Читать книгу Christmas on Coronation Street: The perfect Christmas read - Maggie Sullivan, Maggie Sullivan - Страница 9

Elsie lay in bed on her back, her face throbbing, her eye and nose already puffy and swollen. It was too painful to lie on her side as she usually preferred to do. Fay was asleep when Elsie had finally come back home and crept upstairs, and now she was gently snoring, snuffling each time she turned over and trying to snuggle up close. Elsie was also aware of Polly, Ethel and Connie, who slept top to toe with them in the same bed, and she tried to push aside their feet which seemed as if they hadn’t seen soap or water for several weeks.

After being sick in the courtyard, Elsie hadn’t made it to the midden, she had fled the house and gone to seek refuge, as she usually did, with her best friend Aggie. She had stayed there most of the evening. As she had hoped, by the time she returned home both her parents seemed to be fast asleep downstairs, their bed pulled out from behind the front door, closer to the hearth, to make the most of the remains of any heat from the coal dust in the fireplace. Her father was on his back snoring loudly, as a result no doubt from having retrieved the money that had scattered from her pocket, and having spent it, as usual, down at the Three Hammers. Her mother had turned her face to the wall as she always did, so it was impossible to be sure that she was asleep, but from the irregularity of her breathing and the stiffness of her pose, Elsie guessed she was not.

She had crept up the stairs, anxious not to disturb anyone. It was a bitterly cold night and she slipped gratefully into her only nightgown, a winceyette passion-killer her mother had found in a jumble sale. Then she wrapped herself in an old woollen cardigan and climbed into bed. There was a fireplace in the room but as far as she knew it had never seen a fire, so she tried to snuggle more closely to Fay. She was congratulating herself on having avoided her father during the time he was at his most dangerous when she was aware of a noise on the stairs.

Elsie knew she was most at risk of further punishment within the first twenty-four hours after a supposed offence, and her father was more than capable of humiliating her with more than just his fists. Sometimes, when he’d had a skinful and if he caught her unawares … She knew what he did was wrong, and hated him all the more for it. He certainly hadn’t liked her behaviour tonight. She cursed under her breath. She had forgotten to wedge the old linen box against the door. She berated herself as she lay listening to the mounting footsteps. A hot wormy feeling crawled in the pit of her stomach as the sounds grew closer and she prayed that she would be able to hold down her meagre tea. She heard the final footfall stop outside the bedroom and then the groaning of the hinge on the rickety door. She closed her eyes, pretending that if she couldn’t see anyone then no one was there. But she could still sense a body had entered the room. And she could hear the harsh whisper, ‘Else.’ Her eyes flew open. ‘Else, are you all right?’ She couldn’t see her face but she could make out the silhouette in the moonless night against the sheet that acted as a makeshift curtain: it was Phyllis with her fists clenched.

Phyllis was shivering as she stepped inside the room and brought her face close to Elsie’s. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked again. ‘Only I heard you’d got batttered by the old man.’

‘Is that you, Phyllis?’ Elsie asked, relieved. ‘You frightened the life out of me. What the ’ell are you doing up at this hour?’

‘Sorry, but I couldn’t sleep. I was worried that he might come for you again.’ Phyllis paused, her pale and pinched features barely visible in the darkness of the shabby room. ‘I know what he’s like.’ Phyllis’s hand touched her swollen face and Elsie pulled back; the bruise was still tender.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here to help you,’ she said. ‘’Cos I would ’ave, you know.’

Elsie tried to smile, though it felt forced. Phyllis was one of the toughest kids in the family, maybe even as tough as Elsie herself, though she was barely into her teens.

‘Don’t worry, lass, I can look after meself. I’m all right and you’d best be getting back to bed before you catch your death.’

Phyllis lingered, and Elsie felt her sister’s cool hand clutch her own. ‘It’s not right, Elsie, what he does to us.’

‘No, it’s not, pet, but we look out for each other, don’t we?’

‘Aye,’ said Phyllis. ‘But I can’t take much more of it. I tell you, the first chance I get, I’m off.’

Elsie was shocked, ‘You’re talking daft. Where would you go at your age?’

Phyllis sounded defiant. ‘There’s plenty of places, places where Dad would never find us ’n’ all.’

‘Don’t do anything silly, Phyllis, promise me.’ Elsie squeezed Phyllis’s hand.

‘It won’t be silly – anything’s better than this miserable life. Anyway, so long as you’re OK, Else. G’night then. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Night, Phyllis. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ As Phyllis crept across the bedroom and quietly clicked the door shut behind her, Elsie lay wide awake, mulling over what her sister had said.