Queen of the Mersey (64 page)

The woman on the till she hardly knew. She’d only been with the shop about six months. ‘Congratulations on the baby, Miss Tate,’ she said as she put the goods in a bag.

‘They’re not for me.’ Queenie laughed. ‘They’re for the children of a friend.’

‘I assumed you were stocking up for when the baby got older.’

‘I am in a way, but not my baby.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought you were …’ The woman’s face turned crimson and she didn’t finish.

‘Thought I was what?’

‘Pregnant,’ she whispered.

‘Because I’m buying baby clothes?’

‘No. Oh, now I feel dead uncomfortable.’ She looked distressed. ‘We thought you had a very pregnant bulge. Quite a few women had noticed. And you’ve started wearing looser clothes.’

‘Have I?’

‘Yes, Miss Tate,’ she said nervously.

Queenie looked down at her brown jersey suit. It had a long jacket and a wrapover skirt. A lot of her clothes had felt tight around the waist because her stomach was puffed up with wind. It was becoming more and more difficult not to belch in public.

Taking the bag without a word, she caught the lift to the top floor and went into the flat. Her mother was in the kitchen putting the last of the crockery in a wooden crate, wrapping each piece carefully in a sheet of newspaper. The crate was going into storage until she came back from Kythira, along with another containing cutlery, bedding, a few ornaments, and the clothes she wasn’t taking with her. Her suitcase was in the hall, already packed. Theo’s furniture had been sold. When it would be collected, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

‘Some chap’s going to take this lot to the storage place in about half an hour, so I thought I’d better get a move on,’ Agnes said. ‘Would you like him to take your luggage to the Adelphi at the same time?’

‘Please.’

‘I’ve packed your jewellery separate, luv. I’ll keep it in me own place until you’re back.’ Agnes looked at her keenly. ‘Will you be all right in that hotel on your own? You could have stayed with me, you know, until you were ready to go abroad.’

‘I’ll only be there a few days, until Saturday. I’ll probably sleep the whole time.’ Hester and Mary had also invited her to stay, but she’d sooner be by herself and get some rest after the last few hectic weeks.

‘Well, if you feel lonely, just give us a call.’

Queenie smiled. ‘I will, don’t worry.’ She turned to go into the bedroom, but her mother spoke again.

‘Thanks, luv,’ she said huskily, ‘for all you’ve done for me, like. I know I didn’t deserve it. I was a lousy mam, and I reckon I’d be a dead’un by now if you hadn’t taken me in hand.’

‘That’s all right.’ It was Theo she should be thanking.

Her mother held out her arms, hesitantly at first. Queenie hesitated too, before stepping forward, and mother and daughter embraced for the first time in their lives.

At last she achieved the privacy of the bedroom where she clumsily – her fingers had turned into thumbs – removed her jacket and examined herself sideways in the wardrobe mirror.

It wasn’t much of a bulge, starting underneath her breasts and sloping gently outwards, but the soft, clinging skirt made it look quite prominent. Could she be pregnant? Was it remotely possible?

She sat on the bed, trembling, and thought what an utter fool she was. It was eighteen months since she’d first made love with Roddy but, a year later, she’d more or less given up on the idea of conceiving, convinced in her heart it would never happen. So convinced, that she’d thought the scanty periods she’d been having lately – there’d been none at all in December – had meant the onset of the menopause and her swollen stomach was caused by indigestion. The fact she might be pregnant hadn’t entered her head.

Her mother shouted, ‘The chap’s come for the crates, luv, and I’m off to have a last look around the shop. See you later.’

‘See you,’ Queenie called. She longed to talk to someone. Looking at her watch, she saw it was almost four. Hester would have gone by now, Mary was busy. The gynaecologist! Her name was Susan Wickford. She got up and went to look for the telephone directory – her legs were shaking, all of her was shaking – found the directory, found the number, but there was no reply, not surprising so late on New Year’s Eve. There was the same result when she rang her doctor’s surgery.

She remembered Theo had had a private doctor, and her heart leapt when she dialled his number and a woman answered. ‘I’m afraid Dr Milton is away for a few days,’ she said.

She collapsed in a chair, hugged her stomach, wondered if there really was a baby inside, closed her eyes, felt a movement, but it was accompanied by a gurgling sound that made her squirm. Did women get wind when they were having a baby? And if she was, how advanced was she? If there was a bulge, she could be in her fourth month, her fifth. How could she find out these things? Oh, if only it was a normal day!

Her watch told her it was half an hour since she’d last looked at it. In another half hour, Freddy’s would close its doors for the very last time. There was no point sitting here asking herself questions she couldn’t answer. She left the flat. The offices were still empty except for the one where the money was being counted. She looked inside and found five young clerks sorting through a vast pile of coins, putting them into their various piles. Gladys Hewitt was separating the notes and cheques. She looked up and gave Queenie a quick smile.

Queenie saw, rather than heard, her lips form the words, ‘Are you all right?’

Queenie nodded. ‘OK.’

The accountant, Jerome Peters, was making entries in a ledger. A cold, reserved man, she had never liked him much, though he and Theo had been great friends.

Rumour had it that he and Gladys were having an affair. Jerome would still work for Freddy’s from his office at home, tying up loose ends, preparing the final books for the auditors. The money taken today would go towards settling numerous bills.

‘Hello, Queenie,’ Jerome said. ‘Everyone’s been looking for you. Apparently, they’ve run out of carrier bags downstairs and there’s riots on the ground floor and in the basement. Whether it’s because of the bags, I wouldn’t know.’

‘There’s some bags in the stock room; old ones with a different design. I’ll get them.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. You look shattered. Sit yourself down and I’ll get someone else to do it.’ She had never known him quite so friendly. He picked up the phone on his desk.

‘Thanks, Jerome.’ She had no intention of staying in the cash office. They might think she’d come to spy. She went down to the fifth floor. The restaurant had closed and gales of laughter were coming from the kitchen. Glancing through the door to the hairdresser’s, she saw there was just one customer left, sitting under the dryer, and two of the young assistants were painting their nails.

The fourth floor was in darkness, having been shut off for weeks. The same with half the floor below which was relatively quiet, only a few customers left. The racks of men’s suits, pants, shirts, overcoats were almost empty. A few pairs of bedraggled underpants lay on the floor, a heap of shoes, some odd socks. She wandered around. There were quite a few suitcases left, but most of the sports equipment had gone. A little boy was trying to persuade a man, presumably his father, to buy a cricket bat almost as big as himself. A few rolls of ghastly curtain material remained unsold, but the bedding department was completely bare.

As she walked, she heard voices, sounding very far away, as if all this was just a dream.

‘We’re nearly there, Miss Tate.’

‘Only another twenty minutes to go, Miss Tate.’

‘This must be a sad day for you, Miss Tate.’

She smiled in the direction of the voices, but didn’t speak.

Ladies’ Exclusive Fashions hadn’t a single garment left. ‘They sold like hot cakes,’ Judy Channon said. She was still pretty, still blonde, just thirty years older than when they’d first met. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Queenie, but we bought quite a lot of things ourselves, the assistants, that is.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Queenie said dreamily.

‘You must be feeling gutted, luv. What are you going to do with yourself now?’

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. What about you?’

‘I’m due for me pension soon. I might give up work altogether, I don’t know.

There isn’t a job on earth that could compare with Freddy’s. Are you all right, Queenie? You look dead strange.’

‘I’m fine, just fine. This floor looks almost completely empty.’

‘The children’s clothes went like wildfire, and there’s hardly any shoes left and only a couple of hats. There’s a few wreaths left in the Bridal Department, but only because they’ve been trodden on. It’s the same downstairs. I got meself a couple of Jaeger jumpers there and a lovely Weatherall mac.’

‘I’m so pleased, Judy. Well, goodbye and good luck for the future.’ She kissed the woman on both cheeks, remembering it was Judy who’d taken her under her wing at Lila’s twenty-first birthday party when she’d only been at Freddy’s a few weeks.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, luv?’ Judy was looking at her, blue eyes full of concern. Perhaps she wanted to mention the pregnancy, but didn’t like to.

‘I couldn’t possibly be finer,’ Queenie sang.

It was bedlam on the ground floor. She stood on the stairs, looking down. The crowd could well have been taking part in an exceptionally violent rugby match, pushing and shoving, using their elbows, even their fists. The clock said ten to five.

She was frightened to move, feeling too frail and delicate to thrust her way through the mob. From now on, she’d have to look after herself and the baby that might possibly be in her womb. And if there was, the trip to Kythira would have to be cancelled. She had no intention of flying in her condition.

There were queues at every till and she noticed the old black carrier bags from the store room were being used, with ‘Frederick & Hughes’ in white on both sides, rather than just ‘Freddy’s’.

People were snatching up anything they could get their hands on; jewellery, cosmetics, handbags, gloves, things off the Christmas gift counters that came in their own brightly coloured boxes. They must be stocking up on presents for the next ten years. A man smoking a pipe was struck sharply in the back by the elbow of the woman behind. The pipe flew out of his mouth. He bent to look for it and disappeared from sight.

A voice bellowed, ‘This shop is closing in five minutes.’ It was Joe Parker, the doorman, looking harassed and very angry.

The crowd paused momentarily and began to make for the tills with the smallest queues. Everyone would be served and encouraged to leave quickly.

Queenie watched the clock and held her breath. Four minutes to five, three …

Customers were pouring up from the basement, weighed down by bags. The few from upstairs came drifting down, aghast to find they had to tackle a rugby scrum to get out.

Two minutes to five, one minute … Her hands went to her face as she stood and watched the minute hand tick away the final sixty seconds. She had no idea what she felt, or if she felt anything at all.

Five o’clock.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this shop is now closed,’ Joe yelled. ‘Please pay for your purchases and make your way to the exit with all possible speed. And may I wish everyone a Happy New Year.’

‘Happy New Year to you,’ the customers shouted. Someone began to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

Freddy’s had closed for ever and in the nicest possible way.

She stayed in her office while the staff collected their wages, listening to the squeals and shouts of surprise when the envelopes were opened. It would have been embarrassing to have been there, having her hand shaken over and over, be kissed, hugged, thanked, wished Happy New Year.

People were asking, ‘Where’s Miss Tate?’ but she didn’t hear the excuse being given for her absence.

The squeals and shouts were becoming fewer and gradually stopped, as did the footsteps down the stairs and the noise of the lift. All she could hear now were a few distant voices.

There was a knock on the door and she shouted, ‘Come in.’

It was Mary. ‘How do you feel, Queenie?’

‘Weird. Weird altogether.’

‘Will you be at Hester’s party later?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.’

‘I’ll see you there.’ Mary gave a steely grin. ‘I’m off to give Duncan a good ear-bashing. If he won’t come to the party, I’m going to threaten him with divorce. He’s the sort of chap who needs his bum kicking every now’n again. I’ve had enough of him moping over Flora. It’s time to remind him he’s got a wife and son.’

‘Good luck.’

‘You’re not going to stay here on your own, are you?’

Queenie shuddered. ‘Not likely. I’ll leave when the others do.’ The cash office would still be hard at work counting the last of the money from the bursting tills.

‘Tara then, Queenie.’

‘Tara, Mary.’

The door closed. Queenie sighed and got to her feet. Outside, the corridor was deserted, and the shop was already beginning to feel chilly. She visualised the dark, empty floors, the empty racks, empty shelves. When she’d left the ground floor, it had looked as if a hurricane had swept through it; goods, bags, papers, strewn everywhere. Some of the Christmas decorations had fallen down.

She saw the door to the personnel office was open, and felt a sudden longing for human company. Today, she was being very contrary.

‘Queenie!’ Roger Appleby, the Personnel Officer, jumped to his feet. ‘Would you like some champagne? We knew you were in your office, but thought you mightn’t want to be disturbed. Here, sit in my chair. I’m afraid it’ll be in a paper cup.’

‘Can I have just a sip?’ More than that and she’d be sick. There were four other people there; two men and two women. Their faces were familiar, but she’d forgotten who they were although they’d worked for Freddy’s for years. She remembered Roger, though. He’d inherited Patricia James’s job in Personnel. It seemed odd that she could remember a name from thirty years ago, but not those that she used every day.

They began to talk about the parties they were going to that night, the new jobs they were starting on Monday, the holidays they intended to go on next year. No one spoke to her, but they weren’t being rude, just sparing her the ordeal of having to answer back. Perhaps there was something about her face that showed how she was feeling, not that Queenie could have described how she was feeling had anyone asked.