A Perfect Christmas

Chapter EIGHTEEN


The next morning Cait stared at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. It would take a lot of carefully applied make-up to disguise the bags under her eyes after her lack of sleep. Her afternoon out the day before hadn’t proved to be as much fun as she had thought it would be. It had been no fun eating by herself in the restaurant and no fun either watching the film by herself, not able to get out of her mind the fact that the last time she had visited the cinema Neil had been with her. Tomorrow would have been her wedding day and at the moment she had no idea how she was going to get through it.

Today she really didn’t feel like going into work. The only reason she was, was the thought that should her mother decide for whatever reason to cut her holiday short and return home for Christmas, this very day even, and find Cait wallowing in misery huddled on the sofa, leaving her company without anyone at the helm, then her one chance of proving herself a worthy daughter would be doomed to failure. She was worried that she hadn’t as yet come up with anywhere near a plausible explanation for rummaging around in her parents’ bedroom, finding the safe and helping herself to the money inside, but was dearly hoping that once she had delighted her mother by rising to the challenge and doing such a commendable job of overseeing her business, then that misdemeanour would be overlooked.

Cait heard the padding of footsteps coming down the landing and turned her head to see Agnes heading to her bedroom with a cup of tea for her. It struck her that she had grown fond of the old woman recently and she knew she would never have got through the last few days without Agnes’s motherly fussing and care of her, something she could easily get used to but daren’t because as soon as her mother returned, providing Cait was allowed to stay here at home and would not need to leave to live in a place of her own, Agnes would have to revert to Nerys’s rigid house rules: that she was employed purely to cook and clean and not in any way act familiarly with the family. Cait wished she could bring herself to go against her mother and tell Agnes she appreciated her thoughtfulness towards her; tell her of the times she’d had to restrain herself from throwing herself on her shoulder. How she longed to feel the comfort of a pair of motherly arms around her. But she was prevented from admitting it by a strong sense of her mother standing behind her, eyes boring into the back of her head, tapping her on her shoulder, daring her to defy her rules. Maybe one day Cait could find the courage to do so, when she felt it was right to, and give Agnes due thanks. But at the moment she couldn’t.

A short while later Jan and Glen wished each other good day as they went their separate ways after clocking in at the factory. It didn’t escape either of them that the majority of those clocking in at the same time didn’t look very happy. They both hoped that this was because they faced another long day at work when they’d sooner be somewhere else, and not for any other reason.

As he had lain in bed the night before, Glen had taken Jan’s advice to him seriously and realised he needed to come up with a plan for how to meet Lucy away from the workplace. It had to be before Nerys returned or he could lose his chance. He had decided that tonight he would wait for her to come out of work and approach her in the street, tell her that he was an old family friend and he had something important to tell her. He felt sure she would be intrigued enough to hear what he had to say, and agree. He had told Jan of his plan that morning over breakfast and she had thought it a good idea.

When Glen arrived at his room he was surprised to find no sign of Harry Owens. His assistant, Jeff Briggs, though, was living up to the nickname that Harry had bestowed on him. Lazybones was sitting on a chair at the packing counter, engrossed in a copy of that morning’s Sketch when he should have started work by now.

As he took off his coat and hung it up, Glen asked him, ‘No Harry today?’

Without lifting his head, Jeff shrugged. ‘Ain’t seen him this morning.’

‘Oh, well, maybe he’s just a bit late for some reason and will be along any minute. Haven’t you anything to be doing?’

Jeff gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Yeah, I ’spose, when I’ve finished this.’

Glen shook his head at the young man. He wanted to say something to him, remind him that if he didn’t buck his ideas up soon he’d be finding himself looking for another job. But it wasn’t his place. He went into his room to check what jobs he had on for today, collect what he needed to carry them out and be on his way. He had several routine tasks but one needed to be seen to first. The night watchman had written down in his book during his shift last night that as he’d been doing his rounds he’d noticed that one of the trees at the back of the building, in the strip of wasteland between the factory and the disused outbuildings, was half-uprooted. Glen was reminded then of the case the police had brought against him. He was alleged to have hidden the spoils of his ‘robbery’ in those outbuildings. According to the night watchman, the tree was at risk of toppling straight into the back of one of the buildings edging the cobbled yard. There was no telling what damage would be caused then, not only to the building itself but to the workers inside if it fell during the daytime. High winds were making it more unstable. Picking up a sturdy rope and a saw, Glen wrapped himself up warmly then went off to deal with it.

Only seconds after Cait arrived in the office that morning at nine-thirty, Jane Trucker tapped on the door. As soon as Cait called out for her to enter she came in, holding a leather folder. Her voice was noticeably clipped when she said, ‘Good morning, Miss Thomas. I’ve some letters that require your signature.’

Having taken off her coat, Cait made her way around the desk and sat down. She took great pleasure in saying, ‘Leave them with me. I’ll sign them later.’

Jane Trucker decided Cait Thomas was just a child in an adult’s world.

As Jane still hadn’t made any effort to leave the office, Cait tersely asked, ‘Was there something else?’

‘Well, yes, there is, Miss Thomas,’ she said in her usual businesslike manner. ‘I just wondered if you were feeling better?’ Jane saw the look of bemusement on her young boss’s face and continued, ‘We all thought you must have been suddenly taken ill yesterday afternoon as you didn’t come to Mr Swinton’s funeral. Mrs Swinton was very upset but I assured her that it was obvious something serious had happened, to keep you from coming.’

Cait looked back at her blankly. She had forgotten all about the funeral. Feeling ashamed, she said, ‘Yes, it was something serious that stopped me from coming.’

It was apparent to Jane that was all the explanation she was going to get for her non-attendance. Gut instinct told her that the truth was the young woman had completely forgotten about it. To the rest of the workers, this thoughtless act was the final straw in a long list of misguided decisions Cait had made in the short time she had been in charge of the company. To them enough was enough, as Miss Caitlyn Thomas would very shortly find out.

Cait was saying to her, ‘I’d like you to escort me round the factory this morning.’

Jane looked flustered. ‘Oh, er . . . I’d be glad to, Miss Thomas, but I really haven’t time this morning. Well, all day really. In fact, I’d be hard pressed, as matters stand at the moment, to tell you when I’ll have any free time. I’ve got such a lot of work on, you see.’ She hoped that Cait would take this as a hint and offer to help.

But her hopes fell flat when Cait responded coldly, ‘I trust you’ll let me know when you do find you have the time. When you return to your office, would you order me a tray of tea?’

Through gritted teeth, Jane responded, ‘Of course, Miss Thomas.’

In her own office Cait took a pile of magazines from out of the handbag at the side of her chair, selected Woman’s Own, placed it on the desk before her and was soon engrossed in its pages.

Meanwhile in the canteen, buttering a mountain of cobs and slices of bread, Jan was craning her neck to look over at the four men sitting around a table at the far end of the room, smoking endless cigarettes, deep in conversation. She had a worrying feeling she knew who they were and what the topic of their conversation was, but was hoping she was wrong. She would have asked Hilda but she was busy in the cold store making a list of supplies. One of the other canteen assistants was coming her way, armed with a tray containing a huge pile of sausages and bacon, and Jan waylaid her as she passed by.

‘Dilys, do you know who those men are around the table?’

Dilys Brennan was only a couple of years older than Jan and had been a pretty young girl when she had married the handsome, charming William Brennan, twenty years before. But after giving birth to eight children, two of whom had died at birth, and putting up with a man who had turned out to be work-shy, liked his drink and thought that his wife was a punchbag after a session on Saturday nights, she now looked and acted twenty years older.

Dilys put down the heavy tray for a moment. Frowning, she replied to Jan, ‘Keeping our jobs safe, I hope, ducky. But without taking the serious action I fear they may be planning, which would affect our wage packets. If that happens, I don’t know what I’ll bloody do this Christmas!’ Picking up the tray again, she went on her way.

Jan’s worried eyes were directed back to the men. So they were who she suspected them to be. She wondered if Glen had heard that a union meeting was in progress, and like her was deeply concerned about the outcome and what it would mean for his daughter.

The meeting had hardly been in progress for ten minutes when the men all scraped back their chairs and stood up. The one who seemed to have been leading the meeting said something to the other three, which Jan couldn’t hear, then the other men left and the leader walked over to the counter and asked to speak to Hilda. Jan was nearest to the cold store and so went over and gave her a shout that she was wanted. She had obviously been waiting to learn the outcome of the meeting taking place in her canteen. Her face was screwed in worry when she came bustling over to the counter where the man spoke to her in low tones before he turned and left.

Hilda said loudly, ‘Right, girls, listen up.’ She paused for a moment while her staff all stopped what they were doing. When she had their full attention, she continued, ‘The union has called a meeting in the yard in fifteen minutes. I don’t think I need to tell you what it’s about. Right, carry on what yer doing until then. Regardless what the outcome is, we’ll still have hungry mouths to feed.’

Jan wasn’t in the union, and neither she suspected were the other canteen staff, but like them she knew it was in her best interest to go along with the rest unless she wanted to suffer the consequences of being seen as a blackleg.

The telephone in Hilda’s office shrilled out and on her way back into the cold store she about-turned and hurried off to answer it. Several moments later she came out and said to the rest of the staff, ‘That was Jane Trucker asking us to take a tray of tea up for Madam.’ Her mouth split into a broad grin. ‘Well, she can wait until we find out the outcome of the meeting.’

Glen agreed with the night watchman that the tree needed to come down before it did untold damage. He’d sawed off some of the lower branches, and realised he should have brought ladders with him to tackle the ones further up so as to lighten the tree before he tried to pull it down using the rope. He was making his way down the narrow opening between two buildings that led back to the cobbled yard when the hum of voices reached him, growing louder the nearer he drew to the front of the buildings where the yard opened out before him. He was stunned to see that the voices belonged to dozens of the workers already gathered in the yard. Others were coming out of the main works entrance and also from the buildings to the side of him, huddling into groups where they conversed with each other, their breath forming clouds as it hit the icy air. On a small platform that had been erected nearest the huge entrance gates, using several sturdy wooden crates, stood four men. They were talking amongst themselves. One was holding a megaphone. One of them was Harry Owens.

Glen’s heart sank. A representative had obviously approached the union late yesterday. A meeting of the shop stewards had been called first thing this morning, and that was why Harry had been absent from his post. They had agreed what action needed to be taken against Lucy’s way of running the firm and were putting it to the workers now for them to vote on. Over by the entrance, Glen spotted Jan standing with a group of women. He could see she was scanning the crowd, looking for him. Weaving his way hurriedly through the throng, he went over to her.

‘Oh, there you are, Glen,’ she exclaimed the instant she spotted him. She then said gravely, ‘I hope we’re not going to be asked to vote on what I think we are. Well, we can’t vote, can we? We’re not in the union. But all the same, we’ll have no choice but to go along with what the members decide.’

Glen just looked back at her grimly.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the office, the muted sounds of many voices reached Cait’s ears, filtering through the window which overlooked the yard. For a moment all went silent, then a louder voice erupted. She got up and went to the window to look out. When she saw all the workers she assumed a fire drill was in progress as she couldn’t think of any other reason for the whole factory to be congregating in the yard. They’d had a couple of fire drills while she was working at the wholesaler’s. They always seemed to take place in the depths of winter, all the staff left standing outside, freezing, until the all clear was announced. Well, sooner them than me, she thought as she returned to her desk, assuming she hadn’t been expected to take part because of her status.

Outside Glen looked on in dismay as the raised hands were counted. In reality they didn’t need to be. It was apparent even to the dimmest of those present that those agreeing to strike action outnumbered those who didn’t by at least twenty to one.

Jan touched his arm and whispered to him, ‘Well, hopefully this will make Lucy take notice and change her ways.’

He sighed heavily. ‘Despite the damage a strike will do the company, and what it will mean for us all, especially at Christmas time, I can’t help feeling responsible for her and the way she’s behaving. After all, she is my daughter. And what about my responsibility to her, as her father? I can’t just stand by and leave her to deal with this on her own. I can’t, Jan.’

Before she could stop him, he hurriedly stepped over to the workers’ entrance to the building. Stopping long enough to make sure all the workers’ attention was fixed firmly on the union representatives, not on him, Glen quickly disappeared inside.