A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (18 page)

On Saturday 19 May the weather was at its best, with not a cloud in the sky; a perfect day for getting married. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, dressed in a light-grey suit and white shirt and tie, I was proud of myself, and really proud that I was getting married to Gina. I did, however, feel a certain emptiness, as if something was missing, which of course it was – Mum. She should have been there to share in my happiness. If only she could have met Gina, she would have adored and loved her as much as I did. Taking comfort from looking up at the blue sky, I remembered her words and how she said she would be looking down on me – and I knew she was.

My thoughts were interrupted by Barry, my best man, calling up the stairs to tell me the hire car had arrived. A short while later, pulling up at the church, I noticed a group of women standing by the entrance. Not recognizing any of the faces at first, I thought they must be ‘left-overs’ from the previous wedding, but as Barry and I got closer they started calling out, ‘Good luck, Jeff!’ and ‘All the very best!’ Some of our regular customers from the markets had come to wish us luck, some of them from quite far away, and that made us feel even more special.

The small church was full. I saw a lot of familiar faces from my side, while Gina seemed to have an even larger gathering of friends and family, many of whom I had yet to meet. As I sat in silence, nervously waiting in the front pew, Barry broke the silence. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ he asked. ‘Or should we just quietly leave, go and buy an old banger of a van and spend the next six months driving around Europe?’ His comment broke the tension, and we both burst out laughing, making the vicar peer disapprovingly over the top of his glasses.

As our laughter faded away, the organ started up. Standing in front of the altar, I found the temptation to look over my shoulder too great to resist. Turning slightly, I watched as Gina walked slowly up the aisle towards me, a vision of loveliness in her wedding gown. I felt a lump forming in my throat as I glimpsed a sight of her face through her long veil. Her beauty was hard to miss. Close behind Gina were her three bridesmaids: her sister Susan, her best friend Wendy, and my baby sister, June. The rest of the day passed in a blur. One of the most important days in my life, but definitely the fastest!

We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, or the time off work, for that matter, but living in our new home as man and wife was special in itself. Like all young couples committed to sharing a future together, we had dreams of one day having children and enjoying the happiness that a family could bring. I had always had a burning ambition to better myself and now, with the prospect of a family of my own to provide for, it was even stronger. Being a loving husband and a caring father was very important to me. I had no intention of letting Gina experience the kind of life my mother had had. Nor did I want my children to grow up with an absent father. I was determined to ensure that my family was protected and brought up in a loving and happy environment.

We were doing very well on the markets, but I thought we could do even better. I didn’t want Gina having to get up at four o’clock on freezing-cold mornings for the rest of her life. I wanted to make her life easier, and also to expand my business. The best way to achieve this, I felt, was to open a shop. So the next six months, in whatever spare time we had, we spent looking for and planning the perfect premises.

Every month we’d spend a day in Liverpool city centre, visiting the larger stores, studying their stock and their prices. We had to do our homework so we could be one step ahead of the competition. One day, we noticed a fairly small shop on Church Street, pretty close to some of the larger high-street stores. Not only was it empty, but there was a large board saying it was available to rent and giving the agents’ contact details. Fired by my determination to fulfil my ambitions, I made enquiries and discovered they wanted £15,000 for the lease. It seemed like a good opportunity. Gina and I talked about it over the next few days, and we finally decided to see if we could acquire the shop. Apart from needing to raise the money, I found my enthusiasm dampened by my lack of education and poor literacy skills.

I had to force myself to swallow my fear of being found out and ask for help from some ‘educated’ people. The three people I approached were my bank manager, my accountant and my solicitor. They were the only ones I could rely on for advice.

I set up appointments with all three for the following day, and set off, my heart in my mouth. By the end of the day, and after earfuls of advice, I was so depressed I felt like jumping into the River Mersey! Any dreams I had had been destroyed in a matter of hours by my three wise men. In short, I was told, ‘Forget it.’

That evening, Gina and I had been invited to dinner at her parents’ house. As we sat around the table, Gina, Bob and Brenda were all eager to hear my news. I spent the next hour or so explaining how disappointed I had been with the advice I had received. My bank manager had lectured me on the perils of the high street and said that, although I was a good market trader, this alone would not be enough for me to take on the big boys such as Marks & Spencer and C&A Modes. On that basis, he was refusing to lend me any money. My accountant had been more sympathetic but felt we did not have enough retail experience to take on a shop. In his opinion, we were being too ambitious and should simply continue with the market business.

My final appointment was with Alan Espley, my solicitor, who had helped us buy our house. Alan had explained in great detail the numerous pitfalls regarding a lease, how once you signed one, it was your responsibility. In essence, he said, if my idea for a boutique failed, I would still have to pay the rent. Like the others, he told me to stick to what we knew best – market trading.

When I had finished telling them all this, Bob wanted to know how I felt – what my thoughts were, now that I had received the professional advice. I told him I felt that they were wrong and that, in my heart, I believed that I could do it. ‘I know we can compete with the big boys,’ I said. ‘Every day, our stalls are busier than all the rest – Gina and I have a gift!’ With that, he rose and went over to the mantelpiece. He picked up a large envelope that was propped up behind the clock and placed it in the middle of the dining table.

‘This envelope,’ he said solemnly, ‘contains the deeds to our house.’ Gina and I sat in silence, looking at him. ‘We’ve just finished paying off our mortgage after twenty-five years,’ he went on, ‘and have all the faith in the world in you two; that you and Gina can make it work.’ He then passed me the envelope and told me to take it to my bank manager the following day to use as security against a loan. Words failed me. I looked at Gina, wondering if she was going to say anything but, like me, she was silent.

‘Enough of the misery.’ Brenda broke the silence. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea to celebrate.’

I took Bob and Brenda up on their exceptionally generous offer and, as a result, Gina and I were soon the proud owners of our first shop premises, on Church Street, Liverpool. On the day I went to pick up the keys, my solicitor mentioned something that took the wind out of my sails. He told me that Harold Bagenski, the previous owner of the shop, had said that I would only last twelve months. Apparently, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. If he couldn’t make it work despite many years’ experience in the menswear business, then there was no way that I was going to succeed specializing in fashion for teenage girls! I felt doomed before I had even got going. But putting the miserable thoughts to the back of my mind, Bob, Gina and I got stuck in to doing the shop up.

The shop was named after a song by Dave Edmunds, ‘Girls Talk’. And once we had purchased the new stock and recruited four staff we were ready for business. On Saturday 26 April 1980, we opened the doors to the public. I had set up my stall very early that morning at Paddy’s Market. Bob and my sister June were going to run it while Gina and I focused on Girls Talk.

By noon I was getting worried. The place was empty. We had not sold a thing. I found this hard to accept, because we were offering the same stock at the same price as we had on our stall in the market. As I paced up and down, all I could think was that I had set my sights too high. My father-in-law’s house deeds! All the advice I had ignored! There was so much riding on the shop’s success.

Gina knew I was worried by the shop’s first day’s trading so, as we settled down later at home, she decided to cheer me up with some good news. It was news which I had been waiting for, for some time. She was expecting our first child. Now our dreams had come true: the new member of our family was expected to join us in November. Everything was happening so fast.

The shop had only been open for a week when the strangest thing happened. I was upstairs sorting out some stock, whilst Gina had gone to the doctor’s for a check-up. I was interrupted by one of the sales girls coming to tell me that there was a woman in the shop wanting to talk to me. Apparently, she had a message from my mother. I looked at her in disbelief. ‘What do you mean? My mother has been dead for over three years.’

The sales girl shrugged her shoulders and replied that she was only passing the message on.

I headed downstairs but stopped halfway, when I spotted a petite blond woman standing in the middle of the shop with her back to me. The sight of her and her uncanny resemblance to my mother made me panic, so I immediately turned and ran back upstairs as quickly as I could. I stayed there for about fifteen minutes, not sure what I should do, trying to calm my breathing and a sense of irrational fear. Finally, I plucked up the courage to return to the shop floor, only to find that there was no sign of the woman. ‘Where is she?’ I asked the sales girl.

‘Oh, she’s gone,’ she replied. ‘But she did leave a message. She told me to tell you that your mother said not to worry and that everything will be all right.’ When Gina returned from the doctor’s, I told her about my visitor. She was intrigued and asked me why I hadn’t spoken to the woman. She was right: all these years later, I still regret not having spoken to her. But I am also positive that my eyes were not deceiving me.

We soon got into a routine. I worked the four best market days and then helped Gina on the two remaining days at Girls Talk. The market stalls continued to be very busy, but the shop was almost too quiet for comfort. I suspected this was because no one knew we were there.

Except for Mr B, that is. He came in the day after the lady who had delivered the message from my mother. Once again, one of the sales staff came to tell me that I had a visitor, this time a man who wanted to speak to the new owner. He was standing at the shop entrance, a tall, well-groomed man wearing a long black overcoat and black leather gloves, which on a warm sunny day made him seem very odd.

‘Hello, can I help?’ I asked.

‘If you’re the owner, you can,’ he answered in a rasping voice.

‘I
am
the owner,’ I replied.

‘Good, then I will call every Friday at the same time, four o’clock. You got that?’ He looked at me sternly, almost daring me to say no. I just looked at him blankly; he had to be some kind of nutcase. ‘When I call, I want you to have an envelope with £200 cash inside. Do you understand?’

I was no clearer now than when he had arrived. ‘Why would I do that?’ I asked, confusion written plainly across my face.

‘Don’t be funny with me, kid, or you’ll regret it. You’re on my patch, and that’s the way it works.’ I could see he was getting angry.

‘What happens if I don’t?’ I didn’t want to ask, but I needed to know.

‘I’ll torch the place.’

‘What do you mean, torch it?’ I was still lost.

‘I’ll burn the place down!’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ I asked. He
had
to be mad. But I knew it wasn’t a good idea to upset him.

‘Because that’s what happens if you don’t pay, you idiot. See you next week.’ And with that final comment, he turned and left.

I was shocked and did not know which way to turn. That night, on my way home, I stopped at my gym on the north side of the city to do my regular workout. One of my mates was lying on the bench pressing weights while I lifted them on and off for him. While I was telling him about my strange visitor at the shop and the demands he had made, the owner of the gym appeared and asked me to come into his office. He must have overheard me, because when I followed him in he told me to close the door – he had something he needed to discuss.

Johnny was in his sixties. Built like an ox, he was one of the fittest and strongest men I had ever met. I had been going to his gym for two years and got on well with him. We had sparred and worked out together, and he seemed to like me. After I had finished telling him what had happened, he said he knew Mr B and said that he too would be at my shop at four o’clock on the Friday. I told him I didn’t want any trouble and felt sure that I could sort things out myself. Looking at me from across his desk, he quietly assured me that there wouldn’t be any trouble, but that I would not be able to sort things out on my own.

The following Friday, Johnny arrived at the shop at about 3.30, as he’d said he would. I made him a cup of tea and we sat chatting in the staff room. At four o’clock on the dot the intercom sounded: ‘Jeff, Mr B is here to see you.’

Getting to his feet, Johnny told me to stay close and to leave all the talking to him. Mr B was by the door, dressed in the same black clothes as before but looking even more menacing.

‘Hello, Johnny.’ Mr B seemed to know my companion.

‘Hello, Tony.’ Johnny returned his greeting. These two were obviously men of few words. ‘Tony, I am going to ask you to do me a favour.’ Johnny got straight to the point.

‘What’s that?’ Mr B asked.

Nodding his head in my direction Johnny said, ‘This lad is family. I want you to leave him alone.’

‘Can’t do that, you know that. He’s on my patch. You know how it works: I look after the south side and your family look after the north.’

Johnny seemed to be ignoring him, his quiet voice making it difficult for Mr B to argue. ‘I’m asking you to do me a favour on this one occasion. Just leave this lad out.’