A Daughter’s Disgrace. Kitty Neale
She also managed to avoid most of the customers to begin with but by mid-morning, trade was hotting up.
‘Oh, so this is where you’re working now, is it?’
Alison had seen a woman come in wearing a large plaid headscarf against the rain but hadn’t realised it was Winnie Jewell. ‘Hello, Mrs Jewell,’ she said, smiling weakly.
‘Dress shop didn’t work out then?’ demanded Winnie, pulling off the scarf and sending a shower of raindrops onto the sawdust on the floor.
‘No, no, that was no good …’ Alison began, embarrassed at the memory of the horrendous interview.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ Winnie said. ‘They’re very posh in there.’ She gave Alison an appraising look.
‘Well, their loss is my gain,’ said Fred grandly, passing behind the counter with a tray of something shiny Alison didn’t want to examine too closely. ‘What can I get you today, Mrs Jewell? Your usual kidneys?’
Alison took the opportunity to escape through the plastic curtain. She was sure that Winnie Jewell had set her up to fail and had come in here to rub it in. She could hear Fred making conversation with the woman – he had her eating out of his hand. Good, let him deal with her.
The shop door banged shut and Fred came through to find her. ‘So you know Mrs Jewell?’
‘Yes.’ Alison wondered what was coming next.
‘Maybe you’d like to stop and talk to her next time then,’ suggested Fred.
‘Maybe.’
Fred shook his head. ‘Treat them well and they’ll come back for more. It don’t matter what she might have said or done before, she’s a customer now and that’s different. Remember that. You’re wearing that apron – that deserves respect.’ He looked her in the eye and she felt as if she was shrinking. ‘Come on then. If you can quickly sweep up that wet sawdust and put down new before the lunchtime rush begins, we can think about what we’ll have for our own lunch. Did you bring anything in?’
Alison hadn’t even thought about that. ‘No, I didn’t know …’
‘That’s all right then,’ said Fred. ‘I expect you don’t fancy a steak and kidney pie?’ Alison nearly gagged. ‘How about you go up the road for fish and chips for both of us? On me, for your first day.’
‘That would be lovely. Thank you very much, Mr Chap … Fred.’ Alison was relieved. She risked a small smile. Her nerves had made her hungry and she had only just noticed, but the thought of meat in any shape or form would have been unbearable.
She quickly swept up the old sawdust, now soggy and lumpy, and put down fresh before any new customers could come in. Then she grabbed Fred’s money and her mac. She stopped outside the neighbouring shop’s awning to fasten it against the rain, which was still falling hard.
Someone stepped out from the doorway. It was a young man in the brown overalls of the ironmonger’s. Alison immediately noticed he was good-looking – not as good-looking as Neville, but his hair was very dark and so were his eyes. He was shorter than her, but so were most people. He took a second glance at her and grinned.
‘You working next door?’ he asked.
‘That’s right.’ Alison didn’t want to appear shy so kept her answer short. She was taken aback that he had bothered to speak to her at all.
‘We’re going to be neighbours, then. I work in here. I’m Paul, by the way.’
‘Hello, Paul, I’m Alison.’
‘Going out in this weather?’ he teased. ‘I wouldn’t send a dog out in that.’
Alison moved a little closer to him to avoid the rain that was being driven sideways under the awning, almost afraid of her own daring. ‘Going to get Mr Chapman’s lunch,’ she said.
‘Got you at his beck and call, has he? You want to watch that. It’ll be unpaid overtime next,’ said Paul, with an air of authority.
Alison could feel herself blushing. ‘No, it’s not like that. He’s a very good boss. I’d better be off.’ She straightened her shoulders and forced herself out into the downpour.
Paul watched her go. He’d noticed how she blushed when she came closer to him and then was in a hurry to get away. He’d only been in the job two weeks himself and had been bored witless for most of that but now it looked as if there might be some fun to be had. If she was that shy after such a brief conversation then she couldn’t be very experienced with men. With looks like that he bet most lads of his age avoided her. Well, for him at least, things had just got much more interesting on Falcon Road.
Alison was impressed. Fred had installed a Baby Belling oven in the cosy side room and so his fish and chips could keep warm while she ate hers; they couldn’t eat together during the busy lunch period. She sat in the armchair next to the fire, finishing her chips. This might not be so bad after all. Fred had been as kind to her as Betty Shawcross at the factory, and slowly she began to feel that she might not fail at this new job. As long as she could stay away from the carcasses she’d be all right.
Fred came through from the shop and put on the kettle. ‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Are you all right to go out the front for a bit on your own? If there’s anything you need then shout.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Alison, getting to her feet.
While the next half an hour was busy, it was mostly people she didn’t know or who were vaguely familiar faces – none of those who’d taunted her so regularly. They usually wanted something quick for this evening’s tea. Now she understood why she’d spent much of the morning weighing sausages: nearly all of them wanted a pound or half a pound, and all she had to do was reach for a bundle she’d separated earlier and put them in greaseproof paper. This was easy. Now and again she even talked to customers beyond ‘can I help you?’ Maybe this would all work out. And there was that nice-looking man next door who hadn’t been rude to her. Slowly she began to relax a little.
Fred finished his fish and chips and came through the door just as Marian Dalby came in. Alison knew who she was – Neville had talked about her, saying his foreman was married to the best baker in Battersea, and didn’t have a bad word to say about her. She looked as if she enjoyed plenty of her own cakes, as she was plump and round-faced, smiling even though her coat was wet. ‘Mr Chapman!’ she exclaimed. ‘I see you’ve found yourself a new assistant. Let me see … you’re Hazel Butler’s sister, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right,’ Alison said. ‘She just got engaged to Neville Parrot, who works at the paint factory.’
‘That explains why my Frank came in so late from the pub recently,’ said the woman, shaking the raindrops from her curly hair. ‘He said they’d been toasting the young couple. Well, he seems like a nice lad. Now, Mr Chapman, I’m laying on some food for my brother’s birthday and I’ll be needing some pork chops. What can you do for me?’
‘I have the very thing for you,’ said Fred instantly, ‘but I don’t have many out front. Alison, could you fetch the rest? Out the back, the room on the right past the fridges, you’ll see a big box with a red lid. It’s not heavy.’
Alison set off into the back of the building and found the right door, just after the opening to the yard. It was much colder out here. She sniffed as her nose threatened to drip, then opened the door.
The smell hit her at once: the smell of blood but far stronger than she’d ever come across it. Hanging from the ceiling were the dead animals, with their shiny red flesh and yellow fat all exposed. The lifeless head of a pig almost brushed against her as she gasped in horror. Choking, she slammed the door and ran towards the yard. She threw open the big wooden door and made it outside just in time before her guts heaved in terror and she was violently sick.