by Rosie Clarke
‘Mother and I always enjoyed a glass of sherry in the evenings,’ Gwen said. ‘You apply for the licence if you want, Emma. It won’t affect me either way.’ She looked at me eagerly. ‘When can I move in?’
‘I could take you down tomorrow if you like?’
‘The sooner the better,’ she said. ‘Mother’s cousin is dealing with the cottage. He will send on the things I want and sell the rest. There’s a market for second-hand furniture at the moment, and clothes. Of course I shan’t sell her clothes, though she had some nice things.’
I stared at Gwen thoughtfully. I hadn’t thought much about what it must be like to lose everything until now. But people who were bombed out would have only the clothes they were wearing. All of a sudden, something Jane Melcher had said to me was adding up with my aunt’s casual remarks.
‘If you do decide to sell your mother’s clothes, would you let me see them first?’
‘Of course.’ Gwen looked surprised. ‘I doubt you would want them, Emma, though the material is good. Years ago, Mother bought only the best. I know some people might think they were worth a few shillings – to cut up and make into rugs or quilts, but as you know, I’m not a needlewoman.’
‘I think they might be suitable to be remade into something wearable,’ I said. ‘The government is always telling is to use our imagination and save materials. You’ve given me an idea. I’m not sure it will come to anything, but save her personal things for the moment, please. Anything at all you think is attractive or useful.’
‘You can have them and welcome,’ Gwen said. ‘I packed the best things in a trunk by themselves. I’ll ask Philip to have it sent direct to you.’
‘Thank you. I’ll look through them, then I’ll be in touch before I do anything.’
I looked through the box that Gwen had given me that evening. The silver compact and fan were pretty, and things that I would always keep to remind me of Grandmother Robinson, but it was the letters that interested me most. Letters from my father to his mother.
I had always been curious about my father’s life before he came to March, and getting to know my grandmother had only partially satisfied that interest. Now I discovered that she had kept letters from before the time I was born, when Harold Robinson first met my mother …
Tears stung my eyes as I read of his excitement at opening up his own shop and his hopes for the future … then his feelings when he was getting married.
‘Greta is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,’ he had written.
I didn’t think she would have me, but I’ve managed to persuade her. I think it best you don’t come for the wedding. He might make things awkward for you, and there’s no point in causing more rows than you need. I am enclosing ten pounds, and I shall send more when I can.
There were letters telling of his marriage, of my birth, and then a gap of several months. When he wrote again, his letter was very brief and made no mention of either me or my mother. He did not mention either of us for three years, then he began to write about me, telling his mother how bright I was for my age – but never any word about my mother.
I closed the last of the letters, written just a month before he died. Not once had he mentioned the true reason for my marriage, or that it had been a mistake. Obviously, he had not wanted his mother to know of the part he had played, perhaps out of a sense of shame.
I felt sad as I put the letters away in a drawer. How different all our lives might have been if my father had not been so bitter.
Margaret was right to say that we must all make the most of our chances to be happy. Once gone, that chance did not always come again.
I took Gwen down to March the next day. My mother had been in and cleaned the rooms for her and she was waiting to welcome us with a cup of tea and one of her fatless sponges.
‘You are very welcome,’ she told Gwen. ‘Emma has spoken well of you, and I’m glad we’ve finally met after all these years. Harold never mentioned his family to me. I was angry when you first wrote – but I’m over it now. I hope we shall be friends.’
My aunt nodded her agreement. ‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t be, Greta. I’ve had nothing but kindness from Emma, and I mean to do my best to repay her.’
‘If you’re fair with us, I’ll be fair with you.’
I watched them sizing each other up and was a little amused, since I knew they would both be trying to win my good opinion. They were much the same age. Both had been restricted by circumstance and duty for years, now they were both free to live as they pleased. I hoped they would come to appreciate each other, and I sensed a certain rivalry.
I stayed with my mother that night, leaving Gwen to settle into her new home alone. In the morning she and I opened the shop together. We checked the stock list, finding that a few items were missing. Sheila must have miscounted the bottles of spirits. We were short of two bottles of gin and a hundred cigarettes.
‘You should speak to your lawyer, Emma. She owes you money,’ Gwen said.
‘It doesn’t matter. We both know where we are, Gwen. We’ll start from here.’
By lunch time we had gone through everything Gwen needed to know. Watching her serve the few customers who came in, I was convinced that she would cope easily. For years she had cared for her invalid mother and balanced their meagre income. By comparison, the shop would be simple for her to manage.
Satisfied that she was settling in, I left her to it and went to visit Mrs Henty. Half an hour later I was on my way home.
‘This came for you,’ Margaret said as I went into the sitting room the next morning. She smiled and my heart missed a beat as I looked at the handwriting. It was a letter from Jack. ‘Run away and read it, my dear. We can talk later, when you’re ready.’
‘No, I’ll read it later,’ I said, sitting opposite her. ‘There has been so much to do recently that we’ve hardly had time to talk. How are you?’
‘I’m just the same,’ she said. ‘Tired but no worse than usual. Please don’t worry, Emma. I dare say I shall go on this way for ever.’
‘I do hope so – oh, not that you should feel tired, of course.’
‘I know exactly what you meant.’ She smiled in understanding. ‘You are like a daughter to me, Emma.’
‘You’ve been like a second mother to me.’
‘I’m glad you are happy here with us.’
‘Yes, I am. Very …’ I paused, then as I suddenly thought of something, ‘Oh, I wanted to talk to you, Margaret. Do you remember telling me once that you had some dresses you would never wear again?’
‘Yes, of course. I said you could have them – would you like to have them now?’
‘I was thinking I might buy them from you,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure how much they would sell for …’
‘Are you thinking of having a stall in Petticoat Lane?’ She looked intrigued, amused.
‘Not a stall – a shop.’ I laughed. My thoughts were still forming, still tentative. ‘It’s just an idea at the moment. Something Jane Melcher said about women liking to exchange clothes. Gwen was talking about her mother’s things. Apparently, my grandmother had some good clothes years ago. Second-hand clothes are not subject to rationing. I wondered if some women had clothes they could no longer wear because they simply don’t fit … they might like to sell or exchange them. We would give them a value for theirs and make a charge for our service or simply buy and sell …’
Margaret looked interested. ‘I think that’s a good idea, Emma. If you could make sure everything was good quality. You wouldn’t want the kind of thing they sell in the flea market.’
‘Oh no,’ I said, warming to my theme as we talked. ‘If it is to work, the idea must appeal to women like Jane Melcher. But I don’t see why it shouldn’t work. There must be lots of women who are bored with their own clothes at the moment, don’t you think so? Some of them are good at sewing; they would probably buy just for the material …’
Margaret’s eyes sparkled with interest. ‘How clev
er you are, Emma. I think this is very exciting.’ She stood up. ‘Shall we go upstairs and see what we can find?’
‘Are you sure you are not too tired?’
‘Do you know,’ she said. ‘I suddenly feel much better. Let’s go now, Emma – unless you want to read your letter first?’
‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘It will keep. I would like to look through your wardrobes, Margaret. Jane was right, looking at other women’s clothes is fascinating. And I love clothes, don’t you? Even things that have been put away and not worn for years.’
Margaret agreed. ‘Oh yes. When I was young I spent a fortune on them! I haven’t bothered to open some of my wardrobes for ages. Everything is wrapped and will probably smell of mothballs, but they can be aired. At least everything is clean. I always had my special gowns cleaned before I put them away.’
The next hour was so exciting, rather like opening up an Aladdin’s cave. Before her illness, Margaret had loved to go out, and to entertain. She had one large wardrobe devoted to her evening clothes.
‘But these are wonderful!’ I exclaimed as I went through them, discovering expensive gowns she had bought in Paris years ago and worn perhaps once or twice at most. They had been kept so beautifully that the material looked new. ‘You can’t possibly bear to part with them, Margaret?’
‘Most of them would be too tight for me now, even if I had any use for them. I prefer something simpler these days, and I have gained almost a stone in weight since I was a young woman. Besides, they are old-fashioned. Some are still wearable, but others would be of use only to someone who was clever with her needle.’
‘That is exactly what I had in mind.’ My thoughts were racing ahead as I handled the rich velvets, silks and satins. ‘It is almost impossible to buy material this good at the moment. Even the trimmings – handmade buttons like these would thrill someone like Jane.’
She smiled at my enthusiasm. ‘If you want them, they are yours, Emma.’
‘Thank you.’ I did a rapid calculation in my head. ‘I saw a shop to let in Kensington High Street the other day. It was just a tiny place, but I know it would be big enough to start with, and the rent won’t be much. I’ll need to have it refurbished … buy rails, hangers, mirrors …’
‘Sol can help with those, but you’ll want one or two nice chairs and little tables to stand about,’ Margaret said. ‘Give the place a pleasant atmosphere, Emma. If you want people like Jane Melcher to feel comfortable, you must make them think it is fun to shop with you. It should be more like visiting friends than shopping. Go for something out of the ordinary … I know!’ She opened another large wardrobe, which contained costumes and day dresses. ‘Up there … on the shelf. I’m sure I kept it. A large fan made of ostrich feathers …’
I reached it down for her. It had been carefully wrapped in silk and looked as fresh as if it were new.
‘It was always far too big to use,’ Margaret said. ‘But it would be amusing to have on your wall – or as window dressing.’
‘Yes …’ I was beginning to see what she meant, and I knew it would appeal to Jane, and therefore her friends. ‘I see what you’re getting at. Something outrageous and fun … like the twenties. A time when everyone did what they liked and no one cared about the rules. It is a start, Margaret, and I could see what else Gwen has kept of her mother’s. There might be all kinds of things we could use to create the right mood, things she would only throw away.’
‘It will be like a breath of fresh air,’ Margaret said and laughed. ‘Everyone is so sick of the war, Emma. All we are told is that we must be prepared to make sacrifices. Of course we all do, every day, but there must be a lot of woman with money to spend who would enjoy buying from you – a little madness is sometimes a good thing. I am sure I have lots more things you could use. It doesn’t have to be just clothes. I have several beaded evening bags and shoes I’ve hardly worn.’
‘Oh, you are an angel,’ I cried and hugged her. ‘I shall never be able to repay you.’
‘I don’t want money, but I would like to share in the fun, Emma. Perhaps I could help in the shop. Just three afternoons a week. I get so bored sitting here day after day.’
I looked at her uncertainly. ‘Would Sol mind? He worries about you, Margaret.’
‘Too much sometimes,’ she said with a wistful air. ‘He would never have consented to my working – but this is different. I shan’t really be working. You won’t need to pay me, and we could have a regular woman to keep things tidy. I would just be there to talk to the customers and keep an eye on the staff for you.’
‘It might even make you feel better, being with other people.’
I looked at Margaret thoughtfully. Her air of weariness had lifted. She seemed brighter, more alive than usual.
‘Of course you can share the fun,’ I said. ‘I would love to share it all with you, Margaret. We shall have to reassure Sol that you won’t do too much, but if he agrees …’
‘He will have to,’ Margaret said, a gleam of determination in her eyes. ‘Why don’t you go out this morning and see if that shop is still to let?’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘I’ll take James with me. The fresh air will do him good.’
I did not read Jack’s letter until I was alone in my room that night. In a few short hours, I had signed the lease of my little shop, arranged for it to be painted inside and out, and spoken to Jane about my plans.
‘How marvellous,’ she exclaimed. ‘Darling Emma! How clever of you to think of it. I have several things I would love to exchange or sell, and I know my friends would be amused by the idea – especially if you will let me help out sometimes. They will all think it is so funny! I am sure we can make it a success.’
‘Margaret wants to help, too. She has thought of some unusual things for us to sell. How would it be if the three of us became partners? I’m not expecting to make lots of money, Jane. I just thought it would be exciting. Something to make us all forget about the war and the shortages.’
‘And you were right,’ Jane said. ‘But I see no reason why we shouldn’t make some money, too. Robert will be amazed. He won’t believe I am actually going to work! Oh, darling, you can’t imagine how thrilled I am.’ She went into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘Now tell me, Emma. What do you need? I can help with money or things – whichever you need most.’
‘We want it to look rather like a lady’s parlour,’ I explained. ‘We’ll have rails for the clothes, of course, but we wanted a couple of elbow chairs and a pretty settee – and some gilt-framed mirrors. Perhaps a glass-fronted cabinet to put small items in. You know the kind of thing, Jane. Do you have any spare curtains put away that we could use for the dressing rooms?’
‘I’m sure there are loads of things packed away in the attics, and I know there are a few pretty pieces of Edwardian furniture there. Robert doesn’t care for anything like that. He likes good solid oak or mahogany, so he wouldn’t mind us having them.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ I said. ‘And any clothes you don’t want, of course. We will put a value on them, and credit them to your share.’
‘You are so businesslike,’ Jane said, laughing again. ‘I’m sure we shall all make our fortunes.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ I replied. ‘But I think we shall all enjoy ourselves trying – and just think! We don’t have to worry about rules and regulations because everything is second-hand. It is going to be a bit like a church bazaar but in a London street.’
‘Oh, glorious,’ Jane said. ‘You must come and have lunch with me one day soon, Emma. We will raid the attics together. I know there are several trunks up there. Who knows what treasures we shall find!’
Margaret was enthusiastic when I told her of Jane’s reaction.
‘That will help make the shop a success,’ she said. ‘Jane knows all the right people, and she is popular. If she is seen to approve, others will follow her lead. It will give everyone an uplift to believe they are actually entering into the spirit of make do and mend, whil
e having lots of fun. We could give our customers tea, and possibly biscuits – home-made, of course.’
‘In a way the original idea was Jane’s,’ I said. ‘It all came from a chance remark at a party, and Gwen talking about her mother’s things – but you have made it all seem so much more exciting.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘No one else thought of the shop,’ she said. ‘That was your idea, Emma.’
I spoke to Sol about our plans that evening, stressing the lighter side of it and playing down the fact that we actually intended it to be a business.
‘Well, if it amuses you both,’ he said, smiling indulgently. ‘It may give Margaret an interest. As long as she doesn’t tire herself – and you don’t desert me. I shall still need you at the showroom, Emma.’
‘No, of course I shan’t desert you,’ I said. ‘I enjoy working with you, Sol. And I know you have enough problems. I promise I shall never leave you in the lurch, whatever happens.’
He nodded, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘I may be about to solve one of my problems. No, I shan’t tell you just yet. It may come to nothing. I’ll wait until I’m sure.’
‘As you like.’ I looked at him thoughtfully. ‘How is Sheila doing in the showroom? Are you pleased with her?’
He considered for a moment. ‘She’s bright enough in her way, and attractive. We’ll see how she shapes up. I dare say she will do. In any case, we are probably lucky to have her. We’re not exactly priority these days. The government soaks up all the best labour. If it wasn’t for Sheila’s daughter, they would probably take her away from us. It’s only because she claims to be needed at home for part of the day that we get away with it – much the same as you, Emma.’
‘Yes, I know.’
Sometimes I felt guilty. Perhaps I ought to be doing more vital work. I was still helping at the social club, of course, but other women were doing so much more: working on the land or in the factories.
‘I must get Sheila to do a few hours’ voluntary work,’ I said. ‘It all helps. Just in case someone decides you don’t need both of us.’