Читать книгу The Other Wife - Juliet Bell - Страница 19

Betty

Betty was hungry as she stepped off the ship. She’d been hungry for weeks now, but this was different. Today they’d been told there was no time for breakfast because today was A Very Important Day. Today, the women said, they would start their new lives. Some of the children had cried. Some of them had asked if their parents would be there. The women had shaken their heads, and said that their parents were gone now. Betty hadn’t cried. Whenever Betty felt like tears were pricking at her eyes, she thought as hard as she could about the orange flames dancing in front of her and the sparks lighting the night sky, and flying away back to her real home. That always made her feel calm.

The sun beating down on the dockside made it easy for Betty to think of the fire. It felt hot on her face and she longed to peel off her cardigan and feel the warmth on her arms. But she had been told to keep her cardigan on, because her arms were already too brown. And she had a hat, too, that almost hid her hair. She followed the rest of the children along the concrete path and stopped in front of two big buses. A tall man in a neat grey suit stood in front of them. The women shushed them into near silence, before he started to speak.

‘It’s my honour to welcome all of you to Australia today. You’re here to help us build a brave, forward-thinking nation, filled with the right sort of people. You will learn to work the land. You will learn trades. You will grow up to have fine Australian children of your own. You have come on a great adventure to this great land. Work hard. Grow into decent young men and women, and Australia will become your home.’

Betty didn’t really listen to what he was saying. She didn’t understand a lot of it. She understood the heat beating down on her face. She understood the hunger in her belly. She understood that it was weeks and weeks since she’d got onto the ship and that, wherever she was now, it was not her home.

The women from the boat clapped politely as the man finished talking, and then they started quickly shoving the children into different queues. Betty felt a hand reach out and take hers. She looked up and saw Kay frowning down at her.

A moment later, the hand was pulled away. ‘Older girls on this bus. Little ones wait here.’

Betty concentrated hard on the warmth and the flickering flame inside her head. She heard Kay complain. ‘But I want to go with Betty.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘But…’

‘On the bus.’

For a second it looked like Kay would refuse. She sucked in a deep breath and folded her arms. The woman turned away from her and Betty watched her friend deflate like an old balloon.

‘It’s OK. When Daddy comes to get me, I’ll tell him we need to find you.’

Kay didn’t reply. She stepped forward and up the stairs onto the bus. She didn’t look back.

Betty waited until all the big children had been sorted onto buses, and then there were only four of them left. Three boys a year or so older than Betty, and Betty herself.

Betty heard whispers and muttering among the adults. She edged closer.

‘Just boys, you see…’

Betty moved even closer to get a better look. There were two men who looked like they had their white collars on backwards, like the priests back home did. Maybe they were priests too. The man in the grey suit who’d given the little speech was still there, with a woman in a smart pink dress clutching his hand. The woman stepped towards Betty.

‘This little thing?’ she asked incredulously. ‘This little one’s causing all the trouble?’

One of the priests nodded. ‘We only take boys. There weren’t any younger girls on the docket. She should have gone on the bus to the nuns.’

The other man shook his head. ‘That’s over eights.’

The woman squatted down and looked at Betty more closely. ‘How old are you, doll?’

‘Five.’

The woman nodded and turned her head away, suddenly blinking hard. She looked up at the smartly dressed man. ‘Charles?’

The man shook his head.

The woman stood. Betty listened carefully to their whispers. ‘Charles, you know I’ve always wanted a little girl.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘She’s pretty.’

‘She’s a…’ He stared at Betty. ‘I mean, look at that hair.’

One of the women from the boat interrupted. ‘The children don’t normally go to private homes.’

The other woman glanced at the watch on her wrist. ‘But Mr and Mrs Mason are very respectable people. I mean, he’s a councillor. That’s why they send him down for the welcome.’

The first woman stared at Betty and then back to the couple. ‘But one like her? I mean, she’s a…’

‘She’s a child who needs to go somewhere.’ The priest’s voice was cold. ‘And the Masons are very generous benefactors to our mission. It would be as if the girl was in our care…’

‘Like it says on the docket?’

‘Like it says on your docket, but living somewhere more appropriate for her…’ The priest glanced at Betty. ‘For someone like her.’

The smartly dressed man, Mr Mason, folded his arms. ‘I don’t know.’

His wife wasn’t listening anymore. She was leaning towards Betty, reaching out her hand as if to pet a charming puppy dog.

One of the women shrugged. ‘They’re excellent workers, though. With a bit of discipline.’

The man nodded. ‘And there are payments for her support?’

The grown-ups huddled around in deeper discussion. Betty turned her attention to Mrs Mason, who was looking at her with absolute delight. Betty smiled slightly. ‘What’s your name, darling?’

‘Betty.’

Mrs Mason frowned. ‘What’s that short for?’

Betty shrugged. Daddy had called her his little firefly because she burned brighter than anything else in the world. Mummy had said she was just Betty, and Elizabeth on Sundays. ‘Elizabeth on Sundays?’ she guessed.

‘Elizabeth. That’s better.’ She stared at Betty a bit longer. ‘But it’s a bit much for such a little thing. Eliza. Would you like to be Eliza?’

Betty shook her head, but the woman turned away and shouted over her shoulder. ‘Charles! We shall call her Eliza.’

Mr Mason broke away from the rest of the group. ‘She’ll have to earn her keep. Cooking and cleaning.’

Mrs Mason pursed her lips at her husband. ‘We’ll see about that.’ She turned back to Betty. ‘Come along, then, Eliza. I’m Mrs Mason. I’m going to be your new mummy.’