Josephine Cox - Born Bad

Kathleen graciously declined. ‘I promised Tom we would go on the bus and he’s looking forward to it.’

‘Yes!’ Tom was like a cat on hot bricks. ‘I want to go on the bus with Kathleen, please, Daddy?’

A short time later, Harry was out of the door, into the car, and away down the street, waving all the way. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me!’ he called out.

‘We will,’ the pair replied in unison.

Kathleen’s directions were easy to follow, and within the hour, Harry had gone through Bedford Town and out towards the prison, where he took a sharp left. The store was directly in front of him, exactly where Kathleen had predicted.

Straddling the entire corner and snaking down a considerable length of the back street, the building made an immediate impression. With its great arched entrance, fancy tiles underfoot and sturdy windows, it was an obvious relic from Victorian times; and there on a massive sign, written in large black letters on a deep mustard background, was the proud announcement:

JACOBS’ EMPORIUM

ESTABLISHED 1945

EVERYTHING YOU NEED FOR HOME AND GARDEN

Drawing the Hillman Minx into the kerb, Harry switched off the engine and got out of the car. After locking the car, he stooped to regard himself in the wing mirror.

Satisfied, he straightened his tie, polished the uppers of his shoes against the back of his trousers and, taking a deep breath, he strode to the door and rang the bell at the side. There was still half an hour to go until opening time.

The painted dolly-girl had seen him coming and was eager to tend to him. ‘Good morning, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?’ Judging from her enthusiasm, she would have liked it to be her that Harry was ‘looking for’.

‘I’m here to see Mr Jacobs.’ Now that he was only minutes away from the interview, Harry’s nerves were beginning to get the better of him.

‘Ah.’ The girl looked him up and down. ‘You must be Mr Blake, applying for Mr Wright’s old job.’

‘Yes,’ Harry answered.

‘You’re younger than him.’

Harry was taken aback. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Oh no, quite the opposite as far as I’m concerned.’ Allowing him a coy little smile, she explained, ‘It’s just that, well, we’ve had all kinds wanting the job, but they were all in their late fifties, and scruffy into the bargain.’ She leaned forward to impart quietly, ‘If you ask me, they were all layabouts – probably been given the sack for not working as hard as they should. I expect they thought being a tallyman would be an easy option.’

‘And is it?’

‘Hmh!’ She gave Harry a critical look. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ she told him sternly. ‘It’s damned hard work. That’s why poor Ernie retired early … because he was worn out.’

‘How so?’ Harry had never been afraid of hard work.

‘Well, it’s just people , innit?’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, there’s those who can get really stroppy and threaten you, and those who always find some excuse not to pay. Then there’s the “other” kind.’ She gave him a knowing wink. ‘If you know what I mean.’

‘Well, no, not exactly.’ From the look in her eye, Harry guessed it was something cheeky.

‘They’re the ones who prefer to pay for goods in other ways than money,’ she giggled. ‘I reckon if we took you on, you’d soon find out about the other kind.’

‘Chatting again, Amy? Get back to your work at once!’ The voice of authority echoed across the floor.

The girl was startled. ‘Yes, Mr Jacobs. Sorry, this is Mr Blake. I was about to bring him up to you.’

Bernie Jacobs was a sizeable man with a squashy face, which was mostly covered by his huge, black-rimmed spectacles. A fair-minded man, he had hands the size of shovels, and a beer belly that would go twice round the gasworks.

‘I’ve warned you about wasting valuable time!’ he reprimanded the girl. ‘I distinctly asked that you bring Mr Blake up the minute he arrived. Instead I find you gossiping with him!’

‘I really am sorry, Mr Jacobs.’ She secretly rolled her eyes at Harry. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘It had better not!’

Addressing Harry, the boss welcomed him to the store. ‘So you’re here for the position of tallyman, is that right?’

Harry confirmed that.

‘Good!’ He looked Harry up and down, mentally applauding the way he was turned out. More importantly, he thought Harry’s manner was exactly right for the part – nice and easy, but with a layer of authority. Bernie was not one to go on first impressions, and today was no exception, though so far he liked what he saw.

As he continued to appraise Harry’s demeanour, his whole face began to shift; first the mouth went loose, then the plump cheekbones lifted the glasses up to the forehead, and now the podgy little eyes, all crinkled and beady, started blinking; all features on the move like some slow, giant sloth.

If it wasn’t so mesmerising, Harry mused, it would have been frightful. ‘Like something out of a horror movie,’ Amy commented to him later.

Suddenly, the face relaxed, and everything fell back into place. ‘Well, Mr Blake, I must say you look more capable than some I’ve had to contend with.’ He turned on his heel, calling for Harry to, ‘Follow me, young man!’

As they filed past the girl, she discreetly caught Harry’s attention, gestured to Mr Jacobs and made a face that would frighten the dead.

It took all of Harry’s self-control to keep from laughing out loud.

‘Be seated.’ Mr Jacobs gestured for Harry to park himself in the upright chair at the near end of the huge desk. When Harry was comfortable, the older man ceremoniously settled his mounds of fat in the wide, executive leather chair. ‘Hmm!’ He looked at Harry, then he glanced down, then he looked again, then he began cracking his knuckles, making a sound that put Harry’s teeth on edge. ‘Hmm!’ Then again: ‘Hmm!’

Harry felt the urge to speak. ‘Excuse my ignorance, Mr Jacobs, sir, but I’m not quite sure what a tallyman does.’

‘Really?’ The face crumpled like a sagging balloon.

He then proceeded to address Harry in that authoritative, nasal voice which was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘A tallyman is the very backbone of this business,’ he announced proudly. ‘It has been that way since I opened just before Christmas in 1945.’

Harry duly waited, while the older man lost himself in a sea of memories and pride.

All of a sudden, appearing self-conscious, he noisily cleared his throat. ‘As I was saying, the tallyman has been the link between Jacobs’ Emporium and the public at large, for as far back as the store itself has existed. He, or she as the case may be, is representative of our quality of service, and professional standing in the community.’

Harry urged him on. ‘Yes, I understand all that. But what exactly does the tallyman do ?’

The face blushed pink. ‘Oh, dearie me! I’ve been wandering again. So sorry! It’s a bad habit of mine. Anyway, what were we saying …? Oh yes.’

He went on hurriedly, ‘We currently employ seven salespeople, three of whom are permanently based in the store. The remaining four salesmen are what I call “mobile”, in that they also carry out the responsibilities of the tallyman.’

Taking a deep invigorating breath, he elaborated, ‘A customer will come into the store and browse though our range of furniture and fittings, whereupon one of our salesmen, be it a dedicated floor person, or a tallyman, will then approach and assist, and when the customer makes a purchase, the paperwork is carried out in the usual way. From there, it depends on whether the client pays in full, or whether they prefer to pay in instalments, and we have numerous customers who do exactly that.’