The Songbird (23 page)

Then, as the morning drew on, other customers would come in for the first bread out of the oven, which today, he thought, as he glanced up at the clock, would be late.

‘Good morning!' Nan was her usual cheerful self as she came through the door. ‘Lovely morning.'

Joshua nodded. ‘Not bad,' he said. ‘Not bad at all.'

‘Everything all right?' Nan asked. She seemed to have an instinct for knowing when something was wrong.

Joshua gave a sigh. ‘Yes, I suppose so.' He glanced towards the inner door. ‘It's just that Lena's late up and has only just started making 'bread, and Albert hasn't come in yet.'

‘Oh!' Nan's eyes flickered uneasily. She knew of the new arrangements, whereby Lena had taken Tommy's room, and Albert was to sleep downstairs, but she hadn't commented on them. She took off her shawl. ‘I'd better see if I can help Lena, then, before I start anything else, though I was going to clean 'windows this morning. They're getting very steamy now that 'weather's colder.'

The doorbell jangled and Albert rushed in. ‘Sorry I'm late, Josh,' he said. ‘I – er, I decided to stay at home last night. I was at the other end of town with some mates so there seemed no sense in coming back here.' He must have seen Joshua's glower, for he added, ‘It was late, and I didn't want to disturb you or Ma.'

‘Don't call me Josh, Albert,' Joshua said firmly. ‘My name's Joshua. We have to have a proper understanding,' he went on. ‘The door has been unbolted all night. So you either come back here and lock up properly, or you stay in your own home and give me back my key!'

Albert's face reddened. ‘Sorry. I – I think Lena's given notice on our place, so we'll not have it anyway after next week.'

Nan glanced anxiously at Joshua, then hurried through the door into the living quarters.

‘Has she?' Joshua was concerned to hear that. The new arrangements were meant to be just a trial, to see how they all got along. He hadn't expected Lena to give up her own house just yet. And, he worried, Tommy and Poppy were right: there was something about Albert that was slightly disagreeable, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it to say what it was. The fellow was good at figures, no doubt about that, and the cash box was always correct at the end of each day, and he did his best to be pleasant, Joshua was sure of that, but he felt that some of the customers were uneasy about Albert and preferred to wait for him to be free to serve them.

He heard a clatter of a pan or something heavy being dropped, and then Lena's raised voice. ‘Finish stacking these tins, will you?' he said to Albert. ‘Then grind 'coffee beans and open 'door.' He was convinced that the aroma of freshly ground coffee drew people into the shop.

‘What's up?' he asked as he went into the kitchen. ‘Dropped something?'

‘She knocked my arm and the whole lot went down.' Lena was picking up squashed and battered uncooked breadcakes from the floor, dusting them off with floury fingers and putting them back onto a baking tray.

Nan was standing with a pan and brush in her hand. Her eyes were wide and startled and as she glanced at Joshua she gave a slight shake of her head. Joshua put up his hand to stop her from explaining. ‘An accident, I expect,' he said. ‘Is the bread ruined?'

‘It'll have to do.' Lena opened the oven door. ‘There's no time to make another batch.' She pushed the tray into the oven and faced Joshua with a red and sweating face.

‘You're not . . . you're not going to bake those? They've been on 'floor!'

‘'Floor's clean enough,' Lena said. ‘Fortunately I cleaned it thoroughly myself last night before I went to bed. It wasn't very clean up to then,' she added meaningfully, glancing at Nan. ‘But there, if you want a job done properly, you're best doing it yourself.'

‘I scrubbed 'floor yesterday morning,' Nan broke in. ‘As I do every morning.'

‘Well, it wasn't clean enough for me.' Lena glared at her. ‘You could eat off my floor!'

‘Well, it seems that somebody's going to,' Joshua said ironically, but then added doubtfully: ‘I suppose 'heat will kill off any germs?'

Lena busied herself at the kitchen table, kneading the remaining dough and roughly shaping it into loaves and rounds. ‘What folks don't know about they won't worry about,' she said sharply.

Joshua heaved a sigh as he left the kitchen. The two women didn't get on, that was obvious, but he didn't know what he could do about it. Nan was very reliable and his wife had thought the world of her, but Lena was forever complaining about her.

‘That delivery from Donkin's should be coming in this morning,' he said to Albert. ‘I thought it would have come yesterday. You did tell them it was urgent, didn't you?'

‘Oh, yes,' Albert assured him. ‘I spoke to the foreman in the warehouse about it.'

‘Foreman? Well, next time give the order to Mr Donkin himself. Then we'll be sure of getting it on time. We're running short of tea and sugar,' he added. ‘We must be selling a lot more than usual. It's not a month since 'last order was put in.'

Mrs Forbes came in for the usual screw of tobacco. ‘Mister said to ask, is it 'same brand as before?' she whined.

‘Same as he allus gets, Mrs Forbes.' Joshua pointed to the tin on the shelf. ‘I get it in specially for him.' He kept in a cheap but strong brand of tobacco for those who couldn't afford much.

She nodded and handed over her coppers and went out, as Mrs Brownlow came in for yesterday's bread. ‘Last lot was stale,' she said, giving Albert a penny in exchange for a loaf.

‘It's yesterday's bread,' he muttered. ‘What do you expect?'

Joshua looked up. ‘Sorry about that, Mrs Brownlow. It should keep. Here, take this breadcake to make up for it.'

She gave a smile which lit up her sallow face. ‘Thanks, Mr Mazzini. We ate it anyway, but it wasn't your usual.'

Donkin's delivery waggon clattered up to the door. ‘I'll get it, Joshua.' Albert scurried to the door and Joshua saw him talking to the driver and taking the delivery note from him.

‘Breadcakes are ready!' Lena shouted. ‘Can somebody fetch 'em?' She had placed the hot breadcakes on the wire trays, and was tapping the bottom of the loaves to determine if they were cooked. ‘These are ready as well,' she said triumphantly. ‘So we're not behind after all.'

‘My, that was quick!' Joshua said and wondered how she had managed it in only half the usual time.

‘Nan!' she yelled. ‘Come and clear up in here while I have a cup o' tea and some toast.' She sat down on a kitchen chair. ‘I'm fair mafted,' she said, wiping her face on a piece of rag. ‘I've just one more lot of loaves to put in when the oven comes up again, and that's it.'

‘What about 'scones?' Joshua asked, picking up one of the trays. ‘You've those to do.'

‘We've some left from yesterday,' she said. ‘I'm going to sprinkle 'em with water and warm 'em up again.' She laughed. ‘Don't look so shocked, Josh,' she said. ‘It's what everybody does with leftovers! I bet your wife did the same, only she never told you.'

Nan, coming downstairs, eyed Lena. ‘Excuse me, Lena, but she didn't,' she said quietly. ‘I worked for Mrs Mazzini for a long time and I never saw her do that!'

‘What would you know about it?' Lena snapped. ‘You're just a skivvy. What would you know about what goes on in a bakery?' She turned to Joshua, who was standing in the doorway about to go into the shop. ‘I'll not have this, Josh. I'll not have my judgement challenged. She's crossed me more than once and I'll not have it!'

Joshua dithered in the doorway with the tray in his hands. He was a man who didn't like discord. Indeed, he had never been used to it. ‘Just a minute,' he said. ‘Let me just put this down.' He placed the breadcakes in a basket on the counter top and went back into the kitchen.

‘Now, ladies,' he said placatingly. ‘Don't let's have any argument. I don't know how my wife baked; she just got on with it. It was probably different from how you do things, Lena, but that doesn't mean that either of you is right or wrong. Just different, that's all.'

Nan didn't speak but collected the baking bowls and implements and put them into the deep sink. She ran hot water onto them; it was always red hot, being heated from the range. Lena, however, glared at her, and then rising from the chair she put the remaining loaves into the oven. ‘Don't forget to make the tea,' she said spitefully. ‘You've done nowt else much this morning.'

Joshua escaped back into the shop. The groceries had been delivered and Albert had opened one of the sacks of tea and was weighing the leaves into four-ounce paper bags, which was how they usually sold it. Few of their customers could afford to buy more than that at one time. Joshua felt despondent. The morning hadn't gone well. If only Tommy had stayed at home, he thought. There would have been none of this disharmony. Tommy was a good baker, too, even better at making bread than his mother had been. Still, it wasn't to be. Youngsters would do what they wanted to do, to make their way in life. We shouldn't stand in their way.

I hope he's all right, he pondered dismally, worrying that he hadn't heard from Tommy since that first letter. Too busy enjoying himself to think of his poor old da. Of course, his ship might not come back into Hull port. He remembered the strikes earlier in the year when the dockers had refused to unload three barges because one of the crew wasn't a union member. The dispute had escalated throughout the docks and shipping federation, and free labour had been brought in. A timber yard had been fired and the police called in to keep law and order had been pelted with stones, but the Wilson company, who owned the ship Tommy had sailed in, wouldn't concede to the strikers and had threatened to take their ships out of Hull.

At ten o'clock, the post arrived. ‘Letter from abroad, Mr Mazzini,' the postman said. ‘Hope it's good news.'

‘So do I,' Joshua murmured. ‘I'm due for some.'

It was a letter from Tommy. ‘At last!' Joshua breathed, and, opening the envelope, began to read Tommy's account of his seafaring life. ‘I'm in the Baltic,' Tommy wrote. ‘We're doing the timber run, and it's not very exciting. I don't know how long it will take or when I'll be home. Hope you and Poppy are managing without me. I have to go now, but will write again when I can. Your loving son, Tommy.'

Joshua turned over the page looking for a postscript. Is that it, he thought? I've been waiting all this time and that's all he has to say! At least Poppy told me what she had been doing and that she'd met up with Charlie Chandler in London and that pianist fellow in Brighton. He heaved a sigh. And she said that she missed me.

He heard another crash coming from the kitchen and Lena's raised voice. Albert, up on a ladder stacking shelves with tins, raised his eyebrows. ‘Lena's got her dander up,' he said. ‘We'd better all watch out.'

Joshua closed his eyes for a second before taking a deep breath. He put the envelope in his overall pocket, then, setting his mouth in a pinched line, he marched through the inner door into the kitchen.

I feel sick! Poppy stood shivering in the wings. The fire curtain, which was decorated with advertisements for local amenities and had willow trees and turreted castles painted upon it, was still down. The stagehands were standing with ropes and pulleys ready to draw it up when they were given the signal. The orchestra was tuning up and she could hear a hum of voices coming from the auditorium. I'm glad that I'm not first on. She had been billed at the bottom of the programme, which should have meant that she was first to appear, but at the rehearsal Jack Bradshaw had decreed that an acrobat should go on first and Poppy second. The acrobat was standing in front of her now, rising up and down on his toes, flexing his calves and swinging his arms.

Poppy hunched into her shawl. I'll be no good, she thought. I'm so frightened. Why am I here? I should have stayed at home with Pa. I don't like being on my own. Her lips trembled and she wanted to cry. She had shared a dressing room with the other female performers, the Terry Sisters and Nancy Martell the comedienne, but they hadn't been good-humoured and barely spoke to each other, let alone her, and she had been too shy and nervous to start a conversation with them.

‘How are you feeling, Poppy?' Anthony Marino breathed the words as he came up behind her. ‘All set?'

‘No,' she whispered back. ‘I'm scared. I don't want to go on!'

‘You'll be fine,' he assured her. ‘I've been out front and there are lots of old ladies in the house, and they'll love you!'

‘Perhaps so. But what about tonight? The old ladies won't be there then.' What if the audience heckle me tonight, she thought.

She had been over her routine this morning with Miss Jenkinson, who had been very patient and understanding at interpreting the tempo of Poppy's dancing of the mazurka, and then playing softly as she sang two romantic love songs. ‘You'll do very well, my dear,' she had said, when Poppy had finished. ‘And I shall speak to Mr Bradshaw about having a violinist play for you also, later in the week. Not just yet,' she had added. ‘You and I are fine together until you have got over your nervousness.' She seemed to have guessed that Poppy felt like a sack of trembling jelly.

But now as she waited in the wings, saw the curtain rise and the acrobat somersault onto the stage, Poppy felt that she would never be able to control either her feet or her voice. She watched in a stupor as the performer came to the end of his act, heard the applause of the audience and the tattoo of the drum as he did his final roll across the stage, somersaulted and spun, ran to the wings and then back to centre stage. He gave a low bow, holding his hands to his ankles, then swiftly backflipped off the stage, over and over, to exit.