Lizzie's Secret (3 page)

Lizzie took to the friendly man immediately. ‘Thank you, Ed. I shall enjoy being taught by you – and I do want to learn everything please.'

‘Well, between me and you, no magic about it; it's all in the patterns,' Ed winked again. ‘But don't let on, because we cutters are the top of the tree and we don't want too many people getting in on the act…'

Lizzie started to collect the empty mugs on her tray. She washed them, stacking them back on the gingham oilcloth-covered shelves in the kitchen, and returned to the workshop. Everyone had their heads down, busy at their tasks.

‘Ah, there you are, Lizzie,' Mr Oliver boomed at her. ‘Come along, I'll show you what I want you to do this morning.' He took her through to a small room at the side of the workshop and showed her the shelves, which were filled with rolls of materials, baskets of ribbons, silk roses, tins of sequins, boxes of feathers and other trimmings. ‘You can make an inventory of all the material and trimmings. It's called stocktaking and my lazy nephew was supposed to do it last week, but he's delivering again today and when he gets back he'll find another reason not to do it. If you look at the labels, you'll see whether it's felt, grosgrain, silk or whatever. Make a note of the colour, and whatever amount it says is left.'

‘Yes, Mr Oliver. You want me to write it down on this pad?'

‘You can write, can't you?' he asked brusquely.

‘Yes, sir.' Lizzie took the pen and notebook from the counter, frowning as she looked at the rolls and rolls of material on the shelves. It was going to take ages; at this rate it would take months before she got near a hat…

‘Get on with it then, girl. By the time you've sorted this lot, you'll know your materials…'

Lizzie sighed as she looked at the task ahead of her; it was going to take hours. She saw some steps leaning against the wall and fetched them, climbing to the top shelf. After trying to find the labels unsuccessfully, Lizzie decided that the only way to do this was to take all the rolls down and reorganise the whole stockroom. It looked as if everything was muddled, as if people just shoved a roll into the first available space. It would be a long, slow job, but, as her employer said, at least it would help her to know the materials…

*

‘I thought you weren't coming,' Beth said when Lizzie turned up just as she was finishing her lunch. ‘Where have you been?'

‘I was in the stockroom and no one told me it was time for lunch.'

‘Oh well, there's enough in that pot for a cup of tea,' Beth said. ‘Have you brought something to eat?'

‘I made some cheese sandwiches this morning, but I'm not that hungry…'

Beth offered her a sausage roll. ‘Mum packed me three; they're lovely but I couldn't eat them all. I was going to give it to the ducks on the river.'

‘Oo, yes, I could eat one of those….' Lizzie took the sausage roll and bit into the crisp pastry. ‘Your mum is a lovely cook. Aunt Jane only makes these for special occasions.'

‘I'm glad you like them,' Beth said. ‘I was wondering if you'd like to go out one night – to the flicks or something. I go out with Tony at the weekends; he's my boyfriend, but he works late most nights. He's savin' for the future…'

‘I usually go to the matinee on Saturdays. My aunt doesn't like me to go out at night…'

‘Not ever? That's pretty rotten for you – and it's not fair. You're older than me. You shouldn't let her boss you about like that, Lizzie.'

‘Perhaps you could come to tea on Saturday, and then, when she knows you, she might let me go with you to the flicks.'

‘Tony is taking me to a dance that evening, but I can have tea with you first.'

‘I've never been to a dance…'

Beth stared at her in amazement. ‘I've been going since I was fifteen – it was just a church social at first and my elder sisters and brother were with me. I didn't start courting until I was eighteen. Dad wants me to wait until I'm twenty to get married, but I'm hoping to persuade him to let us on my next birthday…'

Lizzie looked at Beth's lovely blonde hair, which she wore in a pageboy style clipped back behind her ears at the sides for work. Her eyes were a deep blue and she was so pretty that Lizzie wasn't surprised she had a serious boyfriend. Her own reflection in the mirror was disappointing, for though her features were regular, her eyes were a melting brown and her dark hair was straight, pulled back in the bun she wore at the back of her head.

‘You're so lucky, Beth. I wish I could go dancing… and have a boyfriend.'

‘Well, why can't you? I think you should stand up for yourself more.'

‘You don't understand. My aunt is very strict… I don't know why exactly, but Uncle Jack says she's only trying to look after me. I suppose it's because I was very ill for a long time…'

‘Oh, well…' Beth shrugged. ‘I've got to get back to the office. I'll see you tomorrow if I don't catch you after work. Don't forget your breaks and your lunch period tomorrow – you don't want to let them take advantage of you, Lizzie.'

‘No, I won't. I was so busy and the time just went…'

Returning to the stockroom, Lizzie looked at what she'd done. All the felt was together on three shelves now. They had mostly red and green and a few half rolls of brown, grey and pink, and just one half roll of a dark blue. She'd found a new place for the tins and reels of cotton and cards of braid, and she'd just started to sort out the grosgrains, silks, velvets and fine straw when the door opened behind her and someone swore loudly.

‘What the hell has happened here?'

Lizzie swung round to see a man staring at the shelves in disgust. He had light brown hair that waved back from his forehead, but because it was too long, a bit of it fell forward into his eyes. His eyes were a greenish brown and his mouth was wide, his nose a little long.

‘What's wrong? I'm doing the stocktaking and putting everything together so that it's easier to check what we've got…'

‘You foolish little girl.' He looked so arrogant that Lizzie was angry too. ‘We put all the same colour together, regardless of what the material is and then it's easy to find what you need… now we'll be searching for ages to find the right match…'

‘But it will be easy when I finish,' Lizzie argued. ‘Everything was all jumbled up…'

‘It was where I wanted it.' He glared at her. ‘Where are the cottons and braids?'

‘Over there by the window. They don't need a huge shelf to themselves. This way you can see how much you've got in felts and silks and grosgrains and – you've hardly got any pink felt left and only that bit of blue and no black at all…'

‘I meant to order all of those last week, but we were too busy,' he said, examining the shelves. ‘What would you do if I said I wanted it all back the way it was?'

‘I've got no idea how it was, except it was a jumbled-up mess.'

‘Oh, was it?' He glared at her for a moment and then suddenly grinned. ‘I suppose it may be better when you've finished and we all know where to look… I'm Harry Oliver by the way. I presume you're Lizzie Larch?'

‘Yes. So you're Mr Oliver's nephew,' Lizzie said, still wary. ‘He called you lazy and said you were supposed to do the stocktaking last week…'

‘I never have the time,' Harry said. ‘Oh, well, we'll give your system a try, Lizzie. I need some red silk grosgrain and some black veiling…'

‘That shelf has all the grosgrain – and that one is going to have silk and the straw is going there, and that one is for velvets, and stiffening materials here– and all the veiling and silk ribbons are here on the floor.'

‘We haven't got much black veiling left. Are you certain this is all of it?'

‘Yes,' Lizzie looked at her list. ‘It says there's only a third of a roll left and there are three yards in a roll…'

‘Damn it! That won't trim six hats.' Harry glared as if it were her fault. ‘I'd better go and fetch some from the wholesaler.'

He went out without another glance in her direction. Lizzie looked at her watch. She'd been left to get on all day and no one had brought her a mug of tea through, though she knew they were supposed to stop for one at three o'clock. She'd almost got the shelves to her liking and she would just about finish the materials today. Tomorrow, she would have to start on all those trimmings and lengths of ribbons, to say nothing of the feathers and the silk flowers…

‘So how did you get on today?' Beth's mother asked when she entered the kitchen. ‘Was it all right?'

‘Yes.' Beth sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells good tonight?'

‘I hope you're hungry? We're having lamb chops.'

‘Everything you cook is lovely, Mum.' She hesitated, then, ‘If I gave you an extra couple of bob a week could you put another bun or sausage roll in my lunch packet?'

‘Were you still hungry?'

‘I'd like to offer Lizzie a bun or something. I don't think she gets very much nice at home – and I'm so lucky…'

‘You're a lovely girl, our Beth,' her mother gave her a fond smile. ‘When I'm baking there's always a few left over now that Dotty and your brother are married, and you can keep your money, love.'

‘You spoil me, Mum.'

‘Well, once Mary gets married this September I'll only have you at home to spoil.'

‘All your chicks will have flown except for me – and I'll get married as soon as Dad lets me.'

‘Your dad is only thinking of your future. I was twenty when I married.' She smiled at her daughter. ‘My Derek was called up in 1916, nearly two years after the war started. They didn't take married men with children until they began to get desperate. When he left me, he put his barrow in store, kissed me and told me not to worry. I found out I was having the twins a few weeks later, and I would never have managed if it hadn't been for my mother's help. It was two years before your father came back with a wound to his leg that kept him out of the rest of it, and another eighteen months before it healed enough for him to get back to work full time.'

‘Is that why he limps sometimes?'

‘Arthritis set in when his leg healed. He got a small pension for his war work, which he gave to his mother but we lived on what he earned from the barrow, same as now.'

‘I never knew we were hard up,' Beth said. ‘All I remember is you smiling and cooking, and Dad coming home with fruit from the stall and laughing as we all scrabbled for an orange or a pear.'

‘We managed better than most.'

‘You never let on to us if you were worried.'

‘I wasn't, because I knew we would get through – and my mother helped us when she could.'

‘Granny Shelly? ‘You worry about her, don't you?'

‘She doesn't complain but she finds it difficult to get about – and she's getting a bit forgetful.' Beth's mother sighed. ‘You wouldn't mind if Granny came here to live, would you?'

‘Why should I mind? I love her; we all do…'

Beth listened as her mother described how her granny had helped out when she and her brother and sisters were small; teaching her daughter how to manage on the money her husband gave her and sometimes giving her a few shillings extra. Beth loved the feisty old lady and never grew tired of hearing stories about her.

‘You mustn't ever let her go in one of those awful old people's homes,' Beth's throat was tight with emotion. ‘We need to look after her, love her and cherish her, Mum.'

‘Yes, we'll make sure she moves in with us.. Where are you going this evening, love?'

‘Tony is taking me to the flicks. It's Humphrey Bogart and he likes him – I do too, though I wouldn't mind where we went…'

Her mother gave her a long, knowing look. ‘I know you don't like having to wait to get married, but promise me you won't be silly, Beth.'

‘Tony knows I want to wait, and so does he,' Beth said, smothering a sigh. ‘Besides, I wouldn't want to let you and Dad down.'

‘Your dad would stand by you and so would I, Beth – but it's not a good way to start a marriage.'

‘I'll go up and change,' Beth said, wanting to escape before her mother probed too far.

Mum didn't mean to lecture and Beth hadn't lied when she said she wanted to wait until they were married – but it was getting harder. She could only hope that Tony would go on being content to wait for her.

He'd spoken of what might happen if there was a war before she was twenty. ‘I would be sure to be called up, love,' he'd told her. ‘I'm just a labourer on the Docks, not highly skilled. I earn a decent wage and one day I want my own business. My grandfather had a tobacconist's shop and I'd like to do the same. I reckon I'll look out for a shop with a flat over the top and a garden out back. We could run it together – unless that bloody Hitler spoils things before I can get started.'

The papers had been full of talk about how bad things were getting in Germany for ages; the way they were treating the Jews over there had a lot of people up in arms and even Beth's father talked about it being likely that it would come to a war in the end, but so far the sandbags around important public buildings and the trenches in the public parks up the West End had not been needed; instead the trenches filled with water and were a hazard at night, but everyone prayed that they would never be needed for real.

Beth dressed hurriedly and brushed her hair back from her face, fastening it with Kirby grips that didn't show because it frizzed out in soft curls and wisps over her ears and forehead.

When she went back down to the kitchen, her father was washing his hands at the sink, the water turning a muddy brown as it swirled down the plughole.