The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (23 page)

‘And what about at rehearsals when Eddie isn't there, or even if he is sometimes?' Ida reminded her.

‘And at the baths, behind Eddie's back,' Emily added. ‘I've seen it with my own eyes.'

Eddie pressed his lips together, sat down as if his legs were about to give way then shot straight back up. ‘Everybody, sit tight,' he said before rushing out of the house.

Violet ran after him onto the street and seized his arm. ‘Where are you going?'

‘To find Stan and have it out.'

‘Stop – you have to believe me, it isn't true!' The world had tipped off its axis and was spinning out of control. In one mad leap of events, it seemed that Violet was in danger of losing the man she loved.

‘Then you've got nothing to worry about,' Eddie shot back, breaking free and hurrying on. ‘Let go of me, Violet. Either stay here or go on home and wait for me there.'

Rooted to the spot as Eddie ran down Valley Road, Violet's pleas had fallen on deaf ears and she was helpless to stop him from seeking Stan out. Suddenly, out of nowhere, her world was in danger of falling apart.

Are you going to stand by and let that happen?
It was Winnie's voice that spurred Violet into action.
You'll lose Eddie if you don't watch out. And what for? For nothing, when all's said and done
.

‘That's right – nothing,' Violet echoed out loud as she pulled herself together then hastened after Eddie through the sleepy Sunday-afternoon streets. But he ran faster than her down the hill and onto Canal Road, past the mills and the shops, swimming baths, chemist's shop and the picture house where he worked and on, in spite of Violet's pleas for him to stop, towards the grimy and overcrowded tenements next to the railway arch where he knew Stan had his lodgings. Eddie paused at the railings outside the second house in the row then disappeared down some steps leading to the cellar.

Violet followed hard on his heels, her heart pounding, her throat dry from the effort of running and shouting. She reached the railings in time to hear Eddie yelling Stan's name through an open window and to see Stan himself emerge.

‘Now then, Eddie – what's all the racket?' Stan grumbled as he swept his tousled hair back from his forehead. He was barefoot and in his shirtsleeves, with braces dangling, as if awakening from an afternoon nap.

‘Out with it!' Eddie yelled, slamming both hands against Stan's chest and thrusting him back against the window sill. The two men faced each other in a dank, cramped space about six feet by three. It was littered with empty crates and a broken stepladder, which crashed sideways as Eddie grabbed the front of his rival's shirt. ‘You've been seeing Violet behind my back. Come on, admit it!'

At the head of the cellar steps, Violet grasped the railings until her knuckles turned white. Two bystanders dressed in worn tweed jackets and caps crossed the road in the hope of some small entertainment to liven up the sultry afternoon, while a woman flung open a window on the first floor and shouted down that the noise had wakened her baby and the two of them would pay for it if they didn't pipe down.

‘Keep your hair on,' Stan grunted at Eddie as he tried to free himself but only succeeded in putting a foot through one of the crates. Angered by this, he lowered his head and butted Eddie in the chest, knocking the air out of him and sending him back against the cellar steps.

‘Stop it, both of you!' Violet pleaded. ‘Tell him, Stan. Tell Eddie that there's nothing going on between us.'

Too late – Eddie was back on his feet and charging Stan, catching him with such force that his adversary staggered back inside his lodgings and disappeared from view, crate and all.

Eddie piled into the cellar room after him, leaving the onlookers bemused.

‘What have you been up to, you naughty girl?' the mother of the baby asked Violet with a knowing wink.

‘Fighting over you, are they?' one of the men asked, casting an appreciative eye over Violet. ‘I can't say I blame them. Can you, Jack?'

Still breathless and with her head starting to spin, Violet ran down the steps. Her aim was to separate Eddie and Stan before either of them did the other serious harm, but when she entered Stan's room she found them still going at it hammer and tongs, landing punches to jaw and chest then grappling at close quarters. Finally, Eddie succeeded in getting Stan down onto the stone-flagged floor. He knelt over him and raised his fist to deal another blow. Just in time Violet grabbed his wrist with both hands and pulled with all her weight, dragging Eddie off balance and giving Stan the chance to roll sideways and spring back up. She darted between them and raised both hands to keep them apart like a referee in a boxing match.

‘Oh no, you don't,' she told Stan, whose head was already lowered ready for another charge. ‘And, Eddie – if you carry on like this, cross my heart I'll never speak to you again!'

It was enough to make them lower their fists and take a moment to consider. Eddie saw that Stan's foot was still stuck in the ridiculous crate and Stan noticed that blood trickled from a cut on Eddie's cheek. Standing between them, Violet's face was pale and her hair tangled. Her chest heaved, her eyes flashed with anger.

‘I mean it, Eddie. You can't go flying off the handle just because Ida and the rest of them got hold of the wrong end of the stick. And, Stan, this is what happens when you don't take no for an answer. Whatever I do to try to put you off your stride, people notice what you get up to and they
talk
!'

Bending to pull the crate apart and extricate his foot, Stan was the first to admit he was wrong. ‘Violet's right – I took things too far. You know what I'm like, Eddie.'

‘Yes, you're a blithering idiot,' Eddie muttered as Stan stood up straight again. ‘But I also happen to know you'd take up with Violet at the drop of a hat and you wouldn't care about anybody else – only yourself.'

‘And what does that say about me, you two talking about me as if I was a piece of property to be passed between you?' Violet intervened again. ‘Eddie, do you think that Stan can whisper sweet nothings behind your back and that I'll fall for them, even after I've told you that you're the one I'm interested in?' She was angry now and didn't care that the cut on her beloved's face was bleeding or that a swelling had appeared under his eye. ‘I told you there was nothing in it but you didn't even let me explain my side of the story before you dashed off. And now this is what happens.'

‘I saw red,' Eddie admitted. ‘I didn't stop to think.'

‘Well, you should have.'

‘You're right – I should.' He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand then began to set straight some of the furniture that had been disturbed during the brief scuffle. An upturned kitchen chair had suffered a broken leg and the cast-iron kettle was up-skittled from its hob on the open range.

‘See!' Stan chided. ‘I may be a blithering idiot, but you're the hot head here.'

‘Stan!' Violet warned against his latest challenge. ‘He is – he woke me up and had a go at me for nothing – just like your Uncle Donald.'

She shook her head and glared at him until he backed down.

‘All right then – for me having a bit of fun, that's all … What? That's just me, isn't it? And you can't blame me for trying … Oh, all right, if it's an apology that you're after …'

‘It is,' Violet said calmly. Now that she knew exactly what she had to say and do, her breathing grew more even and she felt strangely calm.

‘Then I'm sorry, Eddie,' Stan mumbled, shamefaced and rubbing the elbow that he'd grazed during his fall onto the stone floor.

She tugged at his shirtsleeve. ‘Don't apologize to him, you simpleton – say it to me!'

Stan turned to face her. ‘I'm sorry, Violet. It won't happen again.'

‘Apology accepted,' she declared, head held high as she made for the open door and climbed the cellar steps.

Eddie followed soon after. ‘I'll walk you home,' he offered humbly, catching her by the hand when she reached the railings.

‘I can walk myself home, thank you,' she said loud and clear, freeing her hand and walking boldly on.

‘Good for you, love,' the first-floor mother called down. ‘That'll show him.'

‘Go on, go after her,' one of the tweed jackets advised Eddie.

‘I wouldn't if I were you,' the other countered. ‘Not until she's calmed down a bit.'

Violet ignored them all. She walked up Canal Road without a backward glance, leaving Eddie stranded and floundering.

Good for you, Violet.
She heard Winnie echo the stranger's praise.
Eddie Thomson will soon come knocking on your door cap in hand – just you wait and see.

True enough, straight after work on Monday Eddie appeared at Jubilee with a bunch of pink roses. He shuffled sheepishly into the shop as Muriel was pulling down the blinds and Ida was cashing up the day's takings. From the back kitchen where she was re-stacking catalogues, Violet heard his voice asking for her but she didn't immediately go through.

‘What are the flowers for?' Muriel asked dubiously. ‘I thought roses were for Valentine's Day and that was months ago.'

‘They're to say sorry to Violet for being such a clown yesterday,' Ida informed her with a knowing look.

‘And whose fault was that?' Eddie retorted. ‘If you lot hadn't ganged up on her around the dinner table, none of this would have happened.'

‘I've already said sorry, haven't I?' Ida said with her usual jauntiness.

‘None of what?' Muriel was bemused by the bad feeling between Eddie and Ida who normally got on so well. ‘No, don't tell me – I've a feeling I'd rather not know. Eddie, wait here while I find out if Violet wants to see you.'

Bustling from the shop into the kitchen, Muriel found there was no need to bring Violet up to speed with what was happening because she'd overheard every word.

‘How many roses has he brought me?' Violet asked in a whisper, drawing Muriel into the furthest corner.

‘Twelve, I think. Nicely wrapped in paper from Blamey's florists on Ghyll Road. Why?'

‘Because I want to know how sorry he is.'

‘Very, by the look of him.'

Violet took her time to decide what to do. ‘All right, listen to me. I want you to ask Eddie to leave the roses on the counter for me.'

‘Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather speak to him face to face?'

‘Not yet. Tell him I'll be in touch when I'm ready.'

Muriel shook her head and sighed. ‘Poor Eddie.'

‘“Poor Eddie” nothing! He has to realize how much he hurt my feelings before I see fit to forgive him. I will, of course, but don't tell him that.'

So Muriel took Violet's stern message back to a hangdog Eddie, who left the flowers on the counter and traipsed out of the shop.

‘The course of true love …' Muriel muttered as Violet brought a jug of water from the kitchen and arranged the roses in it before carrying them upstairs to her room.

‘I'm not altogether to blame,' Ida claimed. ‘Yes, I'm sorry to have stirred up a hornets' nest, but anyone could have made the same mistake, the way Stan carries on.'

‘Ah!' Muriel put two and two together. ‘So that's where Eddie got that nasty cut on his cheek.'

For a while after this, Violet sewed in the attic workroom and served behind the counter, her confidence in both roles growing as she proved her worth.

‘A yard of red taffeta ribbon, two yards of elastic, half a dozen mother of pearl buttons …' She totted up items on the list that Lizzie Turner had brought in on the Thursday dinner time.

‘Make it snappy,' Lizzie said with an anxious eye on the clock. ‘Old Man Hutchinson will dock my pay if I'm late back.'

‘Yes, a leopard never changes his spots,' Violet sympathized as she showed Lizzie the total and took the exact money.

‘Ta very much,' Lizzie said as she hurried off.

Three yards of cream lampshade trimming … Size 8 knitting needles … Five yards of pink rayon … Butterick pattern number 568. Violet was kept busy in the shop all afternoon while Muriel and Ida sewed upstairs.

At half past five, when she was ready to lock up, she saw with a sinking heart that a familiar car had pulled up outside and knew that this meant she had one last – and unwelcome – customer to deal with.

Preparing herself, Violet retreated behind the counter. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Barlow,' she said above the tinkling of the bell. ‘How can I help you?'

Alice Barlow, dressed in a dove-grey costume and matching hat with a dainty veil that came down over her eyes, looked all around the shop before she settled her critical gaze on Violet. ‘I was hoping to speak to someone more senior.'

‘Of course. Please wait a moment while I fetch Miss Thomson.'

‘No, no, I don't have time. My husband's waiting in the car and all I need from you is a lace doily for my dressing-table. I suppose you know the sort I mean.'

Violet went straight to the doily drawer. ‘Certainly, Mrs Barlow. What size would you like? We have round doilies, crocheted by hand – five or seven inches in diameter, or an oval one that measures four inches across by six inches in length—'

‘Oh, good heavens, how would I know the size? Do you think I spend my time measuring things?'

‘Perhaps you could take a sample of each home with you, try them and then return those you don't need,' Violet suggested, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Colin Barlow emerging from the Daimler and crossing the pavement.

‘Yes, wrap them as quickly as you can.' Imperious as ever, Alice Barlow's powdered face creased into a frown as the bell rang and her husband came in.

‘Well, if it isn't our little hedgerow flower,' he said the moment he spied Violet. ‘Growing more beautiful with each day that passes, I see.'