It took me a week before I managed to find a job at the Nags Head, Holloway, just along from the big store, Jones Brothers. It was almost my last port of call. I’d considered asking if they needed a shop assistant in Jones Brothers but a little café caught my eye and I decided to try my luck there first. There was just one person serving and she seemed to be rushing around like a maniac trying to do everything. Not that there was that much to do as only one disconsolate customer was there, sipping a cup of dark brown tea and staring at a congealed plate of beans on toast.
The manager/waitress/owner, a small, sharp looking woman, looked me up and down for a bit and then announced that I’d do.
‘Can’t afford much in the way of wages,’ she said, ‘but you’ll help me wash up, serve and all that. I’m on my own. It’ll be hard work.’
‘I don’t mind hard work,’ I said. ‘If you like I can help cook as well.’
‘We’ll see how you go, first. I don’t serve much here that’s fancy. Chips, baked beans, eggs and such. I do a shepherd’s pie now and then or a steak pie. The blokes love that. It’s just a workmen’s caff. Nothing fancy.’
She seemed a bit dubious as if she felt I ought to be looking for something better but I was delighted to have found even this low paid job and made up my mind to do my best even in a ‘not so fancy’ caff. I turned up for work next day looking tidy and neat. I wasn’t going to appear a mess just because the owner, whose name was Mo Simpson, looked as if she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. I was going to make her raise her standards, not lower mine.
My first job was to clean the cooker. I shone that stove as it had never shone before. Bob Cranshaw and Sid Waterman would have been proud of me. Mo came and watched me in fascination as if she’d never seen anyone work that hard in her life. She said nothing but I know she was impressed.
Next, I peeled a mound of potatoes for chips which I put in a big tub of water. Then mopped the floor that was covered in grease stains and slippery and dangerous. Once the customers came in, I went out to serve. I wrote things down then tried to remember them. It was only a tiny place and not exactly overrun with clientele, so it wasn’t hard. Coffee, egg, ham, beans or peas and chips seemed to be the universal food here. I wondered how Queenie managed the complicated Italian menu at De Marco’s. During the day I kept up with washing dishes while Mo cooked chips and eggs till the place stank of sour oil. When the day was done, I opened the back door to let out the smells, finished the last of the washing up, cleaned the tops of the tomato ketchup and brown sauce bottles, wiped the tables down and mopped over the floor again. Mo looked at the place in wonder and said, ‘Nice job, dear. Guess, you’ll do.’ Which was, I suppose, praise indeed.
I was very tired and glad to go home, almost falling asleep in the bus on the journey back. After a hot, soothing bath, I went to my room, sank into the armchair and breathed a sigh of relief. God, it was hard work but I’d done worse. At least I’d started somewhere, was independent and would earn a week’s wages by my own efforts. That cheered me up.
Betty came up half an hour later to say my boyfriend was on the phone. She didn’t seem to believe me when I said he was my brother. I went downstairs most unwillingly.
‘I’ll come for you tonight,’ he informed me, his voice as always cheerful and confident. ‘A friend’s having a party in Bayswater. It’s a super place. You’ll have a great time.’
‘Jim,’ I said wearily, ‘I’ve got to be up at six tomorrow and at work by eight.’
‘Work, what work? Thought you said you hadn’t got anything.’
‘Well, I have now. A job working in a café at Nag’s Head. Started today and I’m shattered. I am definitely not going to any party.’
He was silent for a moment.
‘Why are you doing this to me, Bridie?’
‘What are you on about? I’m not doing anything to you. This is my life, Jim. Get that in your head. I didn’t come here to party and drink and waste my life aimlessly. It may be your idea of fun but it isn’t mine. I need to make my living somehow. I’m going to bed early. See you another time.’
I slammed the phone down, feeling very cross with him. He really was the limit. He’d been kind, yes, but this was too much and I wanted to be left alone. Dropping into bed, I slept like a log out of sheer exhaustion.
The next day a delivery arrived while I was out and was awaiting my inspection in the hallway. Someone had taken it in, probably Betty or Dixie Dean. It was a magnificent carved stone sundial for the garden. I knew it must be from Jim, a token of remorse for being so pushy, and I was right. A sweet little note begged my pardon and said for your few leisure moments! He was wrong to send me such gifts and I knew I ought not to accept. But it was so lovely and, anyway, how did one send back a stone sundial?
With the help of Betty’s husband, Ted, I carted it into the garden and set it in the middle of the paved circle. It did look good and everyone admired it.
‘Got a nice boyfriend, eh, Bridie?’ said Betty giving me a nudge with her arm. ‘You’re onto a good thing there, gel. Generous bloke.’
‘He’s my foster-brother, not a boyfriend,’ I explained again but she just grinned and winked at me.
‘Won’t last two minutes,’ Dixie said sourly as we crowded round to admire the new embellishment to the garden.
‘Shut up, you miserable sod,’ said Betty. ‘Looks smart, don’t it? All we need is a bench now, like Bridie said. We can do a whip round between us and get one.’
‘I ain’t givin’ nuffin’ for no bleedin’ bench,’ said Dixie. ‘Can’t afford it.’
‘You ole misery! I’ll bet you’ve got a heap of dosh stashed under your mattress,’ said Ted, glaring at him.
‘Fuckin’ ’aven’t!’ whined the old man. ‘Don’t you get them ideas in yer ’ead. You’ll be knockin’ me off next minnit and all fer nuffin’, that’ll be the next thing.’
And he scarpered indoors as if the hounds of hell were after him and bolted his door.
I worked like a beaver all week at Mo’s Café. She seldom said much to me but she always gave me a free lunch, said I deserved it. She was a silent, strange woman who looked as if she was in pain a lot of the time; I wondered about her and her life but she never gossiped or talked about herself nor did she ask questions. She simply accepted my existence and seemed glad of the help.
‘Did you run this all alone, Mo? Before I came?’ I asked one day as I turned the notice from OPEN to CLOSED and pulled the shutter down over the door. Mo had taken the mop to the floor herself today. My efforts at making her take more care with the place seemed to be paying off.
I took the mop from her. She looked too tired to manage any more. She sat down in a plastic chair and sipped at a cold cup of tea.
‘Me old man left me,’ she said, ‘we ran it together then he upped and went.’
She said no more than that but I felt sorry for her.
‘Poor Mo. It’s a lot of work,’ I said.
‘It is,’ she sighed. ‘I’m glad you come to help me, Bridie. Don’t know what I’d do wivout you. I’d have had to shut. Just managing as it is.’
I was pleased at this and said, ‘Mo, we could maybe earn more if we made the place look nicer. I can come and give it a coat of paint this weekend if you like. And if we bought some nice tablecloths, it would cheer it all up a bit, don’t you think so?’
Mo looked around at the yellow, dingy paintwork and sighed. ‘It’s a bit of a mess. Sam was always going to do somethin’ but he never did. Too busy down at the pub chatting up the barmaid, he was.’
‘I’ll do it then if you want.’
‘Can’t offer you no more money.’
‘You don’t need to, just pay for the paint. I don’t mind. If we get more customers then we’ll both gain from it, won’t we?’
She looked grateful. ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said, ‘I liked your face first off but thought you’d be too posh and leave in a day or two when you saw how hard it all was. But you ain’t gone, after all, and you’ve already made the place look better. I’m too tired most nights to do more than shut the door and go upstairs and sleep.’
‘I like to help. You don’t look well, Mo. It’s too much for you on your own.’
‘Got bad arthritis. It’s gettin’ worse an’ all.’
I patted her arm in sympathy and she looked pleased. I hated to see that poor, tired face crumpled in pain.
Jim rang as usual from work and asked if I liked the sundial.
‘I love it and so does everybody else. Thanks, it’ll make our lives much nicer. You’re so thoughtful, Jim. And it must have set you back a bit. I’ll pay you when I can.’
‘You will not! It’s a gift. Accept something in life, Bridie. It’s a form of false pride and vanity never to accept, never to allow someone else to enjoy the pleasure of giving.’
‘Okay, I accept.’
Jim couldn’t believe his ears when I told him I was going to paint the shop that weekend instead of joining him and his mates on a jaunt on the river.
‘Why? Why should you do such a thing?’
‘I want to help poor old Mo. She’s a tired soul and her old man has left her. She needs help. I’m young and capable. It’s nothing to me and I’ll enjoy making that place look nice. Maybe I can help her run it and make something of it for us both. It’s a great idea.’
‘You’ll end up looking old,’ he said. ‘You’ll smell of chip oil.’
‘I will not!’
‘’Fraid so.’
I ignored him and his jibes and went to the café that weekend, painting it a lovely bright green with yellow round the pay desk. It looked so much cleaner and more cheerful. This way, the less attractive customers might be frightened off and better ones drawn in. That was my hope anyway.
Mo was delighted with the results. After a month, we found that the clientele did indeed seem to pick up as I had predicted. To my surprise, Jim came in one afternoon just as I was shutting up the place.
‘So this is the glorious Nag’s Head café,’ he said, looking around.
‘Have you come to make fun, Jim, because if so, you can go away. Mo and I are proud of our café.’
He smiled suddenly, disarming me as he always did with sudden charm.
‘No, I’m not mocking at all, Bridie – it’s admirable what you’ve done. The place looks nice and cheerful. Won’t you introduce me to your boss?’
In my mind I regarded Mo as more of a partner these days. I introduced Jim as my brother and Mo smiled at him and shook hands very solemnly. She seemed a bit in awe of this posh brother.
‘Jim’s studying for the law,’ I added.
A worried look came over her face though I had no idea why. I think in her mind the Law and the Police went together and she seemed to have some reason for being afraid of Jim because he represented the long arm of authority. I couldn’t help wondering if all her dealings were above board. I had a suspicion she dodged her taxes somehow or other and made up my mind to take a look at her books, if she possessed such things, and check up that all was right. It wouldn’t do to enter into business with her if she had something to hide.
I never got a chance to look at the books because we were simply too busy. Running a café with just two people wasn’t easy. I told Mo we really ought to get someone to help with the dishes and cleaning at least but she was reluctant.
‘Can’t really afford it,’ she said. ‘I’m just about managing to pay you even though things is lookin’ up.’
I said no more but had to admit to myself it was making me very tired. Jim was right, I would get old and worn, and end up looking like Mo if I kept up this relentless pace.
I’d managed to get the little garden neater, put in a few shrubs and pots. It looked so nice and restful and was somewhere I could go and find a little serenity now and then. Jim came along one evening to admire his sundial and to see what I’d done.
‘It all looks very nice,’ he said. ‘You’re a real homemaker, aren’t you, Bridie?’
Everyone had contributed to buying the new bench. Luke McGraw had given the most, to my surprise.
‘It’s wonderful to have a little space, a little oasis in this place,’ he said. ‘May I join you down here sometimes?’
‘Of course you may. It’s for us all to share and enjoy. I’d love you to join me.’
He had looked very pleased at this as if he didn’t often get such invitations. However, the one time he did join me on the bench, that nasty piece of work Ted had opened his window upstairs and yelled out, ‘That seat ain’t for niggers. Get orf it.’
Luke had looked at me and risen but I pulled him back and said loudly, ‘Don’t listen to that stupid, ignorant fool, Luke. You gave more than anyone else towards this. It’s your seat too.’
I glared at Ted and told him to bugger off. It wasn’t often that I said such things but he really riled me. Yet another of life’s interminable weaklings who liked to bully others. I wasn’t standing for it any more.
Ted scowled at me but said no more because he knew Betty liked me a lot and strange as it may seem, stood in awe of his diminutive little wife. Betty was no mean adversary and looked as if she could wield a rolling pin very nicely.
Jim and I sat down on the new bench together and he smoked a cigarette as we watched the sun setting behind the rooftops. He regarded me keenly.
‘You’re looking tired, Bridie.’
‘I am,’ I sighed. ‘It’s hard work. But it’s okay. I like to feel I’m helping Mo. She’s a worried little soul. Always looking over her shoulder.’
‘Sounds like she’s got something to hide.’
‘I think she has. I feel her accounts aren’t all they should be and keep meaning to look at them before someone catches her out.’
Jim smiled thoughtfully. ‘We all have something to hide.’ He lit another cigarette and leant back, gazing up at the windows for a while. We both fell silent, lost in private thoughts.
‘I’ve bought myself a second-hand cello,’ he said, at last, ‘Alice’s brother was selling his and I managed to get it for a bargain price. I’m practising like mad and mean to get you round to listen one evening. Would you like that?’
He looked at me pleadingly and I nodded my head. ‘That would be nice, Jim. Don’t worry about being a good cellist, I haven’t a clue what’s good and what isn’t as long as it sounds nice to me. You know what a philistine I am!’
‘I’ll help you to appreciate the finer things of life,’ he said. ‘I want you to enjoy Mozart and Haydn and Bach and not just pop songs. You’re a bright, intelligent girl, Bridie. I want to make something of you for your own sake. You’re wasted in a greasy spoon café.’
He was in earnest. But it’s all a matter of opinion, isn’t it? Finer taste, I mean. I was beginning to have a real appreciation for music because of Jim’s explanations and his introducing me to work I’d never heard before. Yet I still hankered after the sounds of Mother Nature, the finest music of all.
Jim still expressed regret that I’d chosen to wear myself out in Mo’s café and not come to work in Grantham’s chambers. But I felt no such regret. Jim would have been around all the time and that would have been too much of a good thing. I liked Mo. She was real where in many ways Jim always tried to be something he was not, always putting on a show. Mo was a good person and nice to me in her own way. She’d had a hard life and I felt for her. I knew all about a hard life.
I had been in London four weeks now and written to Joe and Sheila since my last phone call telling them I was managing quite well and getting used to my new life. The truth was, I was unhappy. I missed Ryan more than I dared admit even to myself. When his letter arrived, I ran upstairs with it, flung everything down on the floor, fell into the armchair and opened it with a trembling hand.
Darling Bridie …
I paused here and felt my heart open with joy. He still thought of me with love despite my having hurt and rejected him. I really didn’t deserve it, I knew that. It was comforting to know he didn’t hate me.
… I’m sitting writing this during first watch. Up here on the light at this late hour, when all’s dark and you know the world’s fast asleep, it’s a strange, quiet, empty feeling. Like a man’s all alone in the world, Bridie. But I know I’m not alone when I think of you. I see your face so plain and it’s like you’re here with me sometimes. I long for you so much. You know the other night I woke up and swear I felt your arms around me, smelt your sweet smell. It was so real. It made me all mixed up inside, all longing. Bridie, come home soon, don’t make me wait a year …
He went on to say the weather was very bad on Wolf Rock and it would be ages before he could get away. Did I want him to come and visit on leave or had I banned him altogether? Tears came to my eyes as I read this. I wanted him so much, longed to see his face and hear his slow, quiet voice, feel the peace he always brought me with his gentle presence. Yet my foolish pride prevented me from telling him so; I didn’t want him to see the pitiful life I was leading here. I wrote back telling him I was doing well and wanted to stay for the year if I could and it would soon pass by and be good for us both. I didn’t want him to come, I said, I wanted it to be a real test.
The only good thing was I was earning some money at last. Paltry as my wages were they paid for the rent, fares and a Spartan existence. Then there was the fifty pounds from Joe. The notes were still in an envelope hidden behind a picture. I knew I ought to put them in a savings bank but was always too tired when I came home at night to do anything about it. In my heart, perhaps I just wanted to know the cash was available in case I should suddenly want to run back home and leave all this.
I felt very dispirited of late and wondered as always what I was doing here. I felt as if I was slowly dying away in this existence. It couldn’t go on.
It was a Friday evening when the first of the disasters began.