The Listeners by Monica Dickens

Author:Monica Dickens [Dickens, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2012-12-18T20:00:00+00:00

Jackie’s mother did not really believe in Christmas, although there was no doubt it was very good for business. It might be an old wives’ tale to suppose that Jesus was born on December 25th, but as the date grew near, the sale of slippers and handbags was marvellous to see. Shoe dyes moved well too, as the ladies got last summer’s whites coloured up to match their party dresses.

Jackie was not allowed to make sales, but as he came through into the front shop with heels for waiting customers, he watched the people turning the revolving stand of slippers, puddling the green Duralon carpet with their umbrellas, and listened to his mother’s selling voice.

‘That’s a.top-quality bag. You’ve only to look at the lining. That’s where you can always tell, the workmanship inside. You see the label? That’s a Dorolee bag.’

‘Oh yes?’ said the customer, as if she had ever heard of Dorolee.

When the sale was made: ‘Thank you, madam. You’ve made a good choice. If your daughter doesn’t appreciate it, you send her right back to me and I will show her the difference between quality merchandise and your run-of-the-mill goods.’

Miriam, who came every day to help as Christmas approached, had a different style.

‘That?’ she would exclaim in her half scream. ‘Who are you buying it for, your sister or your grandmother?’ She dangled the big pouchy bag by the handle, making a face as if it had forgotten itself. ‘Let’s face it, these went out with Queen Victoria.’

When Muh and Miriam were together at the cash register at the end of the counter, Muh muttered, ‘Please don’t denigrate the stock.’

‘Ha!’ Miriam flung back her abundant head. ‘It does that for itself.’

Muh was a bit dubious about taking the morning off to go to the Play School Christmas party. ‘She’s getting very slapdash, that Miriam,’ she told Dad the night before, accusingly, as if it were his cousin, not hers. ‘I doubt she’s good for trade.’

‘Nonsense, Ena, everyone loves Miriam.’

‘I luh Mim.’

‘Not with your mouth full, Jack,’ his mother said, and his father said, ‘Of course you do. So do I. She’s very good to all of us.’

‘Hmmm . . . yes . . .’ Muh drummed her pebble-hard fingertips on the table and looked at Dad, as Malcom said afterwards, as if she thought he had Miriam laid out on the cutting bench with her skirt up as soon as her back was turned.

‘Oh, ho, ho,’ Jackie chuckled to that.

‘Want to see something, old Jack?’

‘Yeh, yeh.’ He nodded his head so violently that his eyes rattled.

‘What’ll you give us then?’

‘A fag?’

‘Two.’ Malcom clicked his fingers, and after Jackie pulled out the cigarettes Miriam had stuffed into his pocket and fiddled two out of the crumpled packet, Malcom showed him the picture he had hidden in chapter six of his chemistry book.

‘Whee-ew.’ Jackie’s whistle was full of breath and spittle.

Later that night, he crept downstairs to dial the Samaritans and tell Helen that he was going to a party.

‘Ring me up next week and tell me all about it,’ she said.

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