The Campbell Road Girls

‘You done what?’ Matilda roared. ‘Christmas nearly here and you’ve chucked in a good job?’ She hobbled over to Lucy as fast as her aches and pains would allow, and ripped her daughter’s hands away from her cheeks so she could read her expression. ‘What you been up to? You pulled a stroke and got found out?’

‘I ain’t done anything ... apart from shoot off me mouth when I should’ve kept quiet. But somebody’s pulled a stroke all right, and I’ve suffered for it,’ Lucy added bitterly.

Matilda could hear the tears in her youngest daughter’s voice and some of her anger withered. Having dislodged a chair from under the table she collapsed into it. ‘Had the dirty done on yer?’ she asked, astonished. ‘How? Who done it?’

‘I’ve lost me job, Mum,’ Lucy mumbled. ‘I liked it too. And I was good at it.’ She gazed at her mother through misty vision. ‘I’ve not done anything wrong, swear, but the housekeeper and me senior told me me job’s gone to somebody else. They said I could have a housemaid’s job instead but ...’ She threw back her head in despair and blinked at the cobweb-covered ceiling.

‘But you told ’em to poke it,’ Matilda guessed, her lined face still displaying her shock.

Lucy abruptly stood up. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight, I was in such a paddy. But I know now I should’ve bit me tongue and played it clever. If I’d stuck around till after Christmas we’d have had more money to help us over the holiday, and I might’ve found out what’s been going on in that place. I know fer definite that something has. A nasty cow’s got given me job and I want to know why.’

Matilda gawped at her daughter. She knew this blow couldn’t have come at a worse time of the year, and jobs were getting harder than ever to find. The papers were always full of the woes of unemployment and the length of the labour exchange queues. Although she didn’t get out and about very much, Matilda was keen to listen to her neighbours’ news about the locals who were unsuccessfully looking for jobs. But she understood why Lucy had reacted in the way she had. All the Keiver clan – men and women – had hot tempers and fast tongues, and were likely to explode if they believed they’d fallen foul of underhand trickery.

‘Didn’t clump anyone, did you?’ Matilda sounded rueful.

Lucy gave a gruff laugh on realising her mother was slowly calming down, having digested her bad news. ‘I felt like it, Mum. That’s why I got meself out of there quick as I could. Just packed me bags, got me pay, and got out.’ The mention of her wages prompted her to pull from her pocket the little envelope that held a small amount of cash.

‘Gave you a reference, though, didn’t they?’

Lucy slid guilty eyes to her mother’s face, inwardly wincing as she saw Matilda’s optimistic expression crumble.

‘You never told ’em to poke that too!’ Matilda burst out. ‘Heavens above, Luce!’ She thumped a fist on the cracked wooden table top. ‘How you gonna get another job in service without a character?’

Lucy shot to her mother and enclosed her in an apologetic hug that was so fierce it made Matilda totter on her feet. ‘I’ll find something, swear I will,’ Lucy promised. ‘I’ll be employed again before Christmas, you’ll see.’

‘Got another afternoon off, Lucy? You’re doing all right!’ Connie Whitton had called out on noticing Matilda’s daughter emerging from Smithie’s shop with a small bag of groceries in her hand. She was surprised to see her because Lucy had been about in the street earlier in the week and Connie thought she’d not be back yet.

Lucy gave a welcoming smile as she noticed Connie crossing the road to speak to her. Despite the fact the woman was more than a decade older than she was, Lucy had always liked her. She knew Connie was a bit of ‘a goer’, as her mother would call the tarts she had time for. Those Matilda didn’t like were called something else entirely. But Connie had an appealingly mischievous way about her that didn’t put up the backs of other women in the way some brash local prostitutes did.

In her time Connie had had some proper swanky sugar daddies looking after her. She was a good-looking blonde in her early thirties, who’d got engaged twice but never married. At present, she was fancy-free, working shifts as a waitress in a West End supper club. But it was well known she’d supplement her earnings by going on the game when tips were scarce, and she didn’t care who knew about it. Despite some of her neighbours being hostile to her because of her part-time profession she could be indiscriminately kind-hearted. If a family were in deep trouble, she’d give those particular kids coins for sweets in the full knowledge that they’d run home and hand them over to their mums. Some of those women would have shoved the money back at Connie if she’d given it to them directly. But so long as it filled empty bellies in a roundabout way, it was acceptable.

When Connie had been in her prime Lucy had been about six or seven and she could remember being struck by how beautifully glamorous the young woman looked wearing her fur coats and red lipstick. Lucy had been one of the street urchins treated to pennies and thrupenny bits when Connie was feeling flush. But only seconds after receiving her treasure her mother would materialise at her side and remove it from her fingers before she could hide it away.

‘Not at work today?’ Connie had stopped by her side, folding her arms in readiness for a chat.

‘Been out searching for work this morning,’ Lucy told her, pulling a long face. ‘I’ve just come back to have a bite to eat with Mum. Then I’ll be off out again hoping to spot a job posted in a shop window. It’s too busy up the labour exchange to hang around waiting. Couldn’t even get in the door it was so crowded. I’d sooner pound pavements and save time. Know of any vacancies going, Con?’

‘Thought you was settled in a good job.’

‘Long story ...’ Lucy replied in a tone of voice that deterred further questions.

‘Ever done any waitressing?’ Connie resisted the temptation to be nosy.

Lucy nodded. ‘Course. Used to help out serving at table when I worked with me sister Sophy in Essex. We all used to pitch in together doing different jobs when we needed to.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, I’ve just been and asked for a job in Ken’s caff, and the Lyons Corner House, but nothing doing.’

‘Fancy a job working in the supper club with me?’ Connie asked brightly. ‘A girl’s leaving at the end of the week. She’s got a better offer ... off one of the gents who’s a regular client.’ She chuckled as she saw Lucy’s dubious frown. ‘Oh, you don’t have to get involved in any of that if you don’t want to. Most of the girls are above board and just serve and smile and take their tips home.’ Connie had comically mimed waitress duties as she was speaking, making Lucy laugh, especially when she acted out shoving cash into her brassiere.

‘The Cuckoo Club is in Piccadilly. There’s a bit of gambling now and again, and late drinking, and a jazz band playing most nights. Mainly we get gentlemen come in on their own, but some bring their lady friends,’ Connie explained. ‘If you get pestered by randy fellows, I’ll see ’em off for you, Luce.’

‘Oh, come on, Con,’ Lucy drawled with a smile. ‘D’you want me mum to wring me neck before I’m much older?’

‘Don’t have to tell her you’re working with me. Just say you’ve got a job as a waitress in a restaurant. Ain’t a lie. Honest, there’s plenty of us gels prepared to do a bit extra, if he looks nice and the price is right, so you won’t need to worry.’

‘Ain’t interested, Con. Seriously ... have you seen any jobs posted about?’

‘Dobson’s sweet shop in Blackstock Road had a card in the window. Don’t know if it’s still there, though, ’cos I saw it last week.’

‘I’ll go straight away and find out,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘Do us a favour, Con, would you, and drop this bit of shopping into Mum? Tell her where I’m off to and that I shouldn’t be long.’ Lucy thrust the shopping bag in Connie’s direction and hurried off.

‘What’s happened then?’ Connie skipped after Lucy, to catch her up. Her curiosity had got the better of her. She wanted to know why Lucy was unemployed when earlier in the week Matilda had been boasting just how well Lucy was doing working for the aristocracy. ‘Did you chuck in your job? Matilda said you liked it.’

‘Tell you later,’ Lucy called, jogging away.

It was the best bit of news she’d had all morning. She’d traipsed for miles and had spotted only two cards advertising for assistants. Neither the tobacconist nor the cobbler had thought her suitable for their vacancies and had told her so. Inwardly she cursed that she’d not gone directly to Blackstock Road earlier but had headed off in the opposite direction. The most interesting notice she’d seen all day was a newsstand placard declaring, lord mayor’s show: over 30 injured as elephants stampede.

‘Thanks, Connie,’ Lucy threw over a shoulder, followed by a breathless, ‘Wish me luck.’

When Lucy rushed up, puffing, to scan the sweet shop window her heart plummeted. There was nothing advertised behind the glass but the shop’s wares. She took a glance past bottles and jars filled with colourful candies and saw Mrs Dobson. She appeared to be alone inside so Lucy decided it might be worth asking, just in case the card had fallen on the floor, and lain there unnoticed.

The bell on the door announced her and she received a sour look from the shopkeeper. Lucy had always thought Mr and Mrs Dobson a pair of miserable gits. When young and saucy and still at school she’d once told him to suck what he sold ’cos it might sweeten him up a bit.

‘Good afternoon to you, Mrs Dobson. Heard you wanted an assistant,’ Lucy started politely. ‘I’d like to apply for the job.’

‘It’s taken,’ Mrs Dobson returned flatly, then glanced up again and levelled an interested look at Lucy.

She’d hired Jennifer Finch last week but was beginning to regret it even though she was paying her a low rate because of her age. The girl had showed no aptitude for the work. She stood daydreaming at quiet times rather than stirring herself to tidy up or refill bottles and jars. Jennifer had gone off on her dinner break yesterday and returned ten minutes late. Mrs Dobson glanced at the clock on the wall. She was late again today; it was twenty-five minutes to two and she had been due back at half-past one.

‘I’m giving somebody a short trial to see if they suit. You can come back tomorrow, if you like, and I’ll let you know if I’m satisfied with her.’ Mrs Dobson knew when Jennifer eventually returned she’d tell her she could keep her coat on and go back home.

Mrs Dobson was aware that Lucy Keiver came from a rough family in the Bunk, but some of that clan had done all right for themselves and were known to be hard workers. Besides, she looked to be at least eighteen, whereas Jennifer was virtually a school leaver and acted as though she needed to return to the classroom and pay attention this time.

But Mrs Dobson knew her husband would disapprove of Lucy Keiver; he had always been prejudiced against people from the Bunk, lumping them all together as liars and thieves. Mrs Dobson, however, was prepared to speak as she found and so far she’d nothing against Lucy. Besides, as her husband left it to her to earn them both a living running the shop during the week, while he swanned off to council meetings and sat on his backside drinking tea and eating biscuits, she reckoned it was up to her who she employed as help, and if he didn’t like it, he knew what he could do.

Lucy turned to go, smiling her thanks, but felt none the less dejected. She was sure that whoever had got the job would make sure they kept hold of it with Christmas looming and work being so hard to come by.

Having closed the shop door she turned the corner and bumped straight into Jennifer Finch. Lucy didn’t know the girl well as Jennifer was about four years younger than she was, and their mothers tended to be prickly with one another. Nevertheless, having gone to the same school, they usually said hello and perhaps stopped for a brief chat. Lucy was aware that in the past Jennifer had seemed to admire her from afar because she’d been popular and had had a lot of friends at Pooles Park School. Out of the two girls, Lucy preferred Jennifer’s twin, Katherine. She’d always seemed more interesting and less sulky. Since Lucy had been back living in London she’d seen Katherine out and about a few times and they’d waved at one another.

‘Where you off to in such a hurry?’ Lucy asked with a smile.

‘Late back fer work after me dinner break,’ Jennifer replied, coming to a halt. ‘Hope the old bag sacks me, actually. Never wanted to work in that poxy sweet shop anyhow. It was me mum’s idea; I only took it to shut her up moaning.’

‘You’ve got the job at Dobson’s?’

Jennifer nodded glumly. ‘Worst luck. I’m after getting a position in one of the big department stores. I’m applying to Selfridges after Christmas. I’ve just turned fifteen.’

Lucy affected to look encouraging despite knowing Jennifer would have to wait till she was older, and had an impressive reference, to get a sales position in Oxford Street. But Lucy believed everybody was entitled to dream and have ambition.

‘Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it. I’m after a job.’