‘Ted says he just gets a bit cross because of his gout,’ she explained, adding proudly, ‘Ted knows everything about everyone at the station, and all about the trains as well.’
Although she smiled, Olive sighed to herself. She definitely needed to find out a bit more about this young man that Agnes so plainly admired.
In her room at number 13, Sally tried to sleep, reminding herself that she was starting night duty this evening, but she’d been dreaming about Liverpool and her mother, and she didn’t want to go back into the dream from which she’d just woken herself. She turned over, thumping the pillow, knowing that she’d be cursing herself later on this evening if she didn’t sleep now. Sleep remained elusive, though, so she tried to focus her mind on something else. During a snatched meal in the nurses’ canteen earlier in the week, one of the ward nurses on men’s surgical, a girl called Rachel Horseley, who was around Sally’s age, had invited her to join a group of nurses who were planning to go to the pictures together. Sally had had to turn down the invitation because she would be on duty, but remembering the other girl’s overtures of friendship made her smile.
She had made the right decision in coming to London to have a fresh start. The loss of her mother and what had followed would always cast its shadow over her, she knew, but her mother would have wanted her to be as happy as she could be and to enjoy life. Slowly, something of her old joie de vivre was coming back. She had laughed out loud at a joke one of the other girls had told them all yesterday, and she had hummed to one of her favourite songs when it had been played on the wireless, her feet starting to tap in time to the music. She’d even begun to wonder if George Laidlaw was a good dancer. Smiling to herself, Sally settled down to sleep.
It was just over two and a half hours after they had first arrived at Portobello Market, and the whole street was now a seething mass of enthusiastic bargain hunters, the cries of the stall holders, trying to attract custom, mingling with bellowed warnings from porters bringing up fresh barrows of goods, and even the ring of bicycle bells from those cyclists brave enough to try to ride through the busy throng of people filling the narrow streets.
Tilly and Agnes had been almost beside themselves with excitement from the moment they had arrived, Tilly especially as she had dragged them from stall to stall, calling to Olive to look at some fresh marvel that had caught her eye.
Olive couldn’t really blame her. The market was far bigger and better than she had expected, and she was obliged to admit mentally, if somewhat reluctantly, that Dulcie had been right about the quality of fabric for sale. The problem was that the bargains were almost too tempting.
They’d agreed initially that they would walk round carefully and ‘just take a look’ but that discipline hadn’t lasted very long. That was her fault, Olive knew, but the discovery of the last precious few yards of the most beautiful warm bronze dress-weight wool that was perfect for Tilly’s colouring had been too good a bargain to risk losing, especially when the stall holder had confirmed that since Tilly was so slim there was just enough for a daytime dress and a matching jacket, which Olive had been able to bargain down to a truly unmissable price because it was the end of the roll.
Then, of course, Olive had wanted to get something for Agnes, and they’d soon found a lovely soft blue-grey wool on the same stall. Olive however, mentally scolded herself that there had not really been any excuse for her to let the girls persuade her to give in to a deep dark red for herself, even if the prices were good.
Despite the cold wind that was blowing, the press of the crowd and the excitement of their bargain hunting had brought a warm glow to their faces, and Olive acknowledged that she was enjoying herself far more than she had expected. It was such a pleasure to have enough money to be able to treat the girls, thanks to letting out the rooms.
And as if their bargain-hunting shopping hadn’t already been successful enough, when Tilly had complained how much she now disliked her ‘childish’ too-short coat, the stall holder reached beneath his stall and brought out the most beautiful rolls of what he’d explained was a blend of wool and cashmere.
‘It’s wot the toffs all have their coats made out of,’ he told them as they huddled together under the stall’s faded green and white striped awning. Olive could believe that. The wool was unbelievably soft and warm, and in the most beautiful jewel colours. Despite her habitual need to be frugal, in the end she wasn’t able to resist either the fabric or Tilly’s pleading look, though it was more than she’d planned to spend even after she’d haggled him down. And, of course, she then felt obliged to say that Agnes must have a new coat as well, so that they bought the coat fabric in a lovely warm brown colour for Tilly, and also in a soft air-force blue for Agnes. Both girls were thrilled to bits, despite the weight of the brown-paper-wrapped parcels they insisted were no problem at all to carry.
‘What we need now is to find some lining fabric, oh, and buttons. Tilly, have you got those swatches of fabric the stall holder gave us so that we can match the shades up?’ Olive asked.
Tilly nodded, but before they reached the stalls with the lining fabrics on them, Olive noticed a stall selling a range of pretty warm-looking tartans, fine enough for winter dresses.
‘That would make very pretty party dresses for you both,’ she pointed out to the girls.
Tilly pulled a face, wrinkling her nose as she objected, ‘We’ll look like schoolgirls in that, Mum. Oh, but look at that velvet.’
It was beautiful, Olive acknowledged, real silk velvet that slithered through her fingers when she touched it and in the most glamorous of colours: rich amber, warm rose, dark green, navy, and plum.
‘It’s a very good price,’ the stall holder told them. ‘French too. You’ll not see this quality anywhere else.’
‘Please, Mum,’ Tilly pleaded, her eyes shining.
‘I don’t know, Tilly. We’ve already bought more than I planned. It is lovely, but the pile on the velvet is bound to flatten.’
‘It’s silk velvet,’ the stall holder emphasised, overhearing her. ‘You just give it a bit of a steam and it comes up like new. This rose colour would be perfect for you, with them dark curls,’ she told Tilly.
‘We’ve got lining fabric to get yet for your coats and buttons and everything,’ Olive warned her daughter.
‘Coats, is it?’ the stall holder chipped in. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you was to have a length of this silk velvet each then I’ll throw in enough ordinary velvet for you to have a set of collars and cuffs made for your coats.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ Tilly breathed excitedly, and Olive acknowledged ruefully that she’d no chance of bargaining the stall holder down now, with her daughter looking so excited.
It was lovely fabric, though. Mentally she calculated how much they’d already spent. It would mean going over the budget she had set herself if they had the velvet, but she could afford to, thanks to the rent from the lodgers.
‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘but we’ll need only two lengths,’ she told the stall holder. ‘Which colour do you like, Agnes?’
Agnes’s reaction was to gaze at her with disbelief. ‘Me? When you said two lengths I thought it was for you and Tilly.’
Poor Agnes – she had had so little, growing up, that she automatically expected to be excluded from treats, Olive thought.
‘Of course you must have a new dress too, Agnes,’ she told her firmly. ‘Now which colour? This dark green will suit you, I think.’ Holding the velvet up to Agnes, Olive saw that her whole face was illuminated with joy as, speechless with gratitude, Agnes could only beam at her. That look on Agnes’s face made her decision all the more worthwhile, Olive admitted to herself, even if that did make her a sentimental softie.
‘What about you?’ the saleswoman pressed. ‘I’ll give you thruppence a yard off if you have three lengths.’ She pointed to a roll of amber velvet. ‘Perfect for you, that would be.’
‘Oh,