Jane Forxworthy

by Paul Kelly

  Wills laughed as he kissed her and she pushed him away playfully.

  “I hope I get some response from the staff, but it’s gonna be very difficult just going in there and saying, ‘Look here, I’ve been sent from London to make you lot toe the line,’ isn’t it? I still say we should never have come here. I’m just not the man for this job, Evie. I know it, deep down in my bones . . I know it.”

  Evie looked at him tenderly and smiled.

  “You’ll be fine. . just fine. . You wait and see. I know you can do it Wills, so buck up and don’t feel so miserable about it. It’s only a job, for God’s sake. It’s not the end of the world.”

  He got into his car and opened the window to wave to Evie as he roared off and she ran to the lounge window to look out. She could see his car disappear over the hill and past old McPherson’s place, to re-appear a few seconds later before it went out of sight and she could see it no more. She tidied round after she had washed up after breakfast and then took a shower, thinking how she would have to call in at the sweetie shop to enquire if Jane Foxworthy knew of a good hairdresser. It was when she was drying her hair that a ripple of laughter escaped her and she studied her face in the mirror. “Oh! God . .I bet the hairdresser is French,” she giggled and stuck her tongue out at the face that looked back at her.

  ***

  The face behind the counter looked sullen and grave and Evie guessed who it was, even before the girl spoke to her.

  “Can I help you?” she said and her mouth fell open loosely.

  “Oh! Hello, Could I speak to Jane Foxorthy please?”

  Yes, this must be the niece with the poor arithmetic, she concluded . . . and whatever else . . as she studied the young girl behind the counter in the shop with the large blue letters outside that read, JANE FOXWORTHY, Confectioners. The girl looked at Evie suspiciously. She was a big girl for her age, with the bosom of a woman and had dowdy brown, badly cut hair and her spectacles were tied at the side with thread. She wore no make-up and a tie-over pinny, which made her look ten years older than Evie knew she was.

  “She’s no’ here the noo. Can I take a message?” she said with a dull flat tone to her voice and Evie thought it might be best to approach her with a little compromise.

  “You must be Miss Foxworthy’s niece, am I right? She has told me such a lot about you. Very complimentary too, I must add.”

  The girl shifted uneasily where she stood, moving from one foot to the other.

  “Och! Aye,” she answered in a single, flat, disinterested monosyllable and then there was a poignant silence as each woman stared at each other uncomfortably. ‘It’s not just your arithmetic that needs attention, young lady,’ Evie thought as she fumbled in her handbag for a handkerchief or something . . . anything to give her an excuse to look away from the face . .

  “A message won’t be necessary, thank you, but if you could just remember to tell your aunt that Evie Slade called, I would be grateful.”

  “Right yar,” came the dull reply and the girl waddled into the back shop.

  The bell above the shop door pinged as Evie left, calling “Goodbye” to the sombre creature who had made such a great and enthusiastic effort to serve her, but as she walked out into the street, she thought she saw something, or someone, out of the corner of her eye, move quickly out of her sight. She glanced left and right along the High Street, but apart from a few people who seemed to be either coming or going, in an orderly fashion, the street was quiet. She had thought to see at least a few shoppers mooning around. looking into windows and carrying a shopping bag or two, but the place seemed deserted. No one lingered . . Everyone was doing something and yet doing nothing. She grinned as she thought of the song,

  ‘Busy doing nothing . . trying to find lots of things not to do.’

  “I’d better find a hairdresser quick or I’ll look like that beauty in the sweetie shop,” she murmured as she went on her way and then she stopped suddenly . .”Gosh,” she said, very, very quietly, “That’s a bad sign when you start talking to yourself in the street. . .”

  Maybe the women in Glenfarach did their own hair? Well no, she concluded. There must be a hairdresser or a barber of some kind. The men might be clever up here in the Highlands, but I’m sure they can’t cut their own hair . . She moved into a side street, thinking that at least she might be able to get a cup of coffee somewhere and that area seemed even more deserted than the High Street, but it was what she should have expected. It was only when she tried to retrace her steps that she saw the thing again and she quickly stepped into the secluded doorway of a little antique shop and waited. Within a few seconds the thing walked past and she swiftly stepped out from her hiding place to follow her admirer .

  “You’ve been following me,” she called out from a near distance and the thing stopped. Evie came forward, but even before she began to speak, her heart leapt into her mouth. She knew the identity of this person. She could recognise the dirty dungaree trousers and the mud-clad trainers. The child looked round and stared at her with the same frightened eyes that she had seen in the lane.

  “What is it you want,” Evie asked, but her voice was nervous and she cleared her throat as she tried to reconcile her thoughts that this child was a girl . . The child stood rigid, in obvious fear, but she said nothing and Evie studied her eyes in the few moments that they stood there together. There was a strange familiarity about that look. Jeremy was staring at her, but he was not in the Highlands . . “I’m not going to hurt you . . .” she went on, as she stretched out her hand to touch the child, but before she could say another word, the girl had sped off at top speed and disappeared into another side street. She ran so fast, that even when Evie did arrive at the exit where she thought she had gone, there was no sign of her, however at the other end of the street and coming towards her was none other than Jane Foxworthy, with her larger than life stride and wearing an eccentric looking hat of green and violet velvet, with a large ostrich feather sticking out from the back. It looked as though the feather went through one side of her head and out the other and the whole headpiece was tucked securely around her throat with a lemon chiffon scarf.

  “Why . .Hello there, Miss Foxworthy,” Evie called out, but the spinster was obviously bustling towards her sweetie shop and didn’t hear Evie . . no doubt because of the firm security of her head dress which greatly restricted her ears. Evie called again and Miss Foxworthy stopped in her tracks to remove one ear from its velvet surround and glanced over the top of her bifocals

  “Och! It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. . . Mrs . . Evie, yes of course. I remember now. It is Evie, isn’t it?”

  Evie was about to answer when Miss Foxworthy stuck her head round a corner in the side street and pointed to the sign above her shop, which could just be seen at an angle from where they were standing.

  “Look Dear . . Blue letters. I told you so, didn’t I. Lovely isn’t it . .”

  She shook her fingers as she pointed again towards the sign and repeated what was written there, under her name. “Confectioners,” she cried proudly, “And look . . look . . there, above . . Miss J. Foxworthy . . that’s me, Dear. Were you comin’ in to see me? I hope you were Dear. I have that recipe you wanted for the peanut butter biscuits, remember, but you don’t need to take it unless you really, really want it, you understand?”

  “Oh! but I do Jane . . I do . . I really, really do want it.” Evie patronised and Jane Foxworthy smiled broadly.

  “I just thought you might,” she added and trotted off towards the shop, where the bell pinged again as she pushed open the door.

  “Cynthia . . Cynthia, Are you there Dear?” Miss Foxworthy turned to Evie with a wry smile on her face. “She likes to be called Cyn, you know, but I don’t like that name and I can never be sure whether she’s a venial or a mortal Cyn . . . .” she giggled and tugged at her coat, again, as if to pull her knickers
up. “But I call her that Dear, well most of the time and when I can remember, because she just won’t do any work at all in the shop, if I don’t . . Cynthia appeared from the back shop, eating something that took a lot of chewing as her mouth moved like a fiddler’s elbow and Miss Foxworthy waved a shaky finger at her.

  “You’ve been at the banana chews again, haven’t you Dear . . Oh! There they are. I thought I’d lost them,” She looked away from Cyn and tugged a pair of lime coloured kid gloves from the pocket in her coat, tossing them casually into her large Dorothy bag and Cyn spat the sticky sweet into her hand and shook it into a waste paper bin under the counter.

  “Had a good morning Dear,” Jane Foxworthy enquired as she shook off her heavy coat from her shoulders and kicked each shoe under the counter after having removed them from her feet, using her toe as a shoehorn, “Been sellin’ lots of lovely sweeties when Auntie’s been out, have we?”

  The niece gave a weak smile before looking at the ceiling in utter disgust at her Aunt’s approach, especially in front of customers and shook her head in silence.

  “None at all Dear?” Miss Foxworthy opened the till drawer as she spoke. “Well there’s forty-five pence here, so you must have sold somethin’,” she said as she checked the small change.

  Cynthia stared at Evie, wishing she wasn’t there.

  “That’s the money you gave me yesterday for the sandwiches, Auntie,” she replied lazily and half closed her eyes, confident that she knew exactly what she was doing . .

  “Och! Aye . . of course. I remember now . . and I had to run off to get the house ready for Evie and her . .husband . . and we didn’t get any, did we now?” (There was obvious pain in her eyes as she thought of Wills.)

  Evie tried to interrupt to enquire about a hairdresser, but Miss Foxworthy continued.

  “We could have the sandwiches today then, Cyn, Dear. Would you like a sandwich Evie? We always have one for lunch.”

  “No thank you Miss Foxworthy, but . .”

  “Oh! Please call me Jane, Dear. . . please.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course . . Jane . . Do you know where I could find a hairdresser in the village,” she asked at last.

  “Hairdresser Dear . . Now let me think.” Miss Foxworthy withdrew two large hat pins from somewhere behind the ostrich feather as she thought about Evie’s request, screwing up her face as if this action caused her considerable pain and effort. “I don’t have any truff with them myself, you know, just havin’ a simple bun, but then my hair was always lovely. Never needed to have it touched by anyone . . Now where was I?” She patted her top notch with pride and her niece appeared again from somewhere at the back of the shop.

  “Oh! Cyn Dear. You might know. Is there a hairdresser in the village?”

  Cynthia raised her eyes to think of the question that she had been asked, but before she could say anything, Miss Foxworthy burst into an interruption, dismissing any contribution or suggestion that her niece might make. “No need, Dear . . No need, I’ve just remembered.”

  She swung round towards Evie and threw her hat on a chair.

  “Turn right when you leave here Dear, then take the first left again . . that’s it. There’s a little hairdresser shop on the corner there. I don’t know much about them, because as I’ve just said, I never go . . . but I believe it is run by a French gentleman . . and his friend.”

  Evie smiled. She felt somewhat psychic as she left the sweetie shop and made her way as Miss Foxworthy had instructed, whilst Cyn followed her part of the way to the Bakers to buy her Auntie a sandwich for her lunch and a cream bun for herself.

  “Don’t forget, Cyn Dear . . Chicking, with a smatterin’ of mayonnaise.”

  The young girl’s lips tightened as she scowled.

  “She thinks I’m five . . an’ no’ fifteen, does that old yin,” she groaned.

  Chapter Five

  EVIE HAD ONLY JUST ARRIVED BACK AT THE HOUSE and was fumbling with her key in the door lock when she heard the phone ringing inside. She rattled the key impatiently, sure that it was Wills phoning her to tell her he was coming home immediately, for no-one else had their number . . as far as she was aware. At last she opened the door and rushed towards the phone in the hall, but to her dismay there was no-one on the other end of the line.

  “Hello . . Hello . . Can you hear me? Is there anyone there?”

  Again, there was no response and she replaced the receiver.

  “Oh! Damn it . . I wonder if he’s been trying long?” she muttered, staring into the mirror above the telephone, before she glared again at the silent instrument, sitting there so complacently on the small round table near the door and willing it to ring again. She slung her coat over a chair in the lounge and removed her head scarf carefully to avoid disturbing her hair set that Pierre had done so beautifully. “Strange he didn’t strike me as a . . .” her thoughts were interrupted at that point as the telephone rang again and she ran to it and grabbed it greedily.

  “Hello Darling,” she called in anticipation, “Have you had a nice morning?” Wills sighed on the other end of the line, but even that faint, non-committal sound coming from him, thrilled her.

  “Yes, yes,” he said at length, “And you Sweetheart. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, but tell me about yourself. About the office. What did they think?”

  There was a long pause before he spoke again.

  “Well . . It’s hard to say really. Too early to make any firm judgement, but most of it was O.K. Got the usual trite remarks about my tan . . I’m seeing the Big Wigs at 2.30 this afternoon. That should be the real test, I would say and I don’t know who will be the most nervous, them or me. I’ll just have to get on with it, that’s all.”

  “Darling, you’ll knock them flat. I know you will. They’ll love you.”

  He laughed and she could see his nose wrinkling, the way it did when he was shy, or uncertain of anything and his eyes would look at you in a certain way too, on those occasions. How could anyone not love him . . she thought.

  “I don’t know so much about that, Darling, “ he said, “And as I have said all along, I’m sure I’m not the right one for this job. I’m a bloody architect, not a manager . . I don’t know I could ever have let anyone talk me into this mess. I’m not used to telling other men where they’ve gone wrong, am I?”

  Evie listened carefully to what he had just said.

  “Darling . . Do you think there’s a lot wrong, then?” she asked and he hesitated before he answered her.

  “Evie . . There’s a helluva lot that’s wrong. I just don’t think it’s my job to tell them.”

  “But you must Darling . . and you’ll find a way and they’ll respect you for it in the end . . You’ll see.”

  “Whose end,” he gulped.

  “Don’t worry Love. I’m here and you know I’ll always be behind you, whatever you do. We’ll discuss it more thoroughly this evening when you get home. What time should I expect you?”

  “When you see me, Darling. Don’t worry about dinner or anything. I can get something here, but make sure you have something nice yourself. We’ll need to do some shopping soon. I don’t think there can be much in the fridge, is there?”

  “Well, Miss Foxworthy didn’t do too badly, but I’ll go shopping this afternoon.”

  “O.K. I’d better go now Sweetheart. I have some notes to get together before this afternoon’s affray.”

  “Bye Lover boy . .”

  “I’ll give you lover boy when I get home,” he said with a grin.

  “Yes please,” she answered and dropped the receiver into its cradle with a happy look on her face and was about to skip into the kitchen and make herself a coffee when the phone rang again.

  “Hello . . Is that you Evie?”

  “Yes . . Who’s that?”

 
“I wondered if I had the right number. I took it down when I was tidyin’ around yesterday, but I have so many numbers in my book and I get confused unless I put a name to them and this number is just stuck inside the back cover.”

  Evie looked to the ceiling and smiled.

  “Is that you Jane?”

  “Of course it is my Dear. Who else did you think it was?” Evie continued to stare at the ceiling and Jane Foxworthy went on with her conversation. “Evie, I’m so sorry. I forgot to give you the recipe for the peanut butter biscuits. Have you a pencil handy and you can write it down now?”

  “Yes, yes, of course Jane. It is so kind of you to take this trouble. I have a biro here. Fire away.”

  Evie could hear a strange sucking noise on the other end of the phone.

  “That’s just me lickin’ my fingers Dear, if you heard a funny noise on your phone. I’ve just had the most delicious sandwich.”

  Evie closed her eyes and the word came to her lips without effort.

  “Chicking?” she asked.

  “Why Yes, my Dear. How ever did you guess? You must have a smellin’ device on that phone of yours.”

  Miss Foxworthy giggled as she sucked some more at her fingers.

  “Now the recipe is as follows Dear. . Take three . . .”

  Evie waited to find out . . three what, . . but the phone went dead.

  “Hello . . Hello. . Are you there Jane?” she called into the mouthpiece but there was still no answer and after a few seconds she put the receiver down and was about to ring Miss Foxworthy herself when she realized that she didn’t have her number. She waited by the phone, feeling sure that the indefatigable Miss Foxworthy would ring back again . . . but she didn’t. The kettle whistled on the gas stove and she made herself a coffee, before she sat down to write her shopping list. “I could enjoy one of those peanut butter biscuits now,” she moaned and at that moment, the telephone rang again.