A Perfect Christmas

Chapter TEN


Glen’s stomach was churning as they turned the corner of the street where the factory stood. He was willing there to be a vacancy that would get him inside legitimately and his quest off to a start, otherwise he had no idea how they would ever unearth Nerys’s whereabouts.

As they had travelled here old habits had surfaced. Without his thinking about it, whenever they had encountered other pedestrians Glen had automatically ducked his head and made to give them a wide berth, to save himself the embarrassment of their doing so, until Jan had pulled him to a halt and reminded him in no uncertain terms that he was no longer the filthy individual of yesterday morning but now a smart-looking man. Although the shirt, suit and raincoat he was wearing were all second-hand, he felt he was the smartest he’d been since swapping civilian clothes for a prison uniform. His shoes were a little tight, though, and pinched his toes. He also felt naked without his thick covering of facial hair which, in weather like this, had kept his face warm. It would take him a while to get used to being clean-shaven.

As they drew closer, a young woman come out of the door leading into the reception area to stand in front of a glass-fronted box attached to the wall. Opening it up, she took out several cards then replaced them with a few others.

Glen said to Jan, ‘The vacancy box is being updated.’

She said enthusiastically, ‘Seems we’ve arrived at the right time then.’

They slowed their pace until the woman had finished her task and returned inside. They then hurried through the big iron gates and across a cobbled forecourt to the box where they scanned the contents. There were five vacancies in all.

Jan said, ‘Well, I’m starting to think there is a God. Two of the vacancies are right up our street! The general dogsbody for you, only they’ve labelled it maintenance man, and canteen assistant for me.’

Glen looked at the cards thoughtfully. It was a job he could do thanks to his father, who had made him learn the business inside out, from top to bottom.

Jan was saying, ‘Maintenance man is perfect as you’ll have free licence to roam as you like under the pretext that something needs fixing. As a canteen assistant, hopefully I’ll get the job of taking the tea trolley round the offices for elevenses and afternoon tea, and then I’ll get the opportunity to have a nose around the boss’s office when he’s not there. So, ready to go in and apply?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ he told her.

It was like stepping back in time for him as they entered the reception area. The place hadn’t changed at all. If he recalled correctly, the same paint was on the walls, although it looked tired, scuffed and chipped in places and cried out for redecoration. In front of them a staircase rose up to the second floor where the offices were. A door to one side of the staircase led to the factory part of the building and the store rooms. To the other side of the staircase was the desk where the receptionist sat. Behind her, set against the wall, was a small six-line plug-type telephone board. Further down, a row of six straight-backed chairs was placed against one wall for visitors to sit on while they waited to be seen. With her headset on, a plug cord in her hand, her back to them, the receptionist was busy telling a caller to hold the line for a moment while she connected them. That done, she swivelled around in her chair to continue typing a letter on the Imperial 66 typewriter that stood on the desk, which she’d been in the process of doing before the switchboard had bleeped. She jumped on spotting the two arrivals, not having heard them come in.

She was a young girl, twenty at the most, dressed smartly in a plain navy skirt and white blouse under a pale blue cardigan, her brown hair fixed neatly in a French roll. She looked very efficient. She smiled politely at Jan and Glen and asked, ‘What can I do for you?’

It was Jan who took the lead. ‘I’ve come to apply for the job of assistant in the canteen.’

‘I’d like to apply for the position of maintenance man,’ Glen told her.

‘You’ll have to make appointments. I’ll call the manager’s secretary to see to it for you. Could I have your names, please?’

When they had given them to her she turned to face the switchboard again, dialled an internal number then after a moment spoke into the mouthpiece, eventually writing something down on a notepad. Swivelling back, she told Jan and Glen, ‘The manager is very busy now but if you’re prepared to wait, he’ll be able to fit you in in about an hour.’

‘We’ll wait,’ Jan told her.

They took chairs in the waiting area, Jan wishing she had brought a book with her to while away the time, Glen thinking that these chairs were the same ones that were here when he was in charge of the place. If Nerys did still own the firm she certainly hadn’t authorised any expenditure towards the upkeep of the premises, it seemed. He also wished right now that he smoked, as he could do with something to calm his nerves.

Their thoughts were suddenly distracted when the door opened and a middle-aged woman came in. She wore a shabby black coat, the Crimplene dress she had on underneath hanging down several inches below its hem. Her thick stockings had many snags in them and her shoes were scruffy and down-at-heel. She wore a turban-style scarf on her head, several pink rollers showing in the middle of her forehead.

The receptionist greeted her with the same courtesy she had shown to Glen and Jan.

Jan frowned when she heard the woman tell the receptionist that she wanted to apply for the job of canteen assistant. To Jan she didn’t appear to have made any effort to impress a prospective employer with the way she dressed. She was, though, mortally glad that as she had arrived first, she’d get first shot at landing the job. It was up to her to make sure she did.

Having called the boss’s secretary, the new arrival was told by the receptionist that if she was prepared to wait, then the manager would interview her for the position after he’d seen the couple already waiting.

The woman shambled over and sat herself down beside Jan, saying to her, ‘You haven’t come about the job in the canteen, have yer?’

Jan looked at her, wondering what it had got to do with her. ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

The woman folded her arms under her ample bosom and, with a smug look on her face, said, ‘Then yer wasting yer time, me duck. The job is mine. Me friend works in the canteen, she’s in charge actually, and she’s recommended me for the job, so there’s no chance of you gettin’ it.’

Jan eyed her sharply. ‘We’ll see about that.’

There was a look of challenge in the other woman’s eyes when she retaliated, ‘Yeah, we bloody well will!’

It was Glen who was called for first by the manager’s secretary, a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman dressed in a tweed suit and stout shoes. She came downstairs to fetch him. As he got up he flashed a look at Jan as if to say, Wish me luck, before following the grey-haired woman back up the stairs, along a corridor and into the office with a plaque on the door announcing ‘Manager’.

Glen knew this office like the back of his hand. It had been his father’s first, then his. It hadn’t changed one bit. The walls were still lined with oak panelling; it had the same large mahogany desk and cracked red leather wing-back chair behind it. A very comfortable chair, Glen remembered. The same large worn Chinese rug covered most of the dark-stained floorboards. The only change that Glen could see was that the old portrait of King George had been taken down from the wall and replaced by one of the young Queen Elizabeth II, showing her on her Coronation Day two years ago in 1953, having succeeded to the throne on the death of her father. In the leather chair where by rights Glen should have been sitting was a besuited man of about sixty. He had a strained expression and a tired look in his eyes, but regardless he smiled a welcome at Glen and stood up to shake his hand. ‘Reginald Swinton, Manager,’ he introduced himself.

Glen said a silent prayer before he responded, hoping his name meant nothing to Reg Swinton. ‘Trainer. Glen Trainer. I’m pleased to meet you, sir.’

Reg looked taken aback for a moment. ‘Trainer? Same name as the man who owned the company before my boss bought it. He turned out to be a rum character indeed. Seems he wasn’t happy with the profits the firm was making him and was caught using the place to store goods he’d stolen from a hijacked lorry, critically injuring the driver in the process. He served quite a lengthy sentence for what he did. Could still be inside, for all I know. Looking at you, though, I can see you’re no more capable of doing something like that than I am, and it’s just a coincidence you share the same name. Right, let’s get down to business. Please take a seat.’ He waited while Glen settled himself before continuing. ‘So, Mr Trainer, I understand from my secretary you’ve come about the maintenance position?’

Glen was very relieved that he’d got over the name hurdle and hadn’t had to lie his way out of it. He nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s right, sir.’

The other man grinned. ‘I’m not titled gentry, Mr Trainer. Please just address me as Mr Swinton.’ Reg Swinton then ran his fingers inside the collar of his shirt. ‘It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Do you mind if I open a window?’

Glen didn’t think it was hot at all, but Mr Swinton did appear flushed. He told him he had no objection and tried not to shiver as an icy draught blew through the open window, seeming to make straight for him.

Back in his chair Reg Swinton said, ‘Right, what I’m looking for is someone who’s capable of fixing the machines in the factory when they break down and seeing to all the other maintenance work in the place, down to changing light bulbs. Question is, are you the man I’m looking for?’

Glen responded without hesitation, ‘I’d say so, Mr Swinton. There’s nothing I can’t tackle, from unblocking toilets to sweeping up if the cleaner is off for any reason. And there’s nothing about the machines in the factory that I don’t know about and can put right.’ He could have kicked himself for adding that.

Reg looked at him sharply. ‘I haven’t shown them to you yet so how do you know that? Have you worked here before? If you have, it was before my time as I pride myself on knowing all my employees.’

Glen blustered, ‘No . . . no, I haven’t. I was just assuming the machines were the same as I looked after in my old job for a shoe firm. Made by the British United Shoe Machinery Company on Belgrave Road. But, of course, one machine is not unlike another when it comes to repairs.’

‘Well, I can’t repair machines so I wouldn’t know and will have to take your word on that,’ Reg told him. ‘You say you worked for a company similar to this?’

How Glen hated lying but it was so important to his cause that he landed this job. ‘Yes, in Northampton. Ten years I worked for them. They made bespoke shoes but didn’t import from other countries like Rose’s does.’

Reg looked impressed by this. ‘You have done your homework, knowing we import shoes as well as make them. So why did you leave your last post?’

Glen couldn’t help but notice that his prospective employer was sweating profusely now, had taken a large handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and was wiping beads of moisture from his face with it. He wanted to enquire of him if he was all right as in truth it was really quite cold in here now and he should by rights be shivering, as Glen was trying hard not to do. But that could be seen as impertinence and he didn’t want to risk losing the job because of that.

‘Had no choice, Mr Swinton,’ he said. ‘The old man who owned the firm died, and with no one to take over the reins it just folded. That’s why I can’t give you any references, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, I’m not sure references are worth the paper they’re written on myself. Any boss can write down that the employee he’s referencing is the best he’s ever had, trustworthy and reliable, when in fact they are nothing of the sort. It’s just that they’re wanted rid of, and sometimes the best way to do that is to try and help an unwanted worker get taken on somewhere else.’

Glen sighed inwardly with relief that he seemed to have passed that hurdle, then held his breath and crossed the fingers of both hands in the hope that the question he feared he would be asked next didn’t come: whether he’d ever been in trouble with the law.

Reg Swinton obviously thought he looked honest enough not to insult Glen by asking him such a thing. Instead he asked, ‘If you’re from Northampton, what brings you to Leicester?’

Glen hadn’t anticipated that question and his mind went blank for a moment before he blurted, ‘Oh, er . . . just a change of scene.’

Reg seemed to think that reason enough. ‘Well, I need to fill this vacancy as soon as I can as my last man left yesterday without warning. Got an engineering job elsewhere with an immediate start. He was a good man and I didn’t like losing him.

He studied Glen for a moment. ‘I like the look of you, Mr Trainer. You don’t seem to me like a man who says he can do something when he can’t. I really should show you around the place before I ask you to make a decision, check that you’re happy with what you see, but I haven’t got the time right now. Other people to interview for the jobs we have going, and I’ve a customer coming in at eleven, too. Would you consider taking the job, though, with a view to starting tomorrow if you can?’

Glen fought with himself not to jump up and give the man a hug of gratitude. Regardless of his main reason for wanting a job with this particular company, he still needed one in order to survive and he liked this man, felt he’d be a good boss to work for. They went over a few formalities, then shook hands on the deal.

Glen made his way back down the stairs. When he saw Jan, she was looking up at him with an enquiring look. He flashed her a brief smile, hoping that would tell her that he’d been successful. Reg Swinton’s secretary was now hurrying past him, on her way to bring Jan up to the office. As she passed Glen at the bottom of the stairs, he whispered to Jan, ‘I’ll wait for you down the road. Best of luck.’

While she made her way up the stairs behind the secretary, Jan was aware that the other woman who’d come after the canteen job was looking daggers at her.

Fifteen minutes later she came hurrying down the street to join Glen, who was waiting for her perched on a low wall. She had a worried expression on her face and he automatically took that to mean she had not been successful. As she reached him Jan gave a violent shiver and said, ‘Brrr! It was as cold in that office as it is out here. Did Mr Swinton seem all right to you?’

Glen frowned. ‘He had a good sweat on and I’d say he looked tired, but apart from that he seemed all right.’

‘Mmm, I think he’s sickening for something myself,’ Jan mused.

‘Well, your concern for the man is commendable, but I take it from the look on your face that you weren’t offered the job?’

She smiled triumphantly. ‘I certainly was. Start tomorrow. I’m looking worried as I’m concerned about our new boss. He seemed like a really nice man to me. I don’t think the woman who came in after me is very happy, though. She was of the opinion that the job was hers as her friend already works in the canteen and has recommended her. Well, she shouldn’t have taken it for granted, should she?’ Jan rubbed her hands together and said gleefully, ‘Anyway, Mr Trainer, seems like the first part of our plan has worked.’

Glen was just happy at this moment to have been given gainful employment and could keep up the new life he was living. The thought of returning to his previous existence did not appeal one little bit. ‘I didn’t like deceiving Mr Swinton as to the reason why we wanted jobs with this particular firm.’

Jan slapped him on his arm. ‘Sometimes we have no choice but to do things we aren’t happy with. That’s life. Come on, let’s get out of this cold and go and celebrate with a cup of tea and a slice of cake in a café. I think we should splash out now we’re both earning and have pork chops for our dinner tonight.’

Glen wasn’t sure whether the money she’d taken had been meant to be spent on such luxuries. Nevertheless, his mouth watered at the thought of a pork chop – something he hadn’t had for years.

He hurried after her.