Fourteen of the paper-backed novels on the following Friday night fetched one and six at the stall in Duke Street. Florrie’s tram fare both ways, fourpence. Net receipts, one and twopence....
An unexpected bill came in, £1 10s. 0d. for coal.
When Catherine went to the bank to draw five pounds (by means of a cheque made payable to herself) the clerk said: “By the way, miss, your cheque account is getting low.... Excuse me mentioning it, but we prefer you not to let it get too low.... Say fifty pounds ... of course, for a while ... but as soon as you can conveniently ... you’ll excuse me mentioning it....”
Catherine replied: “Of course, I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll put some more in shortly. Thanks for letting me know.”
But it sent her into a fever of anxiety.
How was she to get any money to put in?
One afternoon she was strolling about the garden when, approaching the kitchen window, she heard voices. It was Florrie talking to Minnie Walker, the barmaid at the High Wood Hotel. Catherine did not like Minnie Walker coming to see Florrie so often, particularly when they drank beer in the kitchen together. She listened to see whether Minnie had come to deliver any particular message or merely to have a drink and a chat and to waste Florrie’s time. If the latter, Catherine meant to interfere and tell Minnie to go.
The conversation she overheard was as follows:
MINNIE. I s’pouse the food ain’t so good now the nurse ’as gone. She wasn’t arf a beauty, eh?
FLORRIE. She knew ’ow ter set a tible, anyway. Chicken every night, I uster git. She had the breast, an’ uster leave me the legs. But the old girl don’t do that now. Can’t afford to. Fact is, the nurse run up some pretty big bills for ’er. She can’t py ’em all, I don’t think.