Help Wanted

by Alistair Lawrie

Someone must have told Dod the Baker once to keep his shoulders back, Billy thought, because he walked in such a braced kind of splay footed fashion that he looked as if he was wearing his clothes on top of a coat hanger. This had the unfortunate effect whenever he moved of making it look like he was trying to attract attention to the size of his belly. His shop sat on the corner of Hope Street, its pink granite belying the gloom inside. Entering it, Billy noticed a grubby bit of paper pinned to the dusty glass panel with “Help Wanted” scrawled on it. Absolutely, he thought and felt the familiar irritation of waggling the limp door handle uselessly for a moment before remembering to lift and waggle at the same time. Why didn’t the miserable old sod have it fixed? The door jerked off its latch and Billy vengefully stamped his foot hard on the cracking patch of lino where the floorboards had started to sag. Once inside, you had to remind yourself it was a baker’s shop as you picked your way through piles of dry goods, coils of stacked barbed wire, garden tools and unidentifiably full sacks to the counter, occasionally stubbing your foot against things in the gathering obscurity. Billy sometimes wondered why old Dod, who dressed with a military crispness in his brown overall coat and neatly pressed trousers, refused to have his windows cleaned. Too tight-fisted? Perhaps it was to prevent too close examination of the few fancy cakes huddled garishly together between the piles of sober brown butteries, softies and loaves of bread that made up the bulk of his sales.

Billy rapped a coin on the counter to annoy him further as he watched the shopkeeper’s progress – there was no other word for it he thought – belly first out of the deeper shadows of the back shop.

“Ye’ll chip at counter, ye young limmer.”

Billy looked slowly down at the faded blue and white pattern that sworled across the cheap plastic cover that had been screwed to the counter top, its fraying edges coated with grime and back up at the man before saying, “Is at richt? Onywye, hiv ye a loaf o broon breid, six safties an fower butteries?”

“An fit’s the word ye use tae your elders, loon?” There was a slushiness to the way he spoke that made Billy look up at him, his face, his mouth … Christ the old bastard hadn’t got his teeth in. “Pleash,” Billy replied before he’d even really thought about it and so hurried on to fill the gap, prevent old Dod from realising he was taking the pish. “Aye the aal man’s siccan tae hae some o his aal crew roon so we’re getting in supplies, like…” His voice petered out as he watched Dod staring at him, torn between a tart response and just letting it slide, his fat loose lips pursing until, with a grunt he bent, tore off a brown bag from the pile on the counter and blew wetly at its edges to open it up.

From the store which was through the door half open at the back of the counter he heard sharp nippet footsteps moving away and the mingled rattling thumping sounds of scales being used to weigh out bags of flour. Unexpected relief washed over him. Gracie had been listening at the door. Dod’s eldest daughter had eyes that could pin you like a marlin spike and a tongue that was sharp as a gutter’s knife. If she’d thought he was making a fool of her father … Billy let the thought go with a shiver.

The door of the shop rattled loudly as if a hurricane had taken hold of it making Dod look up quickly, mouth ajar, held on the cusp of deciding whether the intrusion required spluttering annoyance or servility. Either way, he’d splutter, Billy thought. It was perhaps the urge to check this out that made him keep on looking at Dod rather than turn to see who had come in so forcibly. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. A muscle twitched in his eye as he looked down and began to arrange the empty bags in front of him. What was he playing at?

“Is at you Dod the Baker? Far’s at besom o a quine o yours? Hidin ben the back as usual, nae doot.”

Caught up in this whiplash Dod’s eyes and Billy’s were jerked up to a silhouette that filled the bottom half of the doorway with an ominous darkness. Although at first it seemed like a dumpy Russian doll, gradually features became clearer against the brightness outside. An oilcloth apron hung down near to the toes of a pair of toppers that glistened with fish scales. A fishwife’s makkin belt bulged threateningly around her middle. Billy knew her. Knew the sharpness of her tongue of old.

“Fit div ye mean, Nellie? Fit’s aa this aboot?”

“Dod Buchan, dinna be mair o a feel than ye were born till. You ken fine weel fit I’m here aboot. My brither Charlie’s quinie, your niece, Maggie.” The woman advanced bristling, hooked nose curved ominously under a loose strand of hair from what was otherwise drawn strictly back into a bun. Billy retreated to the dimness beside one of the pillars that supported the floor of the flat above from where he hoped he could observe the coming quarrel unnoticed. Dod was fumbling with the paper bags again.

“Ach, Nell, I wis as sorry aboot it as onybody especially seein it wis Chaes’ lassie but folk were complaining their measures were short an aathin pintet tae her an so Gracie wis clear we hid tae let…”

“Be quiet, faither, I’ll haunle iss.”

The old man aye said that if Gracie’s voice was any sharper she’d be in some danger of cutting her throat every time she opened her mouth. It was more likely to be other folks’, Billy thought as he watched her pick her fastidious way through the clutter of the shop floor. Like a cat with a mouse.

Except this was no mouse. Long before Gracie reached the counter, Nell bore down on her, spitting fury all the way. “Aye there ye are. I’m fair astonisht ye’ve got the gall tae come oot here an face me, ye ill thochtit vratch. Fit’s aa this ye’ve been sayin aboot your cousin Maggie? Your ain cousin, for gweed’s sake. Fit gies you the richt tae ging aroon tellin lees aboot folk?”

By this time Nell had marched right up to within a couple of feet of Gracie and was staring angrily into her face. The smell of gutted fish that accompanied her was now filling the shop and causing Gracie to wrinkle her nose and purse her thin lips as she glared down at her aunt. Billy was surprised to see a slight twitch at the side of a face he was accustomed to see as immovable granite. “Well now, Auntie Nell, you’ll ken we hiv to think about our customers’ needs as a local business first an foremaist ..” She paused and sniffed.

“Dinna you sniff at me, ye young limmer. Iss is naethin bit the smell o fish. The same fish at built iss shoppie for yer faither because he was ower saft a lump tae ging oot an catch them for himself. Ye micht hae heen a better sense o fit was fit if yer da had had tae dae at for a livin.”

Gracie’s narrow face paled with anger. “Bit, Auntie Nell …”

“Auntie Nell naethin. Fit’s aa this aboot short wecht?”

“It’s richt, Nellie,” said Dod. “Gracie catcht her at it.”

“Och, Dod Dod, ye were nivver awfa sharp were ye? The haill village kens your lassie has a heavy thoom fin it comes tae measuring. That’s why maist o them walk intae the toon for their messages. It was nivver oor Maggie.”

“Are you caain me a liar.”

“Aye coorse I am, Gracie, for at’s fit ye are, fit ye ayewis was. Bit at’s nae important. I’ve nae doot the quine was pleased in the end o’t tae hae an excuse tae get awa fae ye. The only reason she workit here was tae please her faither that thocht it was richt for her tae help his brither. Naa naa, fit I want tae ken is fit wye ye tellt the mannie at the broo your cousin handit in her notice fae the job fin ye ken fine weel that you sackit her?”

“Fit’s at ye’re sayin? Gracie tellt me she sackit Maggie.”

“Mebbe bit that’s nae fit she’s tellt the mannie at the broo. At een smirkin at us kens fine at your brither Chae is owre quiet a chiel tae come roon here an show ye fit’s fit bit mark my words, Dod, ye’ve ither brithers that arena jist sae thochtfu, including this loon’s granda.”

Billy looked from Nell to Dod to Gracie in the silence that fell. Nobody moved. Dod’s mouth hung open  Gracie’s face was twitching even more and had become even paler if that was possible. She looked down to where Nell’s toppers stood in a puddle of dirty yellowish water that was beginning to trickle towards an open sack of tatties. Both women started to speak at once, Gracie a high pitched wail that sounded like a scurry in pain but Nell’s harsh clarity overrode it. As Billy struggled to disentangle the words of the one from the other, a loud crack cut through the mesh of noise into a still reverberant silence.

Dod loomed over the counter with a large rod in his hand which he’d just brought down on its wooden top. He looked somehow different, not only the redness in his face but there was a light in his eye and a squareness to his jaw, Billy had never seen before.

“Will ye haud yer tongue for eens in yer life, dother, and I’d be obleeged if you cwid be quiet anaa, Nellie. Tell me, Gracie, fit exackly did ye say tae the broo mannie?”

“Weel, da, I jist tellt him that Maggie was wanti …”

“Wantin fit?”

“Ach but I didna mean ..”

“So you tellt him that she handit in her notice an noo the quinie winna get her broo money. Gweed be here, div ye ivver think past yersel, Grace? Fit on earth’ll my brither be thinkin aboot his? Ye menseles dytit gowk, lassie. It’s your ain folk ye’re deein iss till. Nellie, I’m deeply sorry that this has happened. Gracie’ll ging doon tae the Broo the morn’s mornin an mak clear there’s been a mistake. An I’ll gwa roon tae see my brither Chae an Maggie the nicht tae sort oot fit’s fit. Gracie, I’d like you tae come wi us so ye can say ye’re sorry.”

“But, da, I canna …”

“Nivver min yer cannas. Hit’s lang past time at you were thochtit enough tae min at I’m yer faither. I’ve let ye get aff wi far owre muckle for far owre lang maistly for yer mither’s sake an it his tae stop now. I’m black affrontit at fit my ain faimly’ll be thinkin o me. Noo awa ye go an get yersel ready tae ging roon tae Chae’s.”

Gracie turned so sharply she stumbled into Billy who was still in the shadows beside the pillar.

“Fit are you daein hidin in the dark spyin on decent folk like a snake in the grass?”

Oh shite, thought Billy, right first time but before he could mumble an apology and before Dod could get beyond shouting “Grace,” Nell said quietly, “Ach, Gracie, ye hinna got the sense ye were born wi. Wid ye try an min fit een o yer uncles is iss loon’s dydie an fit he mith be likely tae dee theday o aa days iffen he fins you miscaain anither een o his family for nae reason ither than yer ain ill natur?”

Gracie’s shoulders visibly slumped as she made her way through to the back of the shop.

“I’d thank you for letting me ken aboot this, Nellie. It’ll be aa sortit oot by the morn,” said Dod.

“Aye weel I think maybe it will, Dod, but you mak siccar.” And, with that, she stomped wetly to the door and left. Billy waited a moment then, crossing to the counter, he looked up at Dod, who wasn’t fidgeting with anything now, picked up the bag of bakery with his change and said, “Thanks, min. I’ll be awa.”

“That’s aaricht, loon.” And then as Billy turned to go. “Tell yer dydie I’ll be doon tae see him.”

Billy picked his way through the half filled trays and boxes and bags to the door. As he reached for the handle he noticed the curling edges of the paper sellotaped to the glass. Grabbing it firmly, he returned to the counter where Bob was still standing.

“Are ye still siccan somebody tae help?” he asked.