‘Do I mind?’ Kathleen was wounded. ‘Aw, sure, looking after the little fella will be a joy, so it will.’
‘I’ll be quick as I can,’ he promised Tom.
‘I don’t mind, Daddy.’ Tucking into one of the apple tarts Kathleen had baked that very morning, Tom proudly informed him, ‘Kathleen’s taking me on the bus to Bedford. We’re looking for new shoes for when I go to school.’
Harry was puzzled. ‘What about the shoes your mammy bought for you?’
Tom frowned. ‘My feet won’t stop growing, and now the shoes are squeezing all my toes up. Kathleen says when I grow up like you, I’ll probably have feet the size of meat plates.’
‘Is that right?’ Fishing in his wallet, Harry declared, ‘We can’t have my son walking about with his toes sticking out the end of his shoes!’ He gave Kathleen enough money for shoes and socks, and a bit extra for a meal and bus fare.
‘So, am I not allowed to buy the boy a new pair of shoes?’ Kathleen feigned an air of indignation. ‘Kathleen O’Leary’s money is not good enough, is that what you’re saying?’
Harry played her little game. ‘Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give it back?’
‘What! You really want me to give it back? Shame on ye, Harry Boy! You’re a heartless divil, so ye are.’ She winked at Tom, who was beginning to realise it was just a game. ‘Tom, what d’ye think?’ she asked. ‘Should we keep your daddy’s money or not?’
‘Keep it! Yes!’ Laughing and screeching, Tom jumped up and down.
‘Behave yourselves, you two.’ Harry swung Tom up into his arms. ‘I can see I’ll have to keep an eye on the pair of you,’ he said, wagging a finger. ‘If I’m not careful, you’ll be running rings round me.’
A thought occurred to him. ‘Look, Kathleen, if you’re taking Tom into town, you might as well jump in the car with me,’ he suggested. ‘I can drop you off at the end of the market, if you like.’
Kathleen graciously declined. ‘I promised Tom we would go on the bus and he’s looking forward to it.’
‘Yes!’ Tom was like a cat on hot bricks. ‘I want to go on the bus with Kathleen, please, Daddy?’
A short time later, Harry was out of the door, into the car, and away down the street, waving all the way. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me!’ he called out.
‘We will,’ the pair replied in unison.
Kathleen’s directions were easy to follow, and within the hour, Harry had gone through Bedford Town and out towards the prison, where he took a sharp left. The store was directly in front of him, exactly where Kathleen had predicted.
Straddling the entire corner and snaking down a considerable length of the back street, the building made an immediate impression. With its great arched entrance, fancy tiles underfoot and sturdy windows, it was an obvious relic from Victorian times; and there on a massive sign, written in large black letters on a deep mustard background, was the proud announcement:
JACOBS’ EMPORIUM
ESTABLISHED 1945
EVERYTHING YOU NEED FOR HOME AND GARDEN
Drawing the Hillman Minx into the kerb, Harry switched off the engine and got out of the car. After locking the car, he stooped to regard himself in the wing mirror.
Satisfied, he straightened his tie, polished the uppers of his shoes against the back of his trousers and, taking a deep breath, he strode to the door and rang the bell at the side. There was still half an hour to go until opening time.
The painted dolly-girl had seen him coming and was eager to tend to him. ‘Good morning, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?’ Judging from her enthusiasm, she would have liked it to be her that Harry was ‘looking for’.
‘I’m here to see Mr Jacobs.’ Now that he was only minutes away from the interview, Harry’s nerves were beginning to get the better of him.
‘Ah.’ The girl looked him up and down. ‘You must be Mr Blake, applying for Mr Wright’s old job.’
‘Yes,’ Harry answered.
‘You’re younger than him.’
Harry was taken aback. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Oh no, quite the opposite as far as I’m concerned.’ Allowing him a coy little smile, she explained, ‘It’s just that, well, we’ve had all kinds wanting the job, but they were all in their late fifties, and scruffy into the bargain.’ She leaned forward to impart quietly, ‘If you ask me, they were all layabouts – probably been given the sack for not working as hard as they should. I expect they thought being a tallyman would be an easy option.’
‘And is it?’
‘Hmh!’ She gave Harry a critical look. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ she told him sternly. ‘It’s damned hard work. That’s why poor Ernie retired early … because he was worn out.’
‘How so?’ Harry had never been afraid of hard work.
‘Well, it’s just people, innit?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, there’s those who can get really stroppy and threaten you, and those who always find some excuse not to pay. Then there’s the “other” kind.’ She gave him a knowing wink. ‘If you know what I mean.’
‘Well, no, not exactly.’ From the look in her eye, Harry guessed it was something cheeky.
‘They’re the ones who prefer to pay for goods in other ways than money,’ she giggled. ‘I reckon if we took you on, you’d soon find out about the other kind.’
‘Chatting again, Amy? Get back to your work at once!’ The voice of authority echoed across the floor.
The girl was startled. ‘Yes, Mr Jacobs. Sorry, this is Mr Blake. I was about to bring him up to you.’
Bernie Jacobs was a sizeable man with a squashy face, which was mostly covered by his huge, black-rimmed spectacles. A fair-minded man, he had hands the size of shovels, and a beer belly that would go twice round the gasworks.
‘I’ve warned you about wasting valuable time!’ he reprimanded the girl. ‘I distinctly asked that you bring Mr Blake up the minute he arrived. Instead I find you gossiping with him!’
‘I really am sorry, Mr Jacobs.’ She secretly rolled her eyes at Harry. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘It had better not!’
Addressing Harry, the boss welcomed him to the store. ‘So you’re here for the position of tallyman, is that right?’
Harry confirmed that.
‘Good!’ He looked Harry up and down, mentally applauding the way he was turned out. More importantly, he thought Harry’s manner was exactly right for the part – nice and easy, but with a layer of authority. Bernie was not one to go on first impressions, and today was no exception, though so far he liked what he saw.
As he continued to appraise Harry’s demeanour, his whole face began to shift; first the mouth went loose, then the plump cheekbones lifted the glasses up to the forehead, and now the podgy little eyes, all crinkled and beady, started blinking; all features on the move like some slow, giant sloth.
If it wasn’t so mesmerising, Harry mused, it would have been frightful. ‘Like something out of a horror movie,’ Amy commented to him later.
Suddenly, the face relaxed, and everything fell back into place. ‘Well, Mr Blake, I must say you look more capable than some I’ve had to contend with.’ He turned on his heel, calling for Harry to, ‘Follow me, young man!’
As they filed past the girl, she discreetly caught Harry’s attention, gestured to Mr Jacobs and made a face that would frighten the dead.
It took all of Harry’s self-control to keep from laughing out loud.
‘Be seated.’ Mr Jacobs gestured for Harry to park himself in the upright chair at the near end of the huge desk. When Harry was comfortable, the older man ceremoniously settled his mounds of fat in the wide, executive leather chair. ‘Hmm!’ He looked at Harry, then he glanced down, then he looked again, then he began cracking his knuckles, making a sound that put Harry’s teeth on edge. ‘Hmm!’ Then again: ‘Hmm!’
Harry felt the urge to speak. ‘Excuse my ignorance, Mr Jacobs
, sir, but I’m not quite sure what a tallyman does.’
‘Really?’ The face crumpled like a sagging balloon.
He then proceeded to address Harry in that authoritative, nasal voice which was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘A tallyman is the very backbone of this business,’ he announced proudly. ‘It has been that way since I opened just before Christmas in 1945.’
Harry duly waited, while the older man lost himself in a sea of memories and pride.
All of a sudden, appearing self-conscious, he noisily cleared his throat. ‘As I was saying, the tallyman has been the link between Jacobs’ Emporium and the public at large, for as far back as the store itself has existed. He, or she as the case may be, is representative of our quality of service, and professional standing in the community.’
Harry urged him on. ‘Yes, I understand all that. But what exactly does the tallyman do?’
The face blushed pink. ‘Oh, dearie me! I’ve been wandering again. So sorry! It’s a bad habit of mine. Anyway, what were we saying …? Oh yes.’
He went on hurriedly, ‘We currently employ seven salespeople, three of whom are permanently based in the store. The remaining four salesmen are what I call “mobile”, in that they also carry out the responsibilities of the tallyman.’
Taking a deep invigorating breath, he elaborated, ‘A customer will come into the store and browse though our range of furniture and fittings, wherepon one of our salesmen, be it a dedicated floor person, or a tallyman, will then approach and assist, and when the customer makes a purchase, the paperwork is carried out in the usual way. From there, it depends on whether the client pays in full, or whether they prefer to pay in instalments, and we have numerous customers who do exactly that.’
Harry waited patiently while Bernie Jacobs paused for breath.
‘On payment by instalment, the salesman will enter it all into his ledger, and the customer is issued with a little blue book, together with the number and amount of weekly payments required.’ Leaning back in his chair he folded his arms. ‘Every week thereafter, the tallyman will call at the customer’s house, to collect payments, and issue a receipt.’
Harry needed to clarify. ‘So even though the tallyman would be partly based in the store, he will still be required to collect from his regular customers?’
‘Exactly right. Most tallymen prefer to be out on the road at the latter end of the week, say Friday. There will, of course, be a company car and necessary expenses. You must remember, the tallyman is an important ambassador for Jacobs’ Emporium, and as such I expect, and indeed insist, on the highest of moral and professional standards.’
He gave a nervous little cough. ‘I’m afraid there have been one or two indiscretions recently. The salesman responsible was very quickly given his cards and shown the door. D’you understand what I’m saying, Mr Blake?’ His words were an obvious warning.
Harry nodded. ‘I believe I do, yes.’ He recalled the young woman’s words: ‘Then there’s the “other” kind if you know what I mean?’
Mr Jacobs was now asking Harry about his past work and present ambitions. Harry outlined how, after the war, he had worked on building sites for a firm of builders for a while, then graduated to the offices, ‘where I dealt with all manner of things; like stock control, wages and accounts, liaising with the customers …’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. After you telephoned Amy, she made a note of what you said. I have it here.’ Collecting the page from the desk, Mr Jacobs remarked, ‘I’m impressed with your many achievements, but,’ he referred to the point in question, ‘it says here that you returned to working on the building sites for personal reasons.’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘May I ask why you would do that – go from office work back to labouring? Of course, you do understand that before I can make a decision, I will need to contact your former employers?’
Harry explained, ‘I went back to the building sites because it made fewer demands on my time. Although I enjoyed my work at the office, it meant I was there for long hours … sometimes at weekends too, when I badly needed to be at home. Whereas on the sites I could work the hours I chose. There were no telephones or accountants to deal with, and I could arrange my working day to suit the situation.’
‘What situation would that be then?’
Bracing himself, Harry revealed the reason. ‘My wife was diagnosed with a terminal illness; we both knew it was only a matter of time. I had to earn a living, yes, but she came first. I needed to be with her, you understand. Not only to console and support and to make the most of every minute available to us; there were practical things, like long stays in hospital, and our son to take care of.’
Pausing, he swallowed hard before going on to explain how, when she lost her fight against the illness, he had come back to the place where he had grown up. ‘That’s the long and short of it,’ he concluded. ‘A very dear friend has taken me and my son in, until we find a place of our own. And now I need a new job.’
‘Hmm.’ The older man had listened intently to what Harry had to say, and now he had to make up his mind. ‘Wait outside,’ he instructed. ‘Amy will get you a cup of tea. Have a walk about. Talk to people. See what you think. I’ll call you in presently.’
With that he ushered him out.
‘It looks good to me!’ Amy was delighted to have the company of this fine, good-looking fellow. ‘He kept you in there longer than the others,’ she announced cheekily. ‘I reckon he likes you.’
Harry made small talk for a time, then he wandered away and talked with the salesmen. ‘As bosses go, he’s not all that bad,’ John told him. ‘A bit pompous at times, but fair and straight when needed.’
The same sentiments were echoed by everyone Harry chatted with, although: ‘He’s a hard taskmaster.’ That was Louise, the only woman in sales.
Harry went upstairs to the bed department, and was amazed at the sheer scale and diversity of items on offer. He went across to the soft furnishings area with its wonderful displays of curtains and bedlinen, and the best selection of cushions he had ever seen, and now he was back downstairs amongst the displays of furniture, all set out as different rooms in the house. There were kitchens and living-rooms – here a piano and there a wall of pictures and paintings.
‘It’s like Aladdin’s Cave!’ He was surprised when Amy crept up on him. ‘I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
She laughed. ‘You haven’t seen outside yet then. There’s lawn mowers and ladders, and everything else you might want in your backyard or garden.’ Tapping him on the arm she informed him. ‘You haven’t got time to look now though, because His Majesty has summoned you.’ Making Harry smile, she gave a little curtsy. ‘Follow me, my good man.’ Not relishing the idea of another reprimand, she then set off at a brisk pace.
After showing him into the office, she returned to her desk, delighted to offer Harry congratulations half an hour later. ‘So, you got the job?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘From your beaming face when you came out.’
It was still beaming as he walked onto the street. ‘I’ve got work, Sara my darling,’ he murmured.
Three months’ trial, a generous travelling allowance, and he was virtually his own boss.
It was an excellent start.
Kathleen and Tom were also pleased with their day.
‘You’ve worn me out, so ye have,’ Kathleen groaned as they headed for the café on the High Steet. ‘I can’t believe a little fella like you could take longer than a cartload o’ women to choose a pair of shoes: Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! Sure, ye could make a living at it.’
‘I’m not tired,’ Tom announced proudly.
‘Oh, are ye not?’ Kathleen quipped. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, ’cos I’m dropping on me feet, so I am.’
‘I’ve got money.’
‘Sure, I know that already,’ she answered. ‘Didn’t I see yer father give it to ye?’
‘I
can buy you some new shoes, if you want,’ he offered grandly.
Kathleen laughed out loud at that. ‘Aw, ye little darlin’.’ She gently ruffled his hair. ‘Shall I tell ye something?’
‘What?’
‘Right now, I don’t think I’d even get a pair of shoes on me feet.’
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos me poor oul’ feet feel like two fresh-baked loaves.’
‘D’you want to sit down?’
‘Ah, sure I wouldn’t mind that at all.’
‘I need an ice cream.’
‘Ah! So what you’re really saying is we should find a café, where I can sit down and you can have an ice cream, and we’ll both be happy, is that it?’
‘I don’t know.’ The little boy was confused.
‘Ah, but ye’re a joy to behold, so you are! Look, there’s a café right there, and a little table for you and me, right by the window. What d’you say then?’
‘Yes, yes!’ Tom did his usual leaping up and down.
Kathleen chuckled. ‘Y’know what, m’darlin’?’
‘What?’
‘Ye’re a fella after me own heart, so ye are.’ She tightened her hold on him, and as fast as her sore old feet would take her, she rushed him across the road. ‘Will ye look at that!’ she cried merrily. ‘Sure, me feet are getting that excited, they’re almost running!’
Unbeknownst to them, a small skirmish was unfolding some way down the street. ‘Get away from me, you dirty beggar!’ Shoving the woman aside, the man hurried on. ‘People scrounging in the street. Whatever next!’
‘I wasn’t scrounging!’ The woman was close to tears. ‘I was just asking the time, you miserable old devil.’
Clad in a plain dark dress fastened at the waist with a broad belt, she looked nothing like a beggar; yet she appeared waiflike, and there was an air of desolation about her that could be mistaken for hunger of a kind.
In her early thirties, she was painfully thin, with long, fair hair and small, distinctly pretty features. Her soft grey eyes told a story; of great sadness, and fear.
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