Читать книгу A Sister’s Sorrow - Kitty Neale - Страница 18

Two weeks passed, and George hadn’t seen Sarah. He was beginning to worry about her. She’d appeared very keen to purchase stock and have him sell it, so he wondered why she’d not been back.

‘Why are you sitting there looking like you’re chewing a bee?’ his mother asked as she dished up a plate of sausages and mashed potatoes.

George folded his arms across the kitchen table. ‘I’m all right, Mum, just thinking.’

‘What you thinking about?’

‘That girl, Sarah. I said I’d sell some gear for her on my stall, but that was a few days ago and I ain’t seen her since.’

‘Oh, well, son, it’s her loss. Now stop being so blinkin’ maudlin and eat your tea before it goes cold. I haven’t stood over that hot stove for you to waste good food.’

‘Yep, sorry, Mum,’ George said, then scooped up a large forkful of mash. ‘This is lovely, got any more gravy?’

‘In the pan,’ she answered. ‘So this Sarah, is it purely business between you two, or do I need to be buying meself a new hat?’

‘Pack it in, Mum. It’s business, that’s all. I’m just helping her out, though I would like it to be more. Thing is, I think I’m barking up the wrong tree. I saw the way she looked at Roger and she ain’t never gonna look at me like that.’

‘There’s no getting away from it, that Roger is a good-looking man, but he ain’t a patch on you. Once you get past his pretty face, there isn’t much left. Shallow, that’s what he is, and from what I’ve heard, he’s a right womaniser too. Any girl worth her salt would be well advised to stay clear of that man. I knew his father, he was a friend of your dad’s, and I’m telling you, Roger is a chip off the old block. His father was terrible to his mother. He’d knock about with all the local tarts and made no secret of it! Poor Viv, I’m sure him carrying on like that sent her to an early grave.’

‘Cor blimey, Mum, you don’t ’alf go on sometimes,’ George said with a smile.

‘I’m just saying she’d be an idiot to pass you over for that Roger.’

He knew his mother was right. Roger often bragged about his latest conquest. ‘Love them and leave them,’ he would say, and freely offered tips to George on how to bed a woman.

George wasn’t interested in playing the field. He understood it would take a special woman to see him for himself, and not just his burned face. He thought any woman who could love him would be a keeper, and he hoped it would be Sarah.

Tommy jumped up and down on his bed while Sarah was busy cooking Spam fritters.

‘If you break that, you won’t be getting another one,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘I love my new bed. I’ve never had my own one before,’ Tommy said.

It wasn’t new, but it was to Tommy. It had been delivered earlier, along with a bed for Sarah, two armchairs, a small stove and a coffee table.

Sarah turned with two plates in hand, and scanned the room. She decided it now looked quite homely. She’d scrubbed the walls and managed to remove most of the mould, though she knew it would soon return. The yellowing wallpaper which had been hanging off the walls was now temporarily fixed back with a paste Sarah had made from flour and water. The second-hand furniture was neatly arranged, and they even had a pretty bit of green material at the window that matched the green rug.

‘Come and eat your supper,’ Sarah said, and sat on one of the armchairs with her plate on her lap.

‘When are we going to see George again?’ Tommy asked as he ate his fritter.

‘Don’t talk with food in your mouth,’ Sarah replied, then added, ‘I don’t know. I haven’t managed to find anything for him to sell for us.’

‘Let’s go back to the river then. There might be more treasure.’

Sarah rolled her eyes as if it was a ridiculous suggestion, but she had already contemplated the idea herself. After all, she hadn’t managed to find any suitable stock, and their money was rapidly diminishing. With her funds running low, she was getting worried and regretted spending so much on furniture. She should have waited until she’d found stock for George to sell, but hadn’t been able to resist furnishing the room.

Sarah was eating the last mouthful of her fritter when she heard a knock on the door. ‘Just a minute,’ she called, guessing it was Mo from upstairs.

She’d bumped into Mo a week earlier when they’d both gone to use the shared bathroom. Mo had relayed her life story in a matter of minutes, and from what Sarah could understand, Mo was living in sin with Samuel, her West Indian boyfriend, and her family had ostracised her.

Sarah had instantly liked Mo’s bubbly personality. With her red hair which framed her blue eyes, Sarah thought she was one of the prettiest women she’d ever met, and hoped Mo would become a good friend.

She opened the door, but gasped in shock. Mo’s face was swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. ‘Oh, no, what’s happened?’ she asked, and gestured Mo in.

Mo walked in and instantly began to cry.

‘Tommy, go outside and play. Make sure you don’t leave the street. I’ll be watching you from the window,’ Sarah said.

‘But … I haven’t got any friends,’ Tommy answered slowly, looking stunned at the sight of Mo.

‘Well, go and flippin’ make some,’ Sarah said firmly.

Tommy skulked out of the room, and Sarah turned her attention to Mo. ‘Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘It looks nice in here,’ Mo said and sniffed.

‘Thanks. Please tell me Samuel hasn’t done that to you.’

‘Of course not!’ Mo said, sounding indignant. ‘He’d never hurt me. It was my dad. He came round this morning and ’cos I wouldn’t come home with him, well, you can see for yourself.’

‘Oh, Mo, that’s awful. Where’s Samuel? Does he know?’ Sarah asked.

‘No, and by the time he gets back I’m hoping I’ll be all better. He’s over the East End for a few days, visiting his brother. I reckon my dad knew he was away and that’s why he turned up. He wouldn’t have shown his face if Samuel was home, I’m bloody sure of it.’

‘That’s a nasty shiner, Mo, and your lip is split. I wouldn’t count on that healing before Samuel comes home.’

‘Oh, blimey, what am I going to do? I don’t want my Sam getting into trouble, but if he knows my dad did this to me, he’ll kill him, I know he will.’

Mo began to sob harder, so Sarah rushed over and tried to offer some comfort by placing her arm around the woman’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Mo, we’ll think of something. Maybe we can make up a story about you getting mugged in the street or something.’

‘Yeah, I suppose that could work,’ she agreed, drawing in a juddering breath. ‘Oh, Sarah, I hate my dad. He’s always been heavy-fisted with me and my mum but he’s never laid a hand on my brothers. He’s a bloody coward, that’s what he is. A coward and a bully. My Samuel’s worth ten of him.’

Sarah had never known what it was like to have a father, and though she’d envied Jenny having a dad, she realised they weren’t all good. ‘He’s done this to you before then?’ she asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

‘Oh, yeah, this ain’t unusual. When I told Sam about how my dad would hit me, he wanted to go round to give him a good hiding. Oh, Sarah, Samuel must never know the truth about this. Promise me you won’t say anything?’

‘Of course I won’t,’ Sarah reassured her new friend.

‘Thanks,’ Mo said, and winced as she sipped her tea.

‘Can I do anything to help?’ Sarah asked.

‘No, I’ve patched myself up as best I could, but I just needed to get out of that room and speak to someone. It felt like the walls were closing in on me, and then I got scared that my dad might come back.’

‘Tell you what, why don’t you stay down here with me ’til Samuel gets home? Tommy can get in with me so you can have his bed.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. That’s ever so kind of you, but I don’t want to be a burden or nothing.’

‘Don’t be daft. It’ll be nice to have someone my own age to talk to for a change. Don’t get me wrong, I love Tommy to death, but his conversation can be a bit limited.’

‘If you’re sure, I’d love to. I’ll nip back upstairs and get a few bits and bobs … will you come up with me?’

‘Yes, but let me just look out on Tommy first.’

Sarah walked over to the sink and glanced out the window. She could see Tommy leaning against a wall watching a small group of boys playing marbles. She hoped he would join in with their game, but for now she was satisfied he was safe, and proceeded upstairs to Mo’s room.

When Mo opened the door and Sarah followed her in, she stood in awe as she gazed around the room. The walls were adorned with paintings of brightly coloured, exotic flowers. They were so vivid, Sarah almost felt as if she could inhale their fragrant scent.

‘Lovely, ain’t they?’ Mo said.

‘I’ve never seen nothing like them,’ Sarah replied. ‘They’re beautiful.’

‘Samuel painted them. He’s an artist, and was getting quite a name for himself in Jamaica. Trouble was, his younger brother saw one of them ads about the better life in Britain and got sucked in by it. Samuel didn’t want to let him come across alone, so they both got a cheap ticket on the Windrush ship, and now the best he can hope for is a stinking job on the railway.’

‘Couldn’t he sell his paintings?’ Sarah asked.

‘He tried, but people round here ain’t into this sort of art. It’s a bit too “foreign” for them. He tried over Chelsea way, but none of the galleries were interested in him. It ain’t easy being a black man in a white man’s country.’

Sarah had never thought about it before. She’d seen signs outside some boarding houses saying, ‘No blacks or Irish’, but she’d never understood why. She stared at one of the paintings as Mo rushed around throwing some clothes into a bag.