Authors: Janet MacLeod Trotter
Tags: #Edwardian sagas, 1st World War, set in NE England, strong love story, Gateshead saga, Conscientious Objectors, set in mining village
A Crimson Dawn (54 page)
Unnerved, she gabbled too much about the spoons and Mrs Laidlaw decided they were too expensive. Clara wrapped up the buttons and ribbon and took the woman's money. She served two other customers before glancing again at the display window. With relief she saw that the man had gone. It was nothing to get fussed about. He had just been passing and happened to glance in when she looked up, that's all.
As eleven approached, there was a lull in business and Clara dashed into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She heard the bell above the door tinkle and called Jimmy to the back shop to mind the kettle. He pulled a funny face as he came through the curtain.
âOdd-body,' he giggled.
Clara stepped into the shop and saw the strange man again. He took off his cap and clutched it, revealing greasy strands of receding black hair. He wore a heavy coat, though it was damp and muggy outside. The loose skin round his chin was nicked with shaving cuts from a blunt razor. She was aware that he smelled. Her insides squirmed.
âCan I help you?' she asked, trying to hide her distaste.
He hesitated, then stepped closer, never taking his eyes from hers. His look was mystifying, as if he was sad or angry with her. But what had she done? She could not remember ever seeing him before. He licked his dry lips as if he would speak, but instead just stood there staring and shaking his head. Perhaps he was simple, she thought.
âAre you lost?' she asked, as if to a child.
For a moment, the trace of a smile touched his colourless lips and he did not look quite so old. Then his shoulders sagged under the weight of his oversized coat and his face tensed again.
Maybe he was a lunatic with a knife in his pocket, Clara thought wildly, an out-of-work soldier sent mad in the trenches. She dreamed up such storylines about customers for her diary, but this seemed horribly possible.
âWould you like to speak to my father?' she asked quickly. âHe's just in the back.'
The man looked aghast. Suddenly he blurted out, âWhat is your name?'
âClara,' she gulped.
He shook his head again as if this was the wrong answer.
âAnd your name is, sir?' Clara asked. âJust so I can tell my dad.'
He grew agitated. âYour father - let me speak to him.' His accent was strange â maybe foreign.
Behind them the door opened with a jangle and Mrs Shaw bustled in. Clara waved her over with too loud a voice.
âOh, come in, Mrs Shaw. Mam's expecting you. Jimmy's just making tea; would you like a cup while you're waiting?' She spun round, flapping at the curtain behind. âJimmy! Quickly!'
A moment later, the door was jangling again and Clara turned to see the stranger bolting out of the shop, the heel of one shoe slapping loosely on the tiled floor. Her heart thumped in relief.
âMam won't be long, Mrs Shaw,' she sighed, as Jimmy appeared, slopping a cup of tea.
He grinned at her and she knew he had been listening behind the curtain.
âAnd your name is, sir?' he mimicked under his breath.
She laughed and stuck out her tongue at him, before turning to show Mrs Shaw into the tiny fitting room. There was hardly room for both her and the portly customer. Harry thought they should use the space for displaying more hats, but Patience did a steady business in lingerie among those too busy or too frugal to walk the mile up to Byker High Street or travel into Newcastle. She flattered them and listened to their worries. Corsets might have been out of fashion since the early â20s, but Patience had both loyal customers and faith in corsets making a come-back. To Clara's relief, her mother swept in to take over the sale before Mrs Shaw had a chance to derobe.
At closing time, Harry fished out half a crown from the till and told Clara to treat herself and Reenie to the best seats at the Coliseum to see the new Greta Garbo film,
A Woman of Affairs
, and pie and peas on the way home. Jimmy had already disappeared out to play. Clara changed into a new pink blouse and rushed round to Drummond Street to find Reenie sweeping up in the hairdresser's. Although her friend had stayed on at school and was hoping to train as a nurse, her parents relied on her to help out on busy Saturdays. Reenie beamed at her in relief.
âThat's grand,' she cried, on hearing of the treat, abandoning the broom and pulling off her apron.
Marta, a small, neat woman with a cascade of dark wavy hair, appeared with a flurry of questions.
âClara, come in. Will you have tea with us? How are you doing in shop today? Busy,
ja
? Come in, come in.'
âShop's been canny.' Clara smiled.
âWe haven't time for tea, Mam,' Reenie said quickly, grabbing her friend by the arm.
âBut you must eat something,' Marta remonstrated.
âLater or we'll miss the newsreel.' Reenie was adamant.
âDon't you want to change?' Clara asked, regretting her friend's haste. She did not care much for the news and could not understand why Rennie and her brothers found it so interesting. She craned now for a glimpse of Benny or Frank over the partition that divided the small booths of the hair salon from the even smaller barber's. But all she could see was Oscar Lewis's bald head bobbing up and down as he limped around tidying his shop. He was a quiet man with one leg shorter than the other, which was partly compensated for by wearing a large, specially made boot. He was dextrous with scissors and often cut the hair of women customers too. Oscar caught sight of Clara and nodded with a cautious smile, then carried on with his task.
âBye, Papa!' Reenie called out as she pushed Clara to the door. âBye, Mam.'
Marta pursued them into the street. âI'll keep something hot for you. Behave yourselves and don't talk to strange boys,
ja
?'
âNo, Mam,' Reenie agreed, adding under her breath, ânot strange ones.'
Clara suppressed a laugh as arm in arm they hurried towards the High Street. They chattered about their day.
âI hate having to wash their hair.' Reenie grimaced. âOne woman had lice, but Mam wouldn't let me say anything in case she got offended and didn't come back. I think she should be told, then she can do something about it. Now her whole family will have them.'
âYes, Nurse Lewis,' Clara grinned.
âWell, you're all right,' Reenie snorted, digging her in the ribs, âyou have nice things to sell - useless but nice.'
Clara bridled. âWhat do you mean, useless?'
Reenie smirked. âWho needs a set of frosted cocktail glasses or a jug in the shape of a fat monk?'
âWho needs a permanent wave?' Clara sparked back.
Reenie coloured and laughed. âSome of us want to look good for the Revolution.'
âIs that why Benny is growing a little beard like that Russian on the film â what's his name?'
âTrotsky.'
âAye, him.'
Reenie gave Clara a sideways look. âSo you've noticed our Benny's new look. That'll please him.'
It was Clara's turn to blush. âWhy should it?'
âCos he's got a soft spot for you. Haven't you noticed how many collar studs he's been buying from your shop lately?'
Clara shrugged. âHe does seem to lose them easily.'
âAye, right.' Reenie laughed, her blue eyes teasing. âHe's got a drawer full of them.'
âGive over!' Clara gave her a shove. She felt a nervous thrill despite her embarrassment. It made her feel grown up to hear that Benny Lewis fancied her.
Still laughing, they rounded the corner into the High Street, two blocks down from Magee's. Under the romantic cinema posters of John Gilbert embracing Garbo, a queue was growing for the early evening performance. Just as they were about to cross the road, Clara stopped and gasped.
âWhat's wrong?' Reenie asked.
Clara's insides clenched. âOver there. It's that man again.' She recognised the scruffy coat and the strangely shaped cap, not a style they had ever sold. He was eyeing the queue from a shop doorway as if watching out for someone. He had not yet seen them.
âWhat about him?' Reenie asked impatiently.
Clara would not move. âToday. He was staring into the shop at me - then he came in.'
âAnd?' Reenie demanded.
Clara felt foolish. âHe asked me my name. Didn't buy anything.'
Reenie rolled her eyes. âWhat a little capitalist. It's not a crime to look in a shop and buy nowt. Look at him; he's just down on his luck. Probably wanted a cup of tea.'
Clara felt a pang of guilt. âAye, probably.'
âHaway,' Reenie said, steering her off the pavement, âleave the poor man be.'
They crossed the road and joined the queue, shuffling forward with the others. Clara determined not to look towards the stranger, though all the time she stood waiting she had the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched. It made her spine prickle. She was relieved when they reached the top of the steps and entered the large red and gold painted doors. Her spirits lifted in anticipation of the film ahead, the plush seats and the creamy block of ice cream between wafers they would treat themselves to with the pie money.
But she could not resist a last glance behind. Her stomach lurched. The strange man had moved away from the shop door and was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking up. Looking directly at her.
She wanted to tell Reenie, pull her back and show her how the man was staring. But her friend was already inside the foyer. Well, he looked too poor to be able to follow her inside, she told herself, quelling her panic. Then she felt bad about such a thought. He was harmless, and besides, he was watching everyone go in, not just her.
Quickly she turned away and escaped inside.
