The bell over the door tinkled and Cissie walked into the shop, unaware that Lena was still in there and had been doing a very good job of raising the tension between herself and the other customers to steadily bubble up towards boiling point.
Cissie didn’t notice Gladys and Elsie either, as they stood in the shadows of the shelf-lined walls, and she walked straight over to the counter as though there was no one else in the place except her and Sammy.
‘D’yer think I could have a word, Sam?’ she asked him urgently
‘Course yer can, Cis.’
‘Hold on.’ Lena straightened up from her biscuit-sorting in the corner and bowled over to Cissie. ‘I was here before you.’
‘It’s all right, Lena, keep yer hair on. I didn’t see yer there. But I ain’t pushing in, cos I ain’t come to buy anything anyway.’ Cissie could have kicked herself; why hadn’t she thought to peep through the door to see whether the interfering cow had gone home? ‘I just want a quick word with Sam.’
‘Aw, so that excuses yer for shoving up the front then, does it?’ Lena demanded.
Cissie sighed edgily. ‘Look, Lena, I’ve got kids indoors waiting for me.’
‘And I’ve got me gentlemen waiting, Cissie Flowers,’ Elsie bristled, stepping forward like a surprise witness for the prosecution, ‘so don’t get no ideas about pushing in front of me neither, yer cheeky mare.’
It was as though Elsie’s words – very mild by the standards of Linman Street – had slapped Cissie around the face. She burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears. ‘Why don’t no one understand?’ she wailed pitifully. ‘I’m all by meself. I’ve got no one. I’m a widow. I’m alone. I’m—’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Lena snapped. ‘You ain’t the only one in the world with bloody worries.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Elsie. ‘You wanna have three gentlemen demanding their teas on time. And clean sheets every three weeks regardless of rain, wind or snow.’
Lena spun round. ‘Who asked you for yer two penn’orth, Elsie Collier? You and yer so-called gentlemen. Everyone knows what goes on in that house o’ your’n. You’re as bad as her.’ Lena jerked her head towards Cissie. ‘Funny how it’s always blokes what seem so keen to help your sort, ain’t it?’
Cissie wiped her eyes roughly on her sleeve and stuck her fists angrily into her waist. ‘D’you wanna say that again, Lena Dunn?’ she asked, unable to keep the sob from her voice. ‘And this time, yer can spell out exactly what yer mean, and all. Come on. If yer dare.’
‘What I mean—’ Lena began, but she got no further. Sammy had lifted the flap in the counter and had stepped between her and Cissie.
‘That’s enough, Lena,’ he said firmly, holding up his hand and making little skipping movements, back and forth, like a referee in a boxing match. ‘We don’t want no rows in here, thank you.’
‘Aw, that’s nice, Sammy. Very nice. Yer on her side, are yer?’ Elsie crowed triumphantly, offering a sudden allegiance to Lena. She pointed dramatically at Cissie. ‘She’s the one what’s causing all the row.’
Sammy scratched his head, totally bewildered. How had he got involved in this little lot? ‘Look, I ain’t on no one’s side, Elsie. I just don’t want no trouble in me shop, that’s all.’
With that, he whisked Lena’s bacon and cheese off the counter and shoved them haphazardly into her basket, then took her by the arm and steered her spluttering in protest towards the door.
‘Now, if yer don’t mind,’ he said, more pink-faced than usual with suppressed fury at such uncalled-for and stupid behaviour – not to mention embarrassment at being seen to favour Cissie, ‘I’m gonna shut up early tonight. So, anything else any of yer want’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning.’
Astonished by Sammy’s uncharacteristic show of determination, Gladys, Elsie and Cissie filed silently over to the door, and stood there alongside Lena, their open-mouthed neighbour.
‘I didn’t mean you, Cis.’ Sammy flashed her a brief smile of encouragement as he stepped to one side to let the others out into the street. They had obviously seen through him and made up their minds about how he felt about Cissie, so what did he have to lose? ‘I thought we could have that little chat. In private.’
The other women didn’t move. They stood there, enraged by such cavalier treatment. They were his customers. Who did he think he was? And who did Cissie Flowers think she was?
Completely unexpectedly, it was Gladys – who up until then had said nothing – who dashed her bag to the floor and twisted round to confront Cissie.
‘Here we go again,’ she fumed. ‘I really thought yer’d got over all this me, me, me lark, Cissie. How can you even think of asking Sam for tick again when there’s others, like me for instance, what could really do with it, but are too proud to bloody well ask? D’you know how I’m having to scrimp and scrape? D’you know there’s nothing in that cupboard o’ mine? Not a single crust o’ dry bread, and not a single scrape o’ marge.’ Gladys dropped her chin and said in a voice full of quiet shame, ‘That’s why I never give Matty and Joyce their tea. I didn’t have nothing to give ’em.’
Cissie felt her lip tremble. ‘I ain’t come over to Sammy for no tick, Glad. And I do know how hard things are for yer. Honest.’
Much to Lena’s delight, Gladys didn’t fall into Cissie’s arms in a flurry of reconciliation, instead she took a step closer to Cissie, her finger raised in anger. She looked incensed.
‘Well, what have you come over for then?’ Gladys demanded. ‘Tell me that, if yer can.’
She stood there looking at Cissie, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to control her tears. Her tears that had, all too often lately, been coming closer and closer to the surface, and which now threatened to spill from her eyes and send her into a screaming fit of panic and despair.
Cissie swallowed hard. ‘Don’t let’s row again, Glad. Please,’ she breathed.
‘I don’t wanna row, Cis. I just wanna…’ Gladys clapped her hands over her eyes. Then, slowly dragging them down her cheeks, she stared at her friend. ‘It don’t matter what I want. I’ll see yer later. I’ve just got meself a bit upset, that’s all. I dunno what I’m doing.’
With that, Gladys twisted away from her and ran out of the shop as though she were being pursued by the evil-looking rent man who, it had been rumoured, was to replace Brownlow while he recovered from his still-unexplained beating. Cissie snatched Gladys’s bag off the ground and went to chase after her, but Sammy put himself between her and the door. Lena and Elsie watched in dumbstruck delight at such a show, as Sammy took the bag from Cissie and pushed her gently backwards towards the counter.
‘Don’t worry about Gladys’s bag now,’ he said, ‘I’ll drop it in to her later on. And I’ll make sure she gets her shopping. You just sit yerself down, Cissie. Go on. Sit down. I won’t be a minute.’
‘What’s up with Gladys?’ asked Ethel Bennett, stepping into the shop doorway. ‘It was like her drawers was on fire, how fast she was moving. Never seen nothing like it. Nearly had me over on me arse she did.’
As Ethel spoke, her hair bristled with the curlers that stuck out all around her head in a metallic halo, and she had a horrible, mean little smile playing around her lips, making her usually not very attractive appearance look even less appealing than ever. She was enjoying herself.
Lena slipped her arm through Ethel’s and drew her into the shop. ‘There’s been a bit of a row, Mum,’ she said, a look of sly pleasure twisting her lips, narrow and dry just like her mother’s, into her own hideous parody of a smile. ‘Cissie here’s upset poor old Gladys Mills again.’ She tutted and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated travesty of concern. ‘They’ve had another row. That’s why she took off like that. Poor bugger. Right upset she was. Yer should have heard her. Break yer heart it would. And what with all her bad luck and everything, that’s all she needs, her supposed best mate turning on her.’
‘I never meant nothing,’ Cissie protested, immedia
tely wishing she hadn’t when she saw the victorious expression on Ethel’s face. ‘No, what I meant—’
‘That’s it. That’s enough,’ Sammy interrupted. ‘Go on, you three, out. I’m closing.’
Ethel, Lena and Elsie, seething with indignation, but relishing the drama of it all, allowed themselves to be ushered out on to the pavement. There were plenty of compensations for such treatment. The three of them were almost bursting with glee at the juicy bit of gossip they had just witnessed first-hand, and were, in their minds, already embroidering the incident into a full-scale fight between Cissie and Gladys, the two presumed best friends in Linman Street.
And there was a wonderful added bonus, and further fuel for their fevered imaginations, when Sammy Clarke not only shut the door firmly behind them – shutting him and Cissie in the shop alone – but also pulled down the blinds and put up the closed sign.
‘Here we go again!’ gloated Lena.
‘Almost broad daylight still, if yer don’t mind!’ gasped Elsie.
‘Dirty little whore!’ concluded Ethel gleefully.
* * *
‘So, these two men, yer sure yer’ve never seen ’em before?’ Sammy had listened to Cissie trying to relate her story through her tears for almost a quarter of an hour, and they were the first words, apart from little noises of comfort, he had spoken.
‘Never. I’m sure.’
‘And yer sure they was genuine?’
Cissie nodded miserably. ‘Positive. Look.’
She dug into her pocket and pulled out the card the man had given her. ‘They wasn’t playing no games, Sam,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘They meant it all right. They’re gonna knock that factory down and I’m gonna be ruined. And how am I meant to feed the kids and pay the sodding rent then, eh? You tell me that if yer can.’
She brushed her eyes roughly with her fists, angry at the all too familiar sensation of tears running down her cheeks again. ‘And that’s another thing. That bastard Brownlow.’
‘What about him?’
She thought for a moment, sniffed and then shook her head. ‘Nothing. I’m just rambling.’ She was in enough trouble as it was, without voicing the terrible fears she had about that little episode, that it was her telling Fat Stan about him that had somehow led to his beating. Speaking those fears out loud might lead to who knew what further complications?
‘All right,’ said Sammy, frowning. ‘Take yer time.’ He wouldn’t push her. If there was something she wanted him to know, he’d listen when she was ready. ‘Let’s just sort this out a bit at a time, eh, Cis?’
Cissie said nothing. She just buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Sammy so wanted to take her in his arms. But suddenly she was on her feet, throwing up her hands in despair.
‘What am I gonna do, Sam? What am I gonna do if I lose that pitch?’
Sammy put the business card carefully on the counter, reached out and took her gently by the hands.
‘I ain’t sure yet, Cis,’ he said, his voice cracking with the effort of having to resist pulling her to him and crushing her against his chest, where he could keep her safe from everyone and everything. ‘But I’m gonna think about it. I’m gonna work something out. I promise. Cos I’m not gonna let anything else bad happen to yer, not ever again.’
Sammy’s whole body felt as though it was on fire. All he could focus on was her mouth. Her soft, beautiful mouth. The thought of it made him dizzy.
He dropped her hands and took a step away from her, and fiddled distractedly with the strings of his starched white apron. ‘Yer do trust me, don’t yer, Cis? Cos I mean it, I’ll do anything I can. Yer do know that, don’t yer? Anything.’
Cissie nodded. ‘Course I do, Sam. But I need more than you being kind to me. I need a bloody miracle.’
‘I know.’ Sammy stared down at the floor. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he just say: Everything’ll be all right, Cissie. Yer’ve just gotta marry me and come and live here with me and the kids, and yer won’t have to worry about nothing ever again. I’ll wrap you up like a little doll and love yer and cherish yer. Treat yer like that flash Davy Flowers never knew how.
But how could he? He was dull, boring Sammy Clarke. Pink-faced and about as exciting as a slab of cold bacon. Why would she want him, a grocer who wore an apron and talked to old women all day?
Maybe she could somehow grow to think something of him. But what was the point of day-dreaming? She’d only been a widow for six months. So, no matter how or what he felt, Sammy knew that decency had to prevail.
‘I promise, Cis,’ he said softly, ‘I’ll think of something.’
‘Will yer, Sam?’ Cissie lifted her chin and looked at him, a glimmer of hope flickering dimly in her eyes. ‘Will yer really?’
Chapter 16
Later that evening, when Cissie had cooked the tea, had cleared up, had had the same old words with Lil about not wasting money, and had finally put Matty and Joyce up to bed, she sat at the kitchen table, more tired than ever, with a piece of paper and a pencil and tried to come up with a plan.
What on earth could she do?
Sammy Clarke had been kind to her when she’d been over there. He’d been nice, gentle, interested. But he hadn’t actually been much help.
And that was what Cissie needed: help.
She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Sammy had done so much for her since Davy had died, far more than she had any right to expect a neighbour to do, but, she now had to admit, it didn’t seem very likely that Sammy, a corner grocer, would really be able to come up with any useful answers to her sort of problems. Hers were the sort of problems that involved dealing with proper businessmen, property developers who could change people’s lives just because they felt like buying an old factory building and knocking it down and putting up offices in its place. Men with power.
No, Sammy was well-meaning but he was a dead loss when it came to it. So she had no other choice, she had to sit down and do some serious thinking of her own. She’d come this far and she would not give up. She had to see a way through this, a way that would mean her children didn’t have to suffer.
* * *
Cissie had been sitting at the table for over an hour and had got as far as writing down two lists. One was a frighteningly long list, itemising all the things that had to be paid for if she and her family were going to survive. The second was much shorter, showing what she could do to earn money if she lost the pitch. All that was written there was: find another pitch. But she knew it wasn’t that easy. Pitches that brought in any sort of money were jealously guarded. She knew that all too well from her own experience.
She sighed miserably and rubbed her hands over her face.
The sound of Lil, who had been sitting glowering opposite her, suddenly slamming down her cup into her saucer made Cissie start as though she’d been shot.
‘It’s like the bloody cemetery in here,’ Lil barked. ‘I don’t see no one all morning while I’m stuck in here with bloody Joyce until that Gladys gets home – while you’re out enjoying yerself, I might add – and then, when yer do get in, I get the sodding silent treatment. I can’t stand it. I’m telling yer, it’s driving me round the flaming bend. I’ll wind up in Banstead at this rate. I’m telling yer, I will.’
‘Have you finished?’ asked Cissie, very calmly, setting down her pencil.
Lil scowled angrily in reply.
‘Good, cos I wanna get a few things straight round here. First, I don’t spend all day out enjoying meself, and you know I don’t. I work bloody hard to put food on that table and to keep you in beer money to throw away down the pub. And second, I’ve got more on me mind than bothering to play games like giving you the silent treatment.’
Lil snorted contemptuously.
‘And if yer must know,’ Cissie continued, tapping the paper with her finger, ‘what I’m doing here is trying to figure out a way to keep our heads above water. Trying to find a way of sorting things out so we don’t have to wind up in t
he bleed’n workhouse. So, if yer don’t mind, I’d better get back to me writing.’ She picked up her pencil and stared at the lists again. ‘Mind you, perhaps yer’d prefer the workhouse. At least yer’d have a bit o’ company there. Wouldn’t have to spend all that time on yer own, now would yer?’
‘Charming.’ Lil tugged her cardigan primly round her shoulders. ‘That’s a fine way for a girl to talk to her dead husband’s mother, I don’t think. If my Davy was here now—’
‘If Davy was here now, Lil,’ Cissie cut in, ‘we wouldn’t be in this sodding mess, would we?’
‘May God forgive yer!’ Lil slapped her hands against her cheeks, and rolled her eyes in horrified indignation as she flashed a plea for absolution at the ceiling. ‘Talking about my angel of a boy like that. Gawd rest his soul. Anyone’d think he got himself killed deliberately the way you’re going on.’
Cissie rose to her feet, walked around the table and stood over Lil. She was shaking with temper, but she wasn’t going to let the old bag see she was upsetting her. That was a victory Cissie wouldn’t allow.
‘If you wanna listen for once, Lil,’ she said in a determinedly even tone, ‘instead of keeping that great moaning gob of your’n open all the time, perhaps yer’ll learn something.’
‘Aw yeah?’ Lil came back pugnaciously.
‘Yeah. I’ll tell yer a few stories I’ve been told about that so-called angel o’ your’n, shall I? Things what’ll make your frizzy, rotten hair stand right up on end.’
‘I don’t have to put up with this from the likes o’ you!’ Now Lil was also on her feet, jabbing her finger at Cissie’s chest. ‘In fact, I’ll tell you a few home truths, you stuck-up little madam—’
‘Go on then. Tell me.’ Cissie folded her arms and leant back, daring her mother-in-law to continue. ‘Come on, I’m listening.’
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