Private Sorrow, A by Maureen Reynolds Page B

wider. ‘I’m Mrs Foster.’ For what seemed the hundredth time, Molly told her the reason for the visit. Mrs Foster glanced towards the man who was now slicing cold meat. He was obviously the manager and Molly was worried the woman would get into trouble. Molly said, ‘I can come and see you tonight if that’s all right?’ Mrs Foster nodded and it was settled that eight o’clock was the best time to call. The manager looked over and Molly asked for a half-pound of biscuits. As Mrs Foster put an assortment of biscuits in a bag, the manager turned his attention to another customer’s request for six rashers of Ayrshire bacon.
    Molly went back to the office and placed the biscuits on the desk. ‘Something for your tea break,’ she told Jean. She took out her notebook to look again at the statements and she noticed it was almost full. Putting it back in her bag, she went and got a new notebook from the desk drawer.

    At 7:30 p.m., she was walking back up the Hill. Mrs Foster lived near the top. Her close lay between a jeweller’s business and a small grocer’s shop. The stairs were well lit and she found the flat on the first floor. Mrs Foster opened the door and ushered Molly into a small kitchen where she had been preparing sandwiches. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll finish these off before we sit down.’ The sandwiches looked tasty and substantial with boiled ham on some and cheese on the others. Molly suddenly felt hungry as she still hadn’t had her evening meal.
    ‘I’ve got extra pieces to make just now. Some for my husband and the rest for my daughter who’s tattie-picking this week with the rest of her class in school.’
    When everything was neatly packed away in brown paper bags, Mrs Foster showed her to the living room. Although the wireless was on, the room was empty. ‘Bob’s gone to his domino match in the pub and Barbara’s gone upstairs to her pal’s. No doubt to moan about their sore backs with the tatties.’
    ‘Mrs Foster …’
    ‘Please call me Vina,’ she said, as she moved a bundle of knitting from one chair and placed it on the floor. She chased a big ginger cat from the other chair.
    ‘Vina, I’ve been told that you used to work with Etta Barton, that you both sat at the same table in the canteen.’
    Vina nodded. ‘That’s right. It all seems so long ago but we were about the same age and I think we may have started work together at the same time. I worked in the children’s section and Etta was in the women’s wear department.’
    ‘How did you get on with her?’
    ‘To be truthful, I felt sorry for her. Although I have to say it was her fault, because she always seemed to rub people up the wrong way, but I still thought she was a sad case.’
    ‘What did you talk about with her?’
    Vina had to give this some thought. ‘Oh, just the normal things young girls think about. I think I did most of the talking, if I remember it right.’
    ‘Did Etta ever mention how she got on at home?’
    ‘No, not much. I got the impression she didn’t get on with her mum but she mentioned her dad a few times. Said they went to lots of places together, which I thought was odd because I hardly ever saw my dad. He was always at work, but I got on great with my mum and my sister and brother.’
    Molly was getting the same information about Etta and it wasn’t bringing her any nearer to finding out what happened to her. ‘Do you think she had any other friends or a boyfriend?’
    Vina gave a deep chuckle. ‘She used to boast about all her boyfriends, but not to begin with. Like I said, when we first got to know one another, I usually did most of the talking. One day, I was going on about a family wedding I had been to and I kept mentioning the handsome Best Man and how I fancied him. I told Etta this was my very first romance and she told me she had had lots of romances, most of them with her mum’s lodgers. There was a Robert and I think she mentioned a Michael and a Pedro.’
    Molly