Scrap CH THREE part 19

Scrap CH THREE part 19
Carol Tobin has been sitting in her shop for two hours. Four people have been in for a look round but she has made no sales. Julie is walking the babies in their smart new pram, hoping to get some interest from passing mothers, most of which are struggling with cheap fold down push chairs or ancient hand-me-downs from past generations. She smiles warmly and chats to as many as she can, admiring the other women’s babies and putting on a show of interest which she hopes will lead to a visit to ‘Little Tinkers’. Sales at the shop have been disappointing to say the least and if things don’t soon pick up they will have to consider closing down after less than six months. She wishes that she had not talked her daughter into the venture; they were doing fine with the house parties and maybe should have stopped at that.
The street door opens, the bell tinkles and one of Julies’ fish swims in. Carol is up on her feet and greeting the young woman with a warm smile, bending to coo at the scruffy little urchin glaring up at her from the grimy old pram. ‘What a sweet little girl,’ she guesses, from the pink ribbon on the baby’s bonnet, ‘is she your first?’ The customer laughs ruefully, ‘fourth,’ she replies, ‘the others are at school, thank goodness, I’m dreading next week when term ends for the summer. With any luck the weather will be kind and we can get down to the beach every day. At least that doesn’t cost money, unlike everything else these days.’ She looks at some clothes for 6-9month olds, making disappointing sounds as she reads the price tags. ‘I wish I could afford these prices but the budget won’t stretch I’m afraid. I have to watch the pennies now my Norman is on short time.’
Carol says there is a less expensive range and steers her towards another rail but even those prices seem too much. ‘I’ll have to leave it thanks,’ says the woman, sadly, ‘it’s nice to dream but who am I kidding? Susie will have to stay in second hand for the time being, it was good enough for me when I was growing up but you always want more for your kids than you had yourself. No use moaning about it, there are plenty worse off than me. Thanks anyway but I’ll have wait until my ship comes in.’ Carol opens the door for her to leave and smiles as she wishes her a good day but she is disappointed not to have sold her as much as a new pair of socks.
Julie’s face aches from smiling at people for the best part of an hour. The babies are waking and ready for the next round of feeding and changing so she relaxes her visage and heads back to the shop. In the distance she spots Beanpole Brett swaggering towards her with his latest girlfriend glued to his arm. Too late, they have spotted her and as they loom ever closer Julie can already smell the pungent odour of ‘Intimate’ perfume wafting like a cloud around the heavily made-up Lesley. Without asking the younger woman shoves her head under the pram canopy and makes silly coocachoo noises to the babies, which alarm them enough to start them off wailing. ‘Oh, they must be hungry,’ twitters Lesley as she withdraws from the space, ‘how old are they now, must be six months, oh I want one, please Brett may I have one?’ Brett cannot conceal the horrified expression and says they really ought to be getting on otherwise they will be late at the restaurant. Julie sighs with relief as they part; only wishing they had not made matters worse by upsetting the girls.
Struggling to keep the shop door open as she manoeuvres the pram inside, Julie looks round for her daughter. She is nowhere to be seen but sounds of loud sobbing are coming through the thin partition wall beyond which is the toilet and tiny kitchen area. As the doorbell twangs again the crying ceases, there is the sound of the cistern emptying and running water as Carol washes her hands and flushed face before emerging from the sanctity of the bog. She tries to put on a smile but one look from her mother has her in tears yet again and she is ordered to sit down and Julie will make her some tea and see to the babies.
In the middle of her endeavours two customers arrive and select four dozen Terry nappies, four dozen Harrington squares, a carry cot and transporter and a huge selection of baby clothes. Carol suddenly comes alive as she serves her first customers of the day. The young woman is almost six months pregnant and her companion is the prospective first-time grandmother. At long last someone with some money to spend as the older woman indulges her daughter’s every whim. ‘You do have such lovely things in your shop,’ smiles the older woman, ‘Kerry didn’t want to buy anything until she was sure everything was alright, now she’s going mad buying everything in sight. You ought to see the little wardrobe in the nursery: its jam packed. We’ll have to buy some more cupboards the way we’re going.’
Kerry smiles shyly and continues her selections, picking out the most expensive cot and accessories. She stops briefly to admire Carol’s twins, who are propped in the pram guzzling the contents of their bottles and dressed in exquisite matching broderie anglais outfits. ‘Oh we must get some of those,’ she coos, ‘and these.’ She adds another armful of items to the growing pile on the counter and eventually she is satisfied that she has enough to be going on with. The bill comes to over five hundred pounds, a sum which will keep the shop going for a month.
Julie helps carry the goods out to the car and promises to deliver the cot after they lock up for the night. ‘Well that was a mad half hour,’ she laughs as she closes the door, ‘you see, I told you that things will pick up. We just have to let word get round; once those women’s friends and neighbours see all the lovely things they have bought they will all be in here fighting for the fanciest goods on offer. Grandmothers especially like to show off, competing for which one of them is the best, spending the most money. Before we know it we’ll be rushed off our feet.’ Carol does feel excited at the huge cash sale but she can’t help fearing that they have bitten off more than they can chew.
Something they can chew is the packed lunch they brought with them and they tuck in hungrily before the twins need their attention again.
At the other end of the High Street Brett and Lesley are sampling the first course of their set meal for two, a speciality of the Golden Lion Chinese Restaurant set above a gents’ outfitters store on the corner by the clock tower. There is a good view from their window seat and both of them take a keen interest in the passing traffic. ‘I love prawn cocktails,’ says Lesley as she dabs at the corners of her red painted lips, ‘that was really nice. Don’t you want yours?’ Brett has been distracted by a group of men chatting outside the Barley Mow pub. He knows them from the docks and wonders what gossip they are spreading. ‘You can finish it if you like,’ he replies, pushing the half eaten dish to her side of the table. ‘Cor, ta,’ she says, ‘you do spoil me.’
They both look round as the restaurant owner greets two new diners, speaking as if they are the most important customers in the town, which they are to him. Fat Frank and Scotty have decided to treat themselves today as they have finished loading early and Dawn is busy shopping for curtains to fit the new house. She has a hundred pounds in her handbag and will spend every penny of it. She may even treat herself and Mavis to a cup of coffee and a cake after they have finished shopping.
Mr Ling has provided the cash in exchange for three tons of onions and fifty trays of mushrooms which cost him less than half what the wholesaler would have charged. Mr Frank is one of his best customers and he is delighted to once again have the opportunity of serving up his best dishes to the two pals, all on the house of course.