The Co-op in Hendon Road was a vital element in the local economy of the area, and more than that the inside of the building always had a warm and friendly feel about it; working there was a status symbol in itself. Rosie was vitally aware of all this as she hurried through the grey streets, her nervousness increased by the knowledge that if she could get taken on to the staff of the Store she would be well looked after, but that there would be plenty of other girls, and women, eager for the post. And some, no doubt, with experience.
As she rounded the corner into Hendon Road she almost slipped on the frosted pavement but then she was scurrying on again. She was going to be late, there was nothing else for it, and that would put the kibosh on the job before she even saw Mr Green in the grocery department. And she’d love to work there, oh, she would. Of course the hardware, greengrocery and clothes departments were all lovely, but on grocery the smells were so nice, mouthwatering. She didn’t think she’d like to work in the butchery department - she’d be too aware of the slaughter yard at the rear of it - but she’d even jump at that if she was given half a chance.
She was panting hard when she pushed open the door and stepped into the bright interior, her gaze moving past the labelled shelves all down the right side of the shop where neatly packed packages containing currants, sultanas, sugar, flour, tea and a hundred other items besides reached up to the ceiling. A long polished wooden counter ran the length of the shop, and Mr Green was standing behind it at the far end, to one side of a stack of huge wrapped eighty-pound cheeses and a large beechwood cask of butter, busy grinding a measure of coffee for a customer.
Rosie stood for a moment catching her breath as she smoothed down her coat and nervously fumbled with her hat, and then she walked along the side of the counter, past the sets of brass scales, the massive tin box of corned beef, the bacon slicer and the vicious cheese wire on its big wooden block, and stood quietly to one side of Mr Green’s customer as she waited for him to look up.
‘Oh hallo, lass.’ As the woman turned Rosie recognized one of her new neighbours in Benton Street. ‘You all settled in now then? Findin’ your feet?’
‘Yes thank you, Mrs O’Leary.’
Zachariah had warned her to steer clear of this particular woman - ‘twist the words of the Archangel Gabriel himself to cause a spot of mischief ’ was the way he had put it - so now, when the rough-hewn face continued to stare at her, and the bright beady eyes took in every detail of her appearance, Rosie found herself wishing Mrs O’Leary somewhere far away as she fixed her eyes on Mr Green and said, her voice as controlled as she could make it, ‘Good morning. I called in yesterday afternoon and you asked me to come back this morning at ten about the position as shop assistant.’
‘Ten o’clock?’ Mrs O’Leary had noticed that this little bit of a lass wasn’t over-friendly, and now she took great pleasure in saying, ‘You’re late then, aren’t you, lass? It’s gone ten past. Still, I dare say you had better things to do, eh?’
‘Just wait there a moment and I’ll see to you in a minute, lass.’ Mr Green cut through the reply Rosie had been about to make, and she duly waited, her cheeks fiery, as he cut and weighed out five ounces of bacon and six ounces of cheese. Oh, that woman. That nasty old woman. She was bound to get short shrift from Mr Green now and she couldn’t really blame him, and if she said she was late because her sister had been playing up that wouldn’t look good either. Mr Green didn’t want to take on anyone with home problems. But she had to clear her mind now and concentrate on the forthcoming interview and that alone.
‘Right, lass.’ Mr Green was back in front of her again and now he lifted up a hinged block in the counter and ushered her through. ‘Why don’t you come through into the back for a minute and we’ll have a chat. Agnes,’ he called to a middle-aged woman with the most enormously swollen ankles who had been standing on a ladder stocking the shelves, ‘you’re in charge for a minute or two, lass.’
‘All right, Mr Green.’ The woman’s voice was cheery and the smile she gave Rosie brightened the day for a moment.
Rosie followed Mr Green out of a door and into what appeared to be a small office which was situated between the grocery department they had just left and the hardware department adjoining it.
‘Now, lass, you’re looking to work for the Co-op, eh?’ Mr Green’s white overall was spotlessly clean, his collar and tie equally so, and it was this Rosie remembered most about him from the previous day when she had spoken to him briefly. ‘Have you worked in a shop before?’ His voice was brisk but encouraging.
‘No.’ She looked into the cleanshaven, austere face, the contours of which showed no sign that they had ever been wrinkled by a smile, and decided she had nothing to lose in being completely honest. ‘I only left school a few weeks ago and my da had set a job up for me in service.’ She didn’t stand a chance of getting this.
‘Oh aye?’
She went on to tell him all of it, forcing herself to speak clearly and concisely when she felt like gabbling, and when she finished he remained silent for what seemed like a long time before he said, his voice flat, ‘And your mam? Is she working?’
‘No. She . . . she isn’t very well at the moment in . . . her mind. The accident has affected her.’
‘Aye.’ And then he reminded her of Mrs McLinnie for a moment when he said, his voice suddenly kind, ‘I dare say it’s affected you a mite an’ all, lass. Well, the hours are from eight to six in the week and eight to five of a Saturday, and you’d start at fourteen shillings less stamp. You understand how the Co-op works? I dare say your mam has a divvy number?’
Rosie didn’t dare to hope that he was offering her the job although that was how it sounded. ‘Yes, yes she has.’ Everyone had a divvy number, didn’t they? And the dividend system was simplicity itself. With every purchase made you were given a small duplicate ticket with the amount spent and your membership number written on, and then these tickets were added up at the end of each quarter and the amount spent totalled up. With the discount at a shilling in the pound they had all looked forward to her mam’s visit to the Store on divvy days, when the odd luxury or two would find its way into her mam’s basket and her da would chaff her mam about them being up among the top nobs. Those days seemed a long time ago now. She pushed the weakening emotion the thought engendered aside.
‘Aye, that’s right.’ And now Mr Green surprised Rosie and brought her eyes opening wide when he thrust his face close to hers and said in a loud stage whisper, ‘It’s high time you learnt how to deal with the Mrs O’Learys of this world, lass, and here’ll be as good a place as any. You say you’ve got lodgings hereabouts?’
Rosie blinked. ‘Yes, in Benton Street with a Mr Price.’
‘Zachariah? Oh aye, I know Zac, I’ve known him since he was a bairn. Dirty trick life played on him, eh? But then there’s something in this sins of the fathers, don’t you think? God won’t be mocked, lass, just you remember that.’ And then, as though he had just realized he was talking too much, Mr Green’s tone altered, becoming brisk. ‘Anyways, to my mind Zac was due something for what he’s had to go through an’ I don’t begrudge anything he’s got. What say you, lass?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Rosie didn’t have the faintest idea what Mr Green was talking about but thought it best to agree.
‘And Mary Price made sure the lad was looked after, you’ve got to give her that. Aye . . .’ It was a second or two before Mr Green shook his head and his gaze cleared as he said, somewhat abruptly, ‘Well, lass, I take it you can start Monday?’
‘Monday?’ It was all Rosie could do not to fall on his neck and kiss him, but she heard herself say through the fierce relief and thanksgiving that flooded her frame, ‘Monday will be fine, Mr Green, and thank you. Thank you very much indeed.’
‘Don’t thank me, lass, you’ll be earning every penny working here. They call me a hard taskmaster, you know.’ And then he smiled at her, a nice smile, and again she wanted to kiss him and stand up and dance and sing. ‘Come along and meet Agnes and Sally, you’ll be working with them more than me most of the time, and Agnes will show you the ropes.’
When they walked back into the grocery department Agnes and Sally, a tall beanpole of a girl with a big hooked nose, were busy dealing with customers, and so Rosie stood to one side of a sack of flour near two little children. The tots were watching goggle-eyed as the little ball-shaped change boxes were sent whizzing along on wires by the pull of a cord, only to return like magic from a place unknown with the bill and appropriate change. One of the children smiled shyly at her and Rosie beamed back. She had a job.
She had a job.
And then, when she found she couldn’t stop grinning, she bit hard on her lip in an effort to suppress her sense of euphoria. They’d think she was half sharp at this rate, she’d be out on her ear before she even dabbed her toe in the water. And she mustn’t lose this job. Whatever happened, whatever it cost, she mustn’t lose this job.
‘So you’re going to be working here then?’ Once Agnes was free she bustled over to Rosie, her manner friendly. ‘That’s nice.’
Nice? It was wonderful, marvellous.
‘Mr Green says you’ve just left school?’ Agnes’s face was curious so Rosie gave her a quick explanation of her circumstances, Sally joining them halfway through and listening intently.
‘You poor little blighter.’ This was from Sally, and in response to Agnes’s ‘
Sally
’ the other girl added, ‘Sorry, Agnes,’ with a wink at Rosie as she said, ‘Agnes doesn’t like any blighterin’, do you, Agnes, and blasterin’ is quite out of the question.’
‘
Sally
.’
‘All right, all right. Look, here’s Mr Jones, he’ll have a list as long as your arm. I’ll go an’ sort him out, shall I?’
‘Yes please, Sally.’ Agnes’s voice was prim, but as Sally moved out of earshot she said to Rosie, ‘Don’t take any notice of Sally, she’s a lovely lass really, salt of the earth, but she can take a bit of getting used to at first.’
Rosie’s lips had been pressed together to prevent herself from laughing - the other girl had had a wicked twinkle in her eye that was infectious and reminded her of Flora - and now her voice had a slight gurgle to it when she said, ‘She won’t shock me if that’s what you mean, Mrs . . . ?’
‘Oh, call me Agnes, lass, we don’t stand on ceremony here. Now, did Mr Green tell you about the delivery service?’ And in answer to Rosie’s shake of the head, ‘Well, you’ll be getting the orders ready for the lads and lasses who deliver them to start with, it’ll get you used to where everything is and prices and such like without you having a customer waiting. The orders go out on a Thursday by horse and cart, and we’ve a list of regulars as long as your arm . . .’
‘You got it?’ Rosie had just finished telling her mother and as she came to a breathless halt the thought hit, ridiculous though it seemed in the present dire circumstances when every penny counted, that her mother didn’t look overjoyed at the news of her new job, something that Jessie’s tone seemed to confirm.
It had started to snow again as she had flown home through the frozen world outside the magic and warmth of the shop, and she had burst into fifty-four Benton Street, only stopping on the stairs long enough to call to Zachariah, who had poked his head out of his sitting room, ‘I got it! I start Monday’, before she had continued up to the landing and into their own sitting room. She had been taken aback to find her mother wasn’t alone; Mrs McLinnie was sitting with her on the saddle in front of the fire, but she had blurted out her news nevertheless.
Rosie watched now as her mother rose to her feet and took the boiling kettle off the little steel shelf Zachariah had fixed above the fire, but she could not see the expression in her eyes, for her mother’s lids were lowered, and it was Annie who spoke loudly into the awkward silence. ‘That’s grand, Rosie, the Co-op no less. Our Maggie, Arthur’s sister’s lass, has tried to get in more times than I’ve had hot dinners, but she’s a sight too rough an’ ready I reckon. You’ve done well, lass.’
Rosie smiled at her old friend but didn’t refer again to the job, instead saying, ‘How are you, Mrs McLinnie? And . . . and the family?’
‘Middlin’, lass, middlin’. Our Robert’s gettin’ wed next month, all of a hurry, you know?’ She cast a meaningful look at Jessie who was busy brewing the tea at the kitchen table. ‘An’ Patrick an’ John an’ Michael are out with the joiners’ strike, silly blighters. A reduction in wages is better than none at all with times so bad, eh, lass?’
Rosie nodded. Mrs McLinnie hadn’t mentioned Shane and the name of her youngest son hung in the air between them.
‘An’ Shane?’ Jessie asked from across the room.
‘Oh, our Shane is all right,’ Annie answered flatly. ‘He always makes sure of that, does our Shane. There’s men bein’ laid off right left an’ centre, an’ Shane’s still on full time an’ doin’ nicely.’
‘Well, that’s good isn’t it,’ Jessie said comfortably.
‘Aye.’ Annie answered Jessie but looked at Rosie as she said, ‘But he’s a mite too clever for his own good, an’ that’s what worries me, atween ourselves. Too many irons in the fire with our Shane, an’ he’s in with some right rough types. I’m not agen helpin’ me housekeepin’ along a bit, what with this rationin’ hangin’ on an’ all, but there’s a line you don’t go over.’