by Anna King
Relaxing slightly, Agnes picked her cup up and took a long swig before saying warily, ‘Yeah, sorry, Ellen. It just came as a bit of a surprise, that’s all. You asking fer my help, I mean.’
Anxious to put the older woman’s mind at rest, Ellen, cutting two large slices of sponge cake, said tentatively, ‘The thing is, Agnes, I’ve been trying to get Arthur to take a holiday, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. As far as I know he’s not had a holiday since his father died and that’s over 20 years ago.’ Handing over a generous slice of cake Ellen gave a short laugh. ‘Hark at me telling you something you already know. After all, you’ve known Arthur much longer than me. By what Arthur’s told me, his father was very fond of you, looking on you as part of the family. That’s why I’m asking you for help. You’re the only one I can think of to help me. Surely there’s some way to persuade Arthur to take a holiday, without worrying about losing the custom he’s built up over the years.’
Staring at Agnes over the top of her cup Ellen asked, ‘Can you help, Agnes? I mean, isn’t there someone who could see to the baking while you ran the shop? And of course you’d be compensated for the extra work. You might even think about taking some time off yourself later on in the year, because you’ve never had a holiday either. And with all the hard work you’ve put in over the years you deserve a break. But of course, that’s up to you. So, what do you think?’
Agnes’ mind was racing furiously. This was the last thing she had imagined Ellen would ask of her. Taking a bite out of the sponge cake she said, ‘How long was yer thinking of being away?’
Now it was Ellen’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Her voice hesitant she said, ‘I was thinking of two weeks… but I’d be happy with just a week,’ she added swiftly as she saw the surprised look on Agnes’ face.
‘Two weeks! Bleeding ’ell. You ain’t asking fer much, are yer? People like Arthur and me don’t go on holiday fer a fortnight. A long weekend in Southend is as much as we can look forward to.’
Ellen’s face fell in disappointment. ‘That’s just what Arthur said,’ she replied dismally. ‘Thanks anyway, Agnes, it was worth a try.’
‘Hold yer ’orses, Ellen. I said a weekend was all most people have, I didn’t say it was impossible. Give me a minute ter think, will yer?’
While Agnes consumed her cake, Ellen waited in trepidation. Then, putting her cup and plate down, Agnes nodded. ‘I might be able ter help. I ain’t promising, mind.’ She peered at Ellen.
‘Oh, no, I understand,’ Ellen answered eagerly. ‘I don’t expect you to come up with an answer tonight, but if you could think of anything I’d be ever so grateful.’
Silence settled on the room again with Ellen holding her breath expectantly, then Agnes, coming to a decision, said briskly, ‘I could ask Bill Cummins. He’s been retired for two years now, but he might be grateful fer two weeks’ work. Arthur knows Bill well. He’s a good baker, is Bill. And if yer trust me ter look after the shop fer a couple of weeks, and Bill agrees… Well, I don’t see as how Arthur could object, especially if yer work on him. He’d do anything ter keep yer happy, would Arthur.’ A note of bitterness had crept into Agnes’ voice. Rising to her feet she said, ‘I’ll go round ter Bill’s ’ouse tomorrow, and see what he says. Don’t get yer ’opes up though, but I’ll do me best.’ Getting to her feet she glanced at the book lying on the arm of Ellen’s chair and asked, ‘Good book, is it?’ She picked it up, her eyebrows rising. ‘Less Misérables. That sounds like a barrel of laughs. What’s it about anyway?’
Without stopping to think Ellen said, ‘Actually it’s pronounced, Les Misérables, and it’s a bit complicated to explain.’
Immediately Agnes went on the defensive. ‘In other words, I ain’t clever enough ter understand.’
‘Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant at all,’ Ellen said quickly, seeing the fragile truce disappearing. ‘I’m having trouble with it myself. Victor Hugo’s books are hard going. Basically it’s about a young man who steals a loaf of bread to feed his starving family and ends up spending 18 years in prison before escaping while on parole and a policeman who won’t give up looking for him. That’s the gist of it.’
Agnes’ eyebrows rose as she handed the heavy tome back to Ellen. ‘Eighteen years fer stealing a loaf of bread, that’s a bit steep, ain’t it?’
Ellen smiled. ‘Well, he had extra time added on for trying to escape, but the story was written nearly 30 years ago and set in France. I imagine their laws are much harsher than ours. At least, I would hope so.’
Finding the conversation increasingly difficult, Ellen began to fidget nervously. Here she was, discussing a literary classic, when it was painfully obvious that Agnes’ idea of a good read was a penny romance novel. An uncomfortable air pervaded the room as each woman tried hard to say something that would be of interest to them both, but it was no good. They simply had nothing in common.
Agnes was the first to speak. Standing up she said over-loudly, ‘Well! I’ll be off then. Like I said, I’ll pop round ter see Bill tomorrow, an’ I’ll let yer know what he says on Monday, all right?’
Relieved Agnes was going, Ellen smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Agnes. I really appreciate your help.’
Showing Agnes to the door Ellen hesitated slightly before putting out her hand in a gesture of friendship.
For a few awkward seconds her hand hovered uncertainly in the empty space between them. Then Agnes, her face betraying her embarrassment, reached out and clasped Ellen’s hand.
‘Yeah, well, I’ll do what I can.’ Agnes, her face averted in confusion, relinquished the soft palm.
‘’Bye, Agnes and, once again, thanks.’
Ellen had hardly closed the door when Arthur appeared from the bedroom. ‘What on earth did you ask her up here for?’ he demanded.
Swinging round, Ellen replied tartly, ‘I thought you wanted an early night. As for Agnes, it’s you that’s always moaning about me trying to get on better with her. And since she’s been a lot friendlier lately, I thought it only fair to meet her halfway.’
Wearing an ankle-length, striped nightshirt Arthur looked a comical figure, but his face wasn’t wreathed in his usual amiable smile. ‘Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve known Agnes a lot longer than you, Ellen, and I don’t trust her. If she’s being friendly, then she’s up to something, you mark my words.’ Running a hand over his thinning hair, Arthur looked deeply disturbed. He admitted to himself that in the beginning he had prayed for Agnes and Ellen to get on, but he had now changed his mind. In fact, he wanted rid of the woman whose very presence always caused him to feel guilty and uncomfortable. He wanted to forget the past, and he couldn’t do that while he was daily reminded of his brief, reckless fling all those years ago. His face reddening, Arthur mumbled, ‘Look, Ellen, she’s got to go. I know she’s been on her best behaviour lately, but to be truthful, I always feel uncomfortable in her presence. It’s time she went. She’d be better off. And I was thinking that maybe, once she’s gone, I could offer young Micky some extra work when he’s not working for Ted on the stall.’
Ellen’s face was like stone. ‘And who’s going to tell Agnes her services are no longer required, Arthur? Because don’t think I’m going to do your dirty work for you. If you want Agnes out of the shop, then you can tell her yourself. But I think it’s a pretty dirty trick to play on a woman who’s given the best part of her life to you.’
Ellen sat down, her face set. ‘I’m going to read for a while, Arthur. And I’d rather be on my own. Goodnight.’
* * *
Agnes was at the shop door when she remembered she’d left her shawl upstairs. She was outside the door of the dining room when she heard Arthur’s voice. And what he said made the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t believe it. Not only did he want her out, but he was intending to give her job to that little guttersnipe Micky Masters. Her feet like lead, Agnes, her shawl forgotten, slowly descended the stairs. Once out in the street she didn’t notice the chilly nip i
n the air. She didn’t notice anything. All she could hear was Arthur’s voice, and with each word she died a little inside. She was outside her house when she suddenly couldn’t face another night on her own. Turning round she made her way to the nearest pub. Maybe a couple of gins would wipe away the hurtful words she had overheard.
But they would still be there in the morning. They would be with her for the rest of her life.
Chapter Eight
It was just after ten-thirty when Agnes staggered out of the Red Lion, her legs stumbling as she drunkenly tried to negotiate the cobbled road.
Passing the fish and chip shop she was suddenly reminded she’d had nothing to eat since the slice of sponge cake Ellen had given her and that wasn’t enough for a woman of Agnes’ healthy appetite. Finding the heady aroma irresistible, she weaved into the shop and ordered plaice and chips.
Too hungry to wait until she reached home, Agnes tore at the greasy paper and began cramming the delicious, greasy food into her mouth.
As she turned into the next street she saw a youth running in front of her. Normally she wouldn’t have paid any attention. But even at this distance, she was sure she knew the young boy from somewhere. Her bleary eyes followed the running figure and when the boy passed under the street lamp on the other side of the road Agnes realised why the figure looked so familiar.
It was that brat, Micky Masters. Agnes followed Micky, not knowing why she was bothering, but powerless to stop herself. Finishing off the tasty meal, she threw the wrapping into the gutter, her eyes never leaving the figure in front of her. Then she stopped abruptly and ducked behind a wall as Micky furtively looked up and down the narrow street. Her forehead screwed in bewilderment as he stopped in front of a derelict house, before running inside.
A crafty smile crossed Agnes’ lips. So that was it, was it? No wonder the boy was always cagey whenever the subject of his parents and home came up. The little bleeder was a runaway, though obviously not from the police or else he wouldn’t have come regularly to the shop, or taken Ted Parker’s offer of a job. Nah! He must be a workhouse brat on the run, Her thin lips spread into a grim smile of satisfaction. So, Mr bleeding Mitson was gonna give her job to Micky Masters, was he? Well, she’d soon put a stop to that idea. Then the smile dropped from her face.
What if he was just some orphan squatting wherever he could find a place to stay before moving on? Also she knew how fond Ellen was of the lad, not to mention Ted Parker. He was another one who had taken the young boy under his wing. Not quite so confident now, Agnes knew she had to have time to think before she did or said anything.
Then she let out a scream as a man stepped out in front of her. Her first thought was of Jack the Ripper. He’d come back to his old haunting grounds!
‘Dear me, I’m sorry I startled you, dear lady. I mean you no harm I do assure you.’
Agnes eyed the well-dressed man suspiciously. There was only one reason a man like this one was hanging round these parts, and that wasn’t just to do a bit of sight-seeing.
Backing away she said harshly, ‘Look, mate. If yer looking fer a tart, you’ve picked on the wrong woman. You’d best get yourself down ter Bethnal Green Road. There’s plenty of ’em ’anging about down there.’
Kenneth Wells barely restrained himself from laughing in the old hag’s face. As if any man would be interested in an old soak like her. The only reason he had accosted her was the fact she seemed to be interested in young Micky’s business.
Stepping back a pace to remove any threat he might pose, he waited to judge the woman’s reaction. The gesture worked. His sharp eyes noting the slight relaxation of the scraggy body, he raised his top hat, saying smoothly, ‘Please, Madam, I’m a happily married man, and…’
Agnes laughed sneeringly. ‘That ain’t never stopped a bloke before, mate.’
Kenneth shook his head reproachfully. ‘I do assure you, Madam, my intentions are quite honourable. The reason I’m down these parts is because I’m trying to keep an eye on my nephew and niece.’
Seeing the puzzled look cross Agnes’ face he continued. ‘You see, I noticed you too seemed interested in my nephew Micky, and I wondered if we might be of assistance to each other.’ He stopped, then seeing he had her attention, hurried on. ‘My brother and sister-in-law died just before Christmas, God rest their souls.’ He bowed his head in a reverent manner. ‘Naturally I asked their children to come and live with my wife and me. Young Molly was only too willing, poor little soul. Lovely child, she is. But Micky, now he’s a different kettle offish altogether. He refused point blank my offer of accommodation, saying he was capable of looking after himself and his sister. Well…’ He spread his arm towards the derelict house. ‘I ask you, dear lady. Does that look to you like a respectable place for a young girl to be left on her own while my no-good nephew walks the streets looking for work?’
‘’Ang on a minute, mate,’ Agnes interrupted him. ‘I know Micky well enough, but he ain’t never mentioned no sister before.’
Again Kenneth pointed towards the ruined building with his gold-capped walking stick. ‘Of course he hasn’t. He knows that if the authorities were informed of Molly’s present mode of living, she would be taken away immediately. But, if I may ask, Madam, what is your interest in my nephew?’
Agnes hesitated. There was something about the well-spoken gentleman she didn’t like.
Kenneth was quick to note her sudden distrust. Doffing his hat he said smoothly, ‘As it seems we have something in common, may I buy you a drink? We can talk in comfort instead of standing out here on the street.’
Again Agnes hesitated, then nodded. It wouldn’t do any harm to listen to what the bloke had to say. And she’d get a few free drinks into the bargain.
Side by side they walked back towards the main road.
Chapter Nine
‘’Ere, what’s up with Agnes? I ain’t seen her looking so pleased with ’erself since before Arthur went an’ got himself married. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d got ’erself a bloke. I told yer my Bert saw her with some toff just before the Mitsons went away, but I didn’t think nothing of it at the time. I mean ter say…!’ Mabel Smith raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘The poor cow would be ’ard pressed ter find an ordinary bloke, let alone one with a bit of class. What d’yer think, Nora?’
Nora Parker cast a disparaging glance first at the woman by her side, then to the object of their discussion. Both women had known Agnes for over 20 years and, as her neighbour Mabel had just commented, neither of them had seen the middle-aged woman looking so happy, nor as smart since the early days when Agnes had imagined that one day Arthur would eventually get around to proposing to her. Yet since the Mitsons had gone on holiday, leaving Agnes in charge of the business, a remarkable change had come over the once dowdy woman, a change that hadn’t gone unnoticed by her regular customers.
Agnes, well aware of the speculation surrounding her and thoroughly enjoying her sudden elevated status, smiled sweetly at the elderly woman at the front of the queue as she put a large crusty loaf into a wicker basket. ‘That’ll be tuppence, please, Mrs Cox.’
‘Thanks, Agnes… Er, um, so how yer been lately, ducks? Got any news ter share with yer mates, love? Only we couldn’t ’elp but notice how ’appy yer’ve been lately, an’ we was wondering like, if yer had anything ter tell us? ’Cos I was only saying ter me daughter the other day, “Rene,” I said, “if anyone deserves a bit of ’appiness, it’s Agnes; especially after the way Arthur treated her.’” The grey head bobbed up and down as if to add weight to her words. ‘Now, I ain’t just being nosy, love, you’ve gotta lot of friends round these parts… Nah, it’s true, ducks, honest.’ The bird-like features of Mrs Cox crumpled at the look of scorn that suddenly flashed across Agnes’ plain face. Shuffling her small frame awkwardly she murmured, ‘Well, I can’t stand ’ere gossiping all day. I’ll see yer, ducks.’ Nodding to the two other women waiting to be served, both of whom had been listening intently to the c
onversation, the red-faced woman hurried out of the warm bakery.
Agnes, her expression betraying none of the pleasurable churning in her stomach at finding herself the centre of attention, asked airily, ‘Made up yer minds yet, ladies? Only yer’ve been ’ere long enough ter buy up ’alf the shop. Unless yer’ve just come in ter ’ave a nose round.’
Instantly the two remaining customers sprang to life, their faces turning hard at the insulting tone in Agnes’ voice.
As Nora Parker made to come back at Agnes with a suitable retort, Mabel quickly gave the irate woman a discreet nudge in the ribs. Then, her features folding into a warm smile she said sweetly, ‘Don’t be daft, Agnes. We was just wondering who your gentleman friend was, that’s all.’
Taken by surprise, Agnes’ cheeks began to burn in confused embarrassment. Noting her uncomfortable reaction, Mabel hurried on gleefully. ‘Ah, that surprised yer, didn’t it? My Bert saw yer with him in the Nag’s Head just before Arthur and Ellen went away. Proper toff my Bert said he was. Now yer can’t blame us fer wondering who he is. I mean ter say, it’s only, natural we should be curious.’ Agnes lowered her head in startled bewilderment, and Mabel smiled triumphantly at Nora before resuming her probing. ‘Come on, woman, don’t keep us in suspense. Who is he? Where d’yer meet ’im?’
Regaining some of her composure Agnes raised her head and stared hard at the two women. Women who had been coming into this shop for years and never before had they shown any genuine interest in her, apart from the time Arthur had brought Ellen here to live. Oh, they’d been out in force then, the nosy, hypocritical old cows. Making snide remarks and looking at her with feigned sympathy. How she had come to hate them all. These women with their boring, dependable husbands and snotty-nosed children, children who were now grown and rarely visited their parents, unless they were after something, apart from Nora, whose son Ted still lived at home and supported his widowed mother. The rest of them were still living in tiny houses, forever in debt and having to watch every penny. And they had the cheek to feel, not only superior to her, but sorry for her as well! At least she owned her own house and she had a few bob in the bank, which was more than the majority of her customers could lay claim to.