What’s more, his uncle was on his rounds.
Cedric Marlow toured the store every day. He greeted customers as they came in at the doors, then made his way through every department, speaking to staff, giving praise where it was due and withholding it when it was not. Rumour had it he’d once written his name on a cosmetics counter that hadn’t been properly dusted after a spill of face powder.
Worse still, today he had his son, Jim’s cousin Robert, with him. Robert had been first floor supervisor before Peter Simmonds but had left to work in the Birmingham stockbroking firm owned, conveniently, by his fiancée, Evelyn’s, father. He still occasionally popped back ‘for old times’ sake’ he said, but as he’d had no feel for shopkeeping, Jim always felt it was to keep an eye on his inheritance.
Jim watched out of the corner of his eye, but from Gramophones, Cedric and Robert proceeded to Radiograms so the fact that Jim hadn’t had time to polish his shoes to the mirror brightness his uncle required might not be noticed.
As soon as Mr Hooper had finished his tale, Jim signalled to Lily, who’d been watching for a sign since she’d arrived on the sales floor. Armed with a boy’s jacket she could claim to be brushing, she sidled over to where their departments butted up against one another.
‘Thanks for your note. How are you?’ she asked quietly.
She could see he looked drained, but that was standard after two days at home.
‘Ever felt like your eyeballs have been rolled in sand and put back upside down?’
Lily tutted sympathetically.
‘How were things?’
‘The usual.’
‘I’m sorry. You got The Messenger sorted?’
‘Thankfully. It should be coming round with the afternoon post.’
‘Well done. Early night for you tonight.’
There’d be no walk along the canal in the twilight, no scramble down the railway embankment for the clutch of blackberries she’d spotted on Sunday, no stroll to the cinema while the starlings circled.
‘I’ve got ARP.’
‘Oh, Jim … can’t you get out of it?’
‘I can’t let them down. I’m still paying back the nights I missed when Mother was first taken ill.’
He was so conscientious, drat him! But would she have wanted him any different? Not really.
‘If you say so,’ she conceded. ‘Look out, Mr Marlow and Robert are heading this way. We’d better get back. I’ll see you at half five.’
At least they could walk home together.
There’d been rain all afternoon, or so various damp customers told Lily, but it was mercifully dry when at last the long day was over and Lily and Jim could step into the street. Jim wound Lily’s scarf round his neck.
‘That’s a bit of luck, anyway,’ said Lily, determined to be cheerful. She tucked her arm through his. ‘Another rib on my umbrella broke at the weekend. I’ll have to see if I can get it mended, though I don’t hold out much hope.’
Jim gave a grunt of acknowledgement and Lily fell silent. She’d looked forward so much to seeing him, his lanky frame and his thoughtful face, but he was obviously tired out, and she couldn’t think of much to say. She didn’t think he’d want to hear about the only thing that had happened at work in his absence, a delivery of shampoo that had caused such a stampede in Toiletries that the commissionaire had had to come inside to keep order.
‘Nothing much to report at home,’ she said as they walked. ‘Not a peep from Sid or Reg.’
Another grunt.
‘Monty doesn’t seem to be making much difference in North Africa yet. That push to retake Tobruk came to nothing.’
Silence.
Of course, there was one other thing that had happened at work, or through work, but somehow Lily didn’t feel the time was right to mention her encounter with Frank.
They passed a jeweller’s, a tobacconist’s, a grocer’s. The shopkeeper was pulling down the blinds and it obviously reminded Jim of something.
‘Drat. There was some butter I meant to bring back.’
When she’d been well, Alice had always sent Jim back from the country laden with largesse – jams and jellies, rabbits, pigeons, cream. That was another thing that had disappeared at a stroke, so to speak.
‘Never mind,’ said Lily reassuringly. ‘We’ll live!’
They stopped at the corner to cross the road into the park and Lily noticed a fresh poster on a hoarding. ‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’ it barked. It gave her an idea.
‘Look, Jim. Why don’t I come with you next time?’ she suggested. ‘I could book the Monday off. I’d like to—’
‘No,’ he said abruptly, starting to cross. ‘It wouldn’t work.’
‘Why not?’ Lily hurried to keep up. ‘I’m sure there’s something I could do for your mum – and take the pressure off you. Anything. Clean the windows, scrub the floor, pick the apples, they must be past ready—’
‘No, Lily.’
They were inside the park now – or rather, the allotments it had been turned into – and he stopped to face her, unlinking their arms. A gust of wind shook the chestnut tree above them and a clutch of conkers thudded to the ground. Their cases looked, Lily thought, like naval mines.
‘I’m sorry,’ he went on. ‘It’s not a good idea. I … I don’t think it would help.’
‘Really? Why not?’
Jim looked as if he was about to say something, then he turned his face away. Lily felt something boiling up inside her, something she’d felt for ages.
‘Your mum doesn’t like me, does she?’
Jim turned back to face her.
‘It’s not that—’
She’d started now, so she might as well spit it out.
‘I think it is. I’ve been to your home precisely once, and that was a year ago. I don’t think I did anything to offend her – I don’t see how I could have – but I’ve never been asked back.’
Jim lifted his shoulders.
‘She wouldn’t want you to see her like she is.’
‘But she doesn’t mind Margaret seeing her?’
Where had that come from? Lily hadn’t thought about Margaret Povey since Jim had mentioned her weeks ago!
He looked startled.
‘Margaret?’
Suddenly he had a hunted look and Lily scented blood.
‘Did you see her?’ she asked. ‘Did you see her when you were home?’
‘Yes, I did as a matter of fact.’
He sounded almost shifty. Lily went in for the kill.
‘So she’s welcome, and I’m not.’