Free The Glory Girls by June Gadsby

flew.’
    ‘Yes, well, those Donaldsons aren’t made to break.’
    ‘You know her?’
    ‘Not exactly,’ Iris put her hands under her armpits for warmth and hugged herself tightly, her breath coming out in a great cloud and meeting the same from Mary’s open mouth. ‘The family’s well known around here. They’re from Elliot Street and you can’t get anything rougher, but they run a good funeral service. Four lads and one girl, though I hear tell she’s as bad as any of her brothers. Effie, she’s called, mainly on account of her swearing.’
    Mary stifled a giggle, and then they were both laughing and were glad there were other passengers to hide them from the object of theirhumour. However, Mary did catch the girl staring at them with a malignant eye when she gave a swift glance over her shoulder.
    ‘She’s not the friendliest character in the world, is she? I didn’t even get a thank-you for hauling her on board.’
    ‘No, well, I suppose she’s more used to dealing with corpses.’
    ‘That’s not my idea of fun.’ Mary said with a shudder, recalling the strange almost almond smell of the embalming fluid that pervaded everything after they had had her grandfather laid out.
    ‘The mother died or scarpered years ago,’ Iris muttered out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Effie’s the youngest, but they say she’s held the family together one way or another. Mam says she’s a right little scrubber and no mistake, but she won’t stand for any nonsense from anybody.’
    ‘Well, she has to be admired.’
    ‘Yes, maybe, but she’s got a right reputation. You just have to look at her the wrong way and she’s on you like a ton of bricks.’ Iris grabbed Mary as she was about to give Effie another look. ‘No, don’t look round or she’ll think we’re talking about her.’
    ‘Oh, Iris, you are funny.’
    ‘I don’t mess with any of the Donaldsons,’ Iris told her. ‘Effie in particular . Come on, it’s our stop next.’
    They staggered to the exit as the tram pulled in and stopped. There were a few people to get off and Iris pushed her way past them, dragging Mary with her. As fast as they could go on the frosted ground they hurried to the War Pensions Office.
    It was a plain, redbrick building with nothing to recommend it as a site worthy of note. Inside it was even plainer, with its starkly blank walls painted cream over heavily embossed Lincrusta wallpaper. It might have been considered fashionable, but to Mary it looked rather as though they’d decorated the place with rice-pudding.
    ‘In there,’ Iris said, giving Mary a shove towards a door marked ‘Chief Clerk’. ‘Mr Hornby’s expecting you. I’ll pop back and see how you’ve got on in about half an hour.’
    Iris entered another room where there was a buzz of female voices, the sound of a typewriter clacking and the buzz of a switchboard. Already, there was a short queue of customers lining up in reception, waiting for the service window to be opened to them.
    Taking a deep breath, Mary knocked on Mr Hornby’s door and heard the summons to enter. The man sitting at the large desk in the centre of the room looked harassed, even though it was barely nine o’clock. He had fat, florid cheeks and peered at her through thick-lensed glasses thatsat on a fleshy nose, which resembled a piece of bread-dough.
    ‘Mr Hornby? I’m Mary West,’ Mary introduced herself.
    He glanced down at his diary, stabbed a finger on the top name of a long list of names and blinked up at her. ‘Ah, yes. Come in, Miss West. Sit down, sit down … and tell me all about yourself, eh?’
    Fifteen minutes later, the interview was over and Mr Hornby was accompanying Mary to the door, congratulating her on obtaining the position of junior pensions clerk and shaking her hand vigorously. As she thanked him again and started to walk in the direction of the reception office, she almost bumped into someone hovering just outside the door.
    ‘That effin’ does