by Lesley Kelly
‘Sorry, lads, but he was. He was a tyrant, always one for using his fists or a belt on you. We were all scared of him, me the most ‘cause I was the eldest. He’d go for my ma and I’d try and protect her, not that it did her much good in the long run, God rest her soul.’
I looked at Col and I could see his tiny brain was about to explode.
‘What happened to your ma?’ I asked.
‘Och, she never kept well, living off her nerves all the time. I think we all knew she wasn’t going to make old bones, but it was still a shock when she died. I was only fourteen and I had to see to my dad, the house, my brothers and sisters, everything.’
The two motherless Staineses exchanged a glance. Florrie carried on.
‘It wasn’t much of a life, lads. I had to leave school...’
‘At fourteen?’ Col said in disbelief.
‘Oh aye, son, you could do that then. But it was a damn shame. I was top of my class in most subjects and I could of had a good job in an office or something, but instead my life was on hold until my wee brothers and sisters were old enough to look after themselves. There were no nights at the dancing or courting for me.’
I was confused. ‘But you did get married?’
Florrie stiffened. ‘Aye, well, that’s another story. You lads’ll be wanting to watch the telly, not listen to me rabbit on.’ And with that she put the TV on and the subject was closed.
It was the best part of a decade before I found out the story of Florrie’s first marriage. The information came to me via my wife, as a result of a conversation she had with Florrie one night when they’d had a bit too much to drink. This was back in the days when my wife, my ex-wife, still enjoyed a drink, before she went all teetotal and self-righteous on me.
Anyway, Florrie’s wee brothers and sisters did grow up, and got jobs, and got married and moved out. In her early thirties she found herself alone in Cadiz Street with just her dad for company, who was as evil-tempered as ever, although a good deal less handy with his fists than he was when he was younger.
It wasn’t all gloom and doom though. Despite her lack of qualifications she managed to get herself that office job that she had always wanted, in a shipping firm based at the side of the Links. She started work at Galloway, Thornton and Ryan Shipping Co as a typist, but after many years’ hard work her talents had been recognised and she was now the secretary to the senior partners. This netted her an office to herself, a higher salary, and most importantly, the envy of all the girls in the typing pool.
She had a bit of financial independence, and a lot of responsibility, yet it wasn’t enough. £٦٠٠ a year and sole custody of the key to the stationery cupboard was all very well, but it didn’t keep you warm on a cold winter’s night. She was still a handsome woman, not ready yet to qualify as one of God’s unclaimed treasures. But she had to face the harsh fact that she was 36 years old, and time was running out. She was on the point of giving up hope when Charlie started work in her office.
Charles Bosworth Smith was employed as a shipping clerk, on the strong recommendation of his former employer in Liverpool, England. He was in his late twenties, tall, and had hair that reached almost to his collar. This was as close as Galloway, Thornton and Ryan got to the Swinging Sixties, and with this air of danger added to his lovely English accent, all the lassies in the typing pool took an immediate fancy to him. Florrie rose above all this nonsense– she was in a position of authority now, and in any case, he wasn’t going to look twice at her, so why bother? But if she was honest with herself, when she was drifting off to sleep at nights her thoughts did turn to a pair of brown eyes, and the soft Scouse tones of C B Smith Esq.
As a senior and trusted member of staff (and one without a spouse or child to make demands on her time) it often fell to Florrie to lock up at night. She took her responsibilities seriously, and one night in October she was half-way home when a terrible thought struck her. She couldn’t remember whether she locked the petty cash away in the safe. Florrie ground to a halt. Every night she put the petty cash away and there was no reason she wouldn’t have done it tonight. Reassured she walked on for a couple of streets.
But then she stopped again. What if she didn’t? The faith of the senior partners in her would have been misguided. She could be demoted back down to the typing pool, and she couldn’t bear the smug faces on the other typists if that happened. So Florrie turned tail and hot-footed it back to her work.
When she got there there was a light on in the office. She was taken aback, not sure whether one of the partners had popped back, or if there was someone up to no good. Florrie wasn’t easily scared so she marched right into the office, only to come face-to-face with Charlie Smith, who was hovering around her desk.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, too shocked to comply with the usual secretary/Shipping Officer deference.
Charlie looked shocked but quickly recovered himself.
‘Looking for you,’ he said, ‘or at least, looking for your desk to leave you this.’ And he opened his jacket and shyly handed her a rose.
(‘How romantic,’ said my wife.
‘What a cover story,’ snorted Florrie.)
Now, Florrie had seen enough romantic features at the Saturday matinee to know how the heroine is supposed to react in these situations, but under the circumstances all she could do was stare at him. His big brown eyes stared back at her in silence for a minute, then he muttered an apology and turned on his brogue-encased heel. Florrie sat in silence listening to his footsteps disappear, before checking that the petty cash was locked away. It was.
Over the next few weeks Charlie kept out of her way; he couldn’t even look her straight in the eye.
(‘Was he too embarrassed?’ asked my wife.
‘Naw, he was just worried that I was going to jump on him.’)
Unfortunately, the damage was done. Florrie was smitten. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and the shy way he had handed over the flower. And here the situation would have stayed, with Florrie mooning after Charlie, and Charlie keeping a low profile, if they hadn’t been overtaken by events. Florrie’s dad died.
It was an unexpected death. Mr Milligan was barely into his sixties, and had been in good health as far as everyone knew. The old man must have had other ideas though, and only a month before his death he’d been to the lawyers to put his affairs in order. It turned out his death was not the only surprise that Florrie got. Milligan, for all his other faults, wasn’t a spendthrift, and he had got a tidy sum set away in the bank. And he’d left all of it to her.
Florrie was amazed, first at the amount of money, and then at the fact that from beyond the grave her father was acknowledging the work that she’d done for him.
Word got round the office that she was now a woman of independent means. Mr Thornton, one of the senior partners, called her into his office. Mr Thornton was in his fifties, unmarried, and possessed of halitosis so strong that at least two of his former secretaries had resigned their posts rather than continue to take shorthand for him. He had always taken an interest in Florrie, in what she hoped was a ‘friendly uncle’ manner.
Mr Thornton stared at her for a minute or two before speaking. ‘I just wanted to let you know how sorry I was to hear about your father’s death.’
He died six weeks ago and you’re only mentioning it now, thought Florrie, but she managed to nod her thanks.
Mr Thornton cleared his throat and fiddled with some paper clips on his desk. ‘I hope this is not an indelicate enquiry, Miss Milligan, but I do believe that you have inherited some money from your father?’
‘Yes,’ she said, wondering where this was going.
Mr Thornton had got a little chain of paper clips now. ‘Are you… would you be considering giving up your position?’
‘Of course not,’ said Florrie, ‘I’m dedicated to my work here’. And anyway, it’s not that much money, she thought to herself, although she didn’t say it.
Mr Thornton looked
relieved. ‘Good, good, very glad to hear that.’
She rose to go and had her fingers round the door handle when Mr Thornton called her back.
‘If you need any investment advice, Miss Milligan, you’ve only to ask. I’d be happy to discuss stock opportunities one lunchtime or, eh, over dinner if you would, eh, prefer that?’
She smiled in what she hoped was a grateful manner and opened the door without answering.
She was backing out of his office when she bumped, literally, into Charlie.
‘I was so sorry to hear about your father.’ Even under the circumstances she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was. She felt guilty at even thinking about men, when her old, surprisingly affluent, dad was only just in the ground. She pulled herself together.
‘It was a sad business.’
Charlie nodded sadly. ‘I lost my father a couple of years ago. He’d been ill for a good few years but still, when it happens…’
He looked so upset that Florrie laid a reassuring hand on his arm. Charlie jumped and, embarrassed, Florrie turned to go. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Miss Milligan?’
‘Yes?’
‘If it’s not an inappropriate moment to ask, would you like to join me for coffee one evening after work?’
Florrie was so overcome she could only nod her acceptance.
Coffee led onto dinner, and within weeks they were a couple. Charlie said they had to keep it a secret from the people at work because he suspected that the partners wouldn’t approve of the fraternisation between the ranks. Florrie knew for sure at least one of the partners wouldn’t like it. She didn’t mind that they had to meet in out-of-the-way places, it just made it more exciting. And of course now she had a flat to herself. Not that anything untoward happened, she was at pains to point out.
(‘You never…’ said my wife.
‘No.’
‘Not even…’
‘No!’)
Three months and six days after their first coffee date, they had dinner at Florrie’s flat. Florrie was worried that Charlie was off his food because he had hardly touched his meal. Charlie sat toying with his uneaten peas, then suddenly cleared his throat and announced, ‘I’ve something to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ said Florrie, every inch of her 36-year-old body willing it to be the right question. It was.
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Aye, Charlie, aye I will.’
It was a Registry Office affair. She was a wee bit disappointed when Charlie suggested that they tie the knot in front of a Registrar instead of a Minister - she would have loved to see the faces of the girls from the typing pool when she walked down the aisle in off-the-shoulder white taffeta. She was so disappointed, in fact, it led to their first argument.
‘But, sweetheart, you know I’m not a religious man.’
‘Can’t you just cross your fingers and pretend?’
Charlie shook his head and laughed. ‘Anyway, if we have a big church do there’s more danger of people at work finding out.’
Florrie was shocked. ‘You mean we’re still not going to tell people at work even though we are married?’
Charlie was avoiding her eye. ‘They wouldn’t understand.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Florrie. ‘You’re ashamed of me.’
‘Sweetheart, no. I love you.’ Charlie was on his knees at her side now. ‘I don’t care about those people, and I don’t want to listen to their opinions. We’ll both be leaving there soon enough.’
This was news to Florrie. ‘We will?’
‘Oh yes. I’m not wasting my life in a place the size of Galloway, Thornton and Ryan. I’ve got plans for us.’
Florrie was getting interested and began to forget her annoyance. ‘Like what?’
Charlie took her hand and kissed it. ‘Well, children, obviously, and they’re not cheap. A car. And of course, a mortgage.’
Florrie wasn’t sure. She didn’t know anyone with a mortgage, and she’d got a good landlord with her – their - flat. But Charlie was insistent that it was the next logical step for them.
‘What is the point of giving your money to a landlord? He’s the one that benefits, and he benefits twice over. He’s got your money coming in, and he can sell the flat and keep the profit on that.’
Florrie mulled this over. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’
‘And he can put you out of the flat whenever he wants.’
‘I’ve got a lease.’
Charlie stood up. ‘Well, we’re going to have to move anyway. In a couple of years this place won’t be big enough for us.’ He leaned over and playfully patted Florrie’s stomach.
Florrie was sold on the idea. Any doubts she had were completely outweighed by the thoughts of children. Being the most senior secretary in Galloway, Thornton and Ryan was all very well, but she couldn’t wait to give it all up and stay at home playing mummy to two or three little Smiths.
They started looking at flats. The first two weren’t up to much, but the third one made Florrie’s heart skip a beat. A bay-windowed living room, two bedrooms (‘one for the little Smiths,’ said her husband) and a beautiful back green.
‘Well’ said Charlie, ‘what do you think?’
She looked up at the cornicing and the ornate ceiling rose. ‘Oh Charlie, I love it, but can we afford it?’
Her husband smiled. ‘Leave it with me.’
He made some calls, claiming a slight connection with the lawyer that was selling it. She heard the phone being put down, and Charlie bounded into the room. ‘I’ve some good news.’
‘Yes?’ Florrie could hardly contain her excitement.
Charlie gave a smug smile. ‘I’ve managed to get the lawyer to knock 10% off the cost of the flat.’
Florrie leapt from her chair and hugged him. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’
‘But he wants the deposit in cash.’
Florrie stepped back. ‘In cash? What does he want that for?’
‘My dear, sweet, naïve girl. So he can keep a small bit of it for himself, and tell the seller this was the best offer he was able to get.’
Florrie didn’t like the sound of this. ‘I’m not sure.’
Charlie twisted a lock of her hair round his finger. ‘How much did you love that flat?’
Florrie thought again about the bay window, and the bedroom for the little Smiths. ‘All right then, love, let’s do it.’
Next day at lunchtime they took all the money out of Florrie’s account. Florrie couldn’t concentrate that afternoon, worrying about Charlie having all that money on him. What if he got robbed on the way to the lawyers? They met up after work and she told him about her second thoughts. He laughed at her and kissed her on the brow.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’
Charlie didn’t come home in time for dinner. That’s fine, thought Florrie, it’s a business deal, albeit a shady one, so maybe he’s had to stay a bit longer. By nine o’clock he still wasn’t home, and all her previous worries about him getting robbed come back to the surface. By midnight she was frantic, and she thought about going out to find a phone box to call the Police. She reluctantly decided to wait until morning.
Charlie didn’t turn up for work the next morning. 8.30 passed, then 9 am, and by 9.30 am she was scared stiff. She went in to see Mr Thornton, and explained that she was worried that Charlie had had an accident.
Mr Thornton leant across his desk and patted her arm. He seemed surprisingly unconcerned about the whereabouts of his employee. ‘There, there, Miss Milligan, I’m sure you don’t need to upset yourself about our Mr Smith.’
Florrie burst into tears. She explained everything – about their marriage and how he hadn’t come back last night. Mr Thornton turned white and then red in quick succession. He emptied his container of paper clips onto the desk and pushed them around with his pen. Florrie couldn’t bear the silence, but just when she was about to speak Mr Thornton asked her something that surprised her.
‘Did you give Mr Smith any of your inheritance?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I gave him all of it to put the deposit down on a flat.’
He put his head in his hands. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
Florrie was really worried now, but also quite confused about what was going on.
‘I have some very bad news for you, Miss Milligan.’ Mr Thornton gave a deep sigh. ‘Mr Smith’s work has been of concern to us for quite some time. We’ve actually begun to suspect that he has been stealing money from the company.’
And it all suddenly became clear to Florrie. It was obvious why the handsome Mr Smith was interested in her, all the big talk about flats and children. Her money was gone.
Mr Thornton coughed and looked embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve more bad news. Mr Smith’s wife has also been in touch with us.’
‘His wife?’ said Florrie, her heart breaking.
The look on Mr Thornton’s face could have been compassion, or pity, or even love. Whatever it was Florrie couldn’t bear it, and she resigned her post on the spot.
Florrie got a new job, on a lower wage, in the office at a Bond Warehouse. There she met a widowed Pole, with a hapless son, an alcoholic daughter-in-law, and two toddler grandsons. She must have been delighted to meet someone even more down on their luck than she was. Six months later they got married.
And it was a great story, it really was, but I couldn’t help wondering where her siblings were in all this. She gave up her life to bring up her six brothers and sisters, and none of them stood by her in her hour of need?
Years later I was having a drink in a pub on Easter Road. I noticed another of the drinkers kept looking over at me, a guy in his sixties who looked like he’d drunk a pint or two in his life. Being technically underage by four months, I was a wee bit worried by his interest. He sat down beside me and ordered himself another pint.
‘Can I get you one, son?’
So it was obviously not my youth that was bothering him. I was now worried about his interest for a host of other reasons, but then I thought, a free drink’s a free drink so I nodded. ‘A pint of 80 please.’