Patience said querulously, ‘You’re not suggesting Clara’s taking things?’
‘No, not at all!’ Max cried. ‘I trust her completely.’
Clara flushed. ‘But I’m very careful to lock up after I’ve been in, Mr Sobel. And Mam’s here nearly all the time. She’d have heard if anyone was downstairs. Wouldn’t you, Mam?’
Patience nodded. ‘Unless I had the wireless on, I suppose.’
There was an awkward pause, then Max said cheerfully, ‘Not to worry. I just thought I’d ask.’
Clara followed him to the door. ‘What sorts of things are missing?’
‘Oh, well, nothing major. Cigarettes, loose change.’ He gave a baffled laugh. ‘And socks.’
‘We’ll keep a look out,’ Clara promised and closed the door behind him. She came back frowning. She went to check under the mat by the fire. The key to the downstairs flat was there, in its usual place.
‘Mam?’
‘What?’ Patience eyed her.
Clara shook her head. ‘No, nothing.’
Two days later, Clara hurried her work and returned home earlier than usual. Patience was still in bed. Clara slipped downstairs and crouched in the tiny understairs cupboard, opposite Max’s door. She waited. Cramp seized her legs and she was on the point of giving up when the front door opened. She heard footsteps start up the stairs, then stop. Softly they turned and came back down again. A man’s tread stopped outside the downstairs flat door. Clara heard the scrape of a key in the lock. Was it Max? The door closed quietly.
She emerged, stretching her stiff limbs. Someone was in the flat, but was it her employer? She had to find out. If it was a stranger, she would run out into the street and shout for help. Heart beating fast, she tried the door. It opened directly into Max’s sitting room. A figure bending over his desk jerked round. They stared at each other in mutual horror.
‘Jimmy!’ Clara gasped, her worst fears confirmed. ‘What are you doing in here?’
He recovered quickly. ‘Door was open — came in to check nowt was wrong.’
‘Don’t lie,’ Clara said, furious, ‘I heard you unlock it. Give me that key.’
‘What key?’
She dashed forward and seized his hand, prising the key out of his grasp. It was new and shiny. ‘You’ve had your own cut,’ she cried in disgust. ‘How long you been stealing from Mr Sobel? Don’t deny it. Those cigarettes you’ve been fetching Mam — and the money — they’re all from here, aren’t they? You haven’t been working for anyone. You’re a common little thief!’ Clara was so angry that she slapped her brother on the cheek.
He pushed her back. ‘Leave off us,’ he cried. ‘He won’t mind. You said yourself he’s that untidy, he won’t even notice.’
Clara looked at him aghast. ‘That’s not the point. And anyhow, he has noticed. He came up to tell us two nights ago. I was that ashamed he might have thought it was me.’
‘Well, we need it more than he does.’ Jimmy was defensive. ‘It’s just a bit extra on your wages.’
Clara was livid. ‘Don’t you dare bring me into this. I earn those wages through hard graft. What you’re doing is stealing. And just cos it’s from a good man who might not condemn you doesn’t make it any less wrong.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Jimmy swallowed. ‘It’s these lads. They make me take things — say they’ll give us a hiding if I don’t.’
‘What lads?’ Clara said worriedly. ‘Not the Laidlaws?’
‘Aye,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘They’ve never let us alone since you paid them that money.’
Clara hunched in dismay. ‘Oh, Jimmy lad. You mustn’t let them threaten you.’
‘How can I stop ’em?’ He looked forlorn.
‘You’ll have to learn to stand up for yourself more,’ she sighed.
After a moment, Jimmy whispered. ‘You don’t have to tell Mr Sobel about this, do you?’
‘No,’ Clara said, forcing herself to be firm with him, ‘but you do.’
‘He’s a lawyer,’ Jimmy protested. ‘He’ll nick me.’
‘That’s up to him. But I tell you this for free; you stop your thieving right this minute or I’ll throw you out the house.’
He scowled. ‘Mam wouldn’t let yer.’
‘Mam doesn’t pay the rent,’ Clara snapped.
That evening, Clara marched Jimmy downstairs to confess to Max. He handed over the forged key, crimson-faced, and muttered an apology.
Max nodded, embarrassed. ‘Well, it was brave of you to own up. Thank you.’
‘And that’s not all,’ Clara prompted her brother.
Jimmy mumbled, ‘Aye. I’ll pay you back by doing jobs — clean yer shoes, yer windows, fetch stuff.’
Max shrugged, but Clara said, ‘Don’t you let him off, Mr Sobel.’
Later, in bed, Clara talked it over with a shocked Patience.
‘What we going to do with him?’ Clara sighed.
‘I blame myself,’ Patience whispered. ‘I should’ve kept an eye on what he was up to. Our Jimmy a thief! I’m sorry, pet. I’m no use to you anymore. It’s just since your father died — my nerves. . .’ She broke off.
Clara cradled her in the dark. ‘Don’t upset yourself. You’ll get better.’
Patience cried into her shoulder. ‘I’m that lucky to have you, lass. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’
‘You won’t have to, Mam,’ Clara promised, cuddling her like a child.
***
The next day, Clara came to a decision. After cleaning at the offices, she washed, brushed out her hair, put on her best clothes and went down to Craven’s boxing hall. Dolly gave her a condescending smile, but told her Vincent was in a meeting with another promoter from London. Clara hung around waiting. When he eventually emerged, he was escorting a buxom, well-dressed woman and laughing about some fight.
Spotting Clara, he smiled with surprise and introduced them.
‘Madame Gautier’s up from London,’ he explained. This is Clara — daughter of Harry Magee. You remember Harry, welterweight champion before the War?’
The women nodded at each other. Clara said, ‘Sorry. I can come back later.’
‘No, no.’ Vinnie stopped her. ‘We’re having a late lunch in town, before Madame Gautier’s train. I’ve a few minutes.’
He called his mother over to look after the promoter and ushered Clara into his office.
She had never been in before. It was immaculately furnished with comfortable chairs, a roll-top desk and a large cabinet holding silver trophies. The walls were lined with photos of boxers and their coaches. A deep red carpet deadened the noise of their shoes. It was like an oasis of peace and comfort amid the noisy, draughty hall and its warren of rooms. Vinnie steered her into a seat. The room smelled of polish and hyacinths. There was a bowl of the white and blue flowers on a stand in the window. The glass beyond an iron grille was frosted, allowing no view of the drab riverside street beyond.
Clara stopped staring around her and came to the point. ‘It’s Jimmy. He’s been in a bit of bother.’
Vinnie was full of concern. ‘Is he hurt?’
‘Not that kind of bother. Stealing,’ she said, glancing away, ‘for other lads.’
‘I see. Do you need money to pay someone off?’ he asked.
Clara looked at him in surprise and shook her head. ‘I want — I wondered if you could find Jimmy a job? Not just hanging around with lads outside here, waiting for the odd errand.’ She eyed him boldly. ‘I mean a proper job; an apprenticeship or something. You have contacts, businesses. He won’t listen to me or Mam, but he will to you, Mr Craven. He looks up to you. And there must be something he could do. Even if it’s for hardly any pay. It’s not the money that’s important; it’s keeping him off the streets where he’s getting into mischief. It’s giving him something to do. Toughen him up so he won’t keep getting picked on by older lads. Cos sooner or later our Jimmy’s going to get caught stealing for them. The shame would kill Mam.’
For a long mo
ment he gazed at her with his shrewd dark eyes. Suddenly he reached out and covered her hand with his. Hers was trembling, his was warm and reassuring.
‘He’s a lucky lad, having such a caring sister,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve got guts coming here and asking. Do you know how many times I get people knocking on me door asking favours for little Tommy or Jimmy or whoever? Just cos they were friendly with me dad and think the world owes them a living.’
‘I’m not asking favours,’ Clara bristled. ‘It’s just you said to come to you for help if we needed it.’
‘And now you do?’ Vinnie fixed her with his unblinking look.
Clara found it impossible to look away. She nodded.
He smiled. ‘Of course I’ll try to do something for Jimmy. He’s a canny young ’un.’
‘Yes. He just needs steering in the right direction,’ Clara agreed.
Vinnie nodded. ‘Bit discipline and hard work, it’s amazing what it does to a lad. But only if they’re led right. Got to have loyalty. Got to have the right man at the top — firm but fair.’
Clara watched him. She had not seen this side of Vinnie, the firm taskmaster. She was used to the suave businessman, the charming ladies’ man, the show-off. She was encouraged by this more serious outlook. It was just what her brother needed to keep him from petty crime and the influence of wilder lads.
‘We’ll see what we can do,’ Vinnie said, patting her hand. ‘Send Jimmy down here tomorrow and I’ll have a word.’
‘Thank you.’ Clara smiled and stood up. She allowed him to take her by the elbow and guide her out.
Within the week, Jimmy was boasting proudly that he was going to be working at Craven’s garage.
‘I’m just cleaning cars and running errands to start with,’ he said excitedly, ‘but any free time, I’m allowed in the gym. Mr Craven says I’ll be a champ like me dad some day. And he’s giving me a bit pocket money. Tide me over till he sees how I go.’
Clara glanced at Patience. She had sworn her mother to secrecy over the visit to Vinnie. Her mother smiled back.
‘That’s grand news, son, really grand.’
‘Aye,’ Clara agreed. ‘Good for you.’ Silently, she prayed that this might be the turning point in their fortunes. Though she would never admit that to Vinnie Craven.
Chapter 12
1932
It was on one of the walking trips with the Lewises that the suggestion of journalism first came up. Frank fell into step beside Clara as they walked along a coastal path north of Whitley Bay. She glanced back nervously at Lillian, but she was deep in conversation with Reenie. The spring air was bracing and Frank had to lean towards her to be heard. Clara’s heart thumped with familiar excitement.
‘How is work?’ he asked.
‘Regular but dull,’ she admitted. ‘Mr Sobel’s canny, but it’s lonely working in the early morning when no one’s around. Sometimes I stay on at the newspaper office and make them cups of tea; just to have a bit chat before I go home. Mam’s started going down the boxing hall of a morning - making coffee for Dolly Craven and helping out. Sometimes she does a bit at the garage so she can keep an eye on our Jimmy. It’s grand that she’s feeling better and we need every extra penny—’ She broke off, blushing. ‘Sorry, I’m gabbling as usual.’
He smiled. ‘I like you gabbling.’
Clara laughed, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. They walked on in silence, side by side, Clara searching for something to keep him in conversation.
‘I wish I could be a reporter at the paper and not just sweep up their mess,’ she blurted out. Immediately she regretted speaking her thoughts. Frank would laugh at her for having such pretensions.
‘Why don’t you?’ he replied. She eyed him but he looked quite serious.
‘It’s just a daft dream,’ she said. ‘I can’t even write.’
‘You keep a diary, don’t you?’
Clara’s eyes widened. ‘How do you know that?’
‘You mentioned it once after you’d had some bother with a tramp,’ Frank answered. ‘Said you put all your thoughts down and it helped you work things out.’
Clara covered her face. ‘Did I?’
‘Aye.’ He smiled. ‘And you said you’d kept a diary since you were twelve and Reenie couldn’t get over it - she didn’t even know you had one.’
‘Fancy you remembering.’ Clara laughed. ‘Well, it’s true, but it doesn’t mean I can write things in a newspaper.’
‘No,’ Frank agreed, ‘but you don’t need to be a great writer for that. What matters more is an eye for a story — being inquisitive about things, about people.’
‘Being nosy, you mean? I can do that all right.’ She grinned. ‘But where would I start? They’re never going to ask the cleaner for stories.’
‘Do you read the Tyne Times?’ Frank asked her.
Clara nodded. ‘I fish the old copies out the bin and take them home for a read.’
‘So you know the kinds of stories they like,’ he went on. ‘Local news and sport mostly, a bit of gossip about well-known people, the odd disaster.’
‘Yes,’ Clara agreed, ‘they love a hard-luck story or man-makes-good type of tale.’
‘Look for your own stories,’ Frank encouraged her. ‘Use the contacts that you have which the staff reporters don’t. Boxers, for instance. You could get an interview with Danny Watts or one of the young lads coming through under Vinnie Craven. For a lot of these lads it’s the only way out of poverty and unemployment.’
‘They don’t like anything too political, mind.’ Clara was doubtful.
‘That’s where your skill as a reporter comes in,’ Frank told her. ‘You tell them a story but underneath the message is clear; the working class bear the brunt in any slump. Capitalism has failed.’
Clara snorted. ‘Not sure my writing’s up to all of that. The Admiral’s very sensitive to words like capitalism. “Dash it, Magee, we’re not writing a Bolshevik manifesto,”’ she mimicked.
Frank chuckled. ‘Who’s the Admiral?’
‘The editor, Lance Jellicoe,’ Clara explained. ‘It’s his nickname.’
‘After Lord Jellicoe, the admiral?’ Frank guessed.
Clara nodded. ‘They’re not related, but he loves people to think they are. And he loves sport, so a boxing story might be a good idea.’ Clara’s interest quickened. ‘Or I could write about this hiking group — the new craze for fresh air and exercise — couldn’t I?’
‘Aye.’ Frank nodded. ‘Tell them how the Socialists are looking after the bodies as well as the minds of ordinary people.’
Clara nudged him. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Never,’ he murmured, ‘and neither should you. Keep writing, Clara, till the Admiral takes your stories.’
He met her excited look. Her insides lurched at the intense blue of his eyes. She never had summoned up the courage to tell him how she felt. They were so rarely alone like this and even now she could hear the others gaining on them, as the path widened into a field of sheep.
‘Hey.’ Benny caught them up. ‘What you two plotting? Revolution?’ He threw an arm possessively round Clara.
‘Nothing less, Benny lad.’ Frank smiled and slowed his pace. The next moment, Benny and Clara were ahead and he was dropping back to wait for the others.
‘Tell me what you were saying.’ Benny grinned, putting his head next to hers. ‘You were that close you looked sewn together. Lillian was so worried, she sent me to spy on you.’
Clara felt annoyance. ‘There was no need. Frank was just asking about work. He thinks I should try my hand at newspaper stories.’
‘You be a journalist?’ Benny sounded astonished.
Clara pulled away. ‘And why not? Do you think I’m not up to it cos I’m a Magee and not a brainy Lewis?’
Benny was quick to reassure her. ‘No, it’s a grand idea. You’d make a canny reporter. I’d spill the beans to you, any day.’
‘I’m serious,’ Clara huffed.
‘So am
I,’ Benny said, ‘and I’ll do anything I can to help; keep me ears open at the barber’s for any news. You’d be amazed what people tell you.’
‘Aye, that’s what I need,’ Clara enthused, ‘a big story to make them sit up and notice me at the paper.’
‘That’s my lass,’ Benny said proudly, kissing her swiftly on the cheek before she could dodge away.
At the end of the hike, Clara was so euphoric about the idea of writing for the newspaper that she agreed to go with Benny to the pictures the following Wednesday. He teased her during the newsreels, keeping up a low commentary about reporter Magee until someone behind told him to be quiet. He plied her with chocolates and made her laugh. Afterwards he walked her home all the way to Minto Street, their chatter about the film never stopping. She had the key in the lock and the door half open when he pulled her back into the dark and kissed her roundly on the lips.
Clara should not have been surprised. Benny had been angling to walk out with her for ages. Yet it was a shock to feel his lips on hers; moist, enthusiastic, playful. Her first proper kiss. Momentarily, her pulse quickened. She felt grown up, excited. But then she looked at his boyish good looks, his eager face, and remembered that this was Benny. She felt the same mix of affection and irritation that she had for her brother. She was not in love with him. Right up until this moment, Clara had not been quite sure. Now she was.
When he bent towards her again, she pulled away. ‘Night, Benny,’ she said firmly, stepping through the door. ‘Thanks for a canny evening.’
‘Can we do this again?’ he asked.
‘Go to the pictures, you mean?’
‘Aye, that’s what I mean.’ He grinned. He looked so hopeful.
‘Maybes,’ she half agreed.
‘Champion!’ he said, as she closed the door.
That probably would have been the end of it, if Patience had not made such a fuss. Jimmy had been out in the street that night and seen the kiss in the doorway. He had told his mother out of amusement, but the next evening Patience rounded on her daughter.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 12