The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (24 page)

‘Really, Colin, there was no need for you to follow me in,' his wife remonstrated. Deeply irritated by his opening gambit, she automatically turned her anger on Violet. ‘If you weren't all fingers and thumbs, I'd have been in and out of here without having to keep my husband waiting.'

‘Leave the poor girl alone,' he objected with a sly wink behind his wife's back. ‘She's doing her best. And besides, I'm enjoying the view.'

Luckily for Violet, Ida chose this moment to come downstairs and take Colin Barlow discreetly to one side. There was an amount outstanding on the latest alterations they'd carried out on Mrs Barlow's dresses, plus an unpaid bill for more lingerie items and Ida wondered, since he was here, if she could trouble him for the money he owed.

‘It's not convenient,' he replied, unabashed.

‘And when would be convenient?' Ida asked, bright as one of the buttons she stocked.

‘The next time I'm passing, whenever that happens to be. Why – you don't think I'll abscond without paying my debts, do you?'

Ida bristled at the cavalier reply. She looked him in the eye, one shopkeeper to another. ‘Of course not. But here at Jubilee we like to keep our books in order. Would you rather I sent you a reminder in a letter?'

‘No need, I assure you.' Colin Barlow tipped the brim of his panama and held open the door for his wife, who was ready to leave. ‘
Au revoir, ma cherie
, as the French say,' he told Violet with a flourish.

The door closed. Ida and Violet grimaced. Violet pulled down the blind.

‘I'll give him until the end of the month to pay up,' Ida decided. ‘After that, the Barlows will get nothing else on tick – not a single button or a reel of cotton until they've paid us what they owe.'

The roses had wilted in their jug and Stan had taken an excited Evie to the Victory a second time before Eddie finally plucked up the courage to seek Violet out again.

‘What are you waiting for?' Ida had asked during one of the evenings that she'd found her brother sitting aimlessly by the quarry pond, staring into its murky depths. ‘Why don't you find out where you stand with Violet once and for all?'

He'd given her the main reason why not – that Violet might send him away again with a flea in his ear. ‘Then what do I do?'

‘She won't,' Ida had predicted.

He'd picked up a stone and thrown it into the water. ‘Why, has she said something to you?'

‘No – I can just tell. Call it women's intuition.'

The conversation nudged Eddie into action so that on Friday after work he rode his newly repaired bike down Chapel Street and parked it outside Jubilee.

Up in the workroom, Violet's heart missed a beat when she heard the engine cut out.

‘It's him.' Ida gave Violet an encouraging smile.

‘Violet!' Muriel soon called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Eddie's here.'

Take a deep breath
, Violet told herself.
Don't rush.
‘Shall I ask him to wait?' Muriel asked.

‘No need. I'm on my way.'
Put down scissors, brush white thread from skirt.
Though Violet's heart was racing, she went down slowly and sedately. Muriel passed her on the first-floor landing, giving her the same kind of smile as Ida, accompanied by a reassuring pat on the arm.

‘Don't you dare say “poor Eddie”!' Violet whispered, gliding on down the stairs. Her nervous beau stood marooned in a sea of buttons and lace, ribbon and yarn. The cut on his cheek was healed, his tweed jacket unbuttoned.

‘Hello, Eddie,' she said as calmly as she could.

‘Hello, Vi. Have you clocked off work?' He saw that her face was flushed and there was still a thread of cotton clinging to the front of her red dress. ‘If you have, I wondered if you fancied walking up to the Common with me.'

‘That would be nice,' she agreed primly.

So far, so good. Eddie took a deep breath and held open the door. Violet walked through and he caught a whiff of her flowery perfume. What was it again? That's right – lily of the valley.

‘Are you working tonight?' Violet asked nonchalantly as they made their way up the hill past Sykes' and Hutchinson's. Children played the usual hopscotch and skipping games, or else kicked a ball against a wall. Mothers called them in for their teas.

‘Yes. I have to be at the Victory by seven.'

They passed Chapel Street Costumiers then the chapel itself before reaching the junction with Over-cliffe Road. Men and women from the mills cycled home in droves, dodging in between cars and buses, shouting their goodbyes. At last there was a gap for Eddie and Violet to link arms and make their way across.

‘We could have picked a better evening for a walk,' Violet remarked. A cool wind blew from the exposed moors onto the Common and a bank of bruise-blue clouds gathered on the horizon. She kept her arm linked through his, he noticed.

‘Would you like my jacket?' Breaking free and slipping it off without waiting for an answer, Eddie draped it around Violet's shoulders. They shared their walk with a man and his dog and then a girl pushing a pram. Otherwise the Common was deserted except for the dray horses from Thornley's, left out to graze overnight.

‘Did you see Stan and Evie at the Victory the other night?' Violet dropped the subject into the conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world rather than her trying to prove a point.

‘I ran into them afterwards,' Eddie said. Here was the topic of Stan raising its ugly head again, he thought uneasily.

‘Evie said they had a nice time.'

Eddie stopped and drew her arm through his again then anchored it firmly in the crook of his arm. He didn't say anything – only looked deep into her eyes. His beseeching gaze melted the last scrap of Violet's intention to maintain the upper hand. She'd kept it up long enough, she decided, as she stopped to run her fingertips over the mark on his cheek. ‘That cut could have spoiled your good looks. I'm glad it didn't.'

‘You think this is bad? You should see Stan's face,' he quipped.

‘And he was no oil painting to start with.'

They laughed and walked on.

‘Joking aside,' Violet continued, ‘it was never Stan I was bothered about – it was you. You do know that, don't you?'

‘I do now.' Eddie kept his hand over Violet's. The anxiety that had built up inside his chest over the last few days slowly began to ease. ‘I've been an idiot but thank you for sticking with me.'

‘In a way, I was flattered,' Violet admitted. ‘I've never had two men fighting over me before. But, remember, Eddie, I'd given you my word.'

‘I know. I should've listened to your side of the story before I lost my rag. I'm sorry.' The wind on the Common took their words and blew the difficulties clean away, making Violet wonder if now was the time to come clean over her problems with Colin Barlow. But Eddie moved on too quickly for her. ‘I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, wondering how I could make things right between us.'

‘There's no need,' she said simply, moving closer and matching her steps to his.

He felt the sway of her walk and the warmth of her body encased in his jacket. ‘I went round in circles and kept coming back to the same topic.'

‘Not Stan again,' she broke in. ‘I thought we'd got past that.'

‘No, not Stan this time. It's the bracelet I'm talking about. I thought if you still didn't want to do anything about it, then perhaps I could do it for you.'

‘Do what?' Violet felt a small shock run through her. ‘Eddie, you haven't mentioned it to your mother …'

‘Don't worry – no, I didn't do anything you might not like. I just kept on thinking about it.'

‘And?'

‘I worked out that there were definitely two or three other people we could ask to find out who else the “D” might stand for.'

‘Who?' A dozen roses was the easy way to say sorry, Violet thought. This showed something different and deeper – for Eddie to hold her in his thoughts even after they'd argued. It made her more prepared to tackle this other thorn in her side and so she wound her arm around his waist and asked him to go on.

‘How about Marjorie Sykes for a start? Her memory goes way back and she's the sort who knows everything about everyone.'

‘Not Marjorie,' was Violet's first reaction. Asking her would be like opening the flood gates. ‘We'd never hear the end of it.'

‘Someone else, then.'

‘Yes – someone else.'

On they walked, to the far edge of the Common, where they let their conversation drift into inconclusive silence. Instead, they stood arm in arm and looked out across the moors.

Actually
, Eddie thought,
I don't mind who we go to for information about what happened in 1914. Right now I'm here with Violet, turning for home as rain drops begin to fall. That's all that matters.

Once Eddie's idea of asking Marjorie for help had settled in Violet's mind, she got over her first nervous reaction and began to consider it more carefully. For a start, it was true that Marjorie was the fount of all knowledge in the neighbourhood and that her memory stretched back to the time when her mother would have been a young woman. Secondly, though she was a natural gossip, she was warm hearted and had kept a close eye on Violet ever since Winnie's untimely demise, so there was no doubting her desire to help if she could.

Sitting on her bed early on Sunday morning, Violet opened the blue velvet box that nestled in her lap. She took out the small envelope and studied the name and address written in faded black ink – Florence Wheeler, 25 Railway Road, Hadley. Then she took out the note and reread the message.

Puzzling over each word, Violet could see that the use of the word ‘Wheeler' on the envelope meant for certain that the gift of the bracelet had been made after her mother's wedding to Donald's brother, Joe.

Violet turned her attention to the bracelet itself, taking it up and draping it across her fingers so that the rose-gold padlock swayed like a pendulum. The details on it were finely executed, she realized – especially the inscription, ‘Xmas 1914'. This was careful workmanship, down to the miniature keyhole and the slender safety chain – a gift that she supposed must have cost more than a working man's weekly wage in those days.

The longer Violet studied the bracelet and held it between her fingers, the greater the urge to solve the mystery grew.

It was only the sound of Eddie's bike chugging down the alleyway beside number 1 that roused her from her reverie and made her return the bracelet to its box. Forgetting that she was in her petticoat, she dashed to the window and slid it open, leaning out to wave at him as he parked the machine in the yard. ‘What are you doing here, Eddie? I wasn't expecting you.'

Eddie looked up at the radiant, bare-shouldered girl calling from the upstairs window. ‘You'll catch your death if you're not careful!'

‘Hold on!' Violet disappeared from view and minutes later she came downstairs dressed in her favourite red frock. ‘Have you come to take me out for a ride?' she beamed.

‘Get your coat. You're invited to my house for dinner,' he explained, with a smile.

‘Again? Are you sure? Don't forget what happened last time.'

‘That's why Mother especially wants you to come. She and Ida have made a slap-up meal to show you how sorry they are.'

‘Right you are.' This was all the invitation Violet needed. She ran back upstairs to fling on her coat and very soon she and Eddie were threading their way through the streets to Valley Road, arriving at the Thomsons' house just as Ida took a leg of lamb from the oven. Emily was turning roast potatoes in their fat and prodding them to see if they were ready, while Dick and Harold kept out of the way in the front yard.

‘Now then, young lady.' Dick's greeting to Violet was phlegmatic as ever.

‘Hello, Mr Thomson.' She responded cheerily to let him know that what had happened last time was all water under the bridge. Inside the kitchen she encountered the usual, cheerful domestic chaos – a dinner table only half laid out with mismatched cutlery, Crackers the ginger cat prowling perilously close to the joint of meat, which had been perched on the window sill to rest, and Ida suddenly exclaiming that she'd forgotten to make the gravy.

‘Here you are, Violet.' Emily sank into the nearest chair and fanned her flushed face with Dick's folded newspaper.

‘Yes – here I am!'

‘Just in time to set the table,' Ida told her. ‘The dinner plates are on the draining board. Pass me that colander for the peas, while you're over there. Shoo, Crackers – get away, you naughty cat!'

Smilingly Violet lent a hand and by the time they all sat down to dinner, there were no clouds of embarrassment left over to spoil their enjoyment.

‘Harold's knocking up a kitchen cupboard from some pine floorboards he rescued from Bradley's rag and bone yard,' Ida informed them. ‘If there's any wood left over, he'll put it towards a blanket chest for bed linen and such like.'

‘Have you even got a bed yet?' Emily wanted to know.

‘I picked up two iron bed ends from Bradley's while I was there.' Harold's face reddened but he ploughed on. ‘I asked them to be on the lookout for a frame to go with it.'

‘But not a mattress, I hope.' Emily grimaced at the thought of scrap-yard fleas and tics. ‘You'll need to save up for a new one of those.'

‘Yes and at this rate we'll be drawing our old age pensions before we're wed,' Ida joked. She'd made room at the beginning of the meal for Violet to sit next to her and ensured that she got first choice of peas and potatoes.

‘Ida, this gravy's got lumps in,' Emily complained.

‘No it hasn't, Mam.'