Wedding Bells for Woolworths Read online

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  Three pairs of eyes looked towards Freda as she pushed open the rickety wooden door and stepped into the workshop. Pretending she hadn’t heard the men arguing with Alan, she picked up a broom and gave him a smile. ‘Sorry I’m late. I bumped into Sadie and we had a quick cup of tea, then got chatting. I’ll make you one when I’ve swept up. Are your friends staying?’

  The two burly men, dressed in long black overcoats with wide shoulders, pushed past her as they headed towards the door. ‘Don’t forget. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll have the money with us by Friday – or we’ll be seizing goods to the value, as they say,’ the taller man said, as his eyes roamed over the workshop.

  ‘Accidents can happen in places like this,’ the second one added. He smiled menacingly at Freda before tapping the rim of his hat and following his companion through the door.

  Alan slumped against his workbench and ran a hand through his sandy-coloured hair. ‘You shouldn’t have heard any of that,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘It’s a good job I came in when I did or goodness knows what would have happened,’ she said, throwing down the broom and going to his side. ‘I could hear them threatening you from outside.’

  ‘Then you should have turned round and gone away. The last thing I want is for them to harm you, kid.’

  Freda perched herself on the workbench so she could easily look into his face. ‘What if that had been your Georgina or your mum that came in? They could have been hurt if those chaps had turned their threats into actions. I’m going to put the kettle on, and then you are going to tell me all about it. A trouble shared and all that,’ she said as she hopped down and went to fill the battered kettle at a tap over a chipped sink. Alan’s eyes were bright with tears, and she didn’t want him to see she’d noticed. It would have hurt his pride to cry in front of her.

  ‘I’ll tell you everything, but you are not to repeat what I say to a living soul. Do you promise?’ he said gruffly, blowing his nose.

  Freda stayed silent until the tea was made, and she placed a mug in front of him before dragging over a packing case to use as a seat. ‘Come on – let’s be having it. If I’m to share this secret, I want to know it all. I want to help you, Alan,’ she added gently, not wanting to appear too bossy. Alan had been like a big brother to her, and he called her his kid sister – hence the nickname of ‘kid’ that he’d given her. She didn’t like to see him in trouble, no matter what it was.

  He stared into the mug of tea rather than look her in the eye. ‘The takings haven’t been so good lately, kid. You might have noticed I’ve not had any bikes in from the GPO since they hired their own mechanics.’

  ‘Oh God, Alan. I’d hoped that was a temporary problem.’

  ‘A change of manager in the depot didn’t help. By all accounts the new chap has his own contacts in the trade. I’d begun relying on that work, and now it’s dropped off you could say I’m on my uppers. The rent on this place was due and I didn’t have the wherewithal to pay it, so . . .’ He picked his mug up and took a gulp without noticing it was still scalding hot.

  ‘So you borrowed the money?’ Freda prompted him. ‘But who from, and why did those men come knocking?’

  ‘I overheard someone down the pub mentioning a chap who lent money to businesses, and I followed it up . . .’

  Freda slammed down her mug. ‘You bloody idiot. You mean you went to a moneylender, and then you couldn’t pay him back? Christ, Alan! They charge the earth in interest as it is, and once you don’t pay back, they double, treble what’s due and then . . . I thought any fool knew that. If you don’t pay . . .’ She stopped speaking for a moment to catch her breath.

  ‘They beat people to death and dump their bodies in the Thames,’ he finished for her.

  ‘Oh, Alan, you bloody, bloody fool.’ A sob caught in Freda’s throat and she threw her arms round him. ‘There’s any number of people who could have helped you.’

  Alan pulled her away and held her at arms’ length. ‘That’s the thing; I don’t want help, or to be beholden to family and friends. I want to sink or swim on my own merits.’

  ‘If we don’t get you out of this mess, you’ll sink, all right,’ she said forcing a grin to her face.

  ‘Yes, wearing concrete boots, like one of those gangsters in the films you like to watch at the Odeon.’

  She snorted, brushing off his suggestion even though she knew it could well be true. ‘I have a bit put by you can have, if it helps? You know I’ve always fancied working for you. I could be your sleeping partner. How much do you need?’ she asked, already imagining her name above the door. ‘Gilbert & Smith’ had a certain ring to it.

  Alan didn’t speak as he leant across the workbench and slid a sheet of paper towards her.

  ‘Blimey, Alan,’ she exclaimed, clapping a hand over her mouth. She didn’t often swear, but this time there just weren’t the words to explain her shock. She realized she’d been fairly vocal in that department this afternoon, and it wasn’t ladylike. ‘I didn’t realize you’d borrowed this much.’

  ‘I didn’t – it was a quarter of that. They’ve added on a bit of interest.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have asked for time to pay?’ she said as she picked up the piece of paper and stared closely at the numbers written at the bottom. At the top were the words ‘Frank Unthank and Sons, Financial Investments’. ‘I take it your visitors were the sons?’

  ‘I wish. The sons are better dressed and more polite, even though they can be just as threatening. Those chaps were the hired help. I’ve got two weeks to pay them, or else.’

  ‘Then we’ve got two weeks to come up with a plan,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘What work do you have outstanding that we could turn into cash?’ Watched as Alan looked up from his tea, she saw the despair in his eyes.

  ‘Hardly anything at all. The Brough goes back later today, but the owner paid me a large deposit and that’s already been accounted for. Sarah needed her housekeeping; I couldn’t refuse her, and the rest went on parts to go back into stock. In fact, I need to collect them this afternoon and hand over the payment.’

  ‘How much does Sarah know, Alan?’

  He gazed into the distance, deep in thought, not seeing the rough brickwork walls and the tin roof of the workshop that dripped water every time it rained. ‘She doesn’t know I’m a failure, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, Alan, you can’t keep secrets like this. Sarah will be so angry if she knows you kept this to yourself. You’ve been married for how many years?’

  ‘It’ll be eight later this year,’ he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

  ‘And I was there in church when you made your promises to each other. I don’t recall you saying you’d not tell her when you had a problem.’

  ‘And I never said I’d get myself in trouble with a bloody moneylender either,’ he said bitterly, slamming his fist down on the wooden bench. ‘She must never know about this. I couldn’t face her if she knew how much I’ve let her down. It would be the end of our marriage. I know it would,’ he exclaimed as his anger surfaced.

  Freda could see how emotional he was. ‘You’ll get through this, Alan, and I’ll be here to help you all I can. You can have the money in my post office book, and I’ll see what else I can do to rake in some more,’ she promised. This time he reached out and hugged her.

  ‘I don’t want to take your money, kid. It feels like stealing from my little sister.’

  Freda felt herself choking up. ‘Well, I’m giving it to you, so shut up and take it. It’ll only make a small dent in the debt, but it’s a start.’

  ‘I’ll not take it all the same. I’m going to sell Bessie. She’s old but she’s sound,’ he said, looking to where his faithful motorbike stood close to the workshop wall covered in a tarpaulin.

  ‘Oh no, you can’t do that. You love that bike. Why, it was your dad’s, wasn’t it? You need to hang onto your memories, Alan, whatever happens. Besides, Sarah will notice if it’s
missing. I know she’s never liked motorbikes, but she knows what that one means to you. How will you explain why you’ve let it go?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll say it’s too old to ride so I let it go for spare parts.’

  ‘Please don’t start to tell untruths because one day you will find your life is built on lies and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of them. You owe it to Sarah and the kids to be honest.’

  Alan looked glum. ‘I couldn’t get away with anything, let alone murder, with you watching me, could I?’

  Freda shook her head and sighed. ‘I hope you don’t ever consider such a thing. I’d rather see you walk away from this business than tell lies and, God forbid, think of murder. Now, let’s see what can be done this afternoon to improve matters, shall we?’ She tried hard to keep her voice upbeat. ‘Did you say something about some spare parts needing collection? I can do that, while you make yourself a list of work that can bring in some money. I’ll help when I get back. Can I borrow a motorbike to fetch the bits?’

  ‘Take Bessie and the duffel bag. It’s all small stuff.’ He turned to open a drawer under the workbench, pulling out an envelope. ‘Here’s the cash. Remember to ask for a receipt, won’t you? I wish I’d thought about this more; I could have done without the spark plugs and carburettors. Too late now, as I can’t renege on an order,’ he shrugged.

  Freda grinned. Even with the cloud of Alan’s debt hanging over them, she was thrilled at the thought of riding a motorbike once again. During the latter years of the war she’d absolutely loved her work with the Fire Service as a dispatch rider. The money in her savings account had been going towards buying her own motorbike, but that could wait. For now, she’d enjoy the wind in her hair and being able to ride the beloved Bessie, even if it might be for the last time if Alan had his way. ‘Do they know someone’s collecting the parts this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes – I was going to shut up earlier and go to Bexleyheath myself for them. If those thugs had arrived ten minutes later they’d have found the workshop doors locked and bolted.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t because now I know what’s happening and I’ll be able to help you all I can. I may have another lodger soon, so I’ll give you the rent money to add to what they’re after.’

  ‘It’s good of you to think of me, kid, but it won’t help much. I’m thinking it may be better for me to take the beating and get it over with.’

  Freda became angry. ‘You mustn’t do that. They could kill you, and then they’d just go after Sarah for the money. Keep your chin up, Alan, and don’t be so defeatist. We will sort this out between us.’

  Alan hugged her. ‘What would I do without you? We have to keep this secret to ourselves, as it will destroy Sarah if she finds out.’

  From outside the workshop, Maureen Gilbert froze with her hand on the door handle. Why was it that she kept hearing news at half-opened doors these days? She hoped no one thought she was a nosy parker. Knowing Sarah was working late at Woolworths, she’d decided on the spur of the moment to take her son a sandwich; otherwise he’d not bother eating until he came home later. She’d not expected to hear him speaking in confidence to young Freda. A secret between them – what was this all about? She rapped on the door loudly and called out in a cheerful voice. ‘Are you there, Alan? It’s your mum with food!’ As she stepped through the door she spotted Freda pull away from her son’s arms, and they both pinned smiles to their sad-looking faces. Whatever was going on here?

  Betty reached for a cardboard box on a side table in her office, and slid it towards Sarah. ‘Goodness, I forgot to put these in the staff canteen. Would you be a dear and unpack them? Remember to keep one back for Maureen, as she has a day off tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t believe Maureen will be marrying my dad next week,’ Sarah said as she opened the top of the box and pulled out a handful of magazines including The New Bond, the Woolworths magazine. ‘Ooh, that’s good, I do enjoy reading The New Bond – if only to be nosy about what’s happening at the other Woolworths stores.’

  Betty smiled at her friend’s excitement. ‘It wasn’t that long ago you would have had more to say about George and Maureen marrying.’

  Sarah looked up. ‘I was rather an idiot, wasn’t I? With them being so close and not a year having passed since Mum . . . left us, it was all too much for me,’ she said with a slight wobble in her voice. ‘But with Maureen being my mother-in-law, and her looking after Dad so well, it made me see what a wonderful woman she is, and life has to go on . . .’

  Betty knew it had taken a lot for Sarah to accept that her father had found new love with Maureen Gilbert. But by all accounts they had been friends long ago, before he’d married Sarah’s mother, the elegant and rather superior Irene. Irene hadn’t been everyone’s cup of tea, but Betty had got on well with her and had grieved when she’d died, not long before Sarah gave birth to Alan Junior. Betty shuddered inwardly at the young lad’s nickname of Buster, but the name, given to him when he survived a near miss at the Hainault maternity home when only a few hours old, had stuck fast. ‘All’s well that ends well,’ she said, giving her friend a gentle smile before starting to open a pile of correspondence on her desk. ‘Hmm – this looks rather official.’

  ‘Please don’t say it’s another letter about the trainee manager programme?’ Sarah said as she placed several copies of The New Bond on her boss’s desk. ‘I’m forever calling these young men, who arrive for a few weeks then move on to another store, by the wrong name. They all look the same in their brown warehouse coats. Why can’t we have one sent to us for office training, instead of being the store where they learn about warehouse and stock control?’

  ‘Because Erith 397 has a reputation for keeping a tight ship, that’s why,’ Betty replied proudly. ‘I do confess to calling one young man Barry when his name was Malcolm. I’ll make a note for them to start wearing name badges. That will solve the problem. Hmm,’ she added, looking more closely at the letter. ‘I fear this is a bigger problem than our trainee manager programme. Head office has noticed Erith 397 has not contributed to The New Bond of late. They suggest that we enter one of our female staff members into the cover girl competition.’ She looked up from the letter.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Sarah said, taking a step back from the desk with a fearful look. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than seeing my face on the cover of the magazine! I enjoy reading about fellow workers, but it’s not for me. We need a young, single staff member who has been with Woolies for a while and who has led an interesting life.’

  The two friends looked at each other and in unison said, ‘Freda!’

  ‘She would run a mile if we suggested it,’ Betty said. ‘Perhaps if I had a quiet word and told her it was for the good of the store. Remind her how you were featured in The New Bond when you were Erith’s carnival queen.’

  ‘Gosh, that was back in 1939,’ Sarah said, thinking fondly of that time. ‘Before the world went to war, and before I married my Alan.’

  ‘I was still unmarried, too,’ Betty added, remembering again how fortunate she was to have found her Douglas in her forties after facing a life of spinsterhood.

  ‘And now you have two stepdaughters, and your own daughter,’ Sarah said. ‘Oh, that gives me an idea . . .’

  Betty raised her hands as if to ward off whatever Sarah was about to say. ‘Please don’t suggest I should appear in the magazine. I’m too long in the tooth, and I’ve worked for Woolworths far too long to be considered a cover girl.’

  Sarah chuckled at her horrified expression. ‘No, not that I don’t think you’d look super on the cover. I was thinking we could send in a photograph of Maureen and Dad when they get married. Look at all the wedding announcements and photographs,’ she said, opening the magazine to show rows of blushing brides and grooms in their wedding finery beaming out of the pages. ‘Dad has loaned me his Box Brownie to use on the day, so I’ll make sure that there’s a nice one I can contribute to the editor on behalf
of Erith 397.’

  ‘What a marvellous idea. I’m sure the happy couple will be pleased to be included in the magazine to represent Erith. Well done, Sarah!’

  Sarah nodded as she slipped a copy into her handbag. Another thought had come to her, but she’d keep it to herself for now.

  ‘It’s only me,’ Vera Munro shouted through the letterbox after banging loudly on the door of number thirteen Alexandra Road. She ran her finger along the bottom of the glass panel and inspected the dust she found. ‘You need to clean your windows,’ she sniffed as she pushed past Ruby and led the way to the living room, plonking herself down on a wooden seat with a sigh. ‘You’ll not guess what I’ve just seen.’

  ‘No doubt you’re about to fill me in,’ Ruby said, expecting nothing better of her neighbour.

  ‘It was a shock, I can tell you. I’m fair whacked after hurrying to let you know.’

  ‘Well? Spit it out, woman, before the anticipation kills me.’ Ruby sighed, knowing it would be something and nothing. She was busy washing mud off the vegetables Bob had brought back from the allotment before thinking about their dinner. Was that what Vera had really come for, she wondered? She never missed a trick to beg a free bit of food. Mind you, there was a time when Vera was on her uppers, Ruby thought to herself, so she’d try not to think too badly of the woman even though she was a pest.

  ‘I saw one of them darkies, and he was talking to our Sadie,’ Vera huffed, with a pleased look on her lined face. Time had not been good to Vera, and the war could not be blamed. It was as if all the years of moaning had added more lines than necessary on her round face until not a single one more could be squeezed in. Her grey hair, cut in a short, harsh bob to just below her ears, did her no favours and she continually squinted through a pair of wire-framed spectacles. ‘Do you think he’s chasing after her, knowing she’s a loose woman?’