Christmas Past (35 page)

‘You’ll know immediately that one of the shoes is in the window,’ Avril pointed out. ‘And as I’ve only used the less popular size threes in ladies’ and sixes
in men’s you’re not likely to have to disturb the displays very often.’

Mr Whitaker had to agree that the difference was remarkable, and spent a good ten minutes admiring his windows from the pavement. He even called Jack from his work to give his opinion. Jack was
full of admiration. ‘It just goes to show what a bit of young blood can do,’ he said. But he couldn’t help wondering what would happen when the windows needed cleaning and the
displays rearranging, although he decided not to voice his doubts.

Mr Whitaker offered to pay Avril for her work but she refused emphatically. ‘I enjoyed every moment,’ she said. ‘I love shoes so it was a pleasure to work with them.’

‘Then you must choose a pair. No, don’t argue, I insist.’ Mr Whitaker’s face resembled a walnut as it broke into smiles, and Avril didn’t argue. All day she had
been admiring a pair of soft kid sandals with tiny straps and a high slim heel. She knew they were the kind of frivolous footwear she would never consider buying, but if Mr Whitaker was giving her
a pair they were the ones she would choose.

‘You have excellent taste,’ the old man told her. ‘They’ll feel like gloves, I can assure you.’

Avril tried on the pale grey sandals and walked to the mirror. They really were comfortable and she couldn’t help noticing how slim her ankles looked, and the way her calves seemed more
shapely. She would wear them with the new pencil slim skirt Jacqueline’s mother had made her for helping in the shop. Swirling in front of the mirror she wondered if Alan would notice and
experienced a warm glow at the thought.

One day, Avril told herself, she would wear shoes like these all the time. She sighed as she looked round at the cluttered shop floor. Clearly, that day had not yet arrived. She changed her
lovely new sandals for her old flat shoes and began to clear away the piles of tissue paper, sticky tape and shoe boxes, in order to leave the shop as she had found it. It had been a busy day, but
it would be worth it to wear the lovely new sandals for Alan. She packed them carefully in their box and thanked Mr Whitaker once again.

‘Don’t mention it, my dear,’ he said. ‘You’ve more than earned them.’

‘That was a large sigh,’ Jack told Mr Whitaker after Avril had left.

‘Ah, yes,’ the old gentleman said. ‘It’s just that she reminds me so much of my dear late wife. She had the same imaginative streak about her. I’m afraid I’ve
neglected such things as window displays of late.’

‘Well, it doesn’t seem to worry the customers.’ Jack grinned.

Mr Whitaker sighed again, even more deeply. ‘What year are we in now, Jack lad?’

‘Nineteen sixty-two. Why?’ Jack hoped the old man wasn’t losing his memory.

‘Ah, I think it’s all getting too much for me. Perhaps it is time I went into retirement.’

Jack frowned and began to worry as a panic attack threatened for the first time in weeks. He wondered what would happen if the shop changed hands, and a cloud seemed to enshroud him, though he
tried his best to brash it aside. The two men carried on with their work in silence. Jack remembered the days when his old man could never have afforded a cobbler’s prices. He would come home
from a hard shift at the pit and set to mending shoes and clogs. Jack couldn’t imagine Mary coping with hardship the way his mother had. He loved her dearly but sometimes she made him feel so
inferior. He had an idea Alan felt the same. It was as though she had to prove something to herself. Make amends for something in the past. Still, she had been different lately, and hadn’t
she proved her devotion to him throughout his illness?

Both men were deep in thought, each wondering what the future would bring.

It had been a hectic afternoon and Doug had finally closed the shop for the day. He had also completed the milking so as to give his father an early Sunday finish. Now it was
time to change from work clothes to Sunday best in order to look smart for Jacqueline.

She had decided to take a day off from helping Doug in order to spend some time at Moorland House. She and Avril had worked all day in the garden, cutting back the dead flowers, weeding, and
gathering raspberries and gooseberries in readiness for Grandma Roberts’s annual jam making.

Although Gladys now employed a woman to come in for a few hours a day, Jacqueline still worried that the house and grounds were becoming too much for the doctor and his wife. The young friends
had brought over a selection of holiday brochures, hoping to persuade the couple to take a well-earned holiday.

‘You should treat yourselves as a retirement present,’ Jacqueline suggested. ‘How long is it since you last had a holiday?’

‘Twenty-odd years at least,’ Grandad Roberts mumbled from behind the Sunday paper. ‘That was when we went to Ruth and Richard’s wedding.’

‘Twenty-odd years?’ Jacqueline shrieked. ‘Why, you’re worse than my man and dad. At least they used to take us to the caravan.’

‘What do we need with holidays? Living here is one permanent holiday.’ Grandma Roberts stood by the open window. ‘Now you just tell me a place more glorious than this, or where
the air is half as pure.’

‘I know that, but you need a change of scene just the same, and a rest from the housework. If you went now Avril and I could look after the house.’

‘I agree.’ Grandad Roberts suddenly sprang to life. ‘We haven’t had a proper holiday since our honeymoon. Now let’s have a look at those brochures.’ He picked
one off the pile, placing it immediately to one side. ‘I don’t think Spain is quite us, do you, dear?’

‘Goodness me, no. What would I look like amongst all those bikini-clad girls? No, I don’t fancy a beach holiday at all.’

‘I’m sure you’d look every bit as glamorous as everyone else,’ Rowland said, glancing at his wife. ‘But no, I prefer more scenic surroundings.’

‘Italy, then.’ Jacqueline waved a brochure enthusiastically in Rowland’s direction. ‘Florence, Venice, Rome, Sorrento.’

‘Or Amalfi,’ Avril volunteered. ‘I knew someone once who had served in the forces, a friend of my father’s, and he said the Amalfi coast was the most beautiful place on
earth.’

‘This is the most beautiful place on earth,’ Gladys said.

‘Yugoslavia.’ Rowland scanned through a leaflet. ‘Professor Jones visited Yugoslavia. Now what was the name of the place? Something to do with surgery, I’m sure. I know
one of the nurses made a joke about its name. Something to do with blood.’

‘Goodness.’ Avril scowled. ‘I wouldn’t bother.’

‘Said it was like the Garden of Eden,’ Rowland mused. ‘Look, here it is – Bled. Lake Bled.’

Gladys left her position at the window reluctantly to look and was pleasantly surprised. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Almost as nice as Longfield.’

Jacqueline giggled. ‘It’s even better than Longfield,’ she said.

‘But we don’t have passports.’ Gladys at last seemed to take an interest.

‘That’s a point.’ Rowland frowned.

‘Oh, but surely that can be arranged? Surely you know someone who can hurry them through?’ Jacqueline was used to Grandad Roberts knowing a man who knew another man who could arrange
anything.

‘Well, not today, seeing as it’s the Sabbath, but we’ll see.’

Jacqueline thumbed through the leaflet. ‘Wow, just look at this hotel – it’s out of this world. It even has a swimming pool fed by thermal springs, and a glorious view of the
lake and mountains.’

‘Then we shall go there,’ Rowland announced.

Gladys read the details. ‘Have you seen the prices?’

‘No, and I don’t care. If we’re going at all we’re going in style.’ Rowland turned down the corner of the page and hoped the wretched pain in his chest
wouldn’t be aggravated by the flight.

‘Goodness, Doug’ll be here soon.’ Jacqueline hurried up to the bathroom, collecting her cosmetic bag on the way.

‘And Alan,’ Avril said. ‘He promised to come straight from the garage.’

They had arranged to walk along the moor and back down towards the reservoir, calling in at the pub for a drink on the way. The heather was just at its best, and with the sun golden on the
bracken, the moors were a delight to behold.

‘Grandma Roberts is right,’ Jacqueline said, as the four of them set off on their evening stroll. ‘This is one of the most beautiful places on earth.’
The distant crags were pale sunlit grey in contrast to the deep silhouettes of the pine trees, and a strange silence surrounded the young friends.

Avril paused to pluck a spray of heather and Alan perched himself on a rock to wait. Jacqueline turned and shouted, ‘We’ll see you later at the pub,’ and Doug placed an arm
round her waist, quickening his step as he envisaged getting her on her own for a while.

‘I think they’re trying to lose us,’ Alan said, catching Avril’s hand and pulling her down beside him on the flat surface of the rock.

‘Well, you don’t seem too upset about it.’ Avril smiled.

Alan didn’t reply, but instead caught her to him with a kiss which filled them both with yearning. Avril knew she should resist before the feeling became uncontrollable, but it was already
too late. The caresses they enjoyed in the living room when the household was asleep were becoming more than the lovers could bear, and they knew that this time they would only be satisfied by
making love completely.

The sun sank lower and the evening air turned cool, but Avril and Alan, in the way of all young lovers, were consumed with a burning desire for fulfilment.

Mr Whitaker waited until he had cashed up for the night before divulging his plan to Jack. He hoped it wouldn’t cause Jack to have a setback just when he was doing so
well. All day he had been rehearsing in his mind how to put it, and had decided to come straight out with it.

‘I’m selling the shop, Jack lad,’ he said. ‘I’ve no alternative considering my age. I don’t suppose you’d consider becoming the next owner?’

Jack had been expecting it, but the news still came as a shock. What he hadn’t expected was the suggestion that he might buy the business himself.

The idea whirled round in his head for some time, causing him to remain speechless. At last he replied, ‘I couldn’t afford it. I’ve sunk all my savings in next door.’

‘I expected you to say that, but it’s a good investment, and there’s such a thing as a bank loan, as you well know.’

‘Aye, I know, but to borrow that amount ... besides, I know nothing about the shoe trade. I’m just a working man at heart – the cobbling’s more in my line.’

‘I wouldn’t rob you, lad. I’d like you to have it, and as for not knowing the trade, I dare say you’d soon pick it up. I’d give you time to get the hang of it, show
you the ropes before I left.’

‘But you’ve admitted it needs one to sell and one for the repairs.’

‘Then employ somebody. I’m telling you, lad, it’s a good business. I think you’ll be surprised at the turnover.’

Jack jumped as he cut himself trimming off a leather sole. He sucked the blood from his thumb and decided to call it a day, unable to concentrate with the proposition whirring round in his
mind.

‘I’ll need to discuss it with Mary, but I don’t know what her reaction will be.’

‘Of course. It isn’t a decision to be taken lightly. It’s your whole future at stake.’

‘Aye,’ Jack agreed, and wondered what the alternative would be. Another mind-destroying job like the last one? Oh, no, he couldn’t bear that.

He took off his apron and placed it on the nail behind the door. ‘I’ll say goodnight to you, then,’ he said.

Mr Whitaker opened the door to let him through. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Jack turned on the step. ‘Oh, and thanks for the offer,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome, lad. Goodnight.’

‘You’re early.’ Mary smiled. ‘It’s nice to have you home before the tea gets cold.’

Jack glanced at the clock. ‘It’s half past five, the normal closing time, though I admit it’s usually nearer to six.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve had a bit of a
shock.’

Mary looked alarmed. ‘Not a bad one, I hope.’

‘I don’t know. It depends on what we decide to do, I suppose.’

‘Why, what happened?’

‘Is our Alan at home?’

‘Not yet. Why?’

‘Sit down, then, love, and let’s talk.’

Mary sat down, perplexed by Jack’s sense of urgency.

‘How do you feel about owning a shoe shop?’

‘What?’

‘Mr Whitaker’s selling, and he’s giving us first option.’

‘But we don’t know anything about the shoe trade. And I wouldn’t be able to help much – I’ve all on to cope with my own shop.’

‘That’s what I told him, but he seems to think I could manage if I employed an assistant. After all, he and his wife ran the place for years. In fact he was managing on his own
before I took over the repairing side of it, though I don’t know how.’

‘How much?’

‘What?’

‘How much is he asking?’

‘I don’t know – I never thought to ask. That just goes to show I’m no businessman. We’d better forget it.’

‘No, we’ll consider it. I was no businesswoman either but I’ve made a go of it, and so can you. We’ll wait and see what he’s asking before we decide.’ She
glanced at her husband, worrying she was bossing him into something he didn’t want, afraid of sending him back into his state of anxiety. ‘Of course, it’s up to you. You must have
some idea by now.’

‘But that’s not the point, Mary. Of course I’d like it. I feel at home amongst the shoes and boots and I get on well with the customers, but you know how I feel about getting
into debt. I can never rest if I’m owing. It would be different if we had a decent deposit to put down.’

‘How do you know we haven’t?’

‘Well, I know my savings aren’t all that rosy at the moment.’

‘You don’t know, you’re just surmising. How long is it since you last went to the bank, or had anything to do with the accounts?’

‘Well, I suppose I have neglected the financial side of things since my illness. Come to think of it, I never had much to do with it before.’ He grinned shyly. ‘I always did
prefer to bring home the money, pay the bills and keep straight. The shop I always left to you, I want none of that. You’ve worked hard for what you’ve got, and it’s
yours.’