‘Oh, I see. I’m to blame then, am I?’ May glared at her son. ‘Nice Saturday this is.’ She stalked out of the room, her footsteps going up the stairs. Bruce stared helplessly at his father who shrugged his shoulders in irritation at his wife before going after her, muttering under his breath as he did so.
Bruce rubbed his hand across his face before glancing at his cousin. She was standing still and looked very white, her lips trembling, and the feeling of pity intensified. She was just a bairn and yet his grandas talked to her as though she was muck under their boots most of the time. It wasn’t right and it had gone on long enough. No doubt he and his da would get it in the neck from his mam but that didn’t matter. He put his arm round Amy’s shoulders. ‘I meant what I said, lass. This wasn’t your fault. They always have to start over something, that’s the way they are.’ His voice gruff, he added, ‘Don’t let the old miseries get to you, lass. That’s what they want. I know I shouldn’t say it but they’re bullies, the pair of them. Come on, Amy, dry your eyes and forget about them. They’re not worth it.’
As Bruce handed her his handkerchief Amy raised her head and pulled away a little to dab her face. She happened to glance at Perce who was still standing on the other side of the kitchen table and who hadn’t said a word throughout. The look in his eyes froze her for a moment, but then she dragged her gaze away from the fixed stare and handed the handkerchief back to Bruce. ‘Thank you,’ she said shakily, taking a step backwards. ‘I’m all right now.’ She waved her hand at the laden table. ‘I’ll clear the dinner things and wash up.’
‘There’s no rush. Why don’t you sit down a minute and I’ll pour you a cup of tea? Mam had only just made a fresh pot when you walked in,’ Bruce said gently.
‘No, no.’ She backed away still further from the kindness in his face and the tender quality to his voice, even as she silently upbraided herself. She was doing exactly what Perce wanted by reacting like this. She ought to let him see he couldn’t frighten her or make her behave differently with Bruce. But the dark fury in his eyes had frightened her. Somehow he didn’t seem like a lad of sixteen; in some ways he was more a full-grown man.
Just three weeks later Bruce was set upon when he was returning from a night out with some pals. It wasn’t late, only half past ten, and the last of his friends lived a couple of streets before theirs which meant he’d only had a five-minute walk alone. He had come by their back lane, which was dark and unlit. It was something all the householders did without thinking twice about it.
The two neighbours who carried a bleeding and semi-conscious Bruce into the kitchen were full of indignation at the attack. Bunch of ne’er-do-wells by all accounts, they told a stricken May and Ronald. Being a Friday night they likely thought the lad had still got his wage packet on him. If it hadn’t been for old Mr Newton coming into his backyard to check his racing pigeons - a fox had been skulking about - they might have done for him, the way Mr Newton said they were hammering the lad. The old man had yelled his head off and the gang had scarpered when they and others had come running out, but it was a fine state of affairs if folk couldn’t use their back ways come nightfall without this sort of thing happening. Course, the Depression was a lot to blame. What with riots in the streets and the unemployed getting more and more desperate, law and order were breaking down.
May insisted on the local constable being called, but although he was appropriately grave-faced and concerned, he admitted there was little chance of finding the culprits. The lad had been hit from behind at the beginning of the attack by his own account, and then he’d only been aware of hands going through his pockets before they had started to use their boots on him while he lay on the ground. With no descriptions and no clues as to why they should have picked on Bruce, the constable said, he doubted the law would make much headway with this one. But it might be wiser for the time being to use the front door after dark, just to be on the safe side.
They had all been upset about what had happened but Perce in particular seemed to take the attack on his brother as a personal affront. He had tramped the back lanes in the vicinity for a few nights until May, half mad with worry, had persuaded him to give up for her sake. After this he informed them during dinner one night that he had asked Stan to make discreet enquiries among some of the more questionable types he knew. But nothing had come of that either.
In view of all this Amy felt awful about her initial suspicions when Bruce had first been brought home. How could she have imagined for one moment Perce was at the bottom of the attack on Bruce? she asked herself for the umpteenth time two Fridays after the incident. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her two cousins. Bruce and Perce were sitting with their father toasting their toes in front of the sitting-room fire, the three of them enjoying the beer and chitterlings Perce had brought in for their supper. It was May’s evening for visiting her parents and she had taken Eva and Harriet with her, Ronald pleading a gyppy tummy at the last minute.
Amy watched her uncle tucking into the chitterlings. His stomach didn’t seem too bad now, she thought wryly; nine times out of ten he would make some excuse not to accompany Aunt May to his in-laws. She didn’t seem to mind, she always appeared on edge anyway when Uncle Ronald and Mr O’Leary were together.
For once the house had a nice feeling to it. With Aunt May and Eva and Harriet out, and the younger children fast asleep in bed, Amy could have felt comfortable and relaxed as she sat with a pile of mending in one of the easy chairs. But ever since the night Perce had told her how he felt she had been tense. All the time he seemed to be looking at her, even when he wasn’t, which sounded daft but that was how she felt.And even with the bathroom door locked she hurried through her ablutions each morning, hating the fact he was still in the house when she didn’t have any clothes on.
In just three weeks’ time though, at Easter, she would be finished with school for good and starting work. She would be grown up and everything would be different. True, Aunt May had made it clear that most of her wage would be taken for her board, but for the first time in her life she would have a small amount of money which would be her very own. It was some recompense for not being able to go to the secondary school as her teacher had recommended.
Amy did not count the three pounds hidden away in the post office. In view of how the money had come to her, it would remain untouchable for the foreseeable future and it therefore barely hinged on her consciousness, except as a warm reminder of her grandmother’s love for her.
‘You seem in a world of your own the night, lass.’ She glanced up to see her uncle’s eyes on her. ‘Not still brooding about your Aunt May getting you the job with Mrs Tollett, are you? It’ll work out all right in the end. With things as they are at present, a housemaid’s job, any job, isn’t to be sneezed at, and you said the housekeeper there seemed pleasant enough.’
Amy nodded. ‘Yes, she was.’ Everyone had been pleasant when her aunt had taken her for the interview with the housekeeper who virtually ran the guest house on Roker’s promenade, but the truth was that she didn’t want to go into service.
‘Just see how you get on, eh? Something else will turn up sooner or later.’
Her uncle was trying to be kind and for a second Amy was tempted to tell him what she was going to do the next day but she held her tongue. If her Aunt May got wind of it she would stop her and it would be Mrs Tollett’s for sure.
‘I think I’m for bed.’ Bruce stretched his legs as he spoke, wincing slightly as he stood up. He had returned to the iron and steel works a week after the attack, but his face still bore evidence of the beating he’d endured and Amy knew he was often in pain although he never complained. It made her feel quite odd at times to think what might have happened if Mr Newton hadn’t been worried about his pigeons. ‘Night, all,’ Bruce added. ‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
Bruce smiled at her as he looked her way and Amy smiled back but immediately lowered her head to the torn shirt in her hands in case he engaged her
in conversation. It was silly perhaps but these days she felt it was better if she kept Bruce more at arm’s length. Not that she thought his affection for her was anything other than that of a brother for a sister, but with the two brothers getting on so well since the night Bruce had been attacked it was just . . . better. She didn’t want to search her feelings more than this.
When her uncle made no move to leave the room but settled himself more comfortably with the evening paper, Amy relaxed a little. She had been careful to avoid being alone with Perce since he had declared how he felt but sometimes it was difficult and added to the jumpiness that played on her nerves. She would have felt better if she could have told her Aunt Kitty what he had said but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to mention it. This was partly because the whole incident had been so disagreeable but also because Perce had made her feel that she had encouraged him in some way, even tried to play him off against Bruce. And although she knew she hadn’t, she didn’t want Aunt Kitty to get the wrong idea.
Amy let her thoughts drift back to the exciting but scary event she had lined up for the next afternoon as her uncle read his paper and Perce dozed. It had all started the previous Saturday when she and Kitty had been window shopping in High Street West after they had left her grandmother’s house. She had spotted a notice in the window of a newly opened establishment which had read, ‘Waitresses wanted. Only those with good deportment, attractive hands and a cheerful disposition need apply.A good head for figures and a sharp memory an advantage. Excellent remuneration for the right candidates. ’
She had looked at the notice and then at Aunty Kitty, and Aunt Kitty had smiled at her before saying, ‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, have a go, lass. They can only say no.’
She’d protested she didn’t dare but then a feeling of recklessness had come over her and she’d found herself pushing open the door and walking in, Aunt Kitty at her heels. The upshot of this was that she had an interview tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock.And Aunt Kitty had promised she would help her put her hair up before she went. Amy’s hand drifted to the thick plait at the back of her neck. She would have loved to have had it cut into a fashionable bob ages ago but Aunt May wouldn’t hear of it. Oh, she did so want to work in the hustle and bustle of the town instead of being shut away changing beds and cleaning other people’s mess in Roker.
For a second the thought that she might not be offered the job was unbearable. Surely the restaurant would pay more than the eight shillings a week Mrs Tollett was offering. If it didn’t, she was scuppered, even if she managed to pass the interview and be offered the job.
Her stomach turned over and she pricked herself badly with the sharp needle, drawing droplets of blood. She sucked her finger, gazing desperately at the material in her hands. She knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.
At five to four the next afternoon Amy walked through the imposing doors of the restaurant, outwardly confident and inwardly scared to death. Kitty had filled her in with some background information about the place while she had put her hair up. Apparently the new style of restaurant had caused quite a stir in the town. It was unashamedly modelled along the lines of the Lyons’ Corner Houses which had been operating in London for a couple of decades, and their motto was cheap, cheerful and fast.
‘Enid who works for me at the laundry, well, her sister got took on a week ago,’ Kitty said, her fingers coiling and fastening Amy’s thick curls on top of her head as she spoke. ‘And Hilda is a looker, like you. That’s important. Lyons’ call their waitresses Nippies and they’re all bonny lasses so that’s what the owner of Callendars wants. And it’s not just one restaurant but three in one, Hilda says. The top floor is a proper restaurant and they have a band playing in the evenings, but downstairs there’s a café on one side and then a sort of tea shop on the other that only sells tea and coffee and cream cakes. But all the waitresses, along with the waiters that work upstairs, have to wear black and white uniforms. Hilda says they’re lovely, though, nice dresses and starched frilly aprons and little hats that stand up like coronets.You’d look a picture, lass. You’re sure to get the job.’
‘Did Hilda say how many girls have applied?’ Amy asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Kitty shrugged and Amy knew it was a lot. ‘Quite a few,’ Kitty admitted, ‘but that doesn’t mean you won’t get offered a job. It’s worth a try anyway, you’ve got nothing to lose.’
Nothing to lose. But she had. Amy’s mind was buzzing as she walked through what she now realised was the café part of the establishment. It was immaculate, huge rubber plants and waving palms bordering a sea of tables with lovely white cloths and shining cutlery. All the tables had a small vase with a flower in it. If this was the café, what was the restaurant like upstairs?
‘Can I help you?’
The girl who spoke to her was fresh-faced and pretty, her bobbed hair and spotless apron reflecting everything Kitty had said about the staff. Amy tried to smile but her face felt frozen. ‘I’ve come about a job,’ she said quickly. ‘They told me to be here at four o’clock for an interview.’
‘Oh aye, that’ll be with Mr Callendar, he sees everyone personally, but the manager, Mr Mallard, will take you along to his office,’ the girl said brightly. She pointed to a quiet spot between two rubber plants. ‘Wait there and I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘Thank you.’
Her tone must have reflected how she was feeling because to Amy’s surprise the girl suddenly leaned forward, touching her arm as she whispered, ‘You’ll be all right, lass. Don’t worry. Just remember to speak up and don’t mumble. He can’t abide mumblers, Mr Callendar. And smile. He’s always going on about us smiling and being cheerful for the customers.’
Amy nodded, her smile of thanks more natural now. ‘I’ll remember.’
It was only a moment or two before the girl reappeared with a tall, well-dressed man in a beautifully cut suit. Amy saw the girl mouth, ‘Good luck,’ before she went off to deal with some customers, and again the little touch of friendliness was warming.
‘Miss Shawe?’ The manager was middle-aged with a smart little moustache. ‘Please come this way.’
Amy felt very small and very young as she followed Mr Mallard through a door which led into a narrow passageway. Some yards ahead was another door to which Mr Mallard gestured as he said briefly, ‘Kitchens,’ before branching off to the left, where a flight of stairs rose sharply upwards. At the top of these the manager pointed to a door which was slightly to the right. ‘Main restaurant. And this,’ he nodded to their left before knocking twice on the door, ‘is Mr Callendar’s office.’
A voice called from within and the next moment Mr Mallard stood aside for her to precede him into the office. Amy found herself in a large, luxurious room furnished with a sofa and long low table in one corner, a row of filing cabinets in another and several grand paintings on the coffee-coloured walls. The thick green carpet stretched from wall to wall and the curtains at the two sets of windows were floor length. All this she took in with one swift glance before her attention focused on the man sitting behind the large dark desk at the far end of the room, positioned so that the light from one window streamed over his shoulders.
‘Miss Shawe, sir,’ said the manager in a slightly bored tone. Amy supposed he must be tired of presenting applicants to Mr Callendar. ‘And the chef would like a word when it is convenient.’
‘Problems, Robin?’
His voice was pleasant, cultured, and without the slightest trace of an accent, but the way the light was falling prevented her from seeing his face clearly.
‘He isn’t satisfied with the quality of the latest delivery of vegetables, sir.’
‘Is that all? Well, deal with it yourself. Pander to him. Get someone to go and buy some more if necessary. Whatever. I want him tickety-boo for that big party from the Gentlemen’s Club tonight. Word of mouth, Robin. Word of mouth. We can’t afford any disasters at this stage.’
For a moment after the door shut behind her Amy wasn’t sure what was expected of her, and then the deep pleasant voice said, ‘Come and sit down, Miss Shawe.’
It made everything stranger to be addressed as Miss Shawe. Amy all but scuttled to the straight hard-backed chair set in front of the desk. It didn’t help that as she approached Mr Callendar, she felt more flummoxed than ever. She had imagined he would be about the same age as the manager or older, but the dark-eyed, dark-haired man sitting in the big leather chair was young, she could now see. Well, youngish. And there was something about him that reminded her of that film star everyone liked, Gary Cooper. And then she blushed scarlet for thinking such a thing.
‘So you would like to work here, Miss Shawe. Why is that?’
The Rainbow Years Page 9