Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mrs. Sugden walked smartly out of the station, looking out for Mr. Gopnik the estate agent. Harriet hung back, because Sergeant Dog insisted on sniffing his new surroundings. She would not deprive him of that small joy. When they did emerge, Harriet saw Mrs. Sugden talking to a florid-faced man with a bulbous nose. He stood with his back to a black saloon car. As she drew nearer, Harriet saw that the side of the car had been lettered in gold:

GOPNIK ESTATE AGENT

Mrs. Sugden turned and looked towards Harriet and the dog. Mr. Gopnik followed her gaze. He then leaned back against his car, with a look that said he was ready to go home now.

Sergeant Dog, the instant it was polite to do so, put his leg up on the car’s rear wheel.

Mrs. Sugden temporarily adopted Harriet. “This my granddaughter who’ll help in the shop.”

Already in possession of grandmothers, Harriet was intrigued at the thought of adding to the collection.

“Harriet, meet Mr. Gopnik who will kindly show us round the shop in Thorpefield.”

“How do you do, sir.” Harriet spoke in her most polite voice, not wanting there to be any objections. “Granny and I would have our dog with us in the shop.”

“Well then you’d better climb in.” He opened the front passenger door for Mrs. Sugden and the rear door for Harriet. “Try and keep him off the seats.”

They set off, passing White Swan Yard where one of Harriet’s real grannies lived.

Sergeant Dog, who must in his own mind imagine himself small and dainty, decided that the best place for him to sit would be on Harriet’s lap. Harriet was behind Mr. Gopnik, meaning that Sergeant Dog was ideally situated to sniff the back of the driver’s neck.

Mr. Gopnik leaned forward. So did Sergeant Dog. He dribbled on Mr. Gopnik’s collar. Harriet put her arms around Sergeant and tried to hold him back.

The smell of dog mingled with the existing odours of petrol, upholstery, whisky and cigarettes.

Mrs. Sugden looked out of the window, assessing Wakefield.

Once he had negotiated the traffic near the station, and reached a less busy road, Mr. Gopnik began to tell Mrs. Sugden about the shop’s advantages. It was near the miners’ cottages and the mill. There wasn’t another grocery shop for three miles. Trade was brisk. She and her granddaughter would like the accommodation, and so on. He asked what she did now, and what interested her in taking on a shop.

Mrs. Sugden once told Harriet that it was better to tell as much truth as you could, because lies are forgettable. “I’m a housekeeper, but I want my independence.”

Harriet put her face against Sergeant’s neck so she could smother her laughter. No one was more independent than Mrs. Sugden. If Mrs. Sugden left, Harriet and her auntie wouldn’t know what to do. There would be no one there to tell them.

After a longish drive, they reached Silver Street. They passed a row of cottages with well-tended gardens. The driver stopped the car beyond the last cottage, outside an odd-looking building that stood all on its own. “It was allus a shop, being the end house in a row what was demolished,” Mr. Gopnik explained. “It’s spacious. It’s airy. It’s a little gold mine.”

“So you said.”

“It has a garden at the back as would make a town allotment shrivel in shame. You could grow your own veg. Rhubarb puts in an appearance of its own accord and so do spuds.”

Harriet looked through the shop window at rows of shelves with tins and jars. He unlocked the door. “I won’t stand in the way of you taking your own good look round. How long do you need?”

“As long as you like,” Mrs. Sugden said. “Give us an hour or more. We’ve brought us lunch. I want to stroll about, get the lie of the land and the feel of the place.”

He seemed pleased at this. “That suits me very well, Mrs. Sugden. I have another call to make.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll come back for you. If you think of any questions whatsoever, stock, turnover, anything at all, you only have to ask.”

Harriet watched the car drive away. Sergeant Dog gave a little whimper. He liked to travel with a herd and was sorry to see a person leave.

“Where is Mr. Gopnik going?” Harriet asked.

Mrs. Sugden shook her head sadly. “Where do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“He hasn’t had a drink since he woke this morning. He’s desperate.”

“I thought he must be a drinker by his face and his nose.”

“Come on then, let’s look inside.”

They went in the shop entrance. Harriet was impressed by the array of sweet jars. The pear drops jar was almost full. The liquorice allsorts and dolly mixtures would need filling soon. She had seen bigger shops that didn’t have as many varieties. “There’s nothing but sweets and tins.”

“Aye well there wouldn’t be any perishables, not since it’s stood empty.”

There was a good rag hearthrug for sale, bright colours, six shillings. There was a cheese slicer, a butter platter and a bacon slicer. Harriet sniffed. You could still smell bacon and cheese. “Why did the person leave?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Sugden walked through to the back room.

Harriet followed.

“People get old,” Mrs. Sugden explained. “There’s a time when a person is past it.”

“Oh.” Harriet believed her until Mrs. Sugden added, “Everything comes to an end.”

The shopkeeper died, Harriet thought. Why doesn’t she just say that?

They looked round the back room, the cellar, and the upstairs. Mrs. Sugden was paying so much attention to everything that Harriet began to think she was serious, and would leave them.

“I don’t want you to take over a shop, Mrs. Sugden. I’d miss you. Auntie Kate wouldn’t want you to go.”

“I’m going nowhere, love.”

“Is it to do with a case?”

“In a manner of speaking, it’s to do with a case as you say.”

“The shopkeeper died.”

“She did.”

“She was murdered.”

“That’s putting it very harshly.”

“But true.”

“Some nasty so-and-so took her life. I wasn’t going to tell you. You should have stopped at home. Now I’m going to speak to a few neighbours.” She took Harriet’s arm. “Come on, outside into the fresh air.”

Harriet watched Mrs. Sugden walk towards the miners’ cottages.

Sergeant Dog did not like his people to separate. He looked at Harriet, gave a little whimper, and tugged on the lead, wanting to follow. “She’s coming back,” Harriet explained. “We’re looking round. Keep to the edge of this allotment.” For that’s what the long garden was. Drills and trenches had been prepared. There was a seedbed and a cold frame. Harriet wondered whether seeds had been planted. One bed was covered with sacking against the frost.

Inspecting the shopkeeper’s vegetable garden gave Harriet a strange feeling. When she was little, she helped her dad in their allotment. He always explained everything to her. He followed his own father’s tradition and planted potatoes on Good Friday. She would trot alongside him when he went to consult a gnarled old man who was renowned for predicting the weather. She remembered this old man’s words: “Don’t venture to plant out until May comes in.”

Frost was the danger. Yet Harriet liked frost. She used to look out of her bedroom window and see the furrowed ground sparkling white. What she loved most of all was the intricate frosty webs on hedges and privets all along the walk to school. That was then. That was before. That was the life she thought would never end.

When she was with her dad, she loved to pick up a stick, pretend it was a walking stick and she was going to walk a very long way, somewhere beyond the horizon.

She led Sergeant Dog to the end of the garden. Soft fruit bushes were cut back. One was a strawberry plant. Destructive little creatures sat on its leaves. There would be no strawberries if aphids had their way. You could get rid of them with soapy water, but she had none. Leaning down, she picked up a little fly and squashed it between finger and thumb.

When she dropped his lead, Sergeant Dog sloped away through the hedge, following a scent.

She wondered what people did round here for enjoyment, and where was the nearest picture house.

She picked up a stick, a perfect walking stick. Someone had cleared old branches. A bonfire had been started but was only half burned. She poked it with the stick. Sergeant Dog came to look. He took a good sniff.

He then turned his attention to the scarecrow. He began to whine. He stood on his hind legs and put his paws on the scarecrow’s shoulder.

Harriet pulled at his collar. “You’ll get us in trouble, Sergeant.”