Lottie rather wished she had after all accepted the offer of a dress from Violet as she sat in the waiting room of J&J Harvey, waiting for an interview. Due to the effects of the economic climate Kirkcaldies had not been able to offer her advancement, which they told her they sincerely regretted, but had been willing to give her a reference should she wish to move elsewhere.
After a few unsuccessful applications Lottie had seen the advertisement for a sales assistant in the local paper and this was her first interview.
J&J Harvey was a smaller store than Kirkcaldies, situated in Manners Street and judged to be rather exclusive with a good reputation. She wanted to be, and look, her best. She had dipped into her meagre savings to buy another dress, less fashionable than the one offered by Violet, more demure and perhaps, in the circumstances, rather more suitable.
She looked up as the door opened and a man beckoned to her. ‘Would you come in, please, Miss O’Brien?’
He led her into a small office overlooking the street and asked her to take a seat, then he sat at a desk opposite her and for a moment studied the papers in front of him which included her application, school reports and the reference from Kirkcaldies.
After a few moments he looked at her and gave a pleasant smile. He was about forty, of medium height with a moustache, large brown eyes, dark, sleeked-back hair neatly parted and a smart pinstriped business suit, white shirt with a stiff collar and a restrained club or possibly service tie.
‘I am Mr John Harvey, Miss O’Brien, son of the founder of the store, also called John.’ He paused and looked at her keenly.
‘You are rather young, Miss O’Brien. Just seventeen, I see. What makes you think you would be suitable for a post for which you obviously have little or no experience, although it is a junior one of sales assistant, and you will be well supervised?’
‘I hope I would,’ Lottie replied, careful to measure her words. ‘I occasionally did help at Kirkcaldies in the store, but mostly my job was in the stockroom.’
‘That could be to our advantage,’ Mr Harvey murmured. ‘Stock control is vital to a successful business.’ He looked at her again, as if trying to get under her skin, and perhaps also calculating that her striking good looks would be an additional advantage to her sales expertise.
‘You know that we have a reputation for exclusiveness, with a mainly affluent clientele? Do you think you would fit in?’
‘I cannot promise but I would do my best,’ Lottie said, with a sinking feeling that the job was slipping away from her.
‘I’m sure you would,’ Mr Harvey said pleasantly. ‘I like your honesty.’
He studied the papers before him again. ‘I see that you have an excellent school record. Why did you leave?’
‘I had to help support my family. My father was an invalid from his war experiences. He went all through the war in Europe.’
‘Have you no mother?’
‘She left home. I also have a younger sister, still at school.’
‘I see.’
Mr Harvey tapped his lip thoughtfully and his expression changed, as if he had come to a decision.
‘I see you are a very resourceful young lady and you have an excellent record. There is something I like about you, Miss O’Brien, despite your youth. Your experiences in life have obviously made you older than your years and I like that. I can well imagine what you have been through and I like your spirit. Therefore I am prepared to take you on a temporary basis to see how we get on.’ He stood up abruptly and, coming round the desk, extended his hand. ‘Welcome to Harveys, Miss O’Brien. May you have a long and successful career with us. How soon can you start?’
The next six months passed relatively peacefully in the O’Brien household. Lottie enjoyed her work at Harveys. Her colleagues were pleasant, helpful and gradually she was given more responsibility. Her father was also well looked after as chauffeur to Sir Eustace, who proved a kind, even indulgent employer. It transpired that he had a son who had been wounded in the war and so did a lot to help ex-servicemen, which was why he had been glad to employ Desmond O’Brien.
Lottie’s social life also slowly improved as she made one or two friends at Harveys, particularly a girl called Mavis Pearce who was a senior sales assistant in a different department to Lottie, slightly older and whose background was not dissimilar.
Lottie gradually became more accustomed to her independence and to having a little money of her own, and slowly the memory of the past and the fears associated with it began to fade away. There was more money with her wage and her father’s and Bella had become more responsible and helped with the household chores.
This had enabled Lottie to begin to repay Miss Carson in monthly installments, always accompanied by a little note which Miss Carson punctiliously acknowledged, though they did not meet. Memories of school had begun to recede in the same way that her old life had faded into the background.
Consequently it was a surprise when, arriving home one day, Lottie found an envelope addressed to her in familiar handwriting and, opening it, withdrew a printed card inviting her to be a guest at the wedding of Miss Madeleine Carson to Captain Andrew Marsden. It was to be a late spring wedding in November with a reception in the garden afterwards.
The following day she and Mavis sat studying the embossed invitation during their lunch break, sitting on a bench on the waterfront. Mavis was impressed. ‘It looks very smart,’ she said.
‘It is smart. They are smart and I can’t decide whether or not to go.’
‘Why ever not? I’d go like a shot.’
So Lottie told her all about the Carsons and her relationship with them. But she didn’t tell her about the money because that was something she felt inherently ashamed about and wanted to keep to herself. Although she and Mavis came from the same social class she was sure they had never experienced the poverty she had and it was something she wished to forget. Mavis was also the member of a large and apparently happy family, with devoted parents, quite unlike Lottie.
All this took such a long time that their lunch break was nearly over and as they rose to go a young man waved to them and, coming over, greeted Mavis.
‘Hello, George,’ Mavis said and turned to Lottie. ‘This is my brother, George. He works on the wharves with my father. This is Lottie. I think I told you about her.’
‘Hello,’ George replied and was about to say something but Mavis told him they must hurry back or they’d be in trouble.
‘He looks nice,’ Lottie said as they walked quickly up the street.
‘He is nice.’ Mavis turned to her as they were about to part. ‘I’d go to that wedding. It sounds as though the Carsons are good people and think a lot of you.’
‘But what can I wear?’ It was the eternal question.
‘Ask Mr Harvey if you can borrow a very smart dress from the store. I’m sure he’ll say yes. Everyone knows he likes you.’
Birthdays in the past had not been much celebrated in the O’Brien home, at least as far as Lottie was concerned. In fact, it wasn’t she who suggested celebrating her eighteenth but Mavis, whose birthday happened be on the same date, though she was a year older. A few days before the event she asked Lottie if she would like to make up a foursome with her brother and her boyfriend, who Lottie had not known existed.
They met at Mavis’s house, which was not far from Lottie’s in a similar street, quite small and also with an outside lavatory. Mavis’s mother and father were both large, jovial people and Lottie felt immediately at home when she arrived, though she was rather nervous as it was her first visit.
Mavis’s brother George was there plus the boyfriend called Josh, who also worked on the wharves. It was a nice, normal, happy family, one she wished she had grown up in. The table was laden with sandwiches and cakes and a special birthday cake with nineteen candles on it. First Mavis was asked to blow them out and when one was removed they were re-lit and Lottie did the same while everyone sang Happy Birthday to You, which made her feel happy and special.
‘I wish Dad and Bella had been here,’ she said wistfully while they were cutting the cake.
‘You should have asked them, dear,’ Mavis’s mother said. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Broadway Terrace.’
‘Well, that’s not far away. We’ll think of it next time. I’ll ask them round for tea one Sunday. Is your mum . . .’ She paused.
‘No, Mum doesn’t live with us,’ Lottie replied without further explanation, and Mrs Pearce nodded as if she understood.
‘Well, one day we’ll arrange it – your dad and sister must come to tea.’ She put a hand on Lottie’s arm and looked at her fondly. ‘I’m so glad Mavis has a nice new friend like you. You must consider yourself one of the family, dear. You’re always welcome in our house,’ and spontaneously she gave Lottie a hug and a whacking kiss on the cheek which, in this emotional and highly-charged atmosphere, almost brought tears to her eyes.
‘Mum,’ Mavis said as they were helping clear the dishes, ‘we just thought we’d go to Jerry’s for a while. Is that all right? I promise we won’t be late.’
Jerry’s was one of the jazz clubs that had sprung up since the fashion had swept the world from America.
Her mother pulled a face. ‘Well . . .’
Her husband put his arm around her. ‘Come on, Betty. They are old enough to look after themselves.’
‘I promise we won’t be late,’ Mavis repeated.
‘Would your father mind?’ Mrs Pearce looked doubtfully at Lottie, who seemed surprised by the question.
‘Oh, my father never minds what I do. Besides, I hardly ever go out.’
She tried to suppress the keen feeling of excitement that gripped her. A jazz club would be an entirely new experience.
‘Besides, Mum,’ Mavis said teasingly, ‘we’ve got these two strong men to look after us.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ her mother said, but she was smiling.
The four got a tram to the centre of town and then walked along Manners Street, into Willis Street and then Lambton Quay, past Kirkcaldies and through a side street where the steady thump of music led them down some steep steps into a basement and a dark, small, overcrowded room. The stifling atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke, while an enthusiastic band pounded out the music from a small raised platform at the back. In the centre of the floor several couples jived energetically, while others crowded round a bar, manned by a sweating barman with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, waiting to be served.
‘Do you want a beer?’ George shouted to Lottie above the din. Almost drunk with excitement, Lottie nodded and found her feet irresistibly tapping in tune with the beat of the music.
Mavis and Josh had eschewed drinking and were enthusiastically dancing in a manner that showed they had done it often before. For a time Lottie watched them in admiration, then a beer was thrust into her hand and she shouted her thanks. George held up his glass and she toasted him back, nearly spilling the contents as her arm was knocked by a man squashed beside her.
George by now was wiping the perspiration from his face, his eyes, too, alight with excitement. Any conversation was impossible and the two just stood pressed together by the crowd, drinking and watching the throng on the floor. Even if they had wanted to join them it seemed impossible. Eventually there was a welcome rush of air from a door that had opened on to a backyard and George tugged at her arm and shouted in her ear: ‘Let’s go outside,’ which to Lottie was a welcome relief.
She leaned against a wall, aware that her clothes were clinging to her body, and took several deep breaths. ‘My,’ she gasped.
‘Have you ever been here before?’George perched beside her, a half-empty glass in his hand.
‘Never.’
‘We like it and come quite often. There are other places but this is one of the best. Believe it or not the others are even noisier and more crowded.’
‘I really should go home,’ Lottie said. ‘My father may be worried. I am not usually out so late.’
‘Just one more dance?’ George said and she nodded. Feeling a little refreshed they returned to the dance floor, which by now was less crowded as other couples had drifted outside in search of fresh air.
The pace of the jazz music allowed little close contact and, though entirely new to it, Lottie, feeling a natural aptitude for dance, quickly and easily got into the steps. Finally the band decided to take a break and Lottie looked round for Mavis, feeling that she really must go. However, there was no sign of her or her partner. She looked at George in some alarm. ‘They seem to have gone.’
‘Maybe when we were outside.’ He appeared unconcerned.
‘I didn’t notice them when we came back, did you?’
‘I never looked. Don’t worry.’
George caught her by the hand and drew her towards the exit. ‘I’ll see you home.’
Once out in the night air Lottie felt rather chilled and rubbed her arms.
‘Let’s walk quickly,’ she said. ‘Look, there is no need to take me all the way home.’
‘It’s not so far from us.’ He put an arm round her shoulder and then, sensing her lack of response, quickly withdrew it. ‘Just trying to warm you,’ he said.
‘That’s all right,’ Lottie replied, but she was embarrassed. She had never been out with a man before and realized what a cloistered life she had led. She was gauche and awkward and she felt that there was something about her that put men off.
They walked for some time in silence.
‘Would Mavis have gone home?’ she asked eventually.
‘Perhaps,’ George replied, and she decided not to question him further. She rather suspected from his cagey reply that Mavis had not gone home and she didn’t really want to know the answer.
Finally they reached Broadway Terrace and stopped outside the house. She didn’t mind George knowing where she lived because his street and house were similar to hers. They were from the same background, the same kind of people, so it didn’t matter, which was a relief.
‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I enjoyed the evening.’
Even though the lights were on she didn’t ask him in.
‘I enjoyed it, too,’ George replied. There followed a long pause, during which they both stood looking at each other as though unsure of the next move. ‘Maybe we can see each other again?’ He made a sudden, jerky gesture towards her, but she quickly stepped back.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘I’ll arrange something with Mavis.’
‘That would be nice.’
‘Happy birthday, anyway.’
Without replying, Lottie walked towards the door and then impulsively turned before she opened it, feeling she had perhaps been a little graceless, but it was too late and George was already sauntering up the street, hands in his pockets.
She looked after him, feeling inadequate and helpless. George was very nice. He was good looking, a bit quiet, reserved like she was but, given the chance, could have been good company. The nature of the evening, the noise of the jazz club and the long, practically silent walk home had meant there had been no chance for any kind of development. She longed for intimacy, but didn’t know how to go about it and George had not helped her. Perhaps he didn’t know either, but she doubted it.
She had made a fool of herself. She was naïve and had messed up her first date. Her birthday, no less.
Eighteen and never been kissed.