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Sarah stared at him in horror and then ran from the room before he could hit her again.
‘Pa, she didn’t mean to do it!’ Samantha said, throwing herself between them. She was still holding the pot of hot potatoes and when Pa caught hold of her, he burned his hand on the pot. ‘It was an accident … Oh, Pa, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to burn you.’
Pa thrust her away but instead of going after Sarah, he picked up his jacket and went out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to glance back at Samantha. ‘If I find you still here when I get back, I’ll kill the pair of you,’ he threatened before storming out.
Samantha had placed the cooking pot on the floor near the range to keep warm and then gone in search of her sister. She’d found her under the bed in their room and it had taken several minutes to coax her out.
‘Sarah didn’t mean to …’ she sobbed in Samantha’s arms. ‘Pa’s cross with Sarah?’
‘Yes, Pa is cross,’ Samantha said and hugged her. ‘But he’ll go down the pub and have a few drinks and forget about it. Come to the kitchen and have some supper. We’ll put Pa’s in the range to keep warm for him.’
It had taken Samantha ages to bring her sister downstairs and even then she ate only a few mouthfuls of the food. Sarah had left her sitting on the lumpy sofa in the kitchen while she washed the pots in the scullery. After the kitchen was tidy she took her sister upstairs and put her to bed. Pa had threatened things before when he was angry, but then he would get over it and perhaps bring them a packet of chips home for their tea the next day.
Only this time he hadn’t got over his temper.
Samantha had woken to the sound of her twin’s screams, something she’d heard so seldom that she knew Sarah must be terrified. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the light, which came from a lamp in the hall, she saw Sarah lying on the floor and Pa standing over her, kicking her as if she were a piece of filth he’d found in the gutter, his savagery beyond anything Samantha had ever seen.
Without stopping to think, Samantha seized the chamber pot and flung the contents over her father. Some of the wee went into his face and must have stung his eyes for he was temporarily blinded and screamed out in a mixture of pain and frustration.
‘You hellcat, you’ve blinded me!’ he cried, stumbling towards her, his hands flailing to grab hold of her.
Samantha pulled her twin to her feet and propelled her along the landing and down the stairs, seeking refuge in the large cupboard under the stairs. She pushed Sarah right to the end and crawled after her, shoving some empty cardboard boxes in front of them in an effort to conceal their whereabouts if Pa looked inside.
‘I know you’re in here,’ Pa’s voice was suddenly very close and the stair cupboard door was jerked open, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him as seconds later, he swore and slammed the door shut again. ‘I’m not coming back – do you hear?’ his tone was loud, penetrating the door and reaching Samantha. She trembled as he went on, ‘You can starve before I come back, do you understand me? You’re to go to your aunt, Samantha – and that Child of Satan can go to the devil for all I care …’
Samantha held her breath as the minutes ticked by. The noise had died down and the house was quiet. Pa must have gone to sleep by now, surely. Yet she dared not risk coming out until he’d left for work. Putting her arms around Sarah, she held her close as they both shivered in their nightclothes. Only when the house had been silent for what seemed like hours did Samantha risk venturing into the hall in search of a coat to keep them warm.
It was very dark and she had to feel her way along the walls, frightened of making a noise and bringing Pa down on them again, but the house seemed unnaturally quiet. She took her own coat and Sarah’s from the old wooden hallstand and carried them into the cupboard. At least they were safe here and perhaps when Pa came back tomorrow, he would be sorry for his show of temper. He was always worse when he’d been drinking and Samantha couldn’t believe he’d really meant to kill either of them.
In the morning the girls were stiff, cold and hungry when they crept out. The black marble clock on the kitchen mantle said it was past six o’clock. Pa went to work at six every morning so unless he’d overslept he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake ages and she’d heard nothing. The range hadn’t been made up and it was cold in the kitchen, but the one in the scullery was still warm. Samantha stoked it up and added the coal and the wood her father had bought in the previous day.
She was hungry and looked in the pantry, but discovered that the half loaf of bread left from their meal the previous day was missing, as were the cold sausages and the cheese that had been on the pantry shelves. Pa must have taken them for his dinner at work. All Samantha could find was some stale cake she’d made earlier that week; there was enough to cut each of them a slice and, she discovered, there was sufficient tea left to make a brew, though only a drop of milk and no sugar.
It would be weak tea but it would warm them through a bit, she thought, as she carried the meagre breakfast through to the kitchen. Sarah was staring at the kitchen shelf, a look of dismay on her face.
‘Pa’s pipes gone,’ she said. Her gaze travelled round the kitchen, the look of fear and puzzlement growing. ‘Tankard and coat gone … Pa gone …’
‘No!’ Samantha cried as the fear struck her too. ‘He couldn’t have gone … He’s coming back; he must be …’
Looking around the room, she saw that the few treasures that had stood on the dresser shelves, like their mother’s tea caddy and a pair of silver berry spoons, had gone. All that was left was an assortment of china that didn’t match and a brass tin, where pins and bits were stored.
She put down the tray she’d been carrying and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, flinging open the door of her father’s room. He wouldn’t have deserted them … surely he wouldn’t. Pa wasn’t really a bad man; it was only that he missed their mother and got drunk sometimes.
As soon as she looked round the room, Samantha knew that it was true. Her father had few possessions he treasured and only a couple of extra shirts and his best suit, which he wore only for funerals or weddings. The cupboard had been left open, as if he’d torn everything from its place in a hurry, and his brushes and shaving things had also gone from the washstand.
The truth hit Samantha like a drenching of cold water. Their father had abandoned them, as Aunt Jane had said he would. He might have told Samantha of his plans had Sarah not broken his favourite pipe, but instead he’d gone down the pub to get roaring drunk and then he’d tried to kill Sarah.
Yes, he really had meant to do it, perhaps because he knew Aunt Jane wouldn’t take her. Perhaps he’d thought it better for everyone if Sarah were dead?
Samantha couldn’t believe what her thoughts were telling her. No, Pa wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t attack his daughter and then go off leaving them both to starve … But he had. She sat down on the bed, feeling empty, drained. What was she going to do now?
Samantha knew there was no money in the house. Her father never gave her a penny. He paid the rent and brought home the supplies they needed – and he’d taken everything they had of value. She looked about the room, knowing that the contents wouldn’t fetch more than a few pence from the rag-and-bone man. There were still a few things in the scullery and kitchen, things that had belonged to their mother. Sarah had broken the best china pot, but there might be some copper pans and a few silver spoons in the drawer. She would have to go through every room and take whatever items she could find to the scrapyard later. Samantha was frightened of Alf, the man who ran the scrapyard, but she couldn’t think of any other way to get money to buy food. After that, she wasn’t sure what to do. She knew they wouldn’t be able to stay here: the rent was due on Saturday and Pa wouldn’t be around to pay it.
Samantha ran her hands over her sides, her body aching in the same places that her father’s blows had rained down on her twin. She didn’t know why she always felt her sister’s pain, she just did. That realisation brought her out of her shock and she got up off the bed, knowing she had to go downstairs and see what she could do to help. Poor Sarah must be hurting all over – she already bore the scars of more than one beating and last night’s attack had been the most vicious of them all.
What people didn’t understand was that Samantha and her twin lived for each other. Each felt the other’s pain and sorrow as if it were her own. That was why Samantha couldn’t do as her father ordered and go to Aunt Jane. She’d made it clear she would send Sarah to a place where Samantha knew she would be unhappy. They would never see each other – and that would break both their hearts.
When Samantha walked into the kitchen she found Sarah nursing the clay pipe she’d broken the previous evening, which Pa hadn’t bothered to pick up from the floor. Tears were trickling down her cheeks and Samantha knew that her twin understood Pa had gone, even if she couldn’t grasp what that meant for the two of them. They were all alone in the world now, with no one to turn to, no one who would take them both in.
Well, there was nothing else for it: they would just have to look after each other. As soon as she’d got her sister fed and dressed, Samantha would go to the scrapyard and sell everything of value, and then she would set about finding somewhere they could stay. There were plenty of houses that were standing empty after having been bombed-out in the war. Tramps and homeless people slept in them, and so could she and Sarah – just for a while, just until she could decide what to do …
‘Put that pipe in your pocket and come and eat your cake,’ she said, wrapping an arm around her sister. ‘We’ll be all right, Sarah love. I’ll take care of you now.’
Sarah’s smile was loving and trusting as she looked at her. ‘Samantha take care of me,’ she repeated, and sat down at the table to eat her cake and drink the tea that was now cold.
TWO (#u73c8b4c7-7420-526f-9071-074ab27a3f8f)
‘Well, here’s to you, Sally,’ Angela Morton lifted her wineglass to the young woman who had been such a friend to her at St Saviour’s and was now leaving her job to take up her training to become a nurse. ‘I’m sure we all wish you the very best in your new life – and you must promise you will come and see us when you can.’
‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Sally promised. Angela noticed the girl’s blush as everyone drank the toast and then crowded round her, friends hugging and kissing her and telling her how much she would be missed.
It was true that the young carer would be missed, as much by Angela as any of them, but she knew in her heart it was for the best. To stay on at the children’s home would have brought back too many memories of the man who had filled the children’s ward with laughter when he visited the hospital as a volunteer, the man Sally had hoped to marry until he lost his life in a car accident.
Hearing the phone shrilling, Angela left the staff room where the small party was taking place and ran upstairs to answer it in Sister’s office. It stopped as she reached it and she frowned, wondering if it had been business or perhaps Mark Adderbury … but he would more likely have used the extension in her office had he wanted to speak to her.
A sigh left her lips. It had been a while since Mark had bothered to get in touch, though he’d continued to call in at the home occasionally in a professional capacity. He still nodded and spoke in passing, but his special smile had been conspicuous by its absence. Angela had always thought of Mark as one of her closest friends; when she’d been overwhelmed by grief after her husband of a few months was killed in the war, Mark had been the one who helped her get through it. For a while she’d believed their friendship might develop into something more – but that was before Staff Nurse Carole Clarke came on the scene.
Eager to ensnare a rich husband, the attractive young nurse had made a play for Mark. He’d been flattered at first and they’d gone on a couple of dates, but when he tried to break up with her she told him she was pregnant. Mark had done the honourable thing and proposed. Although she thought he was making a terrible mistake, Angela had felt it wasn’t her place to intervene. But when she caught Carole tampering with records in an effort to discredit Sister Beatrice, and found out that she had lied about being pregnant, Angela had no choice but to get involved. Appalled by his fiancée’s duplicity, Mark had ended their engagement. Carole had stormed out, saving Sister Beatrice the trouble of dismissing her, but her departure hadn’t healed the rift that had opened between Angela and Mark. If anything, he was more distant. It was as though his initial shock over his former fiancée’s behaviour had turned to embarrassment and now he couldn’t bear to face Angela.
In the staff room, Sally’s colleagues were still saying their farewells, but Angela was in no mood to return to the party. Instead she carried on down the stairs, meeting Sister as she reached the hall below.
‘Ah, Angela,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘I was just on my way up to see you. I’ve been speaking to Constable Sallis. It appears they’ve found a couple of young girls in an abandoned house. They’re in a weakened state apparently. He asked if we would take them in while inquiries are made. Naturally, I said yes.’
‘Poor darlings,’ Angela said. ‘How old are they?’
‘He was rather vague,’ the nun said and shook her head. ‘He thinks about eleven, but he isn’t sure about the younger one.’
‘Ah, well, I’m sure we can fit them in somewhere in the new wing. We have so much more room now that we’re able to move in there.’
‘Yes, thank goodness. Mark Adderbury telephoned me earlier. He suggested we have a small party here for the staff to celebrate the opening of the new wing. He thinks it would be a good idea to ask the Bishop to open it for us. Naturally, I agreed, though I do not particularly see the need myself …’ She waved her hand in dismissal. ‘But if the Board think we should …’
Angela noticed the faint sigh. Sister Beatrice was looking pale and tired. A few months previously she had been attacked by an unfortunate and disturbed boy named Terry and though it didn’t seem possible that she would still be affected by a minor injury, it was clear she was no longer the forthright and energetic Sister Beatrice of old.
‘Is anything the matter, Sister? Are you quite well?’
‘Why do you ask? I’m perfectly all right. What nonsense.’ Sister Beatrice walked off; evidently annoyed that Angela should express concern. She prided herself that she was never ill and routinely shrugged off colds that would send lesser mortals to their beds. Angela shook her head and made her way to the kitchens.
The cook, Muriel, was complaining to Nan, who was trying to placate her but without much success. ‘How I’m supposed to manage with that wretched girl late again I don’t know,’ Muriel said. ‘She was away two days last week – and she knows there’s a mountain of work to do today if I’m to bake as well as make jam from those lovely plums and apples we’ve been given. I can make a pudding with some of them, but most of the plums are too ripe for eating.’
‘I expect that’s why they gave us such a lot,’ Nan said.
The comment made Angela smile. As head carer, Nan had no idea how much badgering went on behind the scenes to keep St Saviour’s kitchens supplied. Angela thought the stallholders at Spitalfields’ wholesale fruit market must be sick of the sight of her, but she’d asked them not to throw their surplus out if it was still useable.
‘It might be too ripe for you to sell on, Bert,’ she’d told her favourite wholesaler the previous morning. ‘But we can always use it for jams and puddings.’
‘Anythin’ for you, me darlin’,’ Bert had said, making her an extravagant bow and kissing her hand. He was in his sixties if he was a day, but handsome, with strong grey hair and harsh features that belied his soft heart. ‘I’ll scrounge some boxes of fruit for your orphans, love, don’t you worry.’
In the months since she’d come to the East End of London as the Administrator for St Saviour’s, she’d learned to love the warm-hearted men who worked the fruit and vegetable wholesale market. They’d made several generous donations of fruit and vegetables, and she wasn’t going to allow their generosity to go to waste, despite a girl being late for work.
‘I’m sure Nancy will give you a hand with the fruit, Muriel, and you know how the children love your jam.’ Angela smiled at her. ‘I’ll have a word with Kelly when she comes in, if you like – perhaps I can find out why she is late so often.’
‘We’re so short-handed these days. I really miss that Alice Cobb; she was always ready to help out in an emergency,’ Muriel sighed as she chopped and peeled.
‘Alice stayed on as long as she could after she married that nice young soldier, but she’s a mother now and it’s too soon for her to come back to work,’ Angela reminded her.
‘She had her baby in June, and a lovely little thing she is too. Alice has been talking about coming in for a few hours when she’s ready.’ Nan saw Alice often, now that she’d taken the girl under her wing, and kept them up to date with her news.
‘If you need any help with washing up, I could give you a hand,’ Angela offered. ‘And I’ll take the trays up to the nurses if you like.’
‘Nurse Wendy usually comes down for hers at about ten …’ Muriel glanced at the clock. ‘I’ve got the washing up from breakfast, and then I’ll need a hand if I’m going to get my baking done and that wretched jam – so if you could possibly ask Nancy to come down, please, Angela.’
‘I’ll give you a hand with the washing up,’ Nan said. ‘I’ve got linen to change today, but Jean will manage without me for a while. I shall miss Sally though.’
‘Yes, we’ll all miss her, but you have Tilly Tegg to take her place, and she seems very willing,’ Angela said. ‘Yes, you do need to get your preserves done, Muriel; it will soon be time to think about Christmas again …’
‘Don’t talk about that yet,’ Muriel begged. ‘I’ll soon have to start thinking about making cakes and puddings for Christmas. Thank goodness we’ve got some dried fruit on the shelves this year. Three years ago I had to make them with carrots and prunes to bulk the mixture out and they didn’t taste the same.’
‘Well it’s still only September,’ Angela said. ‘So there’s time yet. I’ll make a tray of tea and take it up for myself, if you don’t mind.’
‘No, certainly not, you get on and do what you want,’ Muriel said, making Angela smile as she remembered how fussy Muriel had been when she first arrived at St Saviour’s.
Angela left the kitchen with her tray and met Nancy in the hall. Terry’s sister had settled well into her new role at St Saviour’s, even though Angela knew she worried about her young brother in the special clinic Mark Adderbury had found for him. Terry was better than he had been, but still not mentally stable enough to be allowed out yet.
Nancy willingly agreed to help with the jam making, and went into the kitchen. Angela pressed for the lift to come down from the next floor. She was lost in thought as it whirred up to her office floor. As she got out and walked past the sick and isolation wards, she saw Mark come out. He stopped, smiled hesitantly as he saw her, and then took the tray from her. Angela went on ahead and opened her office door. Mark brought the tray in and deposited it on her desk. She offered him some tea, but he shook his head.
‘Mustn’t stop long,’ he said. ‘I was thinking I should telephone or come and see you, soon. How are you, Angela?’
‘Very well, Mark – but how are you? I haven’t seen you to talk properly since … oh, after the concert we had at Easter. I understand you were away at a conference over the summer?’
‘Yes, amongst other things. I always seem to be in a hurry these days.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see you …’
‘Actually, the concert was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Angela. Everyone was so pleased with that, and it raised much more than the price of the tickets in donations. I was thinking perhaps we might have a Christmas concert this year …’
‘How funny, so was I!’ Angela said, a laugh escaping her. ‘I know it’s too early to be thinking of it yet. Muriel was quite alarmed when I mentioned Christmas – she’s having staff problems.’
‘I expect you have plenty of them here.’
‘It isn’t easy to find reliable staff. And now we’ve lost one of our best girls – Sally Rush is leaving to take up nursing.’
‘How is she these days?’ Mark said frowning. ‘It was a terrible shock losing Andrew Markham that way … he was a brilliant man, both as a surgeon and with those marvellous books of his.’
‘Yes, the children still love them. Nancy told me that some of them ask her why there are no new books.’
‘Nancy seems to be doing well here.’
‘She’s learning a lot, assisting Muriel and helping with the younger children, but naturally she can’t forget poor Terry and what happened. She visits her brother occasionally, but …’
‘Terry’s breakdown was traumatic for everyone.’ Mark seemed intent as he looked at her. ‘And you, Angela? I never seem to find you around these days. You work terribly long hours. You should make time for some fun.’
‘Well, I do, when I can,’ Angela said, ‘but I have other charity work nowadays – meetings I go to in the evenings. I’m only working here this evening because I have to finish a report on—’
‘Not too busy to go for a drink later, I hope?’ He looked at her and Angela was unsure what she could see in his eyes. ‘We really ought to talk …’
‘Oh …’ Angela hesitated and then inclined her head. ‘I should be finished by eight – if you want to meet somewhere?’
‘I’ll pick you up then and we’ll have supper at that pub by the river – we went there once before, if you remember?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she agreed. ‘I shall be ready by eight and I’ll come down to the hall. It will be nice spending time with you again, Mark.’
‘Yes, I’ve missed our time together,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to this evening.’
‘Yes, me too,’ she said, giving him a smile as she watched him leave. It was time she started work on that report, yet she lingered for a moment, thinking about Mark and the way he’d always been there for her until Carole came between them.
As she put a sheet of paper into her typewriter, Angela’s thoughts turned to Kelly, the girl Muriel had complained about so bitterly. She was a pretty dark-haired girl and bright, always friendly when Angela saw her – so why was she proving so very unreliable?
‘Oh, Mammy,’ Kelly Mason said, looking at her mother as she sat slumped in her wooden rocking chair by the kitchen fire. The kitchen looked as if a bomb had hit it, and needed a really good clean. ‘Why didn’t you tell me if you were feeling ill again? I would have done all this last night. I can’t stop now or I’ll be late again and Nan … I mean Mrs Burrows, told me that she will have to let me go if I keep having time off.’
‘You get off then, my love,’ her mother sighed. ‘Make me a cup of tea first and then I’ll get up and see to the bairns.’
Kelly saw the weariness in her mother’s face and sighed inwardly, knowing that she couldn’t desert her mother when she was like this; getting the younger children ready for school would be too much for her. When Mammy started to tremble and took her tea with unsteady hands, Kelly knew there was nothing she could do but stay for another hour or so to see to the children before she left for her work at St Saviour’s.
Running upstairs to pull her siblings from their beds, Kelly was thinking about her job at the children’s home. She loved working there, even though she was only employed in the kitchens as a skivvy, washing up, scrubbing and helping Cook by peeling mounds of potatoes and chopping cabbage or scraping carrots. Sometimes, Kelly thought she would throw up if she saw another carrot covered in mud, because they had to be scrubbed under the tap in the scullery before she could peel them; she hated the ones with wormholes, especially if there was still something inside, and Cook was so fussy about her food. If she found one speck of dirt in the cabbage she made Kelly’s life a misery.
Her sister and brothers squealed as she yanked the covers off them and then physically ejected them from bed; they were lazy devils and did little or nothing to help Mammy, even though Cate was old enough at nine to help with the simple chores.
‘Get up and wash now,’ Kelly said crossly, ‘or you’ll get no breakfast. I’ve got to get to work and I can’t wait about for you. Mammy isn’t well this morning so you can do the washing up before you go to school.’
‘There’s no school today ’cos there’s a hole in the roof and we wus told not to go in,’ her brother Michael complained bitterly. ‘I ain’t goin’ ter get up yet, our Kelly. You’re mean to get on at us like you do.’
‘Well, you may have a day off but I don’t,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m not telling you again. There’ll be toast and dripping and a cup of milk for you downstairs. I’m leaving as soon as I’ve washed up the supper things – and if I find Mammy worse tonight because you didn’t help her, Cate, you’ll feel the back of my hand.’
‘I’ll help Mammy,’ Robbie said. He was only five but more serious than the others and she knew he tried but he couldn’t do much other than set the table or fetch things from the shop.
‘Thank you, Robbie love,’ Kelly said. ‘Make the others help her too and make sure she doesn’t do too much. I’ve got to hurry or I might lose my job.’ She didn’t earn much but even a few shillings extra helped to pay the rent and make sure there was coal for the fire.
She took Bethy from her cot and into the bathroom, washing her face and changing her nappy. Bethy was nearly three and still in nappies; it seemed she wouldn’t learn to use the potty or perhaps Mammy was too tired to train her into it as she had the others. She’d never really been well since the birth of her youngest child.
