All That Glitters, page 12
‘She’s the daughter of a friend, from Church Village,’ Phyllis told him, deciding that with Haydn working in the Town Hall it would be safer to perpetuate the myth Jane had created when she’d applied for the job.
‘And when I was offered the usherette’s job today with an immediate start, Phyllis very kindly said I could stay here.’
‘Jane’s in the box room.’
‘Where’ve you put Brian?’
‘In with us. It’s only for a couple of weeks until Jane gets her first wage packet.’
Jane picked up Haydn’s plate as well as her own.
‘I’ll do those along with the breakfast dishes in the morning,’ Phyllis intervened.
‘Then if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do, I’ll go to bed.’
‘I told you when you came in, you should have gone right away. What time would you like to be called in the morning?’
‘Early. I promised Wilf Horton I’d be there before six.’
‘You work for Wilf Horton?’ Haydn asked.
‘Only since this morning.’
‘Holding down two jobs, particularly two that start opposite ends of the day, isn’t going to be easy.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m off to bed now.’
‘I’ll call you at five,’ Phyllis promised.
‘Thank you.’
‘Just be sure you don’t make enough noise to wake me,’ Haydn warned. ‘I don’t have to be in rehearsals until nine and I’ve no intention of getting up until at least eight o’clock.’
‘Just one more favour, Phyllis. I have some mending to do, so please could I borrow your work basket?’
‘Help yourself.’ Phyllis picked up a work box and handed it to her.
‘Can I take it up and bring it down in the morning?’
‘Of course.’
The last Jane saw of Haydn as she closed the kitchen door was his head resting on the back of the chair, his long legs and stockinged feet stretched out towards the fender. She knew there wasn’t a chorus girl in the theatre who wouldn’t have given her eye teeth to lodge under the same roof as him. But for the first time that day she was looking forward to having enough money in her pocket to live elsewhere. She picked up the mending she had hidden under the coats in the hall. Climbing the stairs quietly she closed her bedroom door, switched on her light, sat on the end of her bed, and set to work.
Her light was still on when Eddie and William came in at one in the morning. Eddie had been boxing, William drinking, and the after-fight party had gone for a long time. Eddie saw the lamp burning and went to bed wondering if the new lodger was afraid of the dark.
‘You’re prepared to graft, I’ll give you that much.’ Wilf Horton looked past Jane to the people wandering between the stalls. The steady flow of the morning had slowed to a dinner-time trickle. Women had made their way home to cut bread and scrape for those of their children who didn’t have free school milk and meals. ‘If you want to go to dinner now, that will be all right by me. Just be sure you’re back within the half-hour.’
‘I don’t mind staying, Mr Horton.’
‘No point in both of us manning the stall when the market’s half empty.’
Jane picked up Phyllis’s coat. The bag of mending was beneath it. There was no point in taking it, but she carried it with her all the same. It represented one shilling and twopence of work. Put together with her savings it would increase her wealth to two shillings and ninepence. She debated whether that gave her enough security to splash out on a pasty, but decided against it. The one and twopence wasn’t in her hand, not yet. When it was, that would be the time to buy pasties. Until then she’d survive on the salt fish breakfast Phyllis had given her. And tonight there’d be another hot meal waiting after work.
She left the clothes market, turned the corner into Market Square, which was empty as the outdoor market only set up on Wednesday and Saturday, and headed towards Woolworth’s. Half an hour was long enough to walk over the bridge into the park. The sun was shining, and the weather warm enough for her not to bother with the coat which she carried on her arm. Flowers would be blooming, and for the first time in her life she’d be able to stand and admire them without anyone shouting it was time to move on. She crossed the road, glancing back at the polished windows and columned, grand facade of the New Inn.
‘Jane! I didn’t expect to see you in town. I thought you’d be sitting at home sewing.’ Mandy was with Judy, both of them dressed in sober dark blue suits and white blouses that were buttoned to the neck, but if they’d sought to project a Sunday School teacher image it was somewhat tarnished by the thick make-up and profusion of glittering jewellery they both wore.
‘Your mending’s done.’ Jane held up the bag.
‘Done!’ Judy shrieked in a theatrically loud voice for the benefit of a passing bank clerk. ‘You little darling. Can I see?’
‘Not here, Judy. Let’s go into the New Inn,’ Mandy suggested.
‘Good idea, we’ll order coffee.’
‘And sandwiches,’ Mandy added. ‘I’m starving.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ Jane demurred.
‘Nonsense, you’ll have coffee with us. Our treat.’ Mandy took hold of her arm and dragged her across the road.
‘But I can’t stay long, I have to get back. I’m helping out on a market stall.’
‘What time does your break end?’
‘A quarter to two.’ Jane gave herself five minutes to spare.
‘In that case you’ve all the time in the world,’ Judy insisted.
Judy couldn’t wait for the coffee to come before laying her hands on the parcel. Ripping off the paper she examined her body stocking while Mandy ordered for all three of them.
‘But this is perfect!’ she exclaimed as she tried and failed to find where the ladder had been.
‘I picked up the stitches with a crochet hook and secured them at the seam. It shouldn’t go again.’
‘You sweetheart. And just look at this blouse.’ Judy handed Mandy the silk blouse. ‘No one would ever guess that it had been torn. Where did you learn to sew like this?’
‘My aunt,’ Jane lied, grateful for the exacting demands of a tyrannical housemother, who’d insisted on all the girls in her care becoming proficient in both fancy and plain stitching.
‘How much do we owe you?’ Judy asked as the waiter returned with a silver tray loaded with coffee and hot-water pots, sugar bowls, milk jugs, plates, spoons and knives and a separate tray of daintily arranged triangular cucumber sandwiches.
‘One and twopence,’ Jane answered, her mouth watering at the sight of the sandwiches.
‘Here, I’ll pay you now, and get it off the girls later.’ Mandy dug into her purse and handed Jane four halfpennies and a shilling.
‘How do you like your coffee?’
‘I haven’t time.’
‘Of course you have.’ Mandy poured coffee into three porcelain cups and handed one to Jane together with the sandwiches.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Jane protested stubbornly.
‘You’d be doing Judy a favour,’ Mandy giggled. ‘After what she’s just been told.’ She glanced over her shoulder to make sure there was no one close enough to overhear. ‘A few more ounces of fat on you, young lady, and your price will drop.’
‘Mandy, you promised you wouldn’t say anything,’ Judy remonstrated.
‘It’s only Jane. And she’s practically one of us.’
‘You’re not in the least bit fat.’ Jane said quickly, wondering if they’d been in Station Yard. What did they mean by price?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Mandy gurgled, laughing at the expression on Jane’s face, ‘but it’s not like that. We’ve been in a photographer’s studio. He’s going to pay us for the privilege of taking our pictures. In our stage costumes,’ she said archly, with a lift of her finely plucked eyebrows.
Jane bit into a sandwich, too disconcerted to comment on their costumes, or rather lack of them.
‘It’s good work when you can get it,’ Mandy continued, blithely oblivious to Jane’s embarrassment. ‘Ten pounds for one afternoon beats the hell out of six pounds for a full week in a cold draughty theatre.’
‘Ten pounds!’ Jane’s jaw fell open.
‘And from a provincial photographer. Mind you, he’ll probably make a hundred from the negatives,’ Judy said philosophically.
‘And all you have to do is pose in …’
‘In a little less than our stage costumes,’ Mandy whispered. ‘He’s going to take quite a few of the girls. He’s looking for a couple of new ones too. He asked if we knew any young girls, really young ones. Apparently there’s quite a demand. I don’t know how old you are but with a little help you could pass for twelve or thirteen …’
‘I’m eighteen.’
‘There’s no need to sound offended. I believe you. He just said girls who look young. If you’re short of a few bob why don’t you try it?’
‘Me?’
‘Why not? I know you’re a bit on the thin side, but then young girls usually are.’ Mandy pushed back her chair and surveyed Jane analytically. ‘Even though you’re skinny, you’ve got nice legs by the look of your ankles. Your hair – well, you’ll need a wig, but we’ve plenty of those in props and costume you can borrow. Bit of make-up, especially rouge and shadow to plump out your cheeks. A couple of plasters to push up those small tits of yours, you’d probably look all right. What do you think, Judy?’
‘I think with a bit of coaching, may be you’re right.’
‘I have to go,’ Jane rose quickly from the table, sending her cup flying across the carpet with the edge of Phyllis’s coat.
‘We’re going back for another session next week. Why don’t you come with us? There’ll be nothing lost if he doesn’t want you. And a tenner’s not to be sneezed at,’ Mandy added tactfully, knowing Jane was paid a fraction of the Revue girls’ wages. ‘It’ll keep you in cologne and stockings for a year if nothing else. Think about it.’
‘I will.’ Jane said automatically as she walked towards the front door. Ten pounds! What an opening balance for the Post Office account she’d dreamed of owning. Security. Real security. No one would be able to return her to the workhouse once she had that kind of money. It was lodging money for half a year, and you’d have to have something really wrong with you if you couldn’t find work in six months of trying.
Feet sinking into thick carpet, head swimming with intoxicating images of pound notes, and surreal impressions of the gold and gilt ornaments and mirrors of the first hotel she’d ever been into, Jane made her way back to the market.
‘I like punctuality in a girl,’ Wilf said as she lifted the flap and walked behind the stall. ‘Now let’s see how good a salesgirl you are. That’s Mrs Jones from Top Road on her way over. The insurance money from her mother’s burial policy is burning a hole in her pocket. You sell her a going-out outfit as well as a mourning suit, and I’ll knock the price of the hat you’re wearing off what you owe me.’
Jane was tired but happy as she left the stall at ten minutes to four for the Town Hall. Mrs Jones from Top Road had been easy to persuade. She’d not only sold her the mourning clothes but two ‘chapel’ suits and a summer dress. A little flattery about colour suiting complexion here, a few words about quality there. Nothing too drastic or different from the methods she’d employed in the Children’s Homes to avoid a row or a slap.
‘You’re looking pretty tonight ma’am. Such lovely colour in your cheeks.’ She hadn’t always had to lie either. A couple of glasses of sherry in the evening was all that was needed to turn most of staff’s noses as red as Rudolf’s.
‘Well, have you decided?’
Mandy and Judy stood behind her.
‘Yes.’ she said boldly. After all, hadn’t she told Phyllis last night that she’d play in Revue if she could for six pounds a week? Ten pounds for an afternoon seemed far more, for far less effort and embarrassment.
‘Tell you what,’ Mandy whispered. ‘Saturday. Between the matinee and the first show, come to our dressing room. We’ll see what we can do to transform you into a star turn.’
‘And in the meantime eat as much as you can.’ Judy advised.
‘Especially cream, milk and butter. It puts inches on where men like to see them.’
Eddie walked slowly up the Graig hill. Not because he was tired. Anything but. Charlie was a good man to work for, easygoing as long as the work was done and the shop and kitchens kept spotless. And although the job involved a lot of physical work, humping, carrying, loading and unloading, it wasn’t taxing, not to him. Besides, days in the shop were generally shorter than those in the market. Cooked meats spoiled easily, and Charlie preferred to understock, which inevitably meant closing when the last slices and scraps were sold out of the door. Poor William was still working, setting up the Market stall for the morning, but Eddie didn’t feel too sorry for his cousin. Next week it would be his turn to work late.
He had a whole evening free and enough energy left to go down the gym and fight half a dozen sparring matches, but for once boxing wasn’t on his mind. Jenny was. Charlie’d paid him a small bonus for picking up three new customers on the meat round, and this week he’d promised to put his, and his cousin Will’s wages up from seventeen and six to a pound a week. Eddie knew William: his pay rise would be swallowed up in the tills of the town’s pubs. But he was determined his wouldn’t.
After work he’d changed out of his working clothes in Charlie and Alma’s small bathroom above the shop. Polished his shoes with his handkerchief, slicked his hair back with a ‘borrowed’ fingerful of Charlie’s hair pomade and bought a sixpenny box of chocolates from the sweet shop next to the New Theatre which was run by Diana’s boss Wyn Rees. He couldn’t stand Wyn, and was usually the first to apply the name of ‘queer’ to the man. But then, when it came to sweet shops, Wyn’s was the only one he could think of where his purchase would pass without comment. If he’d stopped off in the High Street shop run by Diana, he’d face an inquisition, and later, after Diana had imparted the knowledge to the entire family, endless teasing from Will. Ronconi’s café wouldn’t be any better; all the boys who couldn’t afford a pint, and most of the girls from the Graig, congregated there after work on a week night.
He stopped opposite Griffiths’ shop on the corner of Factory Lane and looked through the window. It had been much easier in the winter, when the lamps were lit, to see who was serving. Deciding it wouldn’t do any harm to go in, even if he found Harry Griffiths behind the counter, he walked across the road.
The shop was teeming with urchins, all with requests for last minute tea items to be added to their mother’s tab. Jenny was rushed off her feet, slicing the thinnest possible slivers of brawn, cutting pieces of cheese that could be more accurately called slices than wedges, fishing pickled onions out of an enormous jar and slipping them into cones of greaseproof paper. He hung back, pushing a child behind him to the front of the queue, while apparently studying the arrangement of cigars and matches laid out on the top shelf.
‘Tell your mam that’s all we have,’ Jenny said to a small girl as she tucked a bundle of newspaper-wrapped cabbage under her arm. ‘It’s a small one, but she can have it for twopence. Don’t forget to tell her the price now.’
‘I won’t. It’s twopence, Jenny. Ta.’ She bounced out, her string tied pigtails jerking comically behind her as she skipped past the shop window.
‘Eddie.’ Jenny’s enormous blue eyes finally looked at him and his knees turned to jelly.
‘Five Woodbines and a box of matches, please.’ He pushed a shilling across the counter. She reached up to the top shelf. Lost in admiration for her slim waist and the full curve of her breasts beneath the pinafore she was wearing, he forgot to pull out the box of chocolates he’d hidden beneath his jacket until she faced him again.
‘That’ll be …’
‘I bought them for you.’
‘For me, how kind.’
‘I had a stroke of luck today. A pay rise. I hoped, well …’ The Eddie who didn’t think twice about facing any opponent in the ring shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘... I hoped you might come out with me to celebrate. I know we’re too late for the pictures, or the musical that’s on in the New Theatre, but we could go for a walk, or to one of the cafés.
Jenny looked up at the clock. ‘Second house in the Town Hall doesn’t start until eight o’clock.’
If it had been one of the boys who’d suggested the outing Eddie’d have taken him up on the offer like a shot, although he’d already sat through the opening night on the free tickets Haydn had dispensed. But despite the daring reference he’d made to the show in the shop yesterday, he had no intention of sitting through it again with any girl, especially Jenny. ‘You know what’s playing there?’
‘Course I do, we talked about it yesterday.’
‘Only men go there. No decent girl would want to go near the place.’
‘I would. But tell you what, to spare your blushes I’ll borrow my dad’s suit and cap. He won’t miss them. Come on, Eddie,’ she wheedled. ‘I’ll turn myself into a passable boy and it would be fun.’
‘We wouldn’t be back until after eleven,’ he said, remembering the lecture she’d given him about not being allowed out late.
‘It wouldn’t matter, not tonight. My mother’s visiting my aunt; she’s ill, so my mother’s staying over. My father’s taking over the shop, but he’s always in the Morning Star by half-past nine and never out of there before two in the morning. I’ll tell him that you’re taking me out. He’ll trust me to be in before time, but he won’t check. I can get his suit and cap now and leave them in the storeroom. I always go in and out that way. I’ll change on my way out, hide my dress, and meet you outside the back door, at – shall we say half-past seven. We can walk down Albert Road rather than High Street, it’s quieter, and by the time we come out of the theatre it will be dark, so even if we run into someone we know, they won’t recognise me.’
