The Sunday Girls Read online

  She nodded. ‘I know I’m being daft but I wonder if he thinks I’m too young for him – just because I’m still at school.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Maddie, but you’ll never know if you don’t take up his offer of an innocent night at the pictures.’

  ‘What about a night out tomorrow with me? We can go to the King’s picture house to see that Busby Berkeley musical or maybe go to see Claude Rains in The Invisible Man. I think it’s on at the Plaza.’

  It was an attractive notion but I had no money – not now or in the foreseeable future – but, before I could answer, Maddie said, ‘It’ll be my treat.’

  When I looked at her, she said, ‘I know how you feel about people paying for you but I can’t go to the pictures on my own as my mother won’t allow it. So you see, Ann, you’ll be doing me a great favour. Please, please.’

  She looked so sad that I relented but only under the promise that the next pictures treat would be mine. Hopefully I would be paid by then.

  It dawned bitterly cold the next day and the pavements were white with snow. It had been falling for most of the night. As I made my way to the grocer’s shop for a loaf of bread, I had to pass a group of small children who were eagerly throwing snowballs at one another. Sometimes their aim wasn’t accurate and the snowball would strike a passerby, much to their disgust and chagrin. ‘You wee devils,’ shouted one old woman to the children as they made a quick getaway. She wiped the snow from her coat and headed on down the street, still muttering loudly.

  To be truthful, most of this activity went over my head because of my money problems. I had put the fire on that morning and Granny had tried to hide the almost empty coal bunker. ‘The coalman’s late this week so you’re not to worry about it. I’ll get a bag of coal on tick – after all, I’m a good customer.’ She failed to hide the worried expression that flitted across her face and I knew this cold spell was being a big drain on the budget.

  It was then that I decided to pawn my coat. It would just be for a couple of weeks until I got paid and then I would redeem it. It broke my heart to part with it, especially in this wintry weather but the money would tide Granny over for a few days at least. Later that afternoon I approached Dickson’s pawnshop on the Hilltown. His window was a kaleidoscope of objects, both domestic and valuable. Items that hadn’t been redeemed now lay in a jumbled collection behind the glass – all awaiting a sale.

  The entrance to the pawnshop office lay up a very narrow close beside the shop. It was dark and dank with water running down the flagstones and the walls. It was the most depressing close I had ever seen. In fact, in a world of depressing places, this one deserved a medal for awfulness. I pushed open the swing door and entered a high-roofed cavern of an office. The counter was divided into sections with thin wooden walls that were obviously designed to offer some degree of privacy – a buffer against the entire clientele knowing their neighbours’ business. In that respect, it failed dismally.

  The place was busy and I had to wait inside the door until a cubicle became vacant. A poor-looking woman with two small crying children brushed past me. Her face was full of misery and I noticed the small rumpled parcel under her arm. It looked as if the pawnbroker had rejected her meagre wares.

  I waited until my turn then took the coat from my bag and placed it on the small counter, smoothing it as I laid it down. A small man with a wizened face picked up the fur-trimmed sleeve and I thought I saw a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. This glint was instantly replaced by a professional manner. ‘How much do you want for this?’ he asked, peering at me through his half-moon specs.

  I hadn’t a clue about the going rate but I stammered, ‘Seven … seven and sixpence.’

  He shook his head, felt the fur once more and looked at me. ‘I can let you have five shillings for it.’

  I produced the shoes and bag. ‘If I add these can you make it seven and six?’

  He pondered for a few moments, taking a step back and giving my beloved belongings a critical look. ‘Right, then, I’ll make it seven shillings.’

  I took the money and ran like a scalded cat from this horrible close, knowing full well I was lucky – not like the poor woman before me.

  Granny demanded to know where the money had come from and I told her. ‘Oh, no, not your swanky coat.’ She was dismayed.

  ‘Don’t worry, Granny, it’ll just be for two weeks until I get paid then I’ll redeem it.’ I handed over the seven shillings. ‘Will this be enough?’

  She nodded. ‘It’ll buy a bag of coal and the messages and, next week, I can always get a few things on tick.’

  I placed the pawn ticket in the vase on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ll keep the ticket here in case it gets lost.’

  Granny looked worried. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t let Hattie know about that ticket. She’s always coveted that coat and she would redeem it and not say a word.’

  I assured her it was safe enough. Later that evening, I joined Maddie at the foot of the stairs and we headed happily towards the King’s picture house. I was wearing my trench coat and, although she glanced at it, she said nothing. She obviously still had Danny on her mind.

  When we reached the King’s, a large queue had formed, standing hunched up and miserable on this cold night. The snow had stopped but an icy wind swirled around the feet of the waiting picture-goers. We headed towards the end of the queue and, because I had my head down, I didn’t notice Danny and his friend but Maddie did.

  ‘Hullo,’ he shouted cheerfully, ‘are you coming to see the picture as well?’

  Maddie’s face turned chalk white. She would have walked on but I stopped.

  He turned to the girl at his side. ‘This is Minnie,’ he said as he introduced us.

  She was a small, very thin girl with an elfin look about her. Her very dark hair hung in a straight style and skimmed her shoulders. And she was very pretty.

  Perhaps because of her name and her dark hair she reminded me of Minnehaha, the Indian maiden in Hiawatha. I instantly rebuked myself for putting a nickname on her because this was a trait I was using a lot and it had to stop – people were not like characters in books.

  We chatted for a moment or two – at least I did – and then we made our way down the street and past the snake-like queue of people.

  Maddie suddenly turned to me. ‘I don’t think I want to see this film. Let’s go and see The Invisible Man at the Plaza.’

  Although slightly annoyed that she hadn’t asked my opinion, I stayed silent. However she didn’t want to be seen by either Danny or Minnie so we made our way along the Seagate and into the High Street before heading up the Hilltown to the Plaza, like two thieves in the night.

  12

  While Maddie was unhappy at Danny’s romance, I was feeling more optimistic. Mrs Barrie was on the mend and, although she was still weak and confined to her bed, the atmosphere in the house changed from the deathly hush to a more normal routine. For a start, the wireless was now switched on every day and, as Jean remarked, ‘I never thought I would miss all the cheery banter so much.’

  In the middle of the week, one of the jobs, after my cleaning chores were finished, was to take the accumulators to be charged up. In this house of plenty, there was even a special carrier for this task – a strong wicker basket with two compartments that held the accumulators upright – and, although it was quite heavy to carry, it meant they didn’t wobble around.

  Alfie Drummond owned the shop where the accumulators were taken. It was situated at the far end of Gray Street, tucked in between a cafe that catered for the summer visitors and the chemist. Nondescript in appearance, it was a Mecca for all the wireless owners in the Ferry. Alfie had fought in the Great War and he arrived back in Blighty minus half his leg. Shortly after, with a few pounds from his savings, he opened his small business. Although the world didn’t quite beat a path to his door, he still made a reasonable living with his charging services and wireless repairs. His shop always fascinated me, especially the large gra
mophone which took pride of place on the counter. It sported a large fluted horn and a small plaque stating ‘His Master’s Voice’ and showing a small dog listening to a similar gramophone.

  The local myth was that this was a forgotten repair – the owner, having put it in to be repaired, had then somehow forgotten about it. How anyone could overlook such a large piece of musical equipment was beyond my comprehension but perhaps the truth, should it ever become known, was more mundane.

  Being an astute businessman, Alfie knew it always drew comments. In fact, one customer was remarking on it as I entered. ‘I see you’ve still got the gramophone, Alfie. Is the owner still saving up for your bill?’

  Alfie laughed. He was a large-built, jovial man with the deepest, loudest voice I had ever heard. I often thought he could have used this to great effect in the trenches of France. This deep, booming voice resonating over no-man’s-land would soon have sent the German soldiers running away in panic.

  ‘Now, young Ann, how is Mrs Barrie feeling today? Better I hope?’ He leaned over the counter and grasped the handle of the heavy basket. He took out the two accumulators and replaced them with two fully charged-up ones. Once again I was struck by what money could buy – in this case, the luxury of having entertainment every day from the airwaves. The majority of poor people in the crowded streets of Dundee were lucky if they had the price of a wireless or the few pennies it cost for the charging service.

  Although the wind was still chilly with a hint of snow on its cutting edge, I was delighted to see clumps of daffodils and crocuses in the gardens. The snowdrops however were fading but they had been a brave show of flowers a few weeks ago. Spring would soon be here and, in a few months’ time, Lily would be two years old. I thought she was becoming a wee rascal with her Grandad but Granny kept her on a tight rein.

  A piercing blast swept straight from the sea and whipped around my legs. My thin trenchcoat wasn’t warm enough against this onslaught and I mentally counted the hours till I could redeem my lovely coat.

  With Mrs Barrie now feeling much better, I hoped I would get the chance to speak to her and get my wages. Miss Hood was in the kitchen when I arrived back and, although she still looked dreadful, her tongue was as sharp as ever. She made no sign that she was going to help and it was left to Jean and me to manhandle the heavy objects.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ann,’ Jean wailed, ‘it’s a wonder you’re not bowly-legged carrying this. What a weight!’

  ‘Well, that’s what she’s here for,’ snapped the housekeeper, glaring at me. ‘She’s here to do all the hard work and leave me to do my job. The one I came for – the job as a companion.’

  Her glare was now replaced by a speculative glance at my old coat and I was suddenly grateful I wasn’t wearing my good one. In spite of Jean’s protestations I just knew Miss Hood would never believe I had bought it from McGill’s – or any other department store, for that matter.

  As the week wore on, all my earlier optimism evaporated as I realised the housekeeper was still dealing with all of Mrs Barrie’s needs. Even when I carried the food tray upstairs, the housekeeper would suddenly materialise from the shadows on the top landing and snatch it from my hands – sometimes with a grunt but mostly in silence. I found this treatment unnerving and I began to be afraid to climb the stairs as I knew a quick, quiet shove from her would send me toppling backwards. Still, I had no option as this job was just one of many for me.

  On the Thursday afternoon, she appeared as usual and grabbed the tray from my hands. Perhaps it was the rough way she grabbed it or maybe Jean had overfilled the hot water jug but some hot water splashed on to her wrist. A string of oaths came from her refined mouth and I was shocked. I was used to hearing people cursing and swearing on the streets of Dundee but to hear them being uttered by this genteel spinster took me aback.

  I told Jean about the incident and she shook her head. ‘I’ve always known she was no lady – just somebody who managed to work themselves up in the theatre but, with her airs and graces, she thinks she’s nobility. Now Mrs Barrie is a lady. She comes from titled stock. Her mother married a lord and Mrs Barrie herself married into money but she as nice as nine pence and there’s nothing stuck up about her. No siree.’

  I remembered something. ‘She never swore like that yon time when she splashed herself making the blackcurrant drink. Do you mind?’

  ‘Aye, I do but maybe she got a bigger splash of hot water this time or maybe she was distracted by Mrs Barrie’s illness last time. We’ll never know.’

  I nodded gloomily. ‘Do you think she’ll take her time off this weekend?’

  Jean said, ‘No, I don’t think she will – at least not the way she’s speaking at the moment. “I’ll be here as long as the mistress needs me,”’ said the cook, putting on a posh accent. ‘When it comes to speaking in a panloafy voice, well, our Lottie is a past master.’ Jean grinned. ‘Except when she’s cursing like a shipwrecked sailor.’

  Although I laughed along with Jean, I was also worried. I knew Granny couldn’t possibly cope another week without my wages so I watched Miss Hood’s movements like a demented hawk. I thought she might go off to the shops but she didn’t budge an inch. Then, at breakfast time on Friday morning, a small miracle happened. Miss Hood wasn’t on the landing when I climbed the stairs so I tapped gently on Mrs Barrie’s door.

  Her voice sounded much stronger. ‘Come in, Lottie, I’m awake.’

  I couldn’t believe my luck as I entered and Mrs Barrie’s face broke into a big smile. ‘How lovely to see you, Ann. I’m afraid the only people I’ve seen over these last few weeks are Lottie and Doctor Little. What a pleasure to see a young face at last!’

  Suddenly Miss Hood burst in. This barging in was a trait which I was beginning to notice was normal for her. She tumbled in with all the grace of Mr Bell’s pony and even that comparison was a huge slur on the pony.

  I placed the tray in front of the patient and although the illness had taken its toll on her weight, her eyes were alert and bright with amusement. After all, she could hardly have failed to notice that, as the housekeeper ground to a halt, she almost toppled into the bed beside her.

  ‘I was saying to Ann what a lovely change to see a young face …’ She suddenly stopped as she realised her faux pas. ‘Not that I don’t enjoy looking at you, Lottie, because you’ve got me through this illness and I don’t think anyone else could have done that. Thank you …’ Her voice trailed away and she busied herself with the teapot.

  Meanwhile, Lottie didn’t know where to look. On the one hand, she was full of pride at Mrs Barrie’s words of gratitude but, on the other hand, she was wild at me for breaching the cordon. I could only assume she had overslept because her hair was uncombed and her long, sagging knitted cardigan was outside in.

  Mrs Barrie was still fiddling with her tray. She didn’t lift her eyes as she spoke. ‘Now, Lottie, I know you haven’t taken your time off during my illness and I’m very grateful for all your kindness in looking after me so I insist you take your time off this week.’

  Miss Hood’s face drained of the little colour it had. ‘No, no, Eva, I enjoy looking after you. I’m your companion after all.’

  Mrs Barrie then looked at her with a steady gaze and held up her hand. ‘No, Lottie, I insist. You look worn out and I don’t want you to fall ill as well, now, do I? What would I do if you caught this awful flu? No, my dear, go and have a restful few days off and I’ll see you on Sunday.’

  ‘But this is just Friday, Eva. I’ll go tomorrow as usual.’ Her voice sounded ragged, no doubt with suppressed rage.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Barrie, ‘take an extra day off with my blessing and have a rest. You deserve it.’

  Faced with this dismissal, she had no option but to retreat to her room and pack her small overnight case. I took advantage of this lull and made my way quickly downstairs. I knew at that moment she would be like an enraged dragon, breathing and spitting fire – the more so because I had been a witness to th
e exchange of dialogue.

  My weekly letter from Maddie was waiting for me in the kitchen. ‘Here’s the letter from your pal,’ said Jean.

  I quickly told her about the conversation upstairs and her mouth opened in surprise but, before she could utter a word, Miss Hood swept through. She was dressed in her bile-green costume and a tight-fitting cloche hat in the same nauseating colour. She looked like an alien from the planet Mars, an effect further heightened by the quickness of her step. She marched out the door at the speed of light and we watched as her retreating figure stomped across the courtyard, scattering a clutch of blackbirds that rose in a noisy, black cloud as she walked past them. The moment her stamping feet and her fury had departed, they flew back to peck once more at the kitchen crumbs.

  Jean chuckled. ‘Well, well, imagine that – the mistress has sent her packing.’ She craned her neck as the housekeeper disappeared down the drive. ‘Still I don’t think she’s too upset about it. She didn’t kick the cat from along the road and it almost ran in front of her.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t see it,’ I replied. ‘After all, she always walks with her nose in the air.’ What a calamity that would have been, I thought. This was certainly not her day and tripping over a roaming feline would have ended it on a high note. As usual Maddie’s letter was long and gossipy.

  What a disaster to see Danny and Miss Muffet together. Still, not to worry as I’ve decided to give up on men and love and concentrate on my career. I finish my exams soon and I can apply for a nursing course. At the moment I’m helping out in Dad’s office, making the tea and posting the letters.

  I laughed and Jean looked over my shoulder. ‘Good news is it?

  ‘No it’s just Maddie – she’s always so cheerful,’ I said, turning the page over. Maddie had added a postscript.

  Good news on the job front. I’ve just heard that Willie will be leaving this summer and the job will be offered to your dad.