Читать книгу A Sister’s Sorrow - Kitty Neale - Страница 6

Battersea, London, 1948

Sarah Jepson’s legs jigged under her desk as she anxiously waited for the school bell to ring for home time. Her mother Annie had woken up with labour pains that morning, and Sarah was desperately worried about her.

Earlier, when Sarah had shown concern, her mum had told her to bugger off and go to school. She’d called her useless and said she’d be no bloody help. Comments like that weren’t unusual and hadn’t surprised Sarah. She was used to her mother’s contemptuous remarks, and though they hurt, she tried her best to ignore them.

At last, the bell trilled, and Sarah hurriedly placed her books in her desk before dashing out of the classroom and then through the school gates. Dirty rainwater splashed the backs of her skinny legs as she ran through the narrow streets of run-down terraced houses. I wish I could fly, she thought, sprinting as fast as she could, as her thin coat billowed out behind her. It was at least two sizes too small, so she couldn’t button it up. It did little to keep out the chill of the cold October wind, or protect her from the hammering rain. Sarah didn’t care about the stormy weather, she just wanted to get back home and silently prayed that everything would be all right this time.

She finally arrived at the staircase of the tenement block, then paused as she caught her breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her long, dark hair hung like wet rat’s tails. She rapidly tapped her forefinger and thumb together, something she unconsciously did when she was nervous. Apprehensively, she grabbed the handrail and stood still, her emerald-green eyes staring up the uninviting stairwell as she urged her legs to keep going. She’d come this far, but the reality of what she might find at home had stopped her in her tracks. Please don’t let it be like last time, she thought, remembering the dead baby her mother had birthed three years earlier. Mrs Brown, a neighbour upstairs, had taken the baby away, but Sarah could still picture his wrinkled little face, and shivered at the memory of his limp, scrawny body.

Sarah recalled Mrs Brown having a go at her mum, telling her she’d brought it on herself and should have stayed away from the gin. She’d told her scornfully that she didn’t deserve to be a mother and had murdered her own child. Sarah didn’t understand how her mother could have killed the baby, as she’d witnessed his lifeless body being born. As she’d listened to Mrs Brown, Sarah had seen her mother glaring at the woman. She had seen that vicious look in her mum’s eyes before, one that she’d now become accustomed to receiving. It was in sharp contrast to the look of pity in Mrs Brown’s eyes as she had carried away the dead baby and said a solemn farewell to Sarah. She wasn’t sure what she disliked most: the hateful stare from her mother or the look of pity from their neighbour.

A distant scream echoed through the tenement, piercing Sarah’s thoughts. She knew immediately that it was her mother, and flew into action. She took the stairs two at a time, then she heard her cry out again, which drove Sarah even faster up the three flights. Please live, her mind raced, please let the baby be alive.

The front door was wide open. Sarah ran in then pushed it closed behind her. The room was dark, but she could see her mother lying on her filthy mattress on the floor, panting hard. As Sarah got closer, she noticed beads of sweat running down her mum’s face even though the room was cold.

‘Get this bloody thing out of me!’ her mother screamed, and gripped the holey blanket that was covering her legs.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Sarah cried in a blind panic. Though she’d seen her mum give birth before, she’d only been ten years old at the time, and had been overwhelmed with horror through most of it. Now thirteen, she was still unsure.

She knew it would be useless to appeal to any of the neighbours for help. Mrs Brown had passed away and none of the other women in the block would have anything to do with her mum.

‘Shall I get the doctor?’ she said desperately.

‘Don’t be so stupid. I don’t need a doctor, I just need some gin. Pass me that bottle,’ her mother demanded, indicating to a bottle of alcohol in the tiny kitchenette.

‘But … but that ain’t no good for the baby,’ Sarah pleaded, though she was loath to disobey her mother’s orders.

‘Don’t you backchat me, just get it. I need it for the pain,’ her mother ground out through gritted teeth.

Sarah reluctantly handed her the almost empty bottle, which she quickly drained.

‘It’s no good, I need more,’ she cried, groaning again and writhing on the mattress.

‘But we ain’t got no more,’ Sarah answered, recoiling at seeing her mum in such discomfort.

‘You’ll have to get yourself down the offie and get me a bottle on tick,’ her mother said, then closed her eyes and moaned loudly again.

It was obvious to Sarah that another painful contraction was washing over her mother. She waited for it to pass before saying, ‘They ain’t open yet, it’s too early,’ grateful that she wouldn’t have to go out begging again. She found it humiliating, and would much rather scavenge for food to eat or clothes to wear.

‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, gal, use your bleedin’ head for once, will ya! I can’t bloody think straight. Go and have a word with Eddy in the next block, and tell him I’ll see him straight next week. I don’t care where you get it from, just get me some bloody gin!’

Fearing her mother’s violent temper, Sarah rushed from the room and back out into the damp corridor. She didn’t want to leave her mother in pain, but considering the mood she was in, Sarah knew it would be useless to try to reason with her. She ran down the stairs, but couldn’t face going around to Eddy’s flat. She’d tell her mum that he wasn’t in. His place stank, and she wrinkled her nose at the memory of it. She found him a rather odd man, and the way he leered at her gave her the creeps and made her feel uncomfortable. He was one of her mother’s long-term customers, and, for as long as Sarah could remember, Eddy had called in to see her mum once or twice a week.

Sarah began to aimlessly wander around the small estate while racking her brain for a solution. It was impossible. She couldn’t think of anywhere to wangle any alcohol. As it was, she didn’t like going into the side room of the pub to get her mother’s booze, and liked it even less when she was made to go cap in hand.

After half an hour, the sun from behind the clouds was almost set and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Sarah’s teeth began to chatter. She’d have to return home empty-handed and face her mother’s fury, though it was of some consolation that her mum would be sober for once.

Outside her front door, Sarah reached through the letterbox and pulled out a piece of string with the key tied on the end. She opened the door and walked back into their one-roomed flat. All was quiet, so she assumed her mother must have fallen asleep. Then she heard a strange gurgling noise.

Curious, Sarah quietly tiptoed over to the mattress where her mother lay, and gasped in shock. She stared in disbelief at a naked new-born baby, lying on the linoleum and kicking his bony legs out. She reacted instinctively and quickly gathered the child in her arms. He felt cold, but she was thankful that he appeared to be well. She grabbed a towel and gently wrapped the small boy, hardly believing she was holding her new baby brother.

Sarah gazed at the bundle and smiled sweetly. He was so thin, his tiny ribcage was sticking out, which put her in mind of a lame sparrow she’d once found. ‘Hello, little one, I’m your big sister,’ she whispered, and kissed the boy on his bloodied forehead.

Her mother stirred and pushed herself up onto her haunches. ‘Oh, you found him then. Where’s me gin?’

‘Sorry, Eddy was out so I couldn’t get any. Look, Mum, you’ve had a little boy,’ Sarah said, holding out the baby.

‘Yeah, I know, you stupid cow. Who do you think cut the cord, eh, the bleedin’ stork? Now get him out of my sight.’

Sarah frowned. ‘But … but I think he might be hungry … you need to feed him.’

‘I ain’t having that little bastard hanging off my tit. Get rid of him. I don’t want to see him again.’

Sarah blinked, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying. ‘What do you mean? How can I get rid of him?’

‘I don’t know, sling him in the Thames or dump him in the park. Just get rid of it. I can’t afford another mouth to feed, not with you bleeding me dry.’

With that, her mother turned her grubby body to the wall, leaving Sarah bereft. She gently rocked the baby in her arms, and Mrs Brown’s words came into her head again. She’d said her mother had murdered her last child. Maybe it was true, as she now wanted Sarah to do the same to this one.