Pack Up Your Troubles. Pam Weaver

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      Emboldened, Mandy started asking questions. ‘What are you doing? What’s that for? Why did you put that in there? Is that a picture of Mr Light?’ He answered all her questions patiently and with good humour, explaining that they had just repaired the van and were reconstructing it onto a new chassis. ‘That’s a very solid looking thing,’ Connie remarked.

      ‘It used to be called a living van,’ he explained. ‘It was the sort of thing road menders used to use when they stayed on the job. This one dates back to the turn of the century.’ He patted the wooden sides as he looked down at Mandy. ‘Back then you would see a steam engine on the front, then the living van, followed by a cart with all the equipment and finally the water cart to top up the engine, so the old timers tell me. It was a bit like a road train.’

      Connie was puzzled. ‘But what are you going to use it for now?’

      ‘This mush is full of ideas,’ said Simeon coming around the vehicle with a smile. ‘This is a travelling shop.’

      Connie was impressed. She could see it now. They were obviously going to put shelving along the sides and with the driver’s cab at the front, it would be ready to go.

      ‘And these paintings,’ Connie said with a wave of her hand, ‘did you do them as well?’

      The Frenchie glanced at Connie and gave her a shy smile. ‘Yes, I did. A hobby of mine.’

      ‘They’re very good,’ said Connie.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

      ‘And now I have to go,’ he told Mandy. ‘I have to get ready to go out. It was nice to have met you and your mummy. I hope you’ll come again.’

      Mandy glared at him crossly. ‘She’s not my mummy. She’s my sister.’

      The Frenchie turned to Connie. ‘I apologise,’ he said quietly. ‘My mistake.’

      Connie’s heart was beating fast. She had never felt quite like this before. It was both alarming and exciting. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said feebly. ‘I hope we didn’t intrude.’

      As Simeon reached for his coat, she and Mandy stepped back towards the door. The artist turned his head and their eyes met once again. ‘My name is Eugène Étienne but around here they all call me the Frenchie,’ he said extending his hand. Her small hand was all but swallowed by his. The grip was firm but gentle, warm and sincere. As he released her, he apologised and took a cleaner looking rag from a nail driven into the post and gently wiped her fingers.

      ‘Why do they call you the Frenchie?’ Mandy asked.

      ‘Mandy,’ Connie scolded.

      ‘It’s all right. You see, I never met him but perhaps you can tell by my name that my father was French,’ he said without a trace of bitterness. ‘I was brought up in an orphanage in Québec.’

      ‘Where’s that?’

      ‘Canada,’ he smiled. ‘I came over here during the war and forgot to go back.’

      Connie’s eyes widened. ‘They let you do that?’

      ‘Not actually,’ he laughed. ‘I was ill and I decided to stay here when the army discharged me.’

      ‘Nothing serious I hope,’ said Connie.

      The Frenchie shook his head. ‘Enough to keep me at the military hospital in Shaftesbury Avenue for a few months. I ended up falling in love with Worthing. I’ve only been here a little while but I want to make it my home.’

      A shadow fell over them. Someone was standing in the doorway. The Frenchie stepped back and looked up. ‘Darling,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. Is it that late already?’

      Connie was faced with the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. She was blonde and tall and wore a pink floral dress with a straight skirt and a small white belt. She had the daintiest white peep-toed high heels and she carried a small clutch bag. Connie recognised her instantly. Mavis Hampton, the daughter of one of the richest men in town and Worthing’s very own beauty queen. Pip wagged his tail and headed towards her.

      ‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Don’t let that thing jump up at me.’

      Connie grabbed Pip’s collar just in time and although he never would have jumped up, Mavis eyed the two of them anxiously. There was no mistaking the curl of contempt on her lip. As Simeon walked past her on his way out, she shrank away as if he was poisonous.

      ‘I knew it,’ Mavis said frostily. ‘You’re going to make us late.’ The Frenchie had walked towards her to kiss her cheek. ‘No,’ she trilled. ‘Don’t you dare kiss me. You’re filthy.’

      ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said again.

      Connie took Mandy’s hand and tried to slip away. ‘Excuse me.’

      Mandy turned her innocent face towards them. ‘Bye, Mr Frenchie.’

      ‘Goodbye,’ he said.

      Mavis only scowled and as Connie reached the lane she heard her saying, ‘I know you like helping these ungrateful wretches but really darling, do you have to do it every day?’

      ‘For me?’

      Sally Burndell was surprised when her mother came into the shop and handed her a letter. ‘I knew you couldn’t wait,’ she smiled. ‘It’s from them, isn’t it?’

      ‘In a minute, Mum,’ said Sally drawing her mother’s attention to the woman standing by the till. ‘I’ve got customers.’

      ‘Sorry, luv,’ said Mrs Burndell stepping to one side. ‘My Sally is going to college. The first girl in our family to get a real education.’

      ‘Mum …’ Sally protested.

      ‘Well, I can’t help being proud, can I?’ said Mrs Burndell turning to go. ‘See you later.’

      The customer smiled indulgently and Sally rolled her eyes.

      It was mid-morning before Sally had the chance to open the envelope. She had to wait until the old lady had gone back to the house and the shop was empty before she dared to take it from her apron pocket.

      The letter from the college was brief and because of her tears, Sally had a job focusing her eyes properly to read it. Nine words stood out from the rest. ‘… unable to offer you a position at this time …’ Why? What had happened? They’d seemed so sure about her at the interview. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and began again. ‘We regret that due to certain facts coming to light we are unable to offer you a position at this time …’ She pushed the letter back inside the envelope and sniffed loudly. What facts? Had somebody said something bad about her? She heard the back door of the house slam. Old Miss Dixon must be coming back. Could this be something to do with her? Had the old bag given her a bad reference? Sally looked up but it wasn’t the old woman coming.

      ‘Time for a cuppa,’ Connie called as she walked into the shop with two cups of tea on a tray. Sally pushed the letter back in her pocket.

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