A Store at War

‘Cousin Ida’s,’ she announced. ‘I knew it’d come in useful!’

Cousin Ida. Her mother’s cousin – a shrivelled spinster who worked as an assistant in a chemist’s so old-fashioned they practically had leeches in jars. Hardly a fashion plate at the best of times, this particular dress was at least ten years out of date, Lily could tell from its straight up-and-down shape. It was already seated in the behind and sagging at the hem, but Dora Collins loved nothing like a challenge. Lily had had to stand while her mother forced her to put it on – smelling of camphor and itchy in the afternoon heat – and primped about with a pincushion, tucking and pinching, prodding and poking, telling Lily to stand up straight, before proclaiming that with a few darts, a nice Peter Pan collar, and cuffs if they could run to them, it would do fine. A Peter Pan collar! Cuffs! As if they’d make it look any better!

Out came the cruet, the mismatched plates … What was the point, thought Lily, of getting a decent job if she was going to look such a frump? She might as well have been stuck slaving over a mangle at the laundry.

Sid came downstairs, spruced up after his stint in the garden. Dora had fretted that he’d overdone it, standing all that time on his injured foot, but she and Lily knew sitting about wasn’t his style – he wanted to be up and doing. He’d got to report to the local medical officer weekly, but the doctor had advised against going back to training too early. ‘You’ll only set yourself back’ had been his advice, so it looked as though they’d have him around for a while yet. Lily was glad. She loved her mum dearly, but Dora had always been so occupied with making ends meet and keeping them fed, clothed and shod – even more so nowadays – that there wasn’t much time or maybe energy left over for the smiles and cuddles which Lily had craved since she was a little girl. That was another reason she was happy to have Sid around. He was always ready with a joke and a hug.

On trailing feet Lily carried through the breadboard and breadknife with the inevitable loaf – they seemed to live on it – the pot of dripping, the dish shaped like a lettuce leaf with, yes, lettuce on it. A few tomatoes, a dish of radishes, half a pot of green tomato chutney. Was that it? Hardly a celebration tea. She’d hoped her mum might have conjured something tasty from somewhere – potted meat? Pilchards? Or at least fried up a few potatoes – Sid had dug some up, she’d seen – but it looked as though this was going to be their lot.

Sid carried the tea things through one at a time – he used a stick inside the house – and dispensed pot, milk jug and cups and saucers. Maybe that was the celebration, no milk bottle on the table. Lily thought he was limping more than he had been at the start of the afternoon and gestured to him to sit down, bringing him the rush-topped stool.

‘I could get used to this!’ he smiled as she stuck a cushion under his foot.

‘Well, don’t!’ she retorted. ‘Who’s going to look after you in the Navy? One of the Wrens? You hope!’

Sid winked.

‘Wouldn’t say no.’

Lily was pouring tea when her mother finally appeared, so she didn’t notice the serving dish till it went down in front of her. She lowered the pot in wonderment.

‘Oh, Mum!’

There, in all their jelly goodness, were three fat slices of pink, speckled brawn. Lily bent and sniffed the plate. It smelt heavenly.

‘Meat? On a Monday tea? Where did it – how did you …?’

Her mother sat down in her place with that little ‘Oof’ which she so often gave these days when taking the weight off her feet.

‘Never you mind,’ she said. ‘I wanted us to have something special. To celebrate.’

‘But – how could you be sure I’d get the job?’

Lily sat down too, almost in slow motion, still transfixed by the sight and smells in front of her. Sid was watching it all with amusement. Dora served a slice of brawn on to each of their plates.

‘I never had a minute’s doubt! I knew you’d impress them. If you ask me, they’re lucky to have you!’

Lily bit her lip. It was one of the nicest things her mother had ever said.

Her mother put her hand over hers.

‘You’ve done very well, love – and thank you.’

‘You’re thanking me? Why?’

‘Oh, Lily,’ said Dora. ‘You know and I know you should have stayed on at school. And you know as well as I do that you could have gone to the grammar school back along if things had been different.’

Lily knew. But she hadn’t even taken the exam, because she also knew her mother could never have afforded the uniform.

‘You’ve had to give up so many opportunities already,’ Dora went on. ‘I hope this job’ll be the start of something good for you. And it could be, you know, if you work hard.’

‘I know, Mum. And I will. I’ll do my very best to make them like me and keep me on.’

‘Course they will,’ Sid assured them. ‘Give her a few years, she’ll be running the place, won’t you, chick?’

Her mother squeezed Lily’s hand and they both had to squeeze back tears.

‘Oh, blimey,’ said Sid, offering his handkerchief to each in turn. ‘Women! Give over, will you? There’s a slice of brawn with my name on it in front of me! Can we get stuck in?’

Chapter 3 (#ulink_f6f6136c-27e8-53c7-94b5-148a2a939020)

‘Are you coming, going, or going to stand there all day thinking about it?’

Lily’s feet had brought her as far the staff entrance of Marlow’s, but they were showing a complete inability to take her any further.

‘Oh, never mind!’

A sharp-shouldered blonde pushed past her in a swirl of cheap perfume and peroxide and disappeared through the door.

‘Take no notice,’ said a voice at Lily’s side. ‘She’s like that with everyone.’

Lily smiled gratefully. The girl was shorter than Lily, and plumper, with straight brown hair in a pudding-basin shape. Under a too-small jacket, she was wearing a plain black dress. With her intimate knowledge of second-hand, Lily could tell from its greenish tinge that, like her own, the dress had had at least one previous owner. The girl’s white lacy collar, too, had suffered many launderings – but never mind her clothes. Best of all, from Lily’s point of view, she was wearing a smile.

‘You wouldn’t happen to be the new junior on Children’s?’

Lily nodded.

‘I was the same on my first day – stomach feels like it’s in a lift!’

Lily nodded again. Her head would fall off at this rate.

‘Don’t be. It does get better. I’m Gladys, by the way. I’m a junior on Children’s too. Well, I suppose I’m the senior junior now! We’ll be working together!’

‘Lily.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’

They shook hands awkwardly.

‘Come on, I’ll show you what’s what.’

Gladys pushed open the door and Lily entered another world.

If what she’d seen of Marlow’s on the day of her interview was like something from a fairy tale, this was more like the reality Lily knew. There was nothing fairy tale here. The corridor walls were scuffed where pull-along wagons delivering goods had bumped against them, the lino was worn, and the stairs which led to the basement staff cloakrooms were stone, dipped from years of footfall and as far away from the soft-carpeted dove-grey staircase inside the store as it was possible to get.

All around them staff moved purposefully this way and that. Men in brown coats rattled past with sack trucks or shoved metal cages full of boxes into a creaking goods lift. Shop-floor staff, some in outer coats going in their direction, others without their coats and ready for the day ahead going in the other, pulsed and flowed in a human tide. Lily dodged as best she could until Gladys pushed through a swing door into a long, low room alive with noise and movement. Wooden benches with pegs above ran down the centre and the walls were lined with pitted metal lockers.

‘My locker’s along here,’ explained Gladys, leading the way. ‘Let’s see if we can find you one close by.’