‘Oh don’t yer go worrying, I don’t mean nuffink by what I said, well, nuffink like that anyway. ‘’E’s a good bloke is ’Arry, well-liked round ’ere. Still, a pretty girl like you and ’im not spoken for…’ She let the words hang in the air, giving Maggie a broad wink. Maggie felt her face flush with embarrassment, yet the woman’s face was so open and friendly she found it impossible to take offence. Swallowing hard she smiled back at the woman, anxious to change the subject.
‘We hadn’t planned to stop for breakfast, but that delicious smell is too hard to resist. Could I have a loaf of bread and a couple of buns, please, Mrs Sutton?’
‘Eh, there’s no need ter be so formal, love. Me name’s Mabel, now you just wait a tick while I pop out the back and see if me old man’s got the first batch out of the oven.’
She returned a few moments later, an apologetic smile on her face.
‘Sorry, love, they ain’t ready yet. I’ve got some buns left over from yesterday if that’s any good to yer.’
‘Oh, yes, please,’ Charlie interrupted greedily. The two sticky buns were eaten before Maggie had a chance to get her purse from her coat pocket.
‘Charlie,’ she admonished sternly, ‘you’ll make yourself sick. Honestly, anyone would think you hadn’t eaten for days.’
‘Leave ’im be, love,’ the plump woman laughed. ‘I’ve never known a youngster who wasn’t always ’ungry. And yer can put yer purse away an’ all, those are on the ’ouse.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Sutton, I mean, Mabel. It’s very kind of you.’
‘Good luck fer today. I ’ope everything goes all right fer yer.’ The friendly words followed them from the shop.
‘She was nice, wasn’t she, Maggie?’ Charlie mumbled, his mouth still full. Maggie looked sideways at him.
‘You’d think the devil himself was nice if he gave you something to eat. Honestly, Charlie, I don’t know where you put it all. But you’re right about Mrs Sutton, she does seem nice. Let’s hope all the other shopkeepers are as friendly. It’s a pity we didn’t pick a market day for our opening, then again maybe it’s better if we get into the swing of things gently. I don’t think we could manage with a crowd of customers on our first day.’
‘When is market day down ’ere?’ Charlie asked, wiping his hand across his lips.
‘I’ve already told you, Thursdays and Saturdays. Harry said that’s probably when we’ll get our best custom,’ Maggie replied, her voice irritable with nerves. Although she would never admit it, she was secretly relieved and more than a little grateful that the building site was only ten minutes’ walk away. If Harry’s men were true to their promise, she was guaranteed steady custom until she could build up her own clientele. It shouldn’t be too difficult, she told herself firmly. If she kept her prices reasonable and Harry’s workmen spread the word, she should in a short time attract a steady stream of customers.
They passed the butcher’s shop and the ironmongers, their steps slowing down as they approached their destination. As they drew nearer Maggie’s heart began to thump loudly. She couldn’t believe that it was really happening at last. The past couple of months had been fraught with anxiety, not least concerning Hugh. For weeks after the disturbing incident she had been on tenterhooks, expecting him to arrive alone and unannounced to declare his undying love for her. How she would have reacted to such a proposal she didn’t truly know. Fortunately the need to dampen his ardour hadn’t arisen. He still came round to see her, but always in the company of either Harry or Lotte, and never once by either word or deed had he made any reference to that night. So now at last she could breathe easily once again where Hugh was concerned, although she was careful never to let herself be alone with him; just in case he took it into his head to try his luck again.
Then there had been the troublesome task of finding a shop from which to run her new enterprise. When she had told Harry of her decision to accept his offer he had been overjoyed, promising to have her installed in her own premises within the month; but it hadn’t been that simple. The high street was in a prime location and the owners of the sprawling shopping arcade were reluctant to sell, despite the lucrative offers Harry had made. Maggie had ventured to make the suggestion of trying somewhere else, but Harry had been adamant. He had even gone so far as to say he would build her the damned shop if nobody would sell him theirs, so determined was he to have her near him. To Maggie’s reasoning this was foolish, seeing as how he would be finished at the building site next year and his next venture could be miles away. When she had pointed this out to him, he had merely shrugged his shoulders saying that he wanted to see her settled before he moved on.
Just when she had given up all hopes of ever having her shop, an old couple who ran the haberdashery store decided to accept Harry’s offer and retire. There had been a further delay while waiting for the old couple to dispose of their stock. They had no sooner handed the keys over to Harry when Maggie and Charlie had moved in. There had been a great deal of work to do as the shop hadn’t had a good clean or a lick of paint for years, but with the help of Harry and a couple of his men after work, she was finally ready for business.
They were now standing outside the freshly painted shop, and as Maggie looked up at the sign hanging over the door she felt her body begin to shake.
‘You nervous, Maggie?’ Charlie asked, and Maggie was quick to notice the slight tremor in his voice. Putting the two heavy bags containing the meat pies she had made earlier that morning onto the cold pavement, she smiled at him.
‘Of course I am, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I am a bit, but it’ll be all right, won’t it, Maggie? I mean we’ll make it work, won’t we?’
Her head snapped back quickly, then in a determined voice she answered, ‘Don’t you worry about that, Charlie, we’ll make it work.’
Fumbling in her pocket for the key she found herself raising her eyes once more to the boldly printed sign that bore her name. Harry had wanted to call it Maggie’s Restaurant, but Maggie had strongly opposed that idea. As she had forcefully pointed out, she was going to be catering for working men, men who didn’t have time to get cleaned up before going for their dinner, and the very word restaurant would deter them from entering such an establishment. Besides, Maggie had very definite ideas about the type of eating house she was going to create.
The City of London and the surrounding areas were full of dining houses, beef houses, restaurants and coffee shops, all catering for the middle classes. The only recourse for working men such as labourers and dock workers was the pie and peas and fish and chip shops, not forgetting the traditional jellied eel stalls, all of which sold their produce in paper bags or cones to be taken away and eaten while walking back to work. It was Maggie’s intention to continue the line of good solid belly timber, for apart from the fact such food was the type her potential customers would appreciate, it was also both cheap and quick to cook. She drew the line at jellied eels though – she couldn’t bear looking at the slimy creatures, let alone come into contact with them. Her shop would also have the advantage of letting customers sit down and eat in comfort. The only other place where a working man could have this luxury was in pubs, and although many liked their beer, there were an equal amount who would prefer to settle for a strong mug of tea with their meal.
‘Come on, Maggie, open up, I’m freezing,’ Charlie moaned impatiently, then seeing her gaze fastened on the swinging sign he grinned widely.
‘Looks good, don’t it? Makes me feel sort of funny seeing your name up there, but yer deserve it, Maggie, and I’ll help yer for as long as yer need me.’
Tearing her eyes away from the sign that proclaimed MAGGIE’S HOT MEALS: ALL WELCOME, she pushed open the door, then stood aside as Charlie, his arms filled with a large cardboard box piled high with vegetables and eggs, walked into the darkened shop, then to the nearest table to unload his burden.
‘Coo, I’m glad to put that down, me arms are killing me.’
‘Get awa
y with you,’ Maggie admonished gently, ‘a big, strong lad like you moaning about carrying a few vegetables and eggs. What about me? Those bags weigh a ton; I hope I haven’t made too many. Still, better that than not enough, eh?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ he reassured her. ‘Once they’re in the oven and the smell starts wafting out into the street, you’ll have ’em breaking down the door.’
Maggie laughed loudly, then seeing her brother about to lower himself onto a nearby chair she said firmly, ‘Now, come on, love, we haven’t got time to laze about. Get yourself out of that chair and get the fire going. We want the place to look welcoming, so first light a few of the table lamps, then you can help me peel the veg and potatoes; come on, love, look lively, we open in half an hour.’
Leaving him to his task, she carried the bags into the kitchen. Turning on the lamps she stood for a moment surveying her new domain. The room was small, having been a store-room for the previous owners, but Harry had skilfully used every inch to advantage. To her left was the double sink that was essential for the mountain of washing up she would have to do; ‘I hope’ was the silent plea she sent up. On her right stood the brand new oven range, its gleaming black surface reflecting the burnished pots and pans hanging from the wall rack. The middle of the room was taken up by an extra-large square wooden table to prepare the meals on. Underneath the work surface were deep drawers to hold the cutlery and plates.
Putting the bags on the table she began to take the pies out, placing them neatly on the table, her forehead furrowing with worry as she looked at the rows of pies she had been up half the night making. What if nobody came? Her and Charlie would be eating meat pies for the next month. ‘Oh, stop fussing about and get them in the oven,’ she chided herself. Ten minutes later the pies were laid out on black baking trays ready to cook as soon as the oven was hot enough.
Next she took out a large parcel of bacon and sausages from the bottom of one of the bags and unwrapped them. Together with the eggs Charlie had carried they would make a filling hot breakfast for anyone either on their way to or from work.
While she waited for the oven to heat she prepared the ingredients for two pots of stew. This meal was also cheap and quick to make, and could be kept hot all day if necessary without spoiling its flavour. When the chunks of lamb and vegetables were nestling in the large pots of water she placed them on the gas rings on a low heat. Leaving them to simmer she then put the two trays of meat pies into the now hot oven.
She would see how today went, then tonight she would revise the menu, splitting the meals available into three categories: breakfast, dinner and evening meal; that way she wouldn’t be faced with the prospect of being asked for a bowl of stew at eight o’clock in the morning. It was a good, nourishing meal but took hours to cook. Knowing she could do no more for now she took down two mugs and put the kettle next to one of the stewpots, then stood by the table waiting for it to boil. Biting her lip she drummed her fingers nervously on the wooden surface.
Maggie had so many plans for the place, but she could do nothing until she knew approximately how many customers she could expect, and at what time of the day they would arrive. It was no good baking meat pies and making a pot of stew in the mornings if she didn’t get her first customer until lunchtime. Then again, she couldn’t not cook anything in case some of the numerous night workers decided to come in for a hot meal after their long night. And what about her idea to sell fish and chips? She would need a potato and fish fryer; they didn’t come cheap, and they would also have to be kept on the boil all day – and that would put more money on her gas bill.
Suddenly the enormity of the problems facing her threatened to overwhelm her, and gripping the edge of the table she looked around her wildly. The sound of the kettle coming to the boil broke into her thoughts. Mashing the tea quickly she set the mugs on the draining board while she checked the stew, then sticking her chin out determinedly she walked into the other room.
‘Thanks, Maggie, I could do with that,’ Charlie said, gratefully taking the steaming mug from her hand. Easing herself onto a chair Maggie looked around the room. Harry had installed enough tables and chairs to accommodate 20 people; she hoped fervently he hadn’t been too optimistic. On the far left of the room there were three steps leading up to a small landing. Harry had wanted to include the space in the main room but Maggie had asked him to leave it as it was for the time being. At the back of her mind she visualised using it as a coffee room for the sole use of any women needing some light refreshment. Again she would have to wait and see what kind of clientele she could expect to get; for now she would do well to concentrate on the main dining room.
Sipping her tea she turned her head towards the blazing fire in the stone hearth and nodded in satisfaction. With the fire and the table lamps burning brightly the room now looked cosy and inviting.
‘What time do yer reckon they’ll start coming in?’ Charlie asked.
Shrugging herself out of her green coat she answered tersely, ‘How do I know? There’s no guarantee anyone will come, we’ll just have to wait and see. I know Harry promised to bring some of his men in, but that won’t be until dinner time, and besides, we can’t keep depending on Harry. Him and his men alone won’t keep us in business.’
‘All right, there’s no need to have a go at me.’ Charlie shuffled on his chair awkwardly. ‘Anyway, even if someone did come in now, we ain’t got nuffink to give ’em yet.’ Immediately contrite, Maggie leaned across the table and took his cold hand.
‘Don’t worry about that, love. It won’t take me long to fry up some bacon, sausages and eggs if someone comes in. The pies should be ready soon too. The meat’s already cooked, so I’ve just got to wait until the pastry browns. And I’m sorry I snapped at you, my nerves are a bit frayed at the moment. You always seem to get the brunt of my temper. Well, in future you’ll have to start shouting back. You’re not a child any more; you’re nearly a man and you’re going to have to start standing up for yourself. Start practising on me – I deserve it after the way I’ve treated you at times.’
Charlie smiled wanly. He could look after himself all right. What about that night he’d gone to fetch Hugh? He’d stood up for himself then, hadn’t he? And he could handle himself if need be, but Maggie still thought of him as the shy, nervous little boy who had clung to her skirts for so long. But that boy had gone forever the moment he had faced Harry’s father, standing his ground when every fibre in his body had urged him to make a run for it.
Lifting his head he looked at his sister, then rolling his eyes pitifully, he said, ‘Gawd help us, I ain’t that brave.’
The laughter that followed eased the tension between them, and draining the last of their tea they pushed back their chairs. Maggie was wearing a green-checked dress buttoned up the front and falling freely over her hips to the top of her boots. Around her shoulder lay the fawn shawl pinned together with a cameo brooch that Liz had bought for her. It was the first time she had worn it. It seemed somehow to bring Liz’s memory close, not as she had last seen her, but buying the gift, her heart happy at the prospect of giving something special to someone that she loved.
‘I’ve put the salt and pepper and sauce on all the tables, and laid out the knives and forks, Maggie. What shall I do now?’ Charlie’s voice called to her across the room.
Stroking the shawl tenderly she replied, ‘There’s nothing else you can do until we get some customers. You’d better get some rest now, just in case we do get busy – ’cos if we do there’ll be no time for any dinner for us.’
Walking to the window she checked that the menu was clearly visible, and more importantly, the prices. Then carefully lifting up a corner of the starched white lace curtain she peered out into the street. Daybreak was dawning, and already some of the other shops were getting ready for business. She could hear the owners calling out greetings to each other as they prepared for another day, but her attention was fixed on the scattering of passers-by, willing
them to stop and look in the window. Afraid her anxious gaze would put off any potential customer, she reluctantly let the curtain drop and returned to the table.
‘Well me lad, all we can do now is wait,’ she said gaily, trying to ignore the painful churning of her stomach, unaware that Charlie was experiencing the same discomfort.
The sound of the door-bell made them both jump; then a gruff voice asked uncertainly, ‘You open?’
Both Maggie and Charlie seemed to bound across the room, causing the roughly dressed man to start backwards.
‘Yes we are, sir.’ Maggie came forward, smiling eagerly. ‘Could I take your coat, or would you prefer to keep it on? It’s still a bit cold in here, as the fire hasn’t been on long. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll take your order.’ She was babbling like a fool, but powerless to do anything about it. Holding her breath she waited until the man was seated, his cap held awkwardly between rough calloused hands, his gaze sweeping the empty room. The man’s whole attitude had the look of someone getting ready to bolt.
Still smiling, she asked brightly, ‘What would you like, sir?’ while praying he would choose the meat pie or a fry-up. The stew wouldn’t be ready for hours yet. Oh, dear…
Clearing his throat loudly the man said, ‘I’ll ’ave a mug a tea and a meat pie, ta.’
‘Of course, sir. If you will make yourself comfortable, I’ll see to your order.’ Raising her eyebrows at Charlie as if to say, ‘don’t let him leave,’ she walked quickly to the kitchen, her body slumping with relief as she heard Charlie drawing the man out about his job.
Opening the oven she breathed an audible sigh of relief at the sight of the golden brown pastry. Picking up the towel that hung on a hook by the side of the oven she moved the top tray down to the bottom of the oven, then put the middle tray up to the top rung. Placing the steaming pie on a plate she poured out a mug of tea from the still-hot teapot and began to walk into the other room. She hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when the door-bell once again chimed and the sound of men’s voices joined that of Charlie and her first customer. Closing her eyes for a second she swallowed deeply. ‘Make it work out for us, God, please make it work out all right.’
A Handful of Sovereigns Page 26