelf. Do you think you can do that?’ she asked as the girl started to look flustered. ‘There’s no need to rush,’ she added, as the girl looked ready to run off. ‘Do you know where Effie is? I believe she started here about the same time as you.’
‘Yes, Miss. That’s her over there. She’s a bit on the stuck-up side. She don’t talk to anyone when we go for our breaks,’ Jeannie said, before hurrying off to collect her paper bags.
Freda looked over to where the girl was pointing and took a deep breath. She felt uncomfortable about giving a room to Effie if she was up to no good.
‘’Ello, love. We don’t usually see you at this time of the afternoon. Is something up?’ Maisie said, looking up from her sewing machine as Freda entered her shop. ‘Why aren’t you in work?’
Freda threw herself into the chair that was used by customers while Maisie waited on them. ‘It’s my tea break. I wanted to ask you something – a few things really.’
‘Fire away, but if you don’t mind I’ll carry on sewing while you talk. I’ve got a pile of orders to work through, and with the shop being quiet this afternoon I thought I’d get cracking.’
Freda nodded and leant back in the chair, looking around at the shop. It might be small, but Maisie had worked wonders, filling it from floor to ceiling with second-hand clothing as well as items she’d made either from scratch, or by remodelling clothes she picked up from jumble sales, or took from customers in part exchange. ‘It always smells so nice in here. Almost as good as Alan’s workshop – or what it did smell like,’ she added sadly.
‘I’m not sure ’ow clean clothes can sniff like oily engines,’ Maisie said good-naturedly. ‘Mind you, it smells more like burnt wood now. I do feel sorry for ’im. That workshop was his dream, and now it’s gone. At least he’s got another job ter go to.’
‘Has he? I didn’t know,’ Freda said, looking more alert than when she’d arrived. ‘Has he got another workshop? I hope it’s nearby, so I can go and help him.’
‘I meant, surely Betty will ’ave ’im back at Woolworths.’
Freda scowled. ‘He’ll never go back there. It would nigh on kill him being trapped inside a shop, now he’s been his own boss.’
‘You seem certain. Sarah seems to think he’ll go back,’ Maisie snipped the frayed cuff off a child’s coat, watching Freda to see if there was a reaction.
‘Then Sarah doesn’t know her own husband very well,’ Freda threw back at her, not realizing she’d given the wrong signal to her friend. ‘Anyway, that’s not what I came over here to talk about. I saw Ruby earlier and she’s after buying some underwear for Lemuel, but she doesn’t know his size. I thought you’d be able to guess, what with having a husband and working with clothes.’
Maisie roared with laughter. ‘I’m not one for sizing up men’s underpants, but I’d say he was a bit bigger in the waist department than my David, if that’s any ’elp?’
‘Not really, as I have no idea what size your David is,’ Freda snorted, joining in with Maisie’s infectious laugh.
‘Hang on a mo.’ Maisie got up from her seat and started rummaging in a large wicker hamper in the corner of the room. ‘I picked up a lot of men’s stuff a while ago. I was after the suit and overcoat to cut down, but there was some shirts and men’s vests and stuff as well. The suit was a bit on the large size, so chances are so are the shirts and stuff. Bingo!’ she shouted, pulling out a large pair of men’s underpants. ‘I reckon these’ll suit him down ter the ground. They look bigger than what my David would wear.’
Freda didn’t know where to look. She had never been this close to men’s undergarments before. ‘Are they clean?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose.
‘Everything in here was washed and ironed before being delivered. The man’s wife was quite respectable.’
‘Is the owner of the clothes . . .?’
‘Dead as a door nail, but it wasn’t anything catching,’ Maisie grinned.
Freda shuddered. ‘Goodness, Maisie, I don’t know how you can touch things like that. It makes my skin crawl,’ she said, rubbing her arms and pulling a face.
Maisie hooted with laughter. ‘Blimey, Freda, anyone would think I’d popped next door ter the undertaker’s shop and pinched the pants off a still-warm corpse. The lady who brought in the clothes was very presentable, and it’s no different to you selling clothes you no longer need.’
Freda looked unconvinced. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to sell on my unwanted knickers, though,’ she said, looking a little closer at the garment Maisie was waving in the air. ‘But they do look decent quality, and if Ruby was to give them a good boil . . .’
‘No one would be any the wiser – not that anyone will be looking at Lemuel’s undergarments,’ Maisie grinned. ‘Speaking of which, how is Sadie getting on now she’d moved into your gaff?’
Her friend’s inclusion of the two names in one breath was not lost on Freda. ‘Nothing’s going to go on under my roof,’ she sniffed primly. ‘I’ve no doubt Vera will be spreading rumours, but if Lemuel wishes to come courting Sadie, then he doesn’t put one foot on the staircase that leads to her bedroom.’
Maisie hooted with laughter. ‘Gawd, Freda, you sound like you was born back when Queen Victoria was on her throne. And there’s you wiv a man sleeping in yer front room.’
Freda blushed. In the few days that Anthony had been staying at the house, she’d seen him in a better light. Certainly not like the usual annoying trainee managers who came and went at the Erith branch of Woolworths. ‘He’s a nice man. We’ve had a few chats about his bicycles. Did you know, he could be competing in next year’s Olympic Games – that’s if his leg heals in time and he does well in a few races. He called them bike trials,’ she said, nodding her head as she remembered his words. ‘It does sound exciting,’ she added, her eyes shining.
Maisie was interested – all the more so if this meant Freda wasn’t chasing after Alan Gilbert. Perhaps Sarah had got it wrong about Alan and Freda? She’d have to give this some serious thought. The last thing she wanted was to see Sarah and Alan’s marriage fail for something that hadn’t happened. It would make them as bad as Vera Munro – God forbid. ‘I can’t say it’s my cup of tea, but good luck to the chap. If me and David can ’elp in any way, you’ve only got ter shout. It’s not often someone living in Erith, and a Woolworths worker at that, gets ter go ter the Olympics. D’yer think we can go and watch?’
Freda was thrilled that her friend was so interested. ‘I hadn’t given it a thought, but we can find out if Anthony gets chosen to compete. He’s got to get back on his feet first, though. But if he does, perhaps the children would like to watch? From the little I know, the Olympics are held in different places all around the world. Who knows when they will be back in London after next year?’
Maisie smiled at Freda’s enthusiasm. ‘P’raps you should ask Anthony,’ she said.
Freda, not realizing that Maisie was humouring her, nodded enthusiastically. ‘I must get back to the store. Can I collect the men’s things when I leave work?’
‘I’ll ’ave them all parcelled up for you. You can tell Ruby she can ’ave them for what they cost me. It’s not the usual stuff I’d sell, and they’d no doubt be used fer dusters otherwise.’
Freda giggled. ‘Fancy using those for dusters. I’ll stick to the ones from Woolworths, ta very much.’
‘Me too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Why, that new lodger of yours might have some he could donate for you ter polish your furniture,’ Maisie smiled, knowing her teasing would embarrass Freda no end.
Freda turned bright red and hurried away to get back to work before she was missed, although her mind was on Anthony. She hadn’t given a thought to how he would cope with his washing while he was incapacitated. Perhaps she should offer to do it for him. After all, it would be the neighbourly thing to do, wouldn’t it?
Sarah took the large envelope of photographs, and thanked the woman behind the chemist’s counter.
Her dad had been insistent that he would settle the bill for developing the wedding photos, so she hadn’t needed to pay anything on collection for the prints. Tucking the invoice into her handbag, she decided to treat herself to fifteen minutes alone to look through the photographs – and where better than the Oak Tea Room in Hedley Mitchell’s, the only store in Erith that was larger than Woolworths.
Crossing busy Pier Road, she was deep in thought until she spotted a familiar figure coming out of Maisie’s Modes. It was Freda. Sarah had no wish to speak with her at that particular moment. In the days since the fire at Alan’s workshop she’d done nothing but think about that evening, and how Freda had been lauded by everyone for leading the rescuers to the back entrance of the workshop and then going inside to help. Why on earth hadn’t she thought of that entrance herself? Hadn’t she been there only days before, and opened that door to let in some air? Sarah could have kicked herself for not thinking of it. Instead she’d been worried sick and was being taken care of by her friends. Why, oh why, wasn’t she brave and fearless like Freda? At least then Alan would be full of praise for her – and perhaps he would forget about Freda. No wonder the pair of them are so close, thought Sarah with a sigh.
Keeping her head down, she hurried across the road and into the safety of the tea room before Freda called out. The girl seemed to have no shame about her dalliance with Alan, and brazenly acted as if nothing had changed in their close circle of family and friends.
‘I can fit you in at the small table near the window, Miss, but you won’t hear the orchestra so well,’ a young waitress told her.
‘That will suit me fine,’ Sarah said, and then added, ‘I have a bit of a headache,’ as she saw the woman’s reproachful look. It wasn’t as if the orchestra was very good, consisting as it did of three elderly ladies beating a Brahms lullaby to death.
Thankfully there was a heavy lace curtain at the window, so she wouldn’t be spotted by anyone coming and going from the Woolworths store across the road. She glanced briefly at the menu. ‘Just a pot of tea, please, and a jug of hot water,’ she smiled at the waitress. At the prices Mitchell’s charged these days, squeezing a second cup out of the pot would justify her spending the money.
Taking the envelope of photographs from her bag, she opened it and set the photos in front of her. She had mixed feelings about her dad and Maureen’s special day. First, she was overjoyed that her dad had found love again since her mum’s tragic death during the last year of the war. However, the fact that he was marrying her husband’s own mother had been a cause for concern. She loved Maureen dearly, but how would it be if she and Alan ended their marriage and he chose to continue his life with Freda? With the family links being so close, they would always be in each other’s pockets.
Putting her thoughts to one side, she picked up the black-and-white pictures that recorded the day. She hoped she’d not made a mess of using the camera. Her dad had shown her numerous times how to hold it, and she had encouraged people to move into the best positions to compose a good photograph. She prayed she’d not chopped everyone’s heads off, or left someone out. It was quite a responsibility being in charge of recording the happy event.
Not realizing she’d been holding her breath, she let out a big sigh as she saw Maureen beaming from the first picture. The bride stepped from the car that had taken her and Alan to the church. Helping Maureen out was Alan, looking nervous as he held the car door open while offering his mother his hand. His tie was a little askew, but he still looked very smart. Her heart ached as she ran her finger over the outline of his face. ‘I’ll fight for you, my love, but only if I know you still want me. I’ll not hang around to see you with another,’ she whispered. Quickly she put the photograph to one side and smiled at the next picture, which showed her dad holding hands with his grandchildren, Georgina and Buster. That was certainly one for f
raming and giving to Nan, she thought, before moving on to the first photograph of her dad and Maureen together as they signed the register in the vestry. The vicar had been quite firm that she was only to take the one photograph, and she’d hoped it wasn’t blurred. Along with Mike Jackson as best man, she had signed the document as an official witness. The vicar had cheekily suggested he take a photograph of the four of them, being quite taken with the idea of a woman being the official photographer for the occasion. There she was, beaming back from beside Mike, who’d had permission to wear his dress uniform as he was attending the wedding of a town councillor. There was talk of George Caselton being the mayor of Erith before too long. Wouldn’t her mum have loved that, Sarah thought with a smile.
‘Ah, I do love a good wedding,’ the waitress said as she placed a silver tray on the table, removing the teapots and milk jug along with a delicate cup and saucer. ‘Was it your wedding?’ she asked, picking up the empty tray.
‘No, it was my dad’s wedding,’ Sarah replied, turning the photo of the happy couple so the girl could see. ‘My mum, his first wife, died a few years ago.’
‘Why, that’s Councillor Caselton,’ the girl said, looking closer. ‘You say he’s your dad?’
Sarah was puzzled. ‘Yes – do you know him?’
‘I’d say I do. He managed to help me and my two kids move into one of those new prefabs up on Watts Bridge, near the Cinder Path. We’d been turned down before as we had a room with my cousin, Gert, but it was short-term and the council people didn’t want to help us.’
Sarah felt her chest swell with pride. ‘He’s only been a councillor for a couple of years. He’s very dedicated. I’m glad he was able to help you.’
‘I’ll never forget him for how he helped us. People can be kind, you know,’ the waitress said, tucking the tray under her arm. ‘See that branch of Woolworths over the road? There were some people in there who came to my rescue in the early days of the war. I was at my wits’ end, having escaped from a nasty situation, like, and they not only fed me but found me somewhere to live. Bloody good people. Anyway, you give my best to your dad and his new wife. He probably won’t remember me, but my name is Jessie – Jessie Arnold I’m known as these days, since getting hitched. Give me ten minutes and I’ll bring you a fresh pot of tea. No charge, as this hoity-toity lot won’t notice. Sod the hot water,’ she giggled as she turned to leave the table.
Wedding Bells for Woolworths Page 15