A New Dream

by Maggie Ford

  Still frowning, he gestured for her to go in ahead of him. The interior was dim and dingy and there was the musty smell she had noticed before. No wonder customers stayed away, she thought. She sat on a stool beside the untidy counter. It was strewn with a hotchpotch of gaudy trimmings, pieces of lace, flamboyant buttons and costume jewellery: thick bracelets and heavy armlets, brooches made from cheap metal to resemble gold and silver and set with huge fake stones of all colours. From hooks hung a tangle of necklaces and dangling earrings made of coloured glass or clear glass cut to resemble diamonds.

  He pushed some of it aside to make a space and, leaning his forearms on the surface, regarded her with interest. ‘What did you mean, there’s a way I could stay?’ he said slowly.

  ‘I’ll try and explain,’ she began, ‘if you’ll bear with me.’

  Briefly she spoke of her father’s death, avoiding too much detail about the financial distress it had caused to her previously well-off family. ‘It was left to me to seek some way out of the sudden poverty into which we’d been plunged,’ she went on, hating the confession for it was still raw and deeply embarrassing. ‘We couldn’t keep our house and that’s how we ended up living here.’

  His blue-grey eyes hadn’t wavered from her face while she’d been speaking, the expression in them full of sympathy.

  Quickly Julia came to the point, explaining about the fine fabrics she had taken from her father’s warehouse. ‘I don’t know if that was illegal or not but it was just lying in a corner, not wanted. It’s heaped in our flat now, in everyone’s way. I’m not sure what to do with it and everyone’s complaining about it, especially my sister Stephanie, no matter how neatly I try to stack it.’

  Now it was she who was talking nineteen to the dozen. ‘It’s quite valuable, fine silk mostly, from the Far East. I need to make it work for me and when you spoke about your shop I thought maybe, if you could keep this place going just a little longer, you could find room for it. I could pay you for storage and sell enough to buy in more stock of the same quality fine fabrics. I mean, real silk isn’t to be sneezed at.’

  She paused as a faint smile spread over his face at the unintentional pun, and found herself smiling with him. Suddenly they seemed to have become kindred spirits. But she needed to stay businesslike if she hoped to achieve her purpose and quickly resumed a more serious tone.

  ‘What do you think?’

  He paused for so long that her heart almost sank into her boots. Finally he spoke slowly. ‘I think it could work though it does depend on how much material there is.’ His face had become grave. ‘And there’s another thing – it takes money to start up a business, even if you’ve got enough stock to begin with.’

  ‘But it’s your shop. I thought you might be able to incorporate it into your business.’

  ‘You mean take it off your hands and sell it for you? That’s not a good proposition. Any shop owner would expect to get storage charges or else buy in at a low wholesale price so as to make a profit. That’s how business is done – exactly as your own father did.’

  Suddenly Julia felt like a silly little woman daring to face the harsh world of business with no experience of it. She felt like her mother, who’d always hovered in the shadows, meek and apologetic, letting her husband make all the decisions for her.

  Annoyed with herself, she spoke sharply. ‘I’m quite aware of that!’ she said. ‘But I am desperate and so are you. I just thought our combined efforts might help keep this place going, if only for a while. I’m not a fool, Mr Layzell. All on my own I have so far managed to keep my family going when they might have ended up Lord knows where, and I’ve…’ She broke off, reluctant to go into more detail about her family’s downfall.

  ‘We could have become destitute after my father died, but we didn’t,’ she continued. ‘My brother and two sisters, who’ve never had to work before, have found work. We can now hold our heads up and one day I mean to start a business of my own. I know little about business but what I don’t know I’ll learn!’

  ‘Learning costs money,’ he remarked sceptically, but just as she thought he was about to turn her down, he straightened up and thumped the flat of his hand lightly on the cluttered counter. ‘What the hell! Why not? I couldn’t lose any more than I’m losing now. I’ll give it a try, for the next couple of weeks at least.’

  Julia could have hugged him. She’d had so many wild ideas for the material: making the stuff into dresses but she’d never been clever with a needle; selling it off bit by bit in Petticoat Lane but she hadn’t the money for a stall licence; selling it to a stall-holder but he’d expect it for almost nothing. She had thought of advertising it but buyers too would expect it for a song and the proceeds would hardly cover the cost of the advertisement. Even the cheapest storage was more than she could afford but the fabric couldn’t stay in the flat much longer. This offer was a godsend.

  ‘Do you mean it?’ she gasped.

  His lips stretched into a wide grin. ‘Of course I mean it.’

  ‘But I never expected…’ She broke off, lost for words.

  He moved round the end of the counter and came to stand in front of her. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I’m thinking of myself as much as you. I could dress up the window with some of it once I’ve given the window…’

  ‘… a good clean.’ She laughed, suddenly at ease with him.

  ‘You can do that,’ he said flippantly. ‘I’m no good at it. Cleaning is women’s work.’

  She made a face at that but let it pass. ‘Women’s work then,’ she capitulated, now filled with excitement. ‘And when they’re bright and shiny—’

  ‘I’ll let you dress the window. You’ll make a better job of it than I.’

  ‘When?’ she asked eagerly, still unable to believe this was happening.

  ‘Right now, if you want.’

  It was like a dream. ‘I’ll get my shopping first. My mother will worry if I’m late home. Then I’ll come back here and we can start.’

  He’d taken her breath away and as she hurried off her mind was racing, her thoughts very far from the shopping. In the baker’s she dropped coins all over the floor, in Home and Colonial she bought the wrong amount of margarine, nearly forgot to buy tea and almost left the milk on the counter and had to be called back for it. In the greengrocer’s she forgot to pick up her purse and again had to be called back, and in the butcher’s she couldn’t think what she wanted, dithering for so long that the butcher cleared his throat loudly to alert her that there were others waiting to be served.

  Ten

  ‘My dear, where have you been?’ Her mother’s words were panic-stricken as Julia came into the living room. ‘You’ve been gone so long I thought something terrible must have happened to you.’

  A stab of irritation tightened Julia’s stomach as she took off her broad-brimmed straw hat and laid it on the dining table with studied care.

  ‘What on earth could have happened?’ she said, trying to keep her tone even. ‘I’ve only been shopping.’

  ‘But you might have been knocked down and I wouldn’t have known.’

  ‘If I’d been knocked down the police would have been here straightaway and you’d have known soon enough.’

  The sarcasm was lost on her mother. ‘I’ve been here all on my own not knowing where you were. I didn’t know what to do. Why were you so long?’

  Julia’s eyes strayed to the tiny oval clock on the mantelshelf, one she had picked up from a second-hand stall in Petticoat Lane market. ‘I’m only twenty-five minutes later than I usually am.’

  Twenty-five minutes! She hadn’t realized she’d been talking with Simon Layzell all that time.

  ‘But I wasn’t to know, was I, dear? I was becoming so frightened. Where have you been all this time?’

  Julia only just avoided an impatient tut and went to the pock-marked mirror above the clock to run her fingers through her short wavy hair. She’d have liked to retort that she did have a life of her own but that would only p
rompt an instant bout of weeping from her mother and she was tired of this dissolving into tears at the slightest provocation; of hearing the same old lament: ‘If only your poor father were here. No one cares how I miss him, how lonely life is for me without him.’

  To keep the peace, she said instead, ‘I’ve been talking to someone.’

  ‘Who?’ came the response. ‘We know no one around here.’

  ‘You may not, Mummy – you’ve not set foot outside the door since we came here. But I see people when I’m out shopping and now and again I stop to pass the time of day with one or two of them.’

  ‘So it doesn’t matter that I’m left here on my own.’ Her mother’s voice shook with accusation.

  ‘We should go out together now and again,’ said Julia. ‘This flat is so hot and stuffy in summer, I wonder you can stand it. You could do with some fresh air.’

  Her mother shrank visibly from the invitation. ‘I couldn’t think of going out yet with your poor father so recently passed away. And I don’t really wish to know the people here. They’re not our sort.’

  Again Julia had to bite her tongue. What sort of people, she wondered, remembering the so-called friends who had shunned them in their trouble, were our sort? True, people round here didn’t speak with the cultured, educated vowels of herself and her family; their Cockney accents were strong and vibrant. Maybe manners were not always quite what the Longfields had been used to, and there were some types one wouldn’t want to get too close to. And, yes, there was the almost constant ringing of police car bells as officers sped to break up a fight or rescue some unwary who might have strayed down a side alley to be waylaid and robbed. But the women who shopped around the area were decent and law-abiding enough although, due to their straitened circumstances, they were not above sometimes taking advantage of a slightly suspect bargain.

  Poor, scruffy and looked down upon by those who inhabited the better parts of London, Julia found them friendly and ready to help. She had found warm sympathy and support from two women a couple of months ago when she’d twisted her ankle stepping down from a kerb.

  ‘Gawd, luv, yer nearly went fer a Burton then,’ one had said, catching hold of her and gazing down at her ankle. ‘Are yer ’urt?’

  When she’d assured them she was all right, the other woman had added, ‘You ’ave ter be so careful of these kerbs – they’re all bleedin’ uneven. Somfink ought ter be done abart ’em.’

  ‘Just stand still fer a bit, luv, till it stops ’urtin’,’ said the first woman, who was still holding her steady. She smelled none too fresh to Julia, but her heart was obviously as bright and clean as kindness itself.

  She had thanked them for their concern and laughed when the second woman had put a friendly hand on her arm and advised her, ‘Best take a bit more water wiv it next time, dear!’

  They had left her with a glowing feeling of warmth, yet here was her mother, a victim of her own imaginings, fearful and contemptuous of such people.

  Victoria broke into her thoughts. ‘Who were you speaking to for such a long time?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know them,’ Julia said curtly, this time not bothering to hide her impatience. Her mother’s attitude made it impossible for her to mention Simon Layzell so she headed for the kitchen, adding as compensation for her irritability, ‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

  * * *

  With excitement mounting in her breast as the days passed, she was many times on the verge of spilling her plans to everyone. But Mother’s attitude to anything happening outside this closed family warned her that it would make far too awkward a situation to cope with at this present time. Best it remained her secret just a little while longer.

  She had taken to slipping down to Simon’s shop for an hour while her mother had her afternoon nap. An hour was hardly long enough to get much done and it did feel underhanded but, knowing her mother’s temperament, she knew that her news would have to be broken gently, though how and when?

  Even now she could visualize her mother’s eyes filled with shock, her fingers to her lips in horror, could almost hear the words pouring out: ‘Julia, my dear child, think! What would your poor father say if he knew what you are doing? What do you know of this man? Nothing. You must put a stop to it before it’s too late.’

  But it was already too late. She now trusted Simon. Her problem soon would be getting the bolts of material down two flights of stairs and into his shop, though no doubt everyone would be glad to see it go.

  On Sunday, having first washed up the breakfast things, Julia went again to help Simon remove the last of his dusty display from the window before setting to work to clean the glass thoroughly. Having only Sundays free to work, it was taking longer than expected. But at least her mother had James and her two sisters there to distract her.

  As she came back upstairs to help start dinner, her mother smiled contentedly at her but Stephanie’s frowned.

  ‘What’ve you been doing out there all morning?’

  ‘Enjoying a bit of fresh air,’ Julia lied easily. Time enough for them to know the truth once she began dragging that material downstairs. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t gone out too for an airing, being indoors working all week,’ she added and saw her sister pout.

  Stephanie had been in the bedroom most of the morning, no doubt reading her favourite fashion magazines and once again leaving Virginia to help her mother. James too was still in his room, probably also on his bed reading or gazing out of the window at the blue August sky, doing nothing in particular. But that was expected of most boys. Evening was his time, going out to enjoy himself with the new friends he’d made recently, to the pictures or to a dance, probably keen to meet a nice girl to take out. As a junior in a bank he now had a little money of his own in his pocket after handing over his portion of the housekeeping.

  ‘It’s such a gorgeous morning,’ Julia went on.

  ‘I’m going out this afternoon,’ Virginia said. She, bless her, had already started preparing Sunday lunch, which people around here called dinner, making Julia feel selfish for having slipped off to help Simon.

  ‘Not on your own, surely!’ Her mother was immediately anxious.

  ‘No, Mummy, with a friend from work,’ Virginia replied patiently.

  ‘What friend?’ cried her mother and a look passed between Julia and her sister.

  ‘Just a girl from work,’ Virginia said evasively and went hastily back to cutting the cabbage while Julia peeled potatoes for baking around the small piece of pork.

  As they washed up the dinner things together afterwards, Virginia whispered, ‘Actually we’re seeing a couple of boys whom we met during the week. There’s nothing in it, they’re just a couple of boys, but don’t tell Mummy.’

  ‘As if I would,’ Julia laughed, and they leaned towards each to hide their suppressed giggles.

  * * *

  As another week crept by Julia knew she would soon have to disclose her plans to the family. It was Friday. By next week everything would be up and running. Then she must face her mother, who was already asking questions.

  ‘You’re surely not going out again, Julia?’ she appealed, letting her crocheting, now her favourite pastime, fall on to her lap as Julia put on a summer hat and picked up her handbag.

  ‘Just for a walk,’ Julia told her. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘But you’ve been out nearly every morning this week. I can’t see why you need to go out so often, dear.’

  ‘I need to get some fresh air,’ she said, hating the lie. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’

  She and Simon now had the window ready for some of the silks to be tastefully draped. By next week the fabric would all have to be taken downstairs, and there was still the shop counter to be properly cleaned, some brass to be brightened up and the floor to be scrubbed. Together they had disposed of most of Simon’s rubbish. The moment everything was up and running, she would tell the family, but not too soon – next week perhaps.

  This morning she h
ad washed up the breakfast dishes, swept and tidied the rooms while her mother sat crocheting, apparently not thinking to help. Julia had never condemned her for her thoughtlessness. She was after all still only recently bereaved and had been brought up to expect others to wait on her. And Julia acknowledged that at forty-three her mother was probably too old now to change.

  Ginny sometimes grumbled when she was expected to do household chores after working all day but for the most part she was always ready to help. Stephanie, on the other hand, did as little as possible, protesting that housework spoiled her hands and damaged her nails, which would jeopardize her job. James had been ready to lend a hand but Julia knew their mother would have been horrified. In her eyes a man simply did not do housework!

  Now Victoria regarded her daughter thoughtfully, her crocheting idle on her lap. ‘How long do you think you are going to be, dear?’

  Julia’s heart began to race a little. ‘I’m not really sure, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ She avoided her mother’s gaze.

  Victoria suddenly cast aside her crocheting. ‘Do you know, dear, you are right,’ she said. ‘It is a lovely day and here I am sitting indoors in this dark flat day in and day out. Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I can come with you. It’s time I ventured out and became used to the area we are forced to live in. I could never go out on my own but with you I should feel safe.’

  Her mother’s words hit Julia as if she had been punched. Before she knew it she had cried out, ‘No!’ Hastily she modified her voice as she fought for an excuse. ‘Not today, Mumsy. I was thinking of going to Victoria Park and it’s a tidy walk from here. It might be too far for you. You’d get tired.’

  ‘Not if we go by taxi.’ Her mother’s small face had lit up – the first time since losing her husband.