about that child being her niece, it was such a common excuse he really had no patience with it. Even if it were true, Cathie should have told him long since, and asked his permission to keep the baby, not made the decision on her own without his consent. He really was sick to death of his opinion being ignored.
Tonight Alex was in the Pack Horse, one of his favourite pubs in Castlefield, having a good old moan about the issues he was facing with a bloke he’d just met. He’d introduced himself as Eddie, and was quite flashily dressed in a wide-lapelled suit and brightly coloured tie, sporting a trilby hat tilted rakishly over his forehead. They weresharing a grumble about regulations, which seemed to be dominating everything.
‘I went to the butcher’s the other day to buy some sausages for my mother,’ Alex told him, ‘and having queued for the better part of an hour the bloke refused to sell me any, even though he had plenty left, because I wasn’t one of his registered customers. I nearly throttled him there and then, only an elderly woman poked me in the backside with her umbrella and told me to buzz off. What a world!’
‘That’s the way things are nowadays,’ Eddie said, slurping on his beer. ‘But folk have learned to tip shop assistants in order to get special service. Stuff will then be kept under the counter for ‘em.’
‘Is that legal?’
‘It’s not
illegal.
The line between the two has become a lot less well defined. Folk are weary of regulations, particularly now the war is over, and happy to turn a blind eye. Besides, it’s a good way for shopkeepers to hang on to their well-off customers. Salmon and peaches are generally supplied that way. Just because you can’t see what you want on display doesn’t mean summat isn’t available.’
‘There seems to be a great deal I need to learn after so long overseas. The country is in such a dreadful mess that I’m beginning to ask myself, was the war worth it?’ Alex grimly remarked.
Eddie laughed. ‘It is if you can make good money out of it.’
‘How can you possibly make money out of a war?’ Alex enquired sarcastically.
The man tapped his long nose. ‘That’d be telling, but I certainly know how to get hold of as many sausages as I fancy, and at a decent price.’
Alex frowned, puzzling over this remark. ‘Is that so? And how would you manage that with rationing tighter than ever, to the extent that the government is threatening to ration bread and potatoes too, or so I’m told?’
‘It’s all about knowing the right people,’ Eddie explained. ‘Whether you’re looking for spare parts for your car, petrol, nylons, perfume, cigarettes, alcohol, owt that takes yer fancy, I usually know a chap who can supply it.’
‘At a price, I presume?’
Eddie chuckled. ‘Well, I have to make a profit. That’s how I earn my living.’
‘Is it indeed?’ Alex looked him over, then his mouth twisted in an interested little smile. ‘And it looks as if it’s a good one.’
‘It certainly is.’
The man was a wide-boy, a wheeler and dealer, or ‘spiv’ as they were often called, but judging by the cigar he was smoking and the classiness of his clothes, he clearly did have money. ‘As an ex-servicemen with no job to go to, I’m looking for a decent income myself, and am equally pissed off with bureaucracy. Can I get you another pint of beer? I’d like to know more.’
C HAPTER T EN
C athie lived in hope of Alex calling in to say how much he was missing her and that he wanted her back. But, as each day passed without any sign of him, she became increasingly despondent that he never would. She felt lost without either a job or her fiancé, spent the mornings looking for work, and the afternoons walking the baby, thinking it would be good for both of them to be out in the fresh air. The cold days of January were passing, if achingly slow and endlessly boring.
This afternoon she passed Potato Wharf with its maze of iron and
Tonight Alex was in the Pack Horse, one of his favourite pubs in Castlefield, having a good old moan about the issues he was facing with a bloke he’d just met. He’d introduced himself as Eddie, and was quite flashily dressed in a wide-lapelled suit and brightly coloured tie, sporting a trilby hat tilted rakishly over his forehead. They weresharing a grumble about regulations, which seemed to be dominating everything.
‘I went to the butcher’s the other day to buy some sausages for my mother,’ Alex told him, ‘and having queued for the better part of an hour the bloke refused to sell me any, even though he had plenty left, because I wasn’t one of his registered customers. I nearly throttled him there and then, only an elderly woman poked me in the backside with her umbrella and told me to buzz off. What a world!’
‘That’s the way things are nowadays,’ Eddie said, slurping on his beer. ‘But folk have learned to tip shop assistants in order to get special service. Stuff will then be kept under the counter for ‘em.’
‘Is that legal?’
‘It’s not
illegal.
The line between the two has become a lot less well defined. Folk are weary of regulations, particularly now the war is over, and happy to turn a blind eye. Besides, it’s a good way for shopkeepers to hang on to their well-off customers. Salmon and peaches are generally supplied that way. Just because you can’t see what you want on display doesn’t mean summat isn’t available.’
‘There seems to be a great deal I need to learn after so long overseas. The country is in such a dreadful mess that I’m beginning to ask myself, was the war worth it?’ Alex grimly remarked.
Eddie laughed. ‘It is if you can make good money out of it.’
‘How can you possibly make money out of a war?’ Alex enquired sarcastically.
The man tapped his long nose. ‘That’d be telling, but I certainly know how to get hold of as many sausages as I fancy, and at a decent price.’
Alex frowned, puzzling over this remark. ‘Is that so? And how would you manage that with rationing tighter than ever, to the extent that the government is threatening to ration bread and potatoes too, or so I’m told?’
‘It’s all about knowing the right people,’ Eddie explained. ‘Whether you’re looking for spare parts for your car, petrol, nylons, perfume, cigarettes, alcohol, owt that takes yer fancy, I usually know a chap who can supply it.’
‘At a price, I presume?’
Eddie chuckled. ‘Well, I have to make a profit. That’s how I earn my living.’
‘Is it indeed?’ Alex looked him over, then his mouth twisted in an interested little smile. ‘And it looks as if it’s a good one.’
‘It certainly is.’
The man was a wide-boy, a wheeler and dealer, or ‘spiv’ as they were often called, but judging by the cigar he was smoking and the classiness of his clothes, he clearly did have money. ‘As an ex-servicemen with no job to go to, I’m looking for a decent income myself, and am equally pissed off with bureaucracy. Can I get you another pint of beer? I’d like to know more.’
C HAPTER T EN
C athie lived in hope of Alex calling in to say how much he was missing her and that he wanted her back. But, as each day passed without any sign of him, she became increasingly despondent that he never would. She felt lost without either a job or her fiancé, spent the mornings looking for work, and the afternoons walking the baby, thinking it would be good for both of them to be out in the fresh air. The cold days of January were passing, if achingly slow and endlessly boring.
This afternoon she passed Potato Wharf with its maze of iron and
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