Читать книгу The Orphans of Halfpenny Street - Cathy Sharp, Cathy Sharp - Страница 6

‘Mary Ellen, I need you,’ her mother’s voice called from the front door of their terraced house as she approached. ‘Hurry up, love …’

Mary Ellen sighed and walked faster. She’d been all the way to the busy market in the heart of Spitalfields and her basket was heavy with the items her mother had asked her to bring. There was a ham bone, which would be made into soup with some turnips, potatoes, pearl barley and carrots, all of which she’d bought from the market, because they were cheaper, and her arm ached from carrying them.

She hoped Ma wasn’t going to send her anywhere else until she’d had a drink of water, because it was hot and sticky and she was feeling tired after her long walk. She’d been up at six that morning to wash the kitchen floor and the sink, before going to school for a few hours. After returning home for lunch, Ma had sent her shopping because it was only sports and games in the afternoon, and Ma said she didn’t need to bother with them, though Mary Ellen knew her teacher would give her a black mark next time she attended school; but that might not be for a few days, because Ma had been coughing all night. Mary Ellen had seen spots of blood on her nightgown when she’d taken her a cup of tea before she left for school that morning.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ her ma said as she reached the door. ‘You’ll have to go back out for my medicine. I’ve got none for tonight and I can’t seem to stop this …’ She couldn’t finish her sentence because the coughing fit seized her and she sounded terrible. Her body bent double with the pain and her face went an awful pasty white. Mary Ellen could see bright red spots on the handkerchief that Ma held to her lips, and her heart caught with fear. ‘Mary Ellen …’

Ma gave a strange little cry and then sort of crumpled up in a heap at Mary Ellen’s feet. She bent over her, trying to make her open her eyes, but her mother wasn’t responding.

‘Don’t be ill, Ma,’ she said, tears welling up. She didn’t know what to do and she’d been living alone with her mother since her big sister Rose went off to train as a nurse. ‘Please … wake up, Ma …’

Mary Ellen was conscious of the slightly grubby lace curtains twitching at the neighbouring house, then the door opened and Mrs Prentice came out and looked at her for a moment before asking, ‘What’s up wiv yer ma, Mary Ellen?’

‘She’s not well,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘She told me to go for her medicine but then she just fell down.’

‘I expect she fainted,’ the neighbour said. ‘I reckon your ma has been proper poorly. Your Rose should be ashamed of herself. You not even nine yet and ‘er goin’ orf and leavin’ her to cope on her own … and you with no pa.’

‘Pa died before we moved here,’ Mary Ellen said defensively, because she knew some of her neighbours thought she’d never had a father. Her tears began to spring in her eyes once more. ‘Ma’s never been well since …’

‘We’d best get someone to go fer the doctor, and I’ll tell my husband to go round and fetch your Rose when he comes home …’ Mrs Prentice went into her house and shouted and a lad of about thirteen came out and stared at them. His trousers were too big and falling off him and his boots had holes in the toes, but he smiled at Mary Ellen.

‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

Mary Ellen’s mother was stirring. Mrs Prentice signalled to her son and between them they helped Ma to her feet. She stood swaying for a moment, seeming bewildered, and then straightened up.

‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Lil. It’s just the heat.’

‘Not from what I’ve seen,’ Mrs Prentice said. ‘Get orf and fetch the doctor to her, Rip, and then yer can cut orf down the Docks and tell yer father to fetch Rose O’Hanran back tonight.’

‘No, you mustn’t,’ Ma protested faintly. ‘Rose is busy; she hasn’t got time … and I can’t afford the doctor …’

‘Likely he won’t charge yer, as long as it’s all goin’ ter be free soon, that’s what the papers say anyway, though I’ll believe it when I bleedin’ see it,’ Mrs Prentice said. ‘Go on in, Mary Ellen, and make yer ma a cup of tea. I’ll bring her in and settle her down and then you can go and fetch that medicine.’

Mary Ellen nodded. The last thing she wanted was another walk to the High Street, but she had to go, because Ma needed it.

‘Ma, you’re ill.’ Rose’s voice was sharp and the sound of it sent a tingle down Mary Ellen’s spine as she sat on the bottom stair behind the half-opened door into the kitchen, listening to her mother and sister. She was supposed to be in bed. ‘You’ve got to see the doctor. You can’t go on like this – and you know I can’t come home and look after you. I’m taking my final exams next week and if I miss them I’ll have to do at least another term and perhaps an extra year.’

‘I don’t expect you to come home,’ Ma said, sounding weary and defeated to Mary Ellen’s ears. ‘I saw the doctor weeks ago, Rose. He did some tests and it seems I have consumption. According to Dr Marlow I’ll have to go to an isolation hospital in Norfolk, by the sea – and what is going to happen to Mary Ellen then?’

Mary Ellen stiffened. No one knew better than her how tired Ma was; she’d been neglecting all the things she’d once taken pride in and that included looking after her younger daughter. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t care; Mary Ellen knew she was loved, but Ma couldn’t raise the energy to fetch in the bath and see that her daughter was clean. Instead, she told her to wash in the sink and got cross if Mary Ellen’s clothes were dirty too soon. Instead of baking pies and cakes and making delicious stews, she gave Mary Ellen three pennies to fetch chips and mushy peas from the pie shop most days.

Mary Ellen was hungry all the time and Ma said there was no money to buy good food, because Pa’s employers had stopped paying the pension they’d given her. Mary Ellen didn’t understand why it had happened; she just knew that her mother could barely manage. Pa’s firm had said because of the accident Ma was entitled to a generous amount, but now it seemed they’d changed their minds and they’d cut it to just a pound a month. They’d offered her a job cleaning offices but Ma was too ill to work.

Mary Ellen thought Ma’s illness had got much worse in the past few weeks. At first it had been just a little cough, but now she coughed all the time and there were sometimes spots of blood on her mouth. Rose didn’t come home often so she didn’t see how tired Ma looked; she wasn’t the one who had to scrub the kitchen floor and wash their clothes in the copper in the scullery. Ma tried to help her with the mangle but she was so tired afterwards that she had to go to bed. It was Mary Ellen who had to peel vegetables when they did have a proper meal, and her mother just watched her as she put the pans on the stove and told her when the soup was ready.

She didn’t mind helping out, but because of her mother’s illness Mary Ellen had missed school three times this week and two the week before. If they weren’t careful the inspector would be knocking at their door and Ma would be in trouble.

‘Mary Ellen will have to go into a home,’ Rose said and the determination in her words sent chills through her sister. ‘I’ve got a couple of days off after I’ve taken my exams next week. I’ll come and arrange to take her in myself, to that place in Halfpenny Street – and you must agree to go away for that treatment.’

In the semi-darkness, Mary Ellen hugged herself, tears trickling down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be sent away; she wanted to be with her mother and look after her. Forgetting that she was supposed to be in bed, she jumped up and rushed into the kitchen, temper flaring.

‘I won’t go away and nor will Ma,’ she cried. ‘You’re mean, Rose O’Hanran. I hate you.’

‘Oh, Mary Ellen, love,’ her mother said. ‘You should be in bed. You don’t understand. Rose is only trying to help us. I can’t look after you properly … you would be better in St Saviour’s, if they’ll take you.’

‘I’ll go round and ask Father Joe if he thinks they’ll take her,’ Rose said. She looked at Mary Ellen in the yellowish light of the gas lamps and sighed. ‘Your hair could do with a wash, child. Come here, and I’ll do it before I go and see Father Joe.’

Grabbing Mary Ellen’s arm and ignoring her protests that she’d washed her own hair only two days previously her sister filled a jug with water from the kettle and added cold, then bent Mary Ellen’s head over the sink and poured the water, rubbing at her hair and scalp with the carbolic soap they used for everything.

‘Your neck is as black as ink …’

‘Liar! I washed it this week …’ Mary Ellen retorted.

‘Well, you didn’t make much of a job of it.’

‘I hate you, Rose.’

‘Stop quarrelling, the pair of you,’ Ma said wearily.

‘I shan’t come back when I’ve been to see Father Joe,’ Rose said as she rubbed at Mary Ellen’s head, her nails scratching as she bent to her task. She poured out the rest of the jug, washing away the soap and making Mary Ellen gasp because it was too cold and the soap stung her eyes. ‘I need to get some sleep and I’ve got to work on my revision every day. I don’t want to fail my exams after all the work I’ve put in …’

Mary Ellen’s eyes watered. She didn’t want Rose to come back home, because in that moment she hated her. Rose was selfish and mean and they didn’t need her, because Mary Ellen could look after her mother.

Rose was giving her hair a rough rub with the towel. Next, she took a comb and began to pull the teeth through the long hair, making Mary Ellen yell because it tangled and hurt her.

‘Don’t make such a fuss,’ Rose said crossly. ‘You’re not a baby.’

‘I can do it myself,’ Mary Ellen said. ‘You’re a brute and a bully, Rose. Just go back to nursing and leave us alone. I’ll look after Ma.’

Rose looked at her and her face softened a little. ‘You’re not old enough, love,’ she said in a kinder tone. ‘You’ve done your best, Mary Ellen, but you’re not nine yet and you need to go to school. Ma told me how you make her a cup of tea before you go and do as much of the work as you can when you get back – but you’re missing school and Ma will be in trouble if it continues. I’m sorry, but you will have to go into a home – just until Ma is better. You do want her to get better?’

‘Yes.’ Mary Ellen looked at her mother in alarm. ‘Ma … I don’t want to go to that place …’

‘I know you don’t, love. Come here.’ Her mother held out her arms. ‘I don’t want to go away either, but Rose is right. I am ill and if I stay I could make you ill too – so they will make me go soon even if I try to stay. You do as Rose says. Rose, give me that comb.’ She took it and began to smooth it through Mary Ellen’s hair without pulling anywhere near as much. ‘You get off, Rose. I’ll see the doctor tomorrow and make arrangements to go to that hospital … and you can ask at St Saviour’s if they’ll take our Mary Ellen …’

Mary Ellen’s throat was tight and painful, but she knew it was useless to resist. Ma’s illness was getting worse all the time and neither of them had enough food to eat. It was summer now but in the winter this damp old house would make Ma’s chest even worse.

Holding back her tears, she bowed her head, accepting defeat. ‘I’ll do what you want, Ma,’ she said.

‘There’s my good girl,’ her mother said and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll put some milk on and we’ll have a cup of the cocoa Rose brought us. It was good of her, wasn’t it?’

Mary Ellen nodded. ‘Yes, I like cocoa.’

‘You like ham too,’ Rose said and smiled at her. ‘When I come on my day off I’ll bring some ham and tomatoes. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

Ham was a rare treat these days, because even if you had the money it was hard to find in the shops, but the manager of Home and Colonial, the grocers where Rose had worked until she left to train as a nurse, had a soft spot for his former employee and he would find her a couple of slices.

‘Yes, I’ll like that,’ Mary Ellen agreed, but a slice of ham and tomatoes wouldn’t make up for the way she was being cast out of her home … it wouldn’t take away the grief of losing her mother and not knowing if she would ever see her again.

‘Wotcha! Lovely day, ain’t it?’

Mary Ellen O’Hanran ignored the cheery greeting as the delivery boy whizzed by her on his shop bicycle. Ma would say he was common and tell her to ignore the likes of Bertie Carter. Even though they were forced to live in the dirty little houses crammed close to the Docks, they did not have to lower their standards.

‘You know better, Mary Ellen, and don’t you forget it. We may live here, but we came from better things and one day we’ll be back where we belong,’ her mother had used to say when they first came to Dock Lane, but that was nearly four years ago, just after her father had died and her mother had still been fit and healthy.

Even the last rays of a late summer sun could not cheer the grime of the dingy street, its narrow gutters choked with rubbish. Peeling paint on the doors of terraced houses and windows that were almost uniformly filthy from the dirt of the slums were at odds with the spotless white lace curtains at number ten Dock Lane. A scrawny tabby arched its back and hissed at a scavenging rat amongst the debris, and the cheeky delivery boy whistled loudly as he swerved to avoid two snarling dogs fighting over a scrap of food further down. He waved as he turned the corner of the narrow lane, before disappearing out of sight. Mary Ellen stared after him, a small, lonely figure with her fair hair curling about a thin, pale face in wayward wisps that had escaped from her plait.

A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye but she dashed it away with her hand, refusing to give in to the feeling of misery that kept threatening to overcome her, because Ma had shouted and told her to keep out of the way. Ma never shouted, but she was so tired, at the end of her tether. She was lying down on her bed after another bout of terrible coughing, her face so pale and drawn that Mary Ellen was afraid she might collapse again. In the distance, the towering cranes on the East India Docks and the smoking chimneystacks of merchant vessels out on the river were outlined against a clear sky. The sound of a ship’s horn blasted suddenly through the mean streets and the foul stench from the oily water had worsened with the heat of the day. The noise of the trams clanging their way through the main thoroughfare echoed in the stillness of the unusually quiet lane. For once there were no gossiping women standing at their front doors, the heat having driven them all inside, thick lace curtains closed to shut out what had been a relentless sun.

Mary Ellen’s home stood out from the crowd, because until these last few weeks, when she’d got so ill, Ma had kept her doorstep scrubbed and her curtains washed despite the constant struggle against the filth of the East End of London. Mary Ellen had scrubbed the step herself this morning, and Ma told her it looked lovely, but the soap had stung her hands and her knees hurt where she’d grazed them on the stone. Yet Mary Ellen would do it again tomorrow, because Ma had been used to better and her pride made her battle against the poverty and wretchedness of her surroundings.

Hunting for the right kind of stone, Mary Ellen was set on playing a game of hopscotch to while away the hours until Rose came home as she’d promised, and it was time to go in for her tea. Maybe one of the other children in the lane would come and play with her, though because Ma kept herself to herself, her neighbours thought they were stuck up and the other kids often refused to notice the O’Hanran girl.

‘Who does she think she is, with her airs and graces?’ their mothers whispered to each other when Ma put her spotless washing out to dry in the back yard. Hair in wire curlers peeping out beneath their headscarves, they made faces at the woman whose hair shone like silk and wore no apron over her dress when she came into the street. ‘Just because her father owns a shop over the river she needn’t think she’s better than the rest of us.’

Mary Ellen bet some of them were gloating to see her mother’s pride tumbled in the dust and tears of anger stung her eyes when she thought of what was going to happen when Rose came home. She knew where she was going, because she’d passed St Saviour’s on her way to visit the park with her school, St Mary’s. There she’d seen the St Saviour’s girls, all dressed in grey skirts, white blouses and dark red coats.

The other kids at St Mary’s laughed and pointed at the orphans, calling them the ’Alfpenny kids, because that was the name of the street the home was in, and now Mary Ellen was going to be one of them. The idea filled her with dread.

Why couldn’t she stay at home? Rebellious thoughts filled her head, though sometimes, her mother looked so pale and fragile that Mary Ellen grew frightened. When she saw the blood on the handkerchief that Ma tried to hide, she prayed to that God in the sky her father had impressed on her was there to save them, especially little children.

‘Ah, whist, me darlin’,’ Tom O’Hanran would say, as he sat her on his knee and stroked her head, his breath always smelling faintly of good Irish whiskey. ‘Sure, Jesus in His heaven and Mary Mother of God will smile on you, my Mary. You’ve the charm of the Irish and the smile of an angel, and no one could help but love you.’

‘Now then, Tom O’Hanran.’ Ma would smile fondly on them. ‘Don’t you be spoiling her with your daft stories. Mary Ellen has to learn that life does not always flow smoothly for the likes of us.’

Mary Ellen still missed her father. Sometimes it hurt so much that it was like a big hole in her chest, but Ma didn’t talk about him so she had to keep her grief inside.

Ma was English, not Irish, and in the opinion of her shopkeeper father she had disgraced herself by marrying a wild Irish Catholic, who would, he prophesied, ruin her. Ma had been in love with her handsome husband in those days, and she’d even converted to his faith at the start, though after his death she had lapsed and no longer sent her children to the Catholic Church. Ma seldom went to church at all, but when she did, she chose the Methodist one because the minister did not scold her for changing her mind over the matter of religion. In a huge city teeming with people of all faiths, the minister had long grown used to accepting those in need, whatever their denomination, and did what he could to help the poor of the area, regardless of whether they attended his church.

Ma’s father had disowned her when she married, and he had not relented when she became a widow, even though he could have helped her to stay in the nice little cottage she’d gone to when she wed. Mary Ellen’s elder sister Rose said that Grandpa would’ve given Ma money if she’d grovelled and begged him, but Ma was too proud to beg. Instead, she’d been forced to come here to this slum and fight her battles against an encroaching illness and the tide of dirt that threatened to engulf them.

Rose still attended the Catholic Church, not out of devotion but because, she said, they had allowed her to take a scholarship under their aegis that had enabled her to enter nursing college. Rose was determined to better herself, to make a good life, and her only way of getting the chance she needed had been to take advantage of being a good Catholic. Father Joe had been a friend to all of them and he took an interest in Rose’s future, telling Ma that she should be proud of her daughter’s hard work.

‘You’ve a good daughter there, Mrs O’Hanran,’ he’d said when he came to visit. ‘Respectable and devout, she’ll make a wonderful nurse.’

Ever since she was Mary Ellen’s age, Rose had dreamed of becoming a nurse one day, and the recent terrible war which had ended only two years earlier had made her even more eager to take up the profession.

‘When I see men fresh home from the war, with legs missing and awful scars, some of them so weak that they will never recover, I want to help them,’ Rose had told her young sister. ‘I only wish I had been old enough to go out to the Front – somewhere the fighting was at its worst – to help nurse the men. I could never work in an office or a dress shop when there is something more worthwhile to be done. Hitler is beaten, and London will recover from the Blitz in time, but the injuries some of those men received will never be healed.’

Rose wanted to help sick people, but she hated the slum area they’d been forced to live in after Pa died, and Mary Ellen knew she wanted to become a nurse so that she need never come back here. She was ashamed of their home and wanted something better. Mary Ellen didn’t care about such things, she just wanted to be at home with her mother … but after today she would be sent away and she wouldn’t be able to see or touch Ma …

Mary Ellen had often sat unseen on the stairs in the evenings and listened to her mother and sister talking in the kitchen. At nights, Ma lit the gas lamps and made a pot of tea, which they drank together, discussing subjects that they considered her too young to comprehend, but life hadn’t been easy since Pa died, and Mary Ellen understood grief all too well. She heard things that worried her, though she often made sense of only a fraction.

Yet she knew that Britain was still struggling to pay back its war debts and there were not enough decent jobs for able-bodied men, let alone those who could not do a full day’s work.

Everyone had hoped rationing would end with the war, but instead it seemed that every month they were told there would be less of something else. ‘Only one ounce of bacon per person per week now, and three pounds of potatoes,’ Ma complained when Rose came home with whatever she could find. ‘We shall all starve before they’ve done – and what was it all about, that’s what I’d like to know.’

‘Governments falling out like spoiled children,’ Rose said in a harsh tone. Ma sometimes complained that Rose was becoming a radical and too critical of politics and things that were best left to men, but that just made Rose toss her head and retort, ‘You’ll see, Ma. Women are going to have more to say in the future. It’s time ordinary people had enough to eat and decent homes to live in – it’s time women were equal to men, in wages and everything else.’

Ma would laugh and warn her that pride came before a fall, but Mary Ellen thought that her sister was right. Why shouldn’t women have more say in their lives? And it wasn’t right that people went hungry. Yet when she said so both Ma and Rose told her she was too young.

‘It’s not really the Government’s fault,’ Ma said. ‘There isn’t enough of everything to go round and things haven’t got going yet after the war.’

‘And who is to blame for all the shortages, the way the shops are empty even though the war has been over for months and months; more than two years? Who says we have to go on being rationed? No one has enough to eat, Ma. I can’t even buy a decent pair of shoes for work. What did all those men fight for if it wasn’t to make life better for us all? If those fat idiots in Westminster stopped rabbiting on and sorted things out perhaps we shouldn’t have to put up with all this austerity. With a country to rebuild there should be plenty of work for everyone and money to live decently – but it’s still hard to find work for most of the men, even though it may not be as bad as it was after the first big war.’

Mary Ellen sort of understood, because she was good at listening to people talking and because she was small and quiet they didn’t always realise she was there. She heard Mr Jones the butcher talking about the fact that he couldn’t get supplies of lamb from his usual suppliers.

The big freeze in January and February had made it seem that life in Austerity Britain could not get worse. And the floods in April with the resulting catastrophic loss of livestock, with millions of sheep drowned and arable crops flooded, had only aggravated the situation.

Yet here in the East End, which had taken much of the damage during those terrible nights of war when waves of bombers flew like great birds of prey over the city, disease and poverty still haunted the streets. Life had always been hard for these people and somehow they endured, though they never stopped moaning about the bloody Government. Moved by the pity and despair she saw in the faces of wounded men, returned to a life without work and precious little to eat, Rose was fired with a zeal to do what she could to put things right, to make life better for others as well as herself. A nursing career was the only way she knew to leave the poverty of the East End behind her and find the kind of life she wanted: a way of forgetting the drabness of life in Austerity Britain.

Mary Ellen admired her sister. Rose was dark-haired and beautiful, with her pert nose, full red lips and firm chin. She was also one of the most determined people that Mary Ellen had ever come across.

Mary Ellen finished chalking the squares for her game of hopscotch and then selected a flat stone from amongst the filth in the gutters. Her chores finished for the day, she’d come out to play while Ma had a rest on the bed, and they waited for Rose to return home from work with food for their tea.

Mary Ellen threw her stone into the first square and hopped into the one after it. She was preparing to perform a hop, skip and jump before turning to go back and pick up her stone when a voice spoke from behind her and made her start and lose her balance.

Turning, she saw a boy of similar age to her own. He was a little taller, dressed in long trousers that had been cut down from an old pair of his brother’s, a washed-out shirt and scuffed black boots. His dark auburn hair was tousled and unwashed, his nose red and dripping and there were streaks of dirt on his face where he’d rubbed it with his filthy hands. As she watched he wiped his nose on the back of his hand and then, to her disgust, slid his hand down his trousers. Ma might be ill and they might be poor, but Mary Ellen was clothed in an almost clean cotton pinafore skirt and blouse her mother had made before she became ill, and she had better manners than to wipe snot on her dress.

‘That’s rude, that is, Billy Baggins,’ she said. ‘What did you make me jump for? I shall have to start again now.’

‘I didn’t mean to, Mary Ellen,’ he answered meekly. ‘Can I play?’

‘You’ll have to find a stone,’ she said, looking at him curiously but without malice. Billy Baggins had no mother and his father had recently been killed in an incident on the Docks. Mr Baggins had been a bully with a loud voice, who hit both his sons whenever he was drunk, but at least he’d kept the family together and they hadn’t starved. Since his death, Billy’s elder brother had cleared off to no one knew where, and Billy had been collared by the authorities who had said he was going to be put into care.

Mary Ellen had felt sorry for him, because he might look unkempt and his manners were rough, but she knew he was kind and generous. When her own father had died, Billy had been the only one who understood how she felt, sharing his sherbet dip with her as they sat on the doorstep and she battled with her tears. He was her one real friend in these lanes and she’d missed him when he’d gone off to stay with his nanna. She knew how bad he must feel now that his own father was dead and all he had was an old lady and his rogue of a brother. ‘I thought you’d gone away?’ she said now.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve been stayin’ with me nanna in Whitechapel, but she was taken into hospital sudden and I came home ter see if Arfur had come back.’

‘Has he?’ Mary Ellen asked sympathetically, but with little expectation of a good outcome. Everyone knew that Arthur Baggins was a bad ’un.

‘Nah, didn’t fink he would’ve,’ Billy said. ‘Came ter make sure ’cos the bloody council bloke will ’ave me in a home afore you can sneeze if I don’t watch it.’

‘That’s bad, that is,’ Mary Ellen said, feeling her eyes sting with tears she would never dream of letting Billy see. They weren’t just for him, because it was going to happen to her too – and she hadn’t got anyone else she could go to, because her grandfather hadn’t even opened the door to them when Ma had tried to tell him she was ill. She hated the thought of leaving her home and being with people she didn’t know, and her voice wobbled as she asked, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said and pounced on a stone with glee. ‘This is a good ’un, this is.’ He showed it to Mary Ellen, who nodded her agreement. Because she was feeling sorry for him, she told him he could have first go. He grinned, showing a gap in his bottom set of teeth. ‘You’re the best friend I’ve got. I wish I could stay wiv you and your ma.’

‘Ma’s not well.’ Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed, because she was afraid of what was going to happen to her. ‘She’s got to go away … and that means I can’t stay here.’

‘Why ain’t your Rose ’ere then, if yer ma is bad?’

‘She’s going to be a nurse. She’ll work in a hospital and live in the home for nurses. She’s too busy to look after me, she said so.’

‘That’s bad fer yer then, Mary Ellen.’

‘Yes,’ Mary Ellen agreed unhappily, moving from one foot to the other. ‘Rose said they’re going to put me in St Saviour’s. I heard them talking about it the other night. I think Ma might go away to the hospital … somewhere a long way off …’

‘That’s rotten luck,’ Billy said. Then he threw his stone, did the feet-apart jump and the hopping motions, as he went up the squares and down again to retrieve his stone without a fault. ‘I reckon that’s where they might send me, St Saviour’s. I wouldn’t mind being sent there if I thought you would be there an’ all …’

‘No,’ she replied doubtfully, watching as he threw for the next square and set off again. He performed the actions perfectly. She wasn’t going to get a turn for ages at this rate. ‘What do you think they do to you at that place? Is it a house of correction? I don’t know what that is but I heard someone say they ought to send your Arthur there when they thought he broke into the corner shop …’

Billy looked anxious, because his brother had been in trouble with the police over that years ago, but no one could prove he’d done it and so he’d got away with the crime.

‘Nah,’ he said and threw his stone, which missed. He swore, a word that would have earned him a cuff round the ear from Mary Ellen’s mother. ‘It’s your turn. Proper put me off, that did – but St Saviour’s ain’t a punishment house. Those places are for bad boys, not orphans. Not that you’re an orphan, yer ma is still alive. Still, sometimes they put yer in a home even if both of ’em are still around. I heard as they’re all right at St Saviour’s – not like some places where they treat yer rotten. Nanna told me I should go there. She warned me she was too old to have the care of a young lad, and I reckon it’s the worry of it wot’s made her bad.’

‘I put you off; you can throw again,’ Mary Ellen offered, because he looked worried about his nanna, but he insisted it was her turn. She threw, hopped up the squares and executed a perfect turn, coming back to balance on one leg as she picked up her stone. ‘I reckon we’d be all right there together – it wouldn’t be as bad as if we were on our own and didn’t know anyone.’

‘All right,’ he said and gave her a wide grin. ‘If they say that’s where I’m goin’ I’ll let them put me there. I can always run orf if I don’t like it.’

‘Where would you go?’

‘Don’t know; I’d probably just hang about the streets until I could find Arfur. There’s plenty of bombsites wiv ’ouses half standin’ where you can hide. Me bruvver won’t have left the East End and he might let me stay wiv him if I asked,’ he said hopefully.

‘It would be better than living on the streets alone, I suppose.’ Mary Ellen didn’t much like Billy’s brother. He was mean and vicious and made her feel nervous when he looked at her. ‘Besides, you’re nine, aren’t you? How long can they keep you at places like that?’

‘If Dad was alive I should’ve gone to work down the Docks as soon as I was twelve, that’s wot he told me. I ain’t sure if it was legal but he said he’d be damned if he kept me any longer than me twelfth birthday. He was an old devil but I wish he was still around.’

‘You’ve only got three years until you can work then,’ Mary Ellen said with a sigh. ‘I’ve got ages more before I can train to be a nurse like Rose.’

‘Work’s a waste of time if yer ask me,’ he said, watching as she completed a second turn. ‘Arfur says he can earn more in one night than me farvver made in a month.’

‘What does Arthur do?’

‘I dunno,’ Billy said, but Mary Ellen thought he was lying. She could always tell, because his ears went red and so did his neck. Rose said Arthur was a thief for certain, but she couldn’t say that to her friend. She threw for a top square and missed, and Billy chortled, stepping in to throw his own stone. This time he landed it exactly where he wanted and set off up the squares. He was on his way back when Mary Ellen saw her sister coming down the lane and knew it was time to call a halt. Before she could speak the delivery boy screeched to a stop beside her.

‘Wotcha, Billy,’ Bertie Carter called. ‘I ain’t seen yer for a while. Where yer been?’

‘To stay wiv me nanna,’ Billy said, his attention turned. ‘What yer doin’, then?’

‘Got a job delivering sausages,’ Bertie said. ‘Me bloody pa’s drunk all his pay again so ma told me to get out and find a job.’

Mary Ellen saw Rose glaring at her and knew she would be annoyed to see her talking to two boys she would describe as being rogues.

‘I’ve got to go, Billy,’ she said. ‘It’s time for my tea now.’

‘All right,’ he agreed but looked disappointed. ‘It was nice seein’ yer, Mary Ellen. Don’t forget, if they put me in that home I shall be there waitin’ fer yer …’

‘I’m orf,’ Bertie said. ‘Yer can come wiv me, Billy. I’ll get a bag of chips on me way home and you can share ’em.’

‘All right,’ Billy agreed.

Whistling, he ran off after Bertie, the pair of them reaching the end of the lane just as Rose came up to Mary Ellen. She stared after him with a look of annoyance on her pretty face. ‘Was that that Baggins boy?’

‘Yes. His nanna’s gone into hospital and he came to see if his brother is back, but he isn’t – and they’re going to put him in a home.’

‘In my opinion they should have done it long ago,’ Rose said. ‘If he’s left to run the streets he will turn out just like that good-for-nothing brother of his …’

‘Billy isn’t like his brother.’

‘Ma told you not to have anything to do with him, Mary Ellen, and now I’m telling you. He comes from bad blood and we do not want you getting into trouble because of him. Go in now and wash your hands. Then you can help me set the table and get the tea on …’

‘I thought we were going to have ham and tomatoes tonight?’

It was Friday night and before Ma got ill they’d always had ham for tea, because it was pay day, but now there wasn’t enough money for treats like that unless Rose brought them.

‘There was no ham left by four this afternoon, and Mr Brown wouldn’t cut a new one until tomorrow. I bought a bit of fish and I’ll mash some potatoes to go with it.’

Mary Ellen pulled a face behind her sister’s back. She didn’t like fish and she’d been looking forward to a slice of ham all day, because all she’d had at midday was a slice of bread and dripping. Rose could be mean sometimes, finding fault with Billy for no reason, and then bringing fish for tea when she knew Mary Ellen hated it.

She would rather have a piece of bread and jam and if Rose hadn’t brought a fresh loaf, she would make toast of the old bread and put the last of the strawberry jam on it.