ankle boots. She turned them over and peered at the size on the bottom, holding her glasses like binoculars.
‘There, dear, I thought so – size five. And brand new, by the looks of it. Would you like to try them on?’
‘How much are they?’
More squinting and peering. ‘Let me see . . . My goodness, twenty-four pounds. That seems like quite a price, but I suppose it must be the make. L.K. Bennett ,’ she read out slowly. ‘It means nothing to me, but Audrey – she’s the manageress – she knows about these things. She does the prices.’ She held them out. ‘They’re lovely and soft. Very nice quality.’
Jess shook her head quickly, her cheeks tingling with sudden heat. ‘It’s fine. I can’t really . . . I mean, I’ll just take the other things. Thanks.’
Mouse-like, the lady scurried back to her place behind the counter and rang the items through the till. As she folded them, with neat little paws, she noticed the application forms. With a sympathetic cluck she said, ‘Looking for work? There’s not much about at the moment, is there?’
‘You don’t happen to know of any jobs going, do you? Anything at all, I’m not fussy—’
The curls didn’t move as the lady shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. My grandson’s been trying to find something for months now – just to give him a bit of pocket money to go out with his friends and what have you. That’s six pounds, please dear.’
Jess counted out coins and slid them across the counter. She didn’t say that a job meant more than pocket money for her, or that her chances of finding one were vastly hampered by not having an address to put on the forms. She’d imagined finding work would be a case of going into shops and enquiring, then perhaps being referred to the right person. Application forms to be sent to head office were not part of the plan.
‘Never mind. Thanks anyway.’ She picked up the bag and tucked the forms into it, and as she turned to go her stomach gave a loud, echoing rumble. It sounded like an earthquake in the quiet shop. Face burning, she hurried to the door, but in her haste her foot slipped out of one of the too-big shoes and she had to turn back to put it on again.
‘Oh, one moment dear – I’ve just had a thought—’
Jess stopped, her hand on the door, her chest tight with humiliation. She just wanted to get outside, to slip back into the stream of people and become invisible again, but the lady was coming back now, her face creased with compassion as she held out a carrier bag. It was one of the expensive kind, made from stiff cardboard with ropes for handles.
‘The lady who brought in the boots came in with another bag today. She’s having a clear out, she said, because her daughter’s gone off to university. I think there are some more shoes in this one, but Audrey hasn’t had a chance to go through it yet. What the eyes haven’t seen, the heart won’t grieve for. You take it and see if there’s anything you can use.’
‘But I can’t . . .’
‘Nonsense. Go on. We’ve enough in the back to sort through, and you can always bring back any bits you don’t want.’ She gave Jess’s arm a little squeeze. ‘I like a young lady who doesn’t demand everything new. Some young people these days have far too much, in my opinion.’ She cast a disparaging look at the glossy carrier bag. ‘In my day there was a war on and we had to be clever with our clothing. Make do and mend, that’s what we used to say. Once you’ve learned the habit you never quite get out of it. Very best of luck with the job hunting, dear.’
She bought a sausage roll, hot from a bakery (‘Sorry, we’ve got no jobs at the moment but if you drop in your CV we’ll keep it on file . . .’), and ate it on a bench outside the library, taking tiny bites to make it last as long as possible. The wind’s teeth were sharp and its breath metallic but it felt good to be out. She leaned back against the bench and looked
‘There, dear, I thought so – size five. And brand new, by the looks of it. Would you like to try them on?’
‘How much are they?’
More squinting and peering. ‘Let me see . . . My goodness, twenty-four pounds. That seems like quite a price, but I suppose it must be the make. L.K. Bennett ,’ she read out slowly. ‘It means nothing to me, but Audrey – she’s the manageress – she knows about these things. She does the prices.’ She held them out. ‘They’re lovely and soft. Very nice quality.’
Jess shook her head quickly, her cheeks tingling with sudden heat. ‘It’s fine. I can’t really . . . I mean, I’ll just take the other things. Thanks.’
Mouse-like, the lady scurried back to her place behind the counter and rang the items through the till. As she folded them, with neat little paws, she noticed the application forms. With a sympathetic cluck she said, ‘Looking for work? There’s not much about at the moment, is there?’
‘You don’t happen to know of any jobs going, do you? Anything at all, I’m not fussy—’
The curls didn’t move as the lady shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. My grandson’s been trying to find something for months now – just to give him a bit of pocket money to go out with his friends and what have you. That’s six pounds, please dear.’
Jess counted out coins and slid them across the counter. She didn’t say that a job meant more than pocket money for her, or that her chances of finding one were vastly hampered by not having an address to put on the forms. She’d imagined finding work would be a case of going into shops and enquiring, then perhaps being referred to the right person. Application forms to be sent to head office were not part of the plan.
‘Never mind. Thanks anyway.’ She picked up the bag and tucked the forms into it, and as she turned to go her stomach gave a loud, echoing rumble. It sounded like an earthquake in the quiet shop. Face burning, she hurried to the door, but in her haste her foot slipped out of one of the too-big shoes and she had to turn back to put it on again.
‘Oh, one moment dear – I’ve just had a thought—’
Jess stopped, her hand on the door, her chest tight with humiliation. She just wanted to get outside, to slip back into the stream of people and become invisible again, but the lady was coming back now, her face creased with compassion as she held out a carrier bag. It was one of the expensive kind, made from stiff cardboard with ropes for handles.
‘The lady who brought in the boots came in with another bag today. She’s having a clear out, she said, because her daughter’s gone off to university. I think there are some more shoes in this one, but Audrey hasn’t had a chance to go through it yet. What the eyes haven’t seen, the heart won’t grieve for. You take it and see if there’s anything you can use.’
‘But I can’t . . .’
‘Nonsense. Go on. We’ve enough in the back to sort through, and you can always bring back any bits you don’t want.’ She gave Jess’s arm a little squeeze. ‘I like a young lady who doesn’t demand everything new. Some young people these days have far too much, in my opinion.’ She cast a disparaging look at the glossy carrier bag. ‘In my day there was a war on and we had to be clever with our clothing. Make do and mend, that’s what we used to say. Once you’ve learned the habit you never quite get out of it. Very best of luck with the job hunting, dear.’
She bought a sausage roll, hot from a bakery (‘Sorry, we’ve got no jobs at the moment but if you drop in your CV we’ll keep it on file . . .’), and ate it on a bench outside the library, taking tiny bites to make it last as long as possible. The wind’s teeth were sharp and its breath metallic but it felt good to be out. She leaned back against the bench and looked
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