Читать книгу An Orphan’s Courage - Cathy Sharp, Cathy Sharp - Страница 12

Andy saw the man he most wanted to avoid hanging round the school gates and hung back, feeling panic as his eyes moved from side to side, wondering how he could avoid passing his step-father.

‘You three …’ Mr Barton, the sports teacher, appeared from nowhere, blocking their path. ‘I want volunteers for sorting out the cricket and rounders stuff for Saturday morning. If you all give a hand it won’t take more than twenty minutes.’

‘I’ve got to meet my mum,’ Sandy Jones said. ‘We’re goin’ ter get some new boots and this is the only time she can go after work.’

‘Off you go then,’ Mr Barton said. ‘What about the rest of you? I’ll run you back to St Saviour’s afterwards so you’re not late.’

‘Yes, sir,’ both Andy and Keith Roberts, the other lad the master had cornered, agreed with alacrity. The promise of a ride in his old but beautiful sports car would have made them agree to almost anything.

For Andy it was a reprieve. His step-father would give up and go home long before he was finished helping the sports master and since they would be leaving by the back entrance, the Beast wouldn’t know he was here. He just hoped he hadn’t spotted him amongst the crowd of boys and girls in the school playground.

‘Come on then,’ Mr Barton said and smiled in his genial way. ‘It’s a chore but we have to pack the gear up ready to take on the coach with us. You’re in the rounders team, aren’t you, Roberts’

‘Yes, sir,’ Keith said and looked pleased. ‘Andy is real good at catching balls, sir. You ought to put him in the team too …’

The master’s dark intelligent eyes centred on Andy’s face. ‘Would you like to join either the cricket or the rounders team?’

‘Yes, sir. Keith is a mate of mine and I’d like to play with him.’

‘In that case we’ll take you with us on Saturday,’ the master said, leading the way into the gym where piles of equipment were waiting to be sorted and packed into canvas bags to make it easier to carry and stow on the bus that was to take them to the fixture with a rival school that weekend.

Keith grinned at him and gave him a little poke in the ribs as they followed Mr Barton’s instructions. They soon had all the sports gear stacked and ready to be loaded the next morning. Mr Barton was in good form, cracking jokes and getting stuck into the task himself, looking pleased when they had it done in double quick time.

‘Thanks, lads,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful for the help. I’ll run you both home now and don’t forget to be bright and early on Saturday morning.’

They thanked him, following eagerly to the red Morgan that was parked at the rear of the school, scrambling into the passenger seat, squeezing up together. Their teacher gave them a nod of approval and shot off at speed, making them both crow with delight as the car gave a throaty roar and its wheels crunched on gravel.

‘Wow! I want a car like this when I’m old enough to drive,’ Keith cried excitedly.

Andy didn’t say anything, but he felt as if he’d reached the gates of heaven and suddenly the world was a golden place. He’d been glad to stay behind because he hadn’t wanted his step-father to see him, but now he felt on fire with a new longing. He knew that it wasn’t likely a boy like him would ever own a car like this, but he wanted to drive it – and other cars like it. He decided that he would learn to drive as soon as he was old enough and he would find some kind of work that involved cars for a living.

They stopped outside the home and Mr Barton turned to look at them as both boys thanked him for the ride. He grinned and nodded, lifting a hand as he drove away.

‘That was fantastic,’ Keith said. ‘I’ve always wanted a ride in his car.’

‘I hadn’t thought it about it much,’ Andy replied, ‘but it was great. I’d like to drive cars like that for a living …’

‘Who wouldn’t,’ Keith said and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘You’d need to be good to be a racing driver. Come on, I’ll beat you in to tea …’

Jinny stood behind the counter as the children walked in for their meal. She saw the group of three, two of whom who had criticised the selection at supper on her first evening and waited for some comment as she saw their faces and the look of surprise. Nancy had spent two hours that afternoon showing Jinny how to make almond biscuits and a Victoria sponge cake. They’d also made gooseberry crumble with custard and there were some squeals of excitement as the kids grabbed for the fresh crispy biscuits and a crumble that looked and smelled gorgeous. Jinny was proud of what they’d managed to produce on Mrs Davies’ afternoon off, even though she’d only helped and Nancy was the one responsible for all the lovely food.

‘Cor, this is better,’ the lad Jinny knew was named Tom said and grinned at her. ‘This is Nancy’s cooking. She always makes lovely things …’

Jinny smiled and agreed, forbearing to tell him that she’d suggested the biscuits and the crumble. It had been just a suggestion; Nancy was the one who had created the little miracle, but Jinny had made some rock cakes herself and she was gratified to see they didn’t last long as eager hands reached out for them. Tom ignored them in favour of the crumble and some biscuits as well as the tomato sandwiches Nancy had asked her to make.

‘We have to give them some fresh fruit and vegetables, and tomatoes are the one thing most of them like, as long as it’s in a sandwich with a little salt, pepper and vinegar. I slice them and season them on a plate first. Don’t make the mistake of sprinkling vinegar on the tomatoes once they’re on bread …’ Nancy warned.

Tom took a bite of his sandwich as he moved away, stopped, turned back and took another quickly before they all went. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Did you make them?’

‘Nancy showed me how.’

‘Thought so,’ he mumbled, his mouth full of sandwich. ‘You’re all right, new girl …’

Jinny smiled, because Tom wasn’t easy to please. Nancy came up to her as the tables filled and children and staff took their places.

‘Doesn’t look as if we’ll have much waste tonight,’ she said, her glance passing along the table. ‘I’ll have the last of those sandwiches if no one else wants it – and one of those rock cakes. They look good … yes, lovely.’ She smiled as she bit into it. ‘Nan used to make these when I was about your age. She was the head carer here nine years ago and she helped me so much …’

Jinny felt pleased because one or two children were coming back for seconds and there wasn’t much left. She was just about to take the last rock cake for herself when Tom came up and snatched it from under her nose.

‘Jax says these are great,’ he said. ‘Just like my mum used to make before she died …’

‘Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry,’ Jinny said, feeling a wave of sympathy for the lad she’d thought was always complaining. ‘I miss my dad too …’

He glared at her and walked off, seeming angry that she’d dared to offer him sympathy. She bit her lip, because she’d wanted to please and believed she had – and now he’d gone cold on her.

Jinny started collecting empty plates and taking them through to the kitchen. She was determined to wash everything before she left that evening, even though she wanted to pop over and see Nellie, who would want to know how she was getting on with her new job …

‘Do we ’ave ter do this tonight?’

Elsa’s sulky tones broke into Jinny’s thoughts and she turned to look at the young woman who had spoken. Elsa was nineteen, older than Jinny, but sometimes she acted like a spoiled brat, making faces behind Mrs Davies’ back when she asked them to do something difficult or time-consuming. In fact, Jinny thought the other woman spent most of her time watching the clock until it was time to go home.

‘You know it can’t be left overnight. Besides, we can get this lot done easily if we put our minds to it,’ Jinny said. ‘I’ll wash and you can wipe. Put everything on the table and I’ll stack it later.’

‘They won’t appreciate yer any more if yer stay late every night,’ Elsa said but picked up a tea towel and began to wipe the dishes with obvious reluctance. ‘You’re just a skivvy to them upstairs and don’t yer forget it …’

Jinny looked at her in amazement, because she’d met with nothing but kindness from everyone who had employed her. ‘I’m glad to have a job and somewhere to live,’ she said. ‘It isn’t too much to ask that I do my work properly, is it?’

Elsa sniffed but said no more. Aware that sulking wasn’t going to do her any good, she started talking about her current boyfriend who was taking her to the dance at the social hall that weekend.

‘Why don’t yer come?’ she said suddenly. ‘It’s a bit of fun and we get little enough workin’ ’ere …’

‘I can’t dance,’ Jinny replied, but felt sad that she had no one to take her. ‘Besides, I don’t have a partner.’

‘Yer can soon pick up a chap,’ Elsa said. ‘Yer look all right and we all muck in tergevver anyway …’

‘No, I don’t think so, thanks anyway,’ Jinny said. She didn’t want to play gooseberry with Elsa and her boyfriend, and the thought of picking up a stranger sent chills down her spine. She might end up with someone like Jake walking her home!

Nellie gave her a beaming smile as she told her how the kids had enjoyed the rock cakes she’d taught Jinny to make. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said. ‘They ain’t special, just plain home cooking. I should’ve thought that fancy cook of theirs could produce better stuff than my rock cakes …’

‘She’s all right cooking dinners and making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, but she doesn’t like making cakes and biscuits or puddings for the kids’ tea and supper. She says they only need a biscuit at supper and thinks out of a packet is good enough …’

‘It’s more’n a lot of kids get,’ Nellie said with a sniff. ‘I reckon them kids wot complained were ’avin’ yer on, love.’

Jinny considered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, Nancy told me the last cook used to make everything herself. She thought it was cheaper and better for them – you can get them to eat fruit if you put it in pies and crumbles …’

‘We ’ad to make do with bread and scrape in my young days,’ Nellie said, ‘and durin’ the war we ’ad wot we could get …’

‘I remember everythin’ bein’ short,’ Jinny agreed. ‘But because we had to make do with less then doesn’t mean kids should go short now, does it?’

‘No, it don’t,’ Nellie agreed with a laugh. ‘I reckon them kids of yourn will be spoiled rotten if you ’ave anythin’ ter do wiv it …’

‘Oh, Nellie, you know you don’t mean that,’ Jinny said and laughed delightedly, because she could see the twinkle in her friend’s eye. ‘They’ve been through so much some of them. Sandra – she’s Sister Beatrice’s secretary and helps her with lots of things – well, she was telling me about children who’ve been brought to us … from parents who abuse them and beat them, orphans who’ve been on the streets until they were found and brought to us … and kids who’ve run away from other homes. Sandra told me that some places they treat the kids somethin’ awful …’

‘I’ve heard about places like that,’ Nellie agreed with a dark look. ‘It’s disgusting if yer ask me – the councils that run ’em should take more care when they pick their workers. And they ought to inspect ’em an’ all …’

‘St Saviour’s is run by a charity and they’ve got another home in Essex – on the outskirts of Harlow – so Sandra said. Her son was sent there when she was in trouble and he ran away. Archie says it isn’t anywhere near as nice as St Saviour’s. He doesn’t live at the home now but he works on the market and visits his mum sometimes and comes to the kitchen afterwards for a chat …’