The Serial: The Green Years, Day 16

Chrissie was conscious that her friend seemed to be drifting away from her again into a new world where she didn’t fit in

Just then, Betty Morrison came to their table. She leaned into Maisie’s face. “Hutchie wants to see you,” she said, her face wearing an unbecoming scowl. Maisie felt her blood run cold. Mrs Hutchieson was the supervisor and if she wanted to see Maisie, it could mean only one thing. Betty Morrison had been stirring it. “Do you think Betty Morrison has been saying something about our smoke breaks in the toilets?” Chrissie asked.

Maisie considered this. “Then, she’d want to see both of us, wouldn’t she?” Maisie stood up, leaving all thoughts of badminton behind her and headed back to her workplace and Mrs Hutchieson’s wrath.

If she was going to be fired, the quicker she got it over with, the better. “You wanted to see me, Mrs Hutchieson?”

“Maisie,” smiled the supervisor. “Sit down, won’t you.” Maisie sat. If this was how you were told you were sacked, it wasn’t what she’d imagined it would be like. Disbelief “You’re 17 years old in a couple of weeks, I believe?” Mrs Hutchieson asked. Maisie nodded. “And you do know that Ella Smart’s going to be leaving us soon to have her first bairn?”

Maisie nodded again. Ella Smart was the bonus checker for the department but what her pregnancy had to do with Maisie, she just couldn’t imagine!

Mrs Hutchieson pulled up her chair alongside Maisie. “I’ve been watching you for a while now,” she said, “and I like what I see. You’re never late, always clean and tidy and you always get your table cleared of boxes by the end of your shift.”

“Thank you,” said Maisie, wondering where all this cosy conversation was leading. As if she’d read Maisie’s thoughts, Mrs Hutchieson continued: “I know well that you’re young,” she said, “but by the time Ella leaves us at Christmas, you’ll be 17, which is quite old enough to become our new bonus checker.”

Maisie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But, what about Betty Morrison?” she said quickly. “She’s a year older.”

Mrs Hutchieson stopped her from going any further. “I considered Betty for the job, but I think she’s more suited to the packing and I’ve told her so.”

“Now,” Mrs Hutchieson said decisively. “What do you say, would you like to be our next bonus checker?”

Maisie gulped. “If you say I can do it,” she said, “then I’d like nothing better.”

“Good,” said the supervisor, “then that’s settled. I’ll see Mr Pratt this afternoon and get things moving.” She extended her hand and Maisie carefully extended hers in return.

“Welcome to the staff,” Mrs Hutchieson said, warmly. “Of course, there’ll be a bigger wage packet for you as well.”

Maisie almost floated back to her work table as Chrissie and the rest of the packers came back from their tea break. She tried to indicate to Chrissie that she wasn’t going to be sacked, but all would be explained at dinner time.

Maisie couldn’t wait to break the news to Chrissie. It seemed the more she helped herself, the more help came from all around her. And to be on Keiller’s staff at 17 years old was a massive achievement in itself. Stunned She looked over at Betty Morrison but all she could see was the top of her cap-covered head. Maisie smiled to herself. She was going places but Betty Morrison was going to remain a chocolate packer.

Chrissie was stunned at Maisie’s news. “When do you start?” she asked, a bit awestruck by her friend’s good fortune.

“Soon,” Maisie said. “Sometime before Christmas. Ella’s going to show me the ropes before she goes.”

“Are you no’ scared Maisie?” Chrissie asked. “What’s to be scared of?” came the reply. “Getting it wrong?”

“The only thing I get wrong, is picking the wrong men!” she exclaimed. “This is work and work I can handle.”

She sat back and listened to the buzz around her in the canteen. Were they speaking about her, she wondered, and her promotion over Betty Morrison.

She had almost forgotten about the badminton plan until Chrissie reminded her. “Are you still wanting to go tomorrow?” she asked Maisie, conscious that her friend seemed to be drifting away from her again into a new world where she didn’t fit in.

Maisie refocused her attention. “I do,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve nothing sporty to wear.”

“Neither have I,” said Chrissie. “Let’s just go and see what’s needed once we’re there.”

Maisie was in such a good mood, she readily agreed. Maybe her mum would have some ideas about what to wear, especially when she told her about her promotion and the resulting extra money she’d be bringing in soon.

Chrissie ate her pie and cake, while Maisie sipped her tea. The hairdo had left her “skint” until next pay day but it was all going to be worth it, she was now more sure of that than ever.

As soon as she got home, she headed straight for the bread bin and made herself a jam sandwich.

“Hey,” called out her mother, laughing. “Leave room for your tea.”

Maisie scoffed the sandwich in seconds. “I’ve something to tell you,” she said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. Mrs Green looked over the rim of her glasses at her daughter. “It’d better be good,” she said, “making all this fuss.”

“I’m going be the new bonus checker at Keiller’s,” she stated proudly. “What do you think of that?” Enthusiasm Maisie’s enthusiasm was catching. “I’m thinking you’re a clever wee lassie, Maisie Green. Well done,” she said a smile adding a few more lines to her face.

“And,” Maisie continued, “the best bit is there’s more money in it.” Maisie’s mother almost cried. She’d been desperately thinking of ways to make ends meet for weeks now, as her husband’s bad back showed no sign of easing enough for him to return to work and now here was Maisie, coming to the rescue.

“When do you start?” her mother asked. “In a couple of weeks, I think, once I’ve turned 17.”

Her mother silently thanked God. Her prayers had been answered. Thanks to her daughter bringing in extra money, Christmas wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Maisie delved into the bread bin again. “Can I have another one until the tea’s ready?” she asked, laying the slice of bread on the table and waving the knife over the margarine.

How could she refuse her anything? “And when you’ve finished your jammy piece, go through and tell your dad the good news, while I make your tea.”

That night, everything in the Green’s household beamed – Maisie’s mum and dad, Maisie herself and even the furniture seemed to glow with hope for the future. Maisie was on her way and nothing was now going to stop her. More tomorrow.

Sandra Savage