The Runaway (13 page)

Dana jumped to her feet. So get going, Dana McBride, she told herself. Go for the interview, be as charming as you know how, impress the lady who owns the tea room with your efficiency, be nice to the staff – yes, you can be very charming when you try – and then look round for another part-time job because once you’re working six days a week you may actually begin to save towards a place of your own.

The previous evening she had filled a bucket with water and now she washed and then ran into the other room, filled the kettle, lit the Primus, put the kettle over the flame and cut some bread and butter whilst waiting for it to boil. As she ate her breakfast – bread, jam and tea – she reminded herself that Caitlin was right about one thing: she, Dana, would be better off without her friend in many ways. Caitlin’s eternal tearful grumbling had been beginning to get her down and the fact that Caitlin had had several quite good jobs but had lost all of them without apparently caring at all had also annoyed her.

But right now she had no time to dwell on the rights and wrongs of Caitlin’s flight. Instead she checked her appearance in the mirror, decided she would stand as much chance as anyone else of getting the position and set off towards the tram stop. As she went she wondered just who Felix O’Hara was. When they had first joined forces Caitlin had chattered of the many friends and admirers she had had in Ireland. Dana had
stopped listening but now she supposed that Caitlin must have mentioned a Felix but that she, Dana, had stopped attending by the time his name had come up in conversation.

As the tram drew up beside her and Dana hopped aboard it occurred to her that the next few days, or even weeks, would be strange, for she would be entirely alone. Of course if she got the job there would be other people around her all day, but when at home – if you could call two miserable rented rooms home – she would be quite alone in a way she had never been before.

The conductor came to collect her fare and Dana reflected that she would walk home, thus saving tuppence. I shall like being alone, she told herself as the tram swayed and creaked along the busy street. It will be a change, and a change for the better, furthermore. I was fond of Caitlin – we were like sisters – but I could sense that a row was brewing over her determination to feel hard done by. Of course she was absolutely right, we were treated disgracefully by both James Mortimer and Mr Porter, but in one way Caitlin was a good deal luckier than I. When we went to that solicitor to ask if we could get compensation for what we put into the business, he managed to get most of the money her uncle had sent her back on the strength of his letter, which named the sum he was putting into our venture. It was a good thing Caitlin had hung on to it.

Dana sighed. She had never grudged Caitlin the money, but now she realised that it had not been helpful to either of them, because it had meant that her friend did not have to work. She paid her share of the rent out of that money whenever she lost a job, which was often,
so perhaps the solicitor had done neither of them a good turn when he had handed back her uncle’s investment.

The tram screeched to a halt and Dana got down. She gave the conductor a cheerful smile, but he was busy with his ticket machine and did not notice. Dana set off along the pavement rehearsing what she would say about her previous experience in catering, only first she would have to take the measure of her would-be employer. Some people resented the fact that she had run Cathy’s Place; as usual, she had best play it by ear. Squaring her shoulders, Dana began to walk up the hill towards her destination.

The interview was satisfactory and Dana could have got the job, but, regretfully, she had to turn it down. Miss Brown, who owned the café, wanted someone who would stand in for her whenever she had business elsewhere and this meant that Dana would not be able to take on any other sort of work, since Miss Brown expected to be able to call on her at a moment’s notice. If the pay had been good it might not have mattered so much, but when Miss Brown told Dana the rates of pay the younger girl realised she could not even make her rent. Regretfully, she told Miss Brown that it was out of the question. She must have either regular hours or an enormous increase in wages.

Miss Brown, who had been charming until then, immediately turned very nasty indeed, claiming that Dana had wasted her whole morning and saying rather spitefully that she had only offered Dana the job out of pity. Dana thought of several sharp retorts but used none of them, telling herself that Miss Brown might one day
need someone to fill a full-time post and it would be best if she remembered Dana as someone who accepted defeat gracefully rather than being quick with a sharp retort.

Considerably chastened by this experience, Dana was returning to the tram stop when she saw a blue-painted fascia board with a name written upon it which she recognised.
The Modern
, it said. Dana stopped short, crossed the road and stood outside the café. Sure enough, in the right-hand corner of the big plate glass window was a small, hand-printed notice:
Staff Wanted
.

Dana hesitated. Only the previous week Caitlin had been a waitress at the Modern, but she had left after only three days saying that the proprietor wanted to get blood out of a stone, expected his staff to work like slaves for a pittance, and even tried to take the waitresses’ tips if he spied a sixpence or a threepenny joe tucked under a plate, as yet unnoticed by the girl who had served that table.

Dana bent and looked hard at the notice, then smiled to herself. She remembered Caitlin telling her that, because of Mr Gillingham’s nasty temper, the card in the window was a permanent fixture. His staff, apart from one or two elderly regulars, were forever leaving, vowing that they would find easier or at any rate more congenial work elsewhere.

As a rule, Dana had been annoyed with Caitlin when she left a job without giving notice, but on the occasion of her leaving the Modern Dana had been in sympathy with her friend. She had called for Caitlin after work a couple of times and had seen how Mr Gillingham had shouted and threatened to reduce wages simply because
someone could not carry more than half a dozen of the big dinner plates at any one time.

Still, a job was a job. At least this one would be full-time which would mean she could pay the rent of her two rooms at 5 Temperance Court even if it meant living on bread and jam and cups of weak tea. And then there might be other jobs; one thing often leads to another, and if she could assure a would-be employer that she had stuck conditions at the Modern for some considerable time she might get work that was both better paid and pleasanter; perhaps even as a nippy at Lyons Corner House.

So Dana put on her brightest smile and entered the café. She went straight to the counter, and as soon as the lady in the cash desk turned to her, eyebrows rising, she spoke boldly. ‘I come about the advertisement in the window—’ she began, and the woman interrupted immediately.

‘Oh, aye: Mr Gillingham telled me earlier that one o’ the waitresses hadn’t turned in. I tek it you’re used to waiting on? The pay ain’t bad … But wharr am I thinkin’ of?’ She got laboriously to her feet and seizing Dana’s arm led her through the swing door and into the kitchen.

The proprietor, a short fat man who wheezed as he spoke, turned at their entrance. ‘What’s this, Annie?’ he said breathlessly. ‘You know you ain’t supposed to bring customers—’

The elderly lady interrupted him. ‘She ain’t a customer. She’s come about the waitressin’ job.’ She turned to Dana. ‘Or was it the kitchen job?’

The proprietor’s eyes, which had been roving around the room, fastened upon Dana’s face and narrowed. ‘Aha!
I s’pose you’ve come to tell me how she were took ill, which were why she let me down last week,’ he said. ‘Well you can tell her from me to bleedin’ well forget it. Ho yes, I reckernise you, what thinks yourself so smart and grand! Why, I wouldn’t have her back, nor I wouldn’t have her pal in my café, not if you was to pay me a hundred pound.’

Dana began to reply, cursing her carroty crop which made her so instantly recognisable, but the man cut across her words. ‘If she were to come in here this minute wanting her precious job back I’d not tek her on. If you asks me, it were her what walked off with me petty cash, to say nothin’ of a whole steak and kidney pie. If I so much as sees her in the street she’ll find herself in a prison cell before she’s blinked twice. Bleedin’ little thief, just because she’s pretty as a picture …’ he glared at Dana, ‘which you ain’t, bein’ plain as a pikestaff and ginger as – as a tomcat,’ he added nastily. ‘I bleedin’ well bet you’d not bring in a single customer. One thing I will say, young Kate had fellers round her like bees round a honey pot, which is always good for business.’

Dana considered arguing, then realised it would get her nowhere and decided on a polite acceptance of his decision. ‘You’re very right, Mr Gillingham; I certainly don’t have my friend Caitlin’s allure,’ she said pleasantly. ‘And of course you’re also right, I do have red hair – ginger if you prefer – and am plain as a pikestaff …’ she looked him critically up and down, ‘but you’re no oil painting yourself.’ She turned quickly to make her escape in case he might decide to try to give her a clip round the ear, for he looked quite angry enough.

Hurrying away, she was tempted to go back to her rooms, but decided that since she needed work she would look around her first. It was a lovely day, with warm sunshine and a gentle breeze, and for some reason her short, sharp encounter with the owner of the Mod, as the customers called it, had given her confidence. He had been hateful, and she had just laughed. Yes, today was a good day to begin searching for work.

When September came, a good deal of Dana’s bright optimism had begun to fade, for well-paid work was continuing to elude her. True, she no longer had to draw the dole, for she had various little jobs which together paid her enough to live on. She cleaned the Pitch-Pine pub three days a week – after closing time, of course – and quite enjoyed the work because the barmaids and barmen were friendly and the landlady gave her any unsold sandwiches or pies which she thought would not go another day. Then there was the fish stall in the Great Charlotte Street market. She worked there Fridays and Saturdays, holding down the job without difficulty, for no one else wanted to smell of fish, particularly on a Saturday evening when they were bound for a dance hall or a date at the flicks.

Dana had tried to get waitress or even kitchen work, but, according to employers, business was bad. Folk who normally bought themselves a hot dinner at midday were making do with sandwiches, so the catering trade was suffering. Dana had met a waitress she had known when she worked at the Willows, and the woman had told her that the staff had been asked to accept a cut in wages ‘until things were better’.

‘But the work’s no easier. When someone leaves, old Lionel won’t replace ’em; he just expects us to work longer and harder,’ she had said and Dana had sighed sympathetically.

‘What does the Hag have to say about it?’ she had asked, remembering how dictatorial the old cook had been. ‘I bet
she
hasn’t had to take a cut in wages!’

The other woman had stared. ‘Ain’t you heard?’ she had asked incredulously. ‘Old Lionel give her the sack, the old heave-ho. She don’t work at the Willows no more, which is another reason why trade’s bad, if you want my opinion.’

‘What’s the new cook like?’ Dana had asked, wondering aloud whether she should approach the Dining Rooms now that Mrs Haggerty was no longer in charge, but the waitress had pulled a doubtful face.

‘You could try, but Mrs Griffiths is one o’ them what’s gorra funny old temper,’ she had warned. ‘Tell you what, pop in of a Saturday, near on closing time. She’s sometimes in a better mood when she can see her day off a-comin’ up.’

So now it was Saturday and Dana was hurrying home to her rooms. The kitchen of the Willows always smelled of food, but she did not mean to lose the chance of a full-time job because she reeked of fish. Her employer at the Charlotte Street market had been happy to let her leave early for once since there was virtually nothing left on the stall, save for a handful of brown shrimps and a couple of plaice, so she would be able to clean down with only her ten-year-old nephew’s assistance. ‘And you can take the plaice and the shrimps for your tea tonight,’ her employer had added, grinning toothlessly at Dana. ‘You’re a good lass; see you next Friday!’

Now, Dana pulled the string to bring up the key which unlocked the front door of No. 5. She had the large room on the ground floor, which in happier times had been the kitchen, and a tiny slip of a room not much bigger than a pantry, in which she slept. Now she opened the door, slung her coat and hat on the peg and picked up the large tin bucket beneath the kitchen table. She usually filled it up with water before she left for work, but she had been late waking, so now she carried the bucket into the yard, filled it from the big brass tap and returned to her rooms. She had a quick wash, put on a clean dress, tied back her hair with a blue ribbon and checked her reflection in the small mirror which Caitlin had left behind when she went. Deciding she looked tidy enough to satisfy even Mr Lionel should he be still on the premises, she put her coat and hat back on and left.

As she turned into the Willow’s jigger, she began to notice an odd sort of smell. Having sniffed thoughtfully, she decided it must be coming from the restaurant’s kitchens. She wrinkled her nose; Mrs Haggerty, old wretch though she was, would never have let the kitchens smell so horrid. Oh, she would not have traced the pong herself, but she would have sent her minions scurrying into every corner until the source of the smell was detected and done away with.

Dana swung along the jigger, pushed open the door into the Willows’ yard, then stopped. Someone was emerging from the kitchens, someone small and fair, someone crying bitterly. Dana shrank against the dustbins, not wanting to embarrass the other girl, then recognised her. ‘Polly!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, my dear Polly, whatever has happened? Are you hurt?’

Polly knuckled her eyes, produced a bit of rag from a pocket and blew her nose vigorously, trying to hide her tears as she did so, and keeping her gaze on the ground. ‘It ain’t nothin’,’ she said gruffly. ‘Who’s you, anyway? If Mr Lionel cotched you in his yard, you’d be in dead trouble, like what I am.’ She hiccuped pathetically, then raised her tear-drenched eyes to the other girl’s face, her mouth rounding with astonishment. ‘Dana!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, it’s you! But they said as how you and Caitlin had gone back to Ireland!’