Live the Dream. Josephine Cox
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no good at shop-keeping.’ By deliberately going on the defensive, Amy cunningly turned the tables on her mother. ‘The truth is, you want rid of me, and you don’t like to say. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Just as Amy suspected, Marie was mortified. ‘Aw, lass, nothing could be further from the truth! I love having you here and, what’s more, you’ve learned the business like you’ve been at it all your life. As a matter of fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Collecting the money bags and the ledger into her arms, she sighed. ‘It’s just that, well, I really loved working with your dad, and I miss him terrible when he’s not around.’
‘He’ll be home soon.’ Amy gave her a hug. ‘You go and make yourself beautiful for him, while I mop the floor and clear up in here.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl!’ Marie insisted. ‘We’ll clear up together, same as always.’
A short time later, having cleared up, swept the floor and tidied away the large blocks of butter and cheese, and canisters of loose tea and broken biscuits, Marie walked with her daughter to the living quarters at the back.
‘When me and your father started this business, I thought we’d be doing it together until we retired, but he just got more and more restless. He’d always been a driver, y’see, lass – first with the horse and carts, then the beer wagons, and now with these new-fangled motor vehicles … dangerous things if you ask me!’
At first Amy’s father had seemed to settle into his new life as a grocer. Then a few months back, he’d spotted an advert in the post office for a driver at Hammonds distribution business. He applied for the job and got it. ‘I’m fed up of being behind a counter all day,’ he’d told Marie. ‘I need to get back on the road. I’d rather not be staying away nights, but it’s all they’ve got for the minute.’ Once he’d decided, there’d been no dissuading him.
‘I miss him too,’ Amy confessed, ‘but he’s a lot happier now he’s away from the shop. He loves the driving, and anyway, the week goes by quickly enough.’ Amy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. ‘Look! It’s already half-past five. Another hour and he’ll be home,’ she winked, ‘with another present for you, I expect.’
Every Friday was the same. He would bounce through the door, beaming from ear to ear, with a little present in his pocket for his beloved wife, and a small posy of flowers for Amy.
Talking of her husband and knowing how sometimes Amy was lonely for the same kind of love, Marie grew serious. ‘Do you ever think of Don?’
Surprised by her mammy’s unexpected question, Amy nodded. ‘Sometimes, yes, but it doesn’t hurt in quite the same way as it did. There was a time when I would have had him back with open arms, but not any more.’ When her fiancé dropped her only a few days before they were due to be wed she had thought she would never get over it, but somehow she’d survived. The pain had faded; maybe one day it would go altogether. ‘I’m over it now, Mam. If he walked in that door right now, I’d speak to him, yes, but I wouldn’t feel anything. Not any more.’ This was in part true: nothing for it but to move forward. The love she once felt for him had long since gone.
Marie slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad about that, lass,’ she said softly, before quickly changing the subject by asking brightly, ‘And you’re absolutely sure you don’t regret giving up promotion to come here and work with me?’
‘I’m content enough here,’ Amy answered. And she was.
In truth, Amy had not been too keen to give up her job, and at first had missed the banter and comradeship of her factory mates. But much to her astonishment she had come to enjoy working in the corner shop. It was easy enough work, and the tasks were always varied: selling tobacco, weighing out dried peas or potatoes, unwrapping the fragrant sacks of sugar and tea, or stacking the shelves with fresh eggs or that day’s newspapers.
Her mother was great company; though the wages were not as good as Amy had been used to, but there were other compensations – no journey to work, the pleasant work and the friendliness of the customers – and so she had settled into the job surprisingly well.
By six thirty, just as Amy had predicted, Dave arrived home. A man with no airs or graces, he was of good build, with a shock of fair hair and a homely smile, which he now bestowed on them. ‘By! Summat smells good.’
Coming into the back parlour he kissed Marie first. ‘Don’t tell me …’ throwing off his coat he draped it over the chair and sniffed the air, ‘… meat pie, roast potatoes and baked parsnips, am I right?’
Amy came for her kiss. ‘I don’t know when you’ve ever been wrong,’ she laughed.
He joined in, then assumed an apologetic expression. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve had such a rush on, I didn’t have time to find you a present.’
‘Aw, never mind, love.’ Marie was philosophical. ‘You’ve brought yourself home and that’s all that matters.’
He gave her a kiss. ‘You’re a very understanding woman,’ he said gratefully. ‘There’s not many men can say that about their wives.’
Marie gave him a little shove. ‘You go and get your wash,’ she said, ‘while me and Amy get the dinner on the table.’
When he was gone into the scullery, Marie gave Amy a knowing wink. ‘I’ve learned to be crafty as him over the years,’ she whispered.
Amy whispered back, ‘What d’you mean?’
In answer, Marie tiptoed to her husband’s jacket and, dipping her hand inside it, withdrew two small packages.
Just then, Dave shouted for a towel. ‘Hurry up, Marie. I’m dripping wet!’
‘Here,’ handing Amy the two small packages, Marie instructed mischievously, ‘hide ’em, quick!’
Dave’s frantic voice sailed in from the scullery, ‘MARIE!’
‘All right, all right, I’m on my way!’ And off she went, chuckling at their innocent deception.
A few minutes later, washed and changed and ready for his dinner, Dave returned to the parlour. ‘By! A feast fit for a king!’ he said, his hungry eyes roving the table. Right in the centre was the deep-dish meat pie with a brown crusty pastry and a wash of egg to make it shine.
There were two earthenware bowls: one filled with roasted potatoes, the other brimming with quartered parsnips. For Dave there was a welcome jug of beer, a glass of stout for Marie, and a tumbler of home-made elderberry wine for Amy.
‘Well, don’t just look at it!’ Marie told him. ‘Sit yourself down and eat.’
‘One minute,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve summat here for the pair of you …’ Chuckling, he confessed, ‘I were just winding you up when I said I hadn’t got you a present.’
Marie feigned excitement. ‘So you brought us one after all? Oh, sweetheart, I knew you would.’
The grin on Dave’s face faded as he felt in the pocket for the third time, fumbling this way, then that. ‘They’ve gone!’ he cried. ‘Some thieving bugger’s ’ad ’em away!’
At the look of horror on his face, Amy couldn’t bear it. ‘Here they are, Dad.’ Collecting them from behind the clock on the sideboard she handed them to him.
When his mouth fell open with surprise, Marie laughed. ‘It serves you right for teasing us. Come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought?’
Marie’s present was the prettiest brooch, shaped like a butterfly and made out of enamel. ‘Aw, Dave …’ She gave him a hug. ‘It’s lovely … you’re lovely!’
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he seemed embarrassed, though he enjoyed her fussing round him. ‘You know how I like to give you nice things,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s only what you deserve.’ He glanced at