by Jenny Holmes
‘Keep your hair on,’ Stan grunted at Eddie as he tried to free himself but only succeeded in putting a foot through one of the crates. Angered by this, he lowered his head and butted Eddie in the chest, knocking the air out of him and sending him back against the cellar steps.
‘Stop it, both of you!’ Violet pleaded. ‘Tell him, Stan. Tell Eddie that there’s nothing going on between us.’
Too late – Eddie was back on his feet and charging Stan, catching him with such force that his adversary staggered back inside his lodgings and disappeared from view, crate and all.
Eddie piled into the cellar room after him, leaving the onlookers bemused.
‘What have you been up to, you naughty girl?’ the mother of the baby asked Violet with a knowing wink.
‘Fighting over you, are they?’ one of the men asked, casting an appreciative eye over Violet. ‘I can’t say I blame them. Can you, Jack?’
Still breathless and with her head starting to spin, Violet ran down the steps. Her aim was to separate Eddie and Stan before either of them did the other serious harm, but when she entered Stan’s room she found them still going at it hammer and tongs, landing punches to jaw and chest then grappling at close quarters. Finally, Eddie succeeded in getting Stan down onto the stone-flagged floor. He knelt over him and raised his fist to deal another blow. Just in time Violet grabbed his wrist with both hands and pulled with all her weight, dragging Eddie off balance and giving Stan the chance to roll sideways and spring back up. She darted between them and raised both hands to keep them apart like a referee in a boxing match.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she told Stan, whose head was already lowered ready for another charge. ‘And, Eddie – if you carry on like this, cross my heart I’ll never speak to you again!’
It was enough to make them lower their fists and take a moment to consider. Eddie saw that Stan’s foot was still stuck in the ridiculous crate and Stan noticed that blood trickled from a cut on Eddie’s cheek. Standing between them, Violet’s face was pale and her hair tangled. Her chest heaved, her eyes flashed with anger.
‘I mean it, Eddie. You can’t go flying off the handle just because Ida and the rest of them got hold of the wrong end of the stick. And, Stan, this is what happens when you don’t take no for an answer. Whatever I do to try to put you off your stride, people notice what you get up to and they talk!’
Bending to pull the crate apart and extricate his foot, Stan was the first to admit he was wrong. ‘Violet’s right – I took things too far. You know what I’m like, Eddie.’
‘Yes, you’re a blithering idiot,’ Eddie muttered as Stan stood up straight again. ‘But I also happen to know you’d take up with Violet at the drop of a hat and you wouldn’t care about anybody else – only yourself.’
‘And what does that say about me, you two talking about me as if I was a piece of property to be passed between you?’ Violet intervened again. ‘Eddie, do you think that Stan can whisper sweet nothings behind your back and that I’ll fall for them, even after I’ve told you that you’re the one I’m interested in?’ She was angry now and didn’t care that the cut on her beloved’s face was bleeding or that a swelling had appeared under his eye. ‘I told you there was nothing in it but you didn’t even let me explain my side of the story before you dashed off. And now this is what happens.’
‘I saw red,’ Eddie admitted. ‘I didn’t stop to think.’
‘Well, you should have.’
‘You’re right – I should.’ He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand then began to set straight some of the furniture that had been disturbed during the brief scuffle. An upturned kitchen chair had suffered a broken leg and the cast-iron kettle was up-skittled from its hob on the open range.
‘See!’ Stan chided. ‘I may be a blithering idiot, but you’re the hot head here.’
‘Stan!’ Violet warned against his latest challenge. ‘He is – he woke me up and had a go at me for nothing – just like your Uncle Donald.’
She shook her head and glared at him until he backed down.
‘All right then – for me having a bit of fun, that’s all … What? That’s just me, isn’t it? And you can’t blame me for trying … Oh, all right, if it’s an apology that you’re after …’
‘It is,’ Violet said calmly. Now that she knew exactly what she had to say and do, her breathing grew more even and she felt strangely calm.
‘Then I’m sorry, Eddie,’ Stan mumbled, shamefaced and rubbing the elbow that he’d grazed during his fall onto the stone floor.
She tugged at his shirtsleeve. ‘Don’t apologize to him, you simpleton – say it to me!’
Stan turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry, Violet. It won’t happen again.’
‘Apology accepted,’ she declared, head held high as she made for the open door and climbed the cellar steps.
Eddie followed soon after. ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he offered humbly, catching her by the hand when she reached the railings.
‘I can walk myself home, thank you,’ she said loud and clear, freeing her hand and walking boldly on.
‘Good for you, love,’ the first-floor mother called down. ‘That’ll show him.’
‘Go on, go after her,’ one of the tweed jackets advised Eddie.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ the other countered. ‘Not until she’s calmed down a bit.’
Violet ignored them all. She walked up Canal Road without a backward glance, leaving Eddie stranded and floundering.
Good for you, Violet. She heard Winnie echo the stranger’s praise. Eddie Thomson will soon come knocking on your door cap in hand – just you wait and see.
True enough, straight after work on Monday Eddie appeared at Jubilee with a bunch of pink roses. He shuffled sheepishly into the shop as Muriel was pulling down the blinds and Ida was cashing up the day’s takings. From the back kitchen where she was re-stacking catalogues, Violet heard his voice asking for her but she didn’t immediately go through.
‘What are the flowers for?’ Muriel asked dubiously. ‘I thought roses were for Valentine’s Day and that was months ago.’
‘They’re to say sorry to Violet for being such a clown yesterday,’ Ida informed her with a knowing look.
‘And whose fault was that?’ Eddie retorted. ‘If you lot hadn’t ganged up on her around the dinner table, none of this would have happened.’
‘I’ve already said sorry, haven’t I?’ Ida said with her usual jauntiness.
‘None of what?’ Muriel was bemused by the bad feeling between Eddie and Ida who normally got on so well. ‘No, don’t tell me – I’ve a feeling I’d rather not know. Eddie, wait here while I find out if Violet wants to see you.’
Bustling from the shop into the kitchen, Muriel found there was no need to bring Violet up to speed with what was happening because she’d overheard every word.
‘How many roses has he brought me?’ Violet asked in a whisper, drawing Muriel into the furthest corner.
‘Twelve, I think. Nicely wrapped in paper from Blamey’s florists on Ghyll Road. Why?’
‘Because I want to know how sorry he is.’
‘Very, by the look of him.’
Violet took her time to decide what to do. ‘All right, listen to me. I want you to ask Eddie to leave the roses on the counter for me.’
‘Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather speak to him face to face?’
‘Not yet. Tell him I’ll be in touch when I’m ready.’
Muriel shook her head and sighed. ‘Poor Eddie.’
‘“Poor Eddie” nothing! He has to realize how much he hurt my feelings before I see fit to forgive him. I will, of course, but don’t tell him that.’
So Muriel took Violet’s stern message back to a hangdog Eddie, who left the flowers on the counter and traipsed out of the shop.
‘The course of true love …’ Muriel muttered as Violet brought a jug of water from the kitchen and arranged the roses in it before carrying them upstairs to her room.
‘I’m not altogether to blame,’ Ida claimed. ‘Yes, I’m sorry to have stirred up a hornets’ nest, but anyone could have made the same mistake, the way Stan carries on.’
‘Ah!’ Muriel put two and two together. ‘So that’s where Eddie got that nasty cut on his cheek.’
For a while after this, Violet sewed in the attic workroom and served behind the counter, her confidence in both roles growing as she proved her worth.
‘A yard of red taffeta ribbon, two yards of elastic, half a dozen mother of pearl buttons …’ She totted up items on the list that Lizzie Turner had brought in on the Thursday dinner time.
‘Make it snappy,’ Lizzie said with an anxious eye on the clock. ‘Old Man Hutchinson will dock my pay if I’m late back.’
‘Yes, a leopard never changes his spots,’ Violet sympathized as she showed Lizzie the total and took the exact money.
‘Ta very much,’ Lizzie said as she hurried off.
Three yards of cream lampshade trimming … Size 8 knitting needles … Five yards of pink rayon … Butterick pattern number 568. Violet was kept busy in the shop all afternoon while Muriel and Ida sewed upstairs.
At half past five, when she was ready to lock up, she saw with a sinking heart that a familiar car had pulled up outside and knew that this meant she had one last – and unwelcome – customer to deal with.
Preparing herself, Violet retreated behind the counter. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Barlow,’ she said above the tinkling of the bell. ‘How can I help you?’
Alice Barlow, dressed in a dove-grey costume and matching hat with a dainty veil that came down over her eyes, looked all around the shop before she settled her critical gaze on Violet. ‘I was hoping to speak to someone more senior.’
‘Of course. Please wait a moment while I fetch Miss Thomson.’
‘No, no, I don’t have time. My husband’s waiting in the car and all I need from you is a lace doily for my dressing-table. I suppose you know the sort I mean.’
Violet went straight to the doily drawer. ‘Certainly, Mrs Barlow. What size would you like? We have round doilies, crocheted by hand – five or seven inches in diameter, or an oval one that measures four inches across by six inches in length—’
‘Oh, good heavens, how would I know the size? Do you think I spend my time measuring things?’
‘Perhaps you could take a sample of each home with you, try them and then return those you don’t need,’ Violet suggested, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Colin Barlow emerging from the Daimler and crossing the pavement.
‘Yes, wrap them as quickly as you can.’ Imperious as ever, Alice Barlow’s powdered face creased into a frown as the bell rang and her husband came in.
‘Well, if it isn’t our little hedgerow flower,’ he said the moment he spied Violet. ‘Growing more beautiful with each day that passes, I see.’
‘Really, Colin, there was no need for you to follow me in,’ his wife remonstrated. Deeply irritated by his opening gambit, she automatically turned her anger on Violet. ‘If you weren’t all fingers and thumbs, I’d have been in and out of here without having to keep my husband waiting.’
‘Leave the poor girl alone,’ he objected with a sly wink behind his wife’s back. ‘She’s doing her best. And besides, I’m enjoying the view.’
Luckily for Violet, Ida chose this moment to come downstairs and take Colin Barlow discreetly to one side. There was an amount outstanding on the latest alterations they’d carried out on Mrs Barlow’s dresses, plus an unpaid bill for more lingerie items and Ida wondered, since he was here, if she could trouble him for the money he owed.
‘It’s not convenient,’ he replied, unabashed.
‘And when would be convenient?’ Ida asked, bright as one of the buttons she stocked.
‘The next time I’m passing, whenever that happens to be. Why – you don’t think I’ll abscond without paying my debts, do you?’
Ida bristled at the cavalier reply. She looked him in the eye, one shopkeeper to another. ‘Of course not. But here at Jubilee we like to keep our books in order. Would you rather I sent you a reminder in a letter?’
‘No need, I assure you.’ Colin Barlow tipped the brim of his panama and held open the door for his wife, who was ready to leave. ‘Au revoir, ma cherie, as the French say,’ he told Violet with a flourish.
The door closed. Ida and Violet grimaced. Violet pulled down the blind.
‘I’ll give him until the end of the month to pay up,’ Ida decided. ‘After that, the Barlows will get nothing else on tick – not a single button or a reel of cotton until they’ve paid us what they owe.’
The roses had wilted in their jug and Stan had taken an excited Evie to the Victory a second time before Eddie finally plucked up the courage to seek Violet out again.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Ida had asked during one of the evenings that she’d found her brother sitting aimlessly by the quarry pond, staring into its murky depths. ‘Why don’t you find out where you stand with Violet once and for all?’
He’d given her the main reason why not – that Violet might send him away again with a flea in his ear. ‘Then what do I do?’
‘She won’t,’ Ida had predicted.
He’d picked up a stone and thrown it into the water. ‘Why, has she said something to you?’
‘No – I can just tell. Call it women’s intuition.’
The conversation nudged Eddie into action so that on Friday after work he rode his newly repaired bike down Chapel Street and parked it outside Jubilee.
Up in the workroom, Violet’s heart missed a beat when she heard the engine cut out.
‘It’s him.’ Ida gave Violet an encouraging smile.
‘Violet!’ Muriel soon called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Eddie’s here.’
Take a deep breath, Violet told herself. Don’t rush. ‘Shall I ask him to wait?’ Muriel asked.
‘No need. I’m on my way.’ Put down scissors, brush white thread from skirt. Though Violet’s heart was racing, she went down slowly and sedately. Muriel passed her on the first-floor landing, giving her the same kind of smile as Ida, accompanied by a reassuring pat on the arm.
‘Don’t you dare say “poor Eddie”!’ Violet whispered, gliding on down the stairs. Her nervous beau stood marooned in a sea of buttons and lace, ribbon and yarn. The cut on his cheek was healed, his tweed jacket unbuttoned.
‘Hello, Eddie,’ she said as calmly as she could.
‘Hello, Vi. Have you clocked off work?’ He saw that her face was flushed and there was still a thread of cotton clinging to the front of her red dress. ‘If you have, I wondered if you fancied walking up to the Common with me.’
‘That would be nice,’ she agreed primly.
So far, so good. Eddie took a deep breath and held open the door. Violet walked through and he caught a whiff of her flowery perfume. What was it again? That’s right – lily of the valley.
‘Are you working tonight?’ Violet asked nonchalantly as they made their way up the hill past Sykes’ and Hutchinson’s. Children played the usual hopscotch and skipping games, or else kicked a ball against a wall. Mothers called them in for their teas.
‘Yes. I have to be at the Victory by seven.’
They passed Chapel Street Costumiers then the chapel itself before reaching the junction with Over-cliffe Road. Men and women from the mills cycled home in droves, dodging in between cars and buses, shouting their goodbyes. At last there was a gap for Eddie and Violet to link arms and make their way across.
‘We could have picked a better evening for a walk,’ Violet remarked. A cool wind blew from the exposed moors onto the Common and a bank of bruise-blue clouds gathered on the horizon. She kept her arm linked through his, he noticed.
‘Would you like my jacket?’ Breaking free and slipping it off without waiting for an answer, Eddie draped it around Violet’s shoulders. They shared their walk with a man and his dog and then a girl pushing a pram. Otherwise the Common was deserte
d except for the dray horses from Thornley’s, left out to graze overnight.
‘Did you see Stan and Evie at the Victory the other night?’ Violet dropped the subject into the conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world rather than her trying to prove a point.
‘I ran into them afterwards,’ Eddie said. Here was the topic of Stan raising its ugly head again, he thought uneasily.
‘Evie said they had a nice time.’
Eddie stopped and drew her arm through his again then anchored it firmly in the crook of his arm. He didn’t say anything – only looked deep into her eyes. His beseeching gaze melted the last scrap of Violet’s intention to maintain the upper hand. She’d kept it up long enough, she decided, as she stopped to run her fingertips over the mark on his cheek. ‘That cut could have spoiled your good looks. I’m glad it didn’t.’
‘You think this is bad? You should see Stan’s face,’ he quipped.
‘And he was no oil painting to start with.’
They laughed and walked on.
‘Joking aside,’ Violet continued, ‘it was never Stan I was bothered about – it was you. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘I do now.’ Eddie kept his hand over Violet’s. The anxiety that had built up inside his chest over the last few days slowly began to ease. ‘I’ve been an idiot but thank you for sticking with me.’
‘In a way, I was flattered,’ Violet admitted. ‘I’ve never had two men fighting over me before. But, remember, Eddie, I’d given you my word.’
‘I know. I should’ve listened to your side of the story before I lost my rag. I’m sorry.’ The wind on the Common took their words and blew the difficulties clean away, making Violet wonder if now was the time to come clean over her problems with Colin Barlow. But Eddie moved on too quickly for her. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, wondering how I could make things right between us.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said simply, moving closer and matching her steps to his.
He felt the sway of her walk and the warmth of her body encased in his jacket. ‘I went round in circles and kept coming back to the same topic.’