One Step at a Time

by Beryl Matthews

  As if in agreement with her, the cat jumped on to her lap, turned round a couple of times to find the most comfortable spot, then sat down, purring contentedly. Amy laid her head back and closed her eyes, letting the tension of the day drain away. She was too tired to practise her reading tonight, but she would try extra hard from now on. Perhaps on her way to work one day she could buy a magazine and try to read some of that. And if she went to the shop carrying that, they would believe she could read perfectly. She smiled to herself. That was a good idea; she hadn’t thought of that one before…

  Oscar’s meow woke her up. He was standing by the door demanding to be let out. The room was lovely and warm now so she turned off the fire and opened the door for the cat, following him along the passage to the kitchen.

  After giving him a saucer of milk, she made herself a cup of cocoa.

  Mrs Dalton came in. ‘Ah, that’s a good idea. It’s cold out tonight and getting foggy. How I hate that stuff. No matter how well you know the road, it’s so easy to lose your way.’

  ‘Would you like some cocoa?’ Amy asked, admiring her coat. Fancy owning a real fur coat.

  ‘Yes please, dear. I’ll bring you some milk in the morning so you and Ted have enough for your breakfast.’ She sat down and removed her gloves.

  ‘Did you have a nice evening?’ Amy poured milk into the saucepan to heat for the drink.

  ‘It was very pleasant. Now, tell me how you’re getting on at the shop and if you think you’ll like it?’

  ‘Once I get used to it.’ Amy poured the hot milk into a cup and stirred the cocoa. ‘I worked in a factory before, and it’s quite different, but I enjoy talking to the customers.’

  ‘Give it a week and you’ll soon get used to it.’ She took the cup from Amy, smiling. ‘I know you’ve had a tough time losing both your parents when you’re so young, and I want you to come to me if you have any worries or problems, no matter what they are. Will you promise to do that?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Dalton, and I’m ever so grateful to you for letting me live here. You’ve all been very kind.’

  ‘We’ve got a nice little family here and you make it complete.’ Mrs Dalton drank her cocoa. ‘You just consider yourself one of us now. We live our own lives, but help each other out when needed. Benjamin and Howard threw away a good education to follow their desire to become artists. They are both very talented, but I can’t say I approve of what they’ve done. They are fine boys though.’

  Amy nodded in agreement.

  ‘Ted is a steady dependable man and will go out of his way to help anyone in need. He came to live here when he lost his wife three years ago. It suits him; he has his independence but doesn’t have to live in a house on his own. I know how hard that is when you’ve had a long and happy marriage.’ She stood up. ‘You can come to any of us, Amy. You’re part of our family now.’

  Amy smiled, her eyes misting slightly with emotion as she watched Mrs Dalton leave the kitchen. She hadn’t been close to her father, but it hurt her to know he ended up in such a terrible way, and she still missed her mother dreadfully. To be told she was now one of this made-up family was very comforting. She felt guilty about keeping a secret from them, but she couldn’t tell them about her difficulty with reading and writing. She just couldn’t. They would think she was stupid and that would hurt. It was very important to her that they liked her. So important that she knew she would do anything she could to stop them finding out.

  She stayed through Tuesday without too many problems, and Wednesday was half-day, so Amy knew she only had to get through a few hours. Before going to the shop she stopped at a newsagent’s and gazed at the array of magazines, wondering what to buy, when one with a film star on the cover caught her attention. Picking it up she traced the name with her finger, spelling the letters out in her head. Then she remembered: Claudette Colbert; she’d seen her when she used to go to the pictures with Gladys. Oh, how she had enjoyed their Saturday evenings. Gladys had been the first friend she’d ever had, but in the end she had deserted her, just like everyone else. She felt cold right through. That mustn’t happen where she was living now. It would be more than she could bear!

  ‘You going to buy that Picturegoer?’ the shopkeeper called to her from behind his counter.

  ‘Yes please.’ She hurried over to him, holding out the magazine. ‘I was just making sure I hadn’t read it.’

  ‘That’ll be a shilling then.’

  She handed over the money thinking that it was rather a lot, but worth it if she could make the boss believe she could read all right.

  The others were already in the back of the shop when she arrived and she smiled brightly. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve bought the new Picturegoer.’ Mrs Green picked it up from the table where Amy had left it while she took off her coat. ‘Mind if I have a look? We’ve got ten minutes before the shop opens.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Amy was quite pleased with this idea. ‘I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but thought I’d read it on the bus going home.’

  Then there followed a discussion about films, which Amy was able to join in without any trouble at all.

  Once the shop opened on the dot of nine there wasn’t time for talk as the customers began to arrive. They were busy, but not so busy that Amy had a customer of her own, so she helped by wrapping the shoes for the other assistants and generally being useful in any way she could.

  She was happy until they had a delivery of new stock. The boxes were dumped in the stockroom in teetering, random piles by the delivery men.

  The manager arrived then, the first time she had seen him that morning, and he shook his head when he saw the chaos.

  ‘Start sorting that lot out, Miss Carter, by putting them in style and size.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When he’d left she sat on the floor and gazed at the mountain of boxes, her mind working furiously to think of a way to carry out this task.

  She would have to open each box and see what the shoe was like, and then they could be separated into various piles. That would be a start. It was a good thing that everyone else was busy and had left her alone.

  For the next hour she worked as quickly as she could, but it took time to look in every box. Then she was left with the job of sorting them into sizes. This was a bit easier because she could make out figures better than letters and could recognize the sign for a half size. Care had to be taken though because she could confuse the numbers 5 and 6. She’d just have to do the best she could.

  Progress was slow and she was dismayed when the manager came back.

  ‘Haven’t you finished yet?’

  ‘Nearly, sir, I’ve got them all into style, and am now putting them in size order.’

  ‘Humph.’ He looked in the shop and said quietly, ‘Mrs Green, could you come and give a hand here? I want these all on the shelves before we close at one o’clock today.’

  He left as soon as the assistant came in, and Amy breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been too pleased with the time it had taken her, but she thought she had done rather well.

  ‘Right, we’ll start with one style at a time.’ Mrs Green was eyeing the boxes with determination. ‘You hand them to me and I’ll pack them away.’

  Amy thought this was a great idea and it only took them another half an hour to clear the floor.

  By this time the morning was nearly over and Amy’s confidence was growing. All right, she had been slow, but she had managed. In time she would work out how to do everything. She could only pray they gave her that time.

  The kitchen was empty when she arrived home, so she made herself some cheese on toast and opened the magazine, determined to read some of it. It was a painstaking task, but she persevered, dwelling on each word until she could grasp it, and only then moving on to the next.

  ‘Ah, good, you’re home.’ Ben had looked in. ‘Don’t forget you’re coming up to my studio this afternoon.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ But
in truth she had. With the strain of trying to sort out the shoes, it had gone clean out of her head.

  ‘Come up when you’ve finished eating.’ Then he was gone.

  Howard burst in when she was washing up her dishes. ‘Amy, I’ve sold that vase you decorated and the shop wants six more like it.’

  ‘But you were going to throw it away because it wasn’t perfect.’ She couldn’t believe he’d sold her puny effort.

  ‘After it came out of the kiln again it looked fine, so I took it to the little shop that sells some of my things. The man liked it and said it sold within the first hour.’ Howard grinned. ‘He wants more, so can you do some today?’

  ‘I’ve promised to go up to Ben this afternoon, but I’ll come as soon as he’s finished painting.’

  ‘Wonderful! I’ll show you the cat then.’

  As he hurried away she sat down with a thump. Well I never, what a laugh. An artist was painting her, and now she had been asked to paint more pots! There was a busy afternoon ahead of her and she’d better get a move on.

  The door to Ben’s studio was open when she got there and she peered in cautiously. This was the first time she had ever been up here and, by the look of things, it wasn’t much tidier than Howard’s workshop, except that in place of a layer of dust, there was paint all over the floor. It wasn’t very large and had a sloping roof, but there was a big window making it light and bright. Ben was standing in front of a canvas on an easel and covering it with a layer of dark cream paint.

  He glanced round when she tapped on the door. ‘Come in, Amy, and sit on that chair in front of me.’

  She did as instructed.

  Ben changed his brush. ‘Look straight at me.’

  It was fascinating to watch him. He worked silently, a deep furrow in his brow as he studied her, painted, then stared at her again and again. She couldn’t help feeling shy at the intense scrutiny, not being able to understand why he wanted to paint her funny face.

  ‘Don’t blush, Amy.’

  The unexpected sound of his voice made her jump and she felt even more uncomfortable when he came over, tipped her head up with his fingers under her chin, and stared deep into her eyes. Without saying a word he returned to his painting.

  What was he seeing? she couldn’t help wondering as she watched his total concentration; it was as if he were in another world. Certainly not the face she saw in the mirror every morning, because if that were the case he wouldn’t want to paint her.

  It was hard to guess how long she had been sitting in the same position, and she longed to stand up and stretch, but she didn’t like to move until he told her she could.

  ‘All right, Amy, that’ll do for today.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve been very patient.’

  Standing up she stretched and rolled her head from side to side to ease the ache in her neck. ‘Can I see what you’ve done?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll need you to sit for me a few more times, then I’ll let you see it when it’s finished.’

  ‘All right.’ She was dying to see what he’d done but knew she would have to wait. ‘I’m going to Howard now to paint more pots.’ Her generous mouth turned up in amusement. ‘Did you know he had the nerve to sell that pot I painted?’

  ‘Did he?’ Ben leant against the bench, the air of distraction and concentration gone now. ‘I’m not surprised. It was really quite good.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ She was as doubtful about that as she was about her face.

  ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Your grandmother could draw, and it looks as if you’ve inherited her talent.’

  Glowing with his praise, she made her way downstairs to Howard’s workroom. He was in the same kind of mess as before, but covered with clay this time instead of white dust.

  ‘Hi, Amy, he’s let you off at last, has he?’ Howard gestured with a hand caked in clay. ‘I’ve lined the pots up with the paints ready for you. Do as many as you can.’

  Nodding, she sat down and gasped in delight when she saw the figure of the cat in front of the vases. ‘Oh, this is beautiful.’ She beamed at Howard.

  ‘Not bad.’ He pursed his lips, not looking too sure. ‘It will look better when you’ve painted it. Do anything you like with it. I’ve got more in the kiln.’

  Amy couldn’t wait to get started; this was something she had discovered she really liked doing. She’d do the vases first and save the cat for last. It was the image of the drawing, and she wished her grandmother could see it.

  For the next hour she experimented with most of the paints, and the six vases were soon finished. She felt so free; there was none of the tension and frustration she suffered from when she tried to read and write. The colours seemed to glow and everything was so clear. Now what should she do with the cat? The picture she saw in her mind’s eye made her giggle softly to herself. Why not? He’d said she could do anything she liked!

  The finishing touches were just being put to it when she became aware that Howard was watching her.

  When Ben walked in Howard said, ‘Come and look at this. Have you ever seen a blue cat covered with white daisies?’

  They roared with laughter and Amy joined in.

  ‘You’re not going to try and sell this are you?’ She couldn’t help laughing as they looked at the grinning cat with a daisy draped over its ear.

  ‘I most certainly am!’

  At that moment Mrs Dalton and Ted arrived.

  ‘Look at the mess you’re all in!’ Mrs Dalton tutted in disapproval. ‘Get yourselves cleaned up and come to my dining room in thirty minutes. Everyone’s eating with me tonight.’

  Ted winked at Amy when there was a stampede from the boys as they rushed to wash and change.

  Mrs Dalton’s lips twitched. ‘It’s surprising how fast they can move when there’s the offer of a decent meal.’

  14

  By Saturday Amy was really worried. It was becoming more and more difficult to hide her trouble with reading and she had used up every excuse she could think of: the light in the stockroom was bad; her eyesight wasn’t too good. She knew the manager was not happy with the amount of time it took her to find the correct shoes, and was now watching her every move. For the first few days he had been giving her time and help because she was new to the job, but she could sense that his patience was running out.

  They were very busy and Amy was getting more customers than she could handle. The more agitated she became the harder it was to read the labels on the boxes. The woman she was trying to serve at the moment was annoyed because she had brought her the wrong shoes – twice!

  ‘This is not what I asked for,’ she declared in a loud voice when she was given the wrong style again.

  Amy hurried back to the stockroom, now desperate to find the right shoe. This woman was going to cause her trouble if she didn’t stop shouting so that everyone in the shop could hear.

  The manager stormed into the room after her. ‘Why are you taking so long? You’re going to lose this sale if you don’t hurry up. And why do you keep bringing her the wrong shoes?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Amy bit her lip to stop it trembling. ‘I can’t seem to find what she’s asking for.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘A black suede with a bar across the instep, size four.’

  He muttered under his breath, took a box off the shelf and thrust it into her hands. ‘It’s right in front of you. Now get back to her quickly, and for heaven’s sake smile!’

  That was easier said than done, but she tried hard to be pleasant, and could have screamed in frustration when the customer declared that she didn’t like the style after all. When she left without buying anything, Amy knew that was another mark against her and prayed for the terrible day to end, hoping she was still going to have a job when they closed at six o’clock.

  Closing time arrived, and when the last customer had gone, the manager locked the door, then turned to Amy. ‘I want to see you in my office, now, Miss Carter.’

  She foll
owed him, hoping she was only in for a telling-off.

  He didn’t waste time. ‘I’m disappointed in you. I thought at first you were going to be suitable, for you have a pleasant way with customers, but you appear to be incapable of working under pressure. And you are far too slow finding what the customer requires. You mustn’t keep them waiting or they will go elsewhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but—’

  He stopped her with a shake of his head. ‘You have been making excuses all week and I have made allowances because you are new to the job, but you’ve had enough time to find your way around the stock. Everything is clearly labelled, but you stand in front of the shelves as if you don’t know what you’re looking for.’

  Another excuse sprang to her lips, but she held it back. She was in enough trouble without making things worse by saying the wrong thing.

  The manager sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. ‘You seem bright enough so will you tell me why you can’t do the job?’

  Her head came up in alarm. He didn’t know, did he? He couldn’t; she had been very careful. ‘I can do the job, sir. It’s just taking me a while to get used to it. I’ll be quicker next week.’

  Don’t sack me, she pleaded silently, watching his expression carefully.

  His sigh echoed in the tiny room and she watched in horror as he picked up a shoe box from his desk and held it out to her.

  ‘What style does that say on the label?’

  She was in such a state of agitation by now that the words were a meaningless jumble. Slipping her finger under the lid she began to lift it…

  ‘Don’t look inside. I’ve seen you doing that a lot this week. Read the label out to me.’