A Girl Can Dream

A Girl Can Dream Anne Bennett A dramatic and emotional story of one woman’s story to keep her family together. For fans of Dilly Court and Kitty Neale.When Meg’s mother dies in childbirth, she is determined to keep the promise made on her mother’s deathbed – keep the family together. But her father has descended into drink and resents the baby, Ruth, who he believes cost him his wife.Though struggling financially, Meg resists the offer of help from their unscrupulous and sinister landlord, Richard Flatterly. Things get worse when her father returns home one night with a woman called Doris and announces he intends to marry her. When war breaks out three of the children are evacuated to the country while little Ruth must stay with Meg’s father and his new wife as she is too young.Meg and her friend Joy sign up for the Land Army and go to work on the farm where she meets Stephen, home on leave after fighting the Nazi’s – the attraction is instant and she and Stephen fall in love. But when she returns to the family home for a visit, she is horrified to discover the house in squalor and that worst of all, Little Ruth has been sent to an orphanage. With no options, Meg must turn to the only man who can help her, Richard Flatterly, but in return for his help, she must pay a very high price… Copyright (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014 Copyright © Anne Bennett 2014 Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014 Cover photograph © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred (girl); Hulton Archive/Getty Images (children); Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com) (aircraft) Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007359257 Ebook Edition © May 2014 ISBN: 9780007383313 Version: 2017-09-08 Dedication (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) I am dedicating this book to all the “Novelistas” for the help, support and encouragement they are always ready to give. I appreciate it all a great deal … Table of Contents Title Page (#u87247628-c6a1-54dd-90a6-cb9b95b06717)Copyright (#u72fc6873-5af1-54a9-a209-900e96dc67c3)Dedication (#u01ac704b-a794-5b69-ad1e-44dc62d264e5)Part One (#u96589a59-df54-58ae-bb55-32d8555efe6e) Chapter One (#ubf5b0a70-d583-5d05-8309-a69e6442c8c5)Chapter Two (#u8bf28708-a342-57d7-b2c9-880cdbb1bd22)Chapter Three (#u4f583c0f-dee6-5256-bd7f-89ae77dd3cda)Chapter Four (#u883d3b23-ffbd-5c53-a6cc-17f637ddd292)Chapter Five (#ue56deacd-ec1c-563f-ae9b-1930f8f1e1c5)Chapter Six (#u89e0297a-1ebc-51e9-95e7-f4544f5ff204)Chapter Seven (#u7dc95caa-3ad1-57fe-ae46-d372fdb314b6)Chapter Eight (#u2047681e-fa81-5226-9a74-72e4fc799fa0)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Part Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) PART ONE (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) ONE (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) 1937 Meg Hallett would never forget that terrible day. Her mother, Maeve, had been having labour pains since the early hours of the morning. The other children had gone to Mass with their father but, with the new baby obviously on its way, Meg had stayed behind to tend to her mother. The baby was trying to push its way into the world far too soon and Meg wondered if this was due to the fall her mother had had in the yard the day before. Suddenly Maeve turned anxiously to her fourteen-year-old daughter. ‘Meggie, you will see to the others, won’t you?’ she begged. ‘I know it will be really hard for you … I know I’m asking you to give up all the dreams you have of a future for yourself, the job you had lined up at Lewis’s and everything but you must promise me to keep them together. I’d not rest easy if I thought the family were torn apart.’ ‘Mom, please don’t talk this way,’ Meg cried. Beads of sweat were standing out on Maeve’s brow and Meg wiped them away gently with the damp cloth she had ready, noting that her face was as pale as lint and so thin her high cheekbones stood out. Maeve had always admired those cheekbones. People always said she was a carbon copy of her mother, but though she had inherited her fine bones, luxurious dark hair with a coppery tinge, and deep brown eyes, she doubted her skin was as flawless, or her cheekbones so high. Now, though, her mother’s rosebud mouth looked bruised from where she had chewed it when the pain was bad, her face had lost all vestige of colour, and her hair was lank around her face. ‘Why don’t you lie down, Mom, and try to sleep?’ Meg suggested gently. Maeve, however, was too perturbed to sleep and she continued as if Meg hadn’t spoken. ‘And you must help your father. Charlie’s a good man and he will be lost. You will manage between the two of you – you would have been leaving school in a fortnight anyway – and Billy will be starting at the school himself in six months. May will be on hand if you need her.’ Meg nodded. Their neighbour had always been very helpful. ‘I know, Mom.’ ‘You will do this for me then, sure you will?’ Maeve said, clutching at her eldest daughter’s hand. ‘Mom, you know I would surely take care of the children and the house – and Daddy too – as well as I am able to,’ Meg said in as firm a voice as she could muster. ‘But I hate to hear you talking this way. You’re going to be fine.’ ‘No, my dear girl,’ Maeve said. ‘I haven’t much time. My family in Ireland might say you are too young to deal with all the children and they’ll offer to take one or two off your hands but, I beg you, don’t let them go. My father will have them working their fingers to the bone, as he did me and my siblings.’ She stared intently at Meg, reliving her sad memories of home. ‘If he didn’t feel we’d worked hard enough, then we didn’t eat. We were beaten with his belt for the slightest thing. I escaped my life of abuse, thank God, and now I would hate my parents to get their hands on my children.’ Meg’s mouth opened in surprise. Her mother had never spoken about her growing up in Ireland before. She remembered her father warning her not to plague Maeve with questions about her homeland; she hadn’t had a good time of it there. Meg doubted he knew much more than that. He himself had never raised a hand to any of his children – not even Terry – and there was always food on their table. To her knowledge her mother’s family had never written her one line since she left home, and she had never written to them so, Heaven forbid, should anything happen to her mother she doubted they would be involved in any way. So she said confidently, ‘They will never take any of the children, never fear, Mom.’ Maeve sank back on the pillow with a sigh and said, ‘Or the authorities might say they’d be better off in a home.’ ‘How could they be?’ Meg asked in genuine puzzlement. ‘Daddy’s in work and a good provider, and I’ve virtually left school and am able and willing to see to them. Terry and Jenny will help, so you needn’t worry about that either. But you are fretting for nothing. You’ll be as right as rain when the baby is born and you have recovered from the birth and all.’ But her mother went steadily downhill after that. When, in trying to make her more comfortable, Meg discovered the blood pumping from her, she stopped only long enough to pack her with a towel before setting off for the doctor, leaving their neighbour May Sanders sitting with her mother. The doctor ordered Maeve straight to hospital. Charlie’s brother, Uncle Robert, had been alerted to what was happening, and he and his wife, Rosie, took the younger children home to care for them. Meanwhile Meg would go with her father to the General Hospital. ‘Someone’s got to go with the poor sod,’ Robert said to Rosie. ‘I’ve never seen our Charlie in such a state,’ ‘The others seem totally traumatised by it all, too,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s the suddenness of it, I suppose.’ ‘That’s why I thought the nippers would be better with us,’ Uncle Robert said. ‘I mean, neighbours are all well and good, and I know May Sanders to be one of the best, but families should step in at times like these.’ Meg was glad that Uncle Robert and Aunt Rosie had the care of children. It was one less thing for her to worry about. She felt the burden of her father’s distress lodge on her shoulders and was glad that he hadn’t seen just how sick her mother looked. By the time the ambulance came she’d been semi-delirious, her face contorted from the agonising contractions. All he knew was that Maeve had started in labour and had been taken to the General Hospital. They sat alone on hard chairs in a dismal corridor, white paint flaking off the walls, for what seemed like hours. Eventually Charlie’s head sank into his hands. ‘If she dies it will be my fault,’ he wept. ‘I should never have allowed her to get pregnant again. The doctor warned us both it would be dangerous.’ ‘Oh, Dad, stop this,’ Meg said, ‘Whoever’s fault it is, I’d say Mom’s in the best place.’ Charlie got to his feet. ‘Well, I’m away to find out how she is,’ he said. ‘I can’t sit here any longer and know nothing.’ Just at that moment, a harassed-looking young doctor in his white coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, came through the double doors at the end of the corridor. As he approached, the look on his face turned the blood in Meg’s veins to ice. ‘Mr Hallett?’ the doctor asked Charlie. ‘Yes, I’m Mr Hallett.’ Meg suddenly didn’t want the doctor to say any more, as if not knowing the news would make it not true. But the doctor went on quietly, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Hallett. Your wife died on the operating table just a few moments ago.’ The terrible words hung in the air. Meg and Charlie stared at the doctor as if they couldn’t quite believe what they had just heard. Despite her mother’s apprehensions about the birth, Meg had comforted herself with the thought that women had babies all the time; once they’d got her to hospital, everything would be all right. Charlie sank back onto the chair, unsure his legs could hold him up. He just couldn’t take it in. Maeve dead, and through his own selfish fault. He was aware of Meg breaking her heart on the bench beside him, tears coursing rapidly down her cheeks, and he put his arms around her. The doctor said sincerely, ‘I’m sorry to give you such bad news.’ And then, to give them some vestige of hope: ‘We may be able to save the child, though she is very small.’ Charlie and Meg jolted upright. Neither of them had considered that the baby would have survived. ‘Child? You mean the child is alive?’ Charlie asked, astonished. The doctor nodded solemnly. ‘When I left the theatre she was alive, yes.’ ‘Better if it doesn’t survive,’ Charlie snapped abruptly. ‘Because I don’t want it.’ Meg pulled herself from her father’s embrace and turned to stare at him, utterly shocked. ‘Not want this baby? Dad, what are you saying?’ ‘How could we raise such a wee child without its mother?’ ‘It has been done before,’ the doctor said, as Meg burst out, ‘I don’t know how you can even think such a thing. This poor wee baby is an important part of our family.’ ‘And who will look after it?’ ‘I will,’ Meg declared. ‘I promised Mom I would look after them all if anything happened to her. Are you suggesting abandoning the youngest one, the one Mom died giving birth to?’ Charlie already felt ashamed of his initial reaction, and yet he saw the burden the baby would be for his daughter. ‘Meg, you have your life before you,’ he protested. ‘Yes, I have my life before me and I won’t consider it a wasted one rearing my brothers and sisters,’ Meg replied, her eyes sparking angrily. ‘I promised Mom I would do it and I will, and that includes this little one just born, if she should survive.’ And then she turned to the doctor and said, ‘Please, do what you can to help her.’ ‘I’d say you have little to concern yourself about with a daughter like that,’ the doctor said to Charlie, and to Meg he said, ‘Try not to worry. I can make no promises, you understand, but I assure you we will do our best.’ When the doctor left them, Meg could barely look at her father. Her heart felt as if it was breaking at the loss of her mother, a loss she was barely able to comprehend. Yet she couldn’t blame an innocent baby for Maeve’s death, as her father seemed to be doing. It was a couple of hours later that the doctor came to see them again and told them that the child was holding her own and that the next twenty-four hours would be critical. Meg would have liked to stay at the hospital, willing strength to the sister she hadn’t even seen, who was fighting for her life, but there were the other children to deal with. Sorrow-laden and in silence, she and Charlie headed for home. Telling her siblings the dreadful news was even worse than Meg had imagined. The children were inconsolable, and Meg felt as if her own heartache had to be put on hold in order for her to deal with the others. She doubted that four-year-old Billy could comprehend the finality of death, or that Sally really understood, as she was only three years older, but they wept anyway. They were missing their mother already, and were frightened because everything was strange. The others were well aware that they would never see their mother again, and their anguish was hard for Meg to cope with. Charlie, too, was beside himself with grief, and she was glad when her uncle, who was stunned and upset himself, took him off to the pub. ‘I’ll call for our Alec too,’ he told Meg, as they were about to leave. ‘He needs to know, and families should be together at times like this.’ Aunt Rosie was very upset as well, for she had loved Maeve. When the men had gone, she said to Meg: ‘Robert’s right and families should do that, but I don’t think there will be much support from Alec’s wife, your aunt Susan. Anyway,’ she added, ‘no one wants help to be given as grudgingly as it would be from her. Trouble is, there’s only one person she really cares about besides herself, and that’s Nicholas, her darling boy.’ Meg nodded. Nicholas was her own age, and an only child, and her aunt had big ambitions for her clever son, who was now at King Edward’s, a posh grammar school on the other side of town. ‘May Sanders is a different person altogether, though,’ Meg said, ‘and she needs to know about Mom, too, for I’d hate her to hear from someone else.’ ‘Yes, go straight on and tell her,’ Rosie advised. ‘And I must think about getting all the children fed.’ ‘Food would choke me just now.’ ‘Me too,’ Rosie said. ‘But growing children have to eat.’ ‘Yes,’ Meg agreed, ‘and there could well be another mouth to feed before long.’ ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘The baby was alive when I left the hospital.’ ‘Heavens,’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you tell the children?’ ‘Because she may not live,’ Meg said. ‘She’s very small, they say, so the next twenty-four hours will be critical. What was the point of telling them all they have a new sister and then tomorrow telling them they have not? It would just be another loss to cope with.’ ‘Oh, my dear girl,’ Rosie said sympathetically, ‘what a load you have taken on.’ ‘Don’t,’ Meg warned. ‘If you are too nice to me, I will blub.’ ‘Well, do,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘Tears will do you no harm. You have been too controlled by half.’ ‘Oh, no, Aunt Rosie,’ Meg said. ‘I cried when I heard and I have the feeling that if I allow myself to cry again, I will never stop. Then Dad and the children might feel more adrift than ever.’ Rosie nodded. Meg was the eldest, to whom the others all looked for direction, and would do so even more now their mother was gone. And then another thing occurred to her. ‘Meg, if the baby is very poorly then she has to be baptised right away.’ ‘I don’t know what name was decided,’ Meg said. ‘Mom never would discuss it. Said it was bad luck.’ ‘What about your father?’ ‘Oh, he always left the decision about names up to Mom.’ ‘And she really gave you no inkling?’ Meg thought for a moment or two. ‘Well, there was just one thing. She hardly ever talked about Ireland, but she told me once, many years ago, that she’d had a little sister who died of TB when she was only two years old. Her name was Ruth – maybe she would like this little one named for her?’ ‘Ruth Hallett.’ Rosie nodded and smiled. ‘Meg, that’s a fine name, and I’m sure if your dear mother is looking down on us this minute she will be as pleased as punch. When you’ve seen May, go down to the priest as soon as you can. If that wee mite is just hanging on to life it is better to have her baptised as soon as possible. I’ll send word to your dad.’ ‘He won’t care,’ Meg said. ‘He doesn’t want the baby.’ ‘No, I think you’ve got that wrong,’ Rosie frowned. ‘No I haven’t, Auntie,’ Meg insisted. ‘He even said that to the doctor.’ ‘I’m sure that was just the effect of the shock he had,’ Rosie said. ‘Charlie is a good father. Why ever would he say a thing like that, unless he wasn’t in his right mind?’ ‘He said he was thinking that I would have another child to bring up before I can have any sort of life.’ ‘Well, there you are then,’ Rosie said, obviously relieved. ‘He was thinking of you and he phrased it badly, that was all. I’m sure he wants the child to live as much as anyone else does.’ Meg wasn’t convinced, though, and she thought her new little sister had had a poor welcome into the world so far. She vowed that if she lived, she would never ever let her feel in any way responsible for her mother’s death. When she had sat with Maeve while Meg went for the doctor, May had been worried sick as she watched her good friend’s condition worsen. At eleven o’clock Mass she’d prayed earnestly for Maeve’s recovery. However, she had only to look at Meg’s face as she opened the door that afternoon to see that her prayers had not been answered. In fact, Meg didn’t speak at all at first. Overburdened with sadness, she went straight into May’s outstretched arms and cried her eyes out. It was some time before Meg was able to tell May what had happened. May agreed with Rosie that the baby had to be baptised immediately to ensure her immortal soul was safe. May went with Meg to see the priest, Father Hugh. When Meg explained how premature and small the baby was, he said that the hospital should be his immediate port of call, as the baby’s life hung in the balance. ‘Where’s your father, Margaret?’ he asked Meg. ‘Why isn’t he here?’ Meg knew better than to say that her father was at the Swan, so she said instead, ‘He’s with my uncle Robert, Father. He is ever so upset.’ ‘Doubtless he is,’ the priest said. ‘But it should be the child he is thinking about now. He must come to the hospital.’ ‘I’ll fetch him, Father,’ May offered. ‘Good,’ Father Hugh said. ‘I think no time should be lost. Come along with me, Margaret.’ Meg was glad to go with the priest; she’d rather not be the one to prise her father from the pub. Little Ruth was in a room of her own and swaddled so well that only her face was visible. Meg was immensely moved to see that tiny face. She wasn’t wrinkled as Meg had half expected her to be, just very beautiful and vulnerable-looking. Her eyes were closed so that her lashes lay like perfect crescents on her cheeks, which were slightly plump and even had colour in them, though the nurse tending her said that that was a sign of jaundice. Meg had no idea what her hair was like because it was covered, like her hands, to keep her warm. Her crib was lined with cotton wool and there was a light bulb shining above it. ‘How ill is she?’ Meg asked, looking down on the child she was told not to touch because of the risk of infection. ‘She is holding her own so far,’ the nurse answered. ‘And each hour that passes increases her chances. Jaundice is not a good sign, but many newborn babies have that, and if it gets no worse it won’t harm her.’ That was good news, but she was not well enough to be taken from her cot and have cold water poured on her head, the doctor was adamant about that, despite the priest’s protestations. When Charlie turned up with Robert he fully supported the doctor. ‘Give over, Father,’ he said. ‘The doctor knows what he is doing.’ ‘I am worried about her immortal soul,’ the priest maintained. ‘Well, I’m more worried about keeping her alive,’ the doctor countered. ‘Can’t you put water on her forehead with your thumb or something?’ The priest shook his head. ‘The water should be flowing,’ he said. ‘Well,’ remarked the doctor drily, ‘I’m sure a loving God will understand, in the circumstances. And may I suggest that you scrub your hands first?’ Father Hugh was annoyed but sensed that the doctor was inflexible. ‘Have you a name for her?’ he asked Charlie as he washed his hands thoroughly in the basin the nurse brought for him. Charlie was nonplussed. ‘No, we never talked about names.’ ‘She discussed it with me once,’ Meg said, thinking the small lie justified. ‘She said she would like a girl to be called Ruth, after her sister who died of TB.’ ‘Did she?’ Charlie asked. He gave a slight shrug. ‘I suppose Ruth is as good a name as any other.’ And so with Robert as godfather and May as godmother, little Ruth Hallett was baptised. They each held one of her mittened hands, and the priest prayed for little Ruth’s recovery as they stood round the crib. Later, however, as they all walked back towards the Halletts’ house, Meg’s father turned sadly towards Father Hugh. ‘Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t recover, Father,’ he said. Meg saw the priest’s shocked expression as he said, ‘I can’t understand you talking that way, Charlie. All I can say is that grief for your wife has coloured your outlook.’ ‘What chance has she, growing up without a mother’s love?’ ‘The same chance as the rest of us,’ Meg burst out. ‘I can do nothing about the lack of a mother’s love, but I have sisterly love in abundance for little Ruth, as well as the others, and that’s better than nothing, surely?’ ‘Come on, man,’ Robert said encouragingly. ‘Won’t we all be on hand to give the little one a good start in life?’ ‘And count me in on that,’ May added. ‘As Meg said, she can do nothing to bring Maeve back, but I know that she will do her best to slip into her place.’ Meg could have told her father that the two red spots in May’s cheeks were a bad sign; it showed she was in a temper and she proved this as she rounded on him. ‘Little Ruth, if she should survive, deserves the same care as your other children. She is not like a parcel left at the hospital because it is not convenient to have at home. She is a child, your child, and every child should ideally be with their family.’ Charlie looked morose and sighed heavily while May leaned forward and squeezed Meg’s hand. ‘You are a grand girl, Meg, but only a girl yet. If you want anything, anything at all, you know where I am.’ ‘I know,’ Meg said in a low voice. ‘And I am grateful. You were a good friend to my mother.’ ‘I was very fond of her,’ May said with a slight catch in her voice. ‘It was no hardship.’ ‘Even so,’ Meg said. ‘If only Dad …’ ‘He’ll come round,’ May said in little more than a whisper. ‘You’ll see. Time is a great healer and meanwhile you have something to tell the others that might cheer them a little.’ Meg nodded and they parted at the Halletts’ door. Once inside, Father Hugh said Maeve’s parents must be informed of their daughter’s death and the birth of Ruth, and advised Meg to send them a telegram the following morning. ‘But Mom didn’t really get on with her parents,’ Meg told him. ‘And how do you know that they are not sorry for that now?’ the priest asked. ‘Maybe they regret any harsh words spoken.’ ‘Whether they are sorry or not,’ Charlie said, ‘her parents must be told about Maeve’s death. I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell them. Isn’t that right, Father?’ ‘Yes, Charlie,’ the priest said. ‘And Maeve was once telling me that she had family in America.’ ‘Yes, three brothers and a sister,’ Charlie said. ‘Better send telegrams to them too, Meg.’ Meg nodded. She didn’t mind sending telegrams to those in the States, for her mother used to write to them regularly and the letters they sent back often made her smile. She would read snippets out to them all. Meg knew much more about them than she did about her maternal grandparents. Still, if they had to be told, then that was that. Now she put it out of her mind and concentrated instead on what she was to tell the children about their little sister. They were a sad little bunch, and Meg’s heart went out to them all. When she told them of their tiny wee sister fighting for her life in the hospital, they made no sign that they had even heard her. A small, frail baby was little consolation for their mother, who had been taken from them so suddenly. Meg, dealing with this loss herself, felt suddenly dispirited. When a knock came on the door a while later, she wondered who it could be; for few neighbours knocked in that area. ‘Miss Carmichael,’ she exclaimed with all the eagerness she could muster. Miss Carmichael had been Meg’s teacher at school; Meg had loved her with a passion and worked hard to please, so achieving higher marks than anyone in her leaving exams. Meg knew Miss Carmichael had visited her parents to ask them if she could stay on at school longer, but she knew her father, like many, regarded education for women as worthless, and that her parents would expect her to earn wages as soon as possible. Kate Carmichael noticed that the wan smile did not reach Meg’s large, dark eyes, which were glazed with misery. Normally teachers were excluded from the inner circle of gossip, but news that Maeve Hallett was very ill and about to give birth prematurely had filtered through. When Meg told her what had happened since, she was shocked to the core. She knew that Meg would have to step into her mother’s place and the thought that her life would be stunted before it had really begun saddened the young teacher. She sensed that now Meg needed time to mourn her mother: grief was etched all over her face. In fact, so moved was she by Meg’s obvious distress that she put her arms around her and held her as Meg began to sob afresh. TWO (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) The following day, Meg pushed her brothers and sisters off to school. Though they might not want to go, she felt it was best that they should keep to their usual routine, and in any case she had plenty to do that would be best done without the young ones getting under her feet. Rosie offered to look after Billy as he wasn’t yet at school and Meg accepted gratefully for she had the telegrams to send first, and then there was a pile of washing needing attention, and sometime during the day she had to squeeze in time to visit her wee sister in the hospital. When she eventually got there the doctor told Meg that she should be proud of the baby’s tenacity, that after everything she’d been through, she was going to make it. Meg let her breath out in relief. To her it made some sort of sense to her mother’s death that the baby she had been carrying had survived. ‘When can I take her home?’ she asked. ‘Oh, that’s a little way off yet,’ the doctor said. ‘She must weigh at least five pounds, and that might take a week, possibly two.’ ‘Can I come and see her?’ ‘Of course,’ the doctor assured her. ‘She is still in the special care baby unit and when she is a little stronger you may be able to give her a bottle. You will have to get used to doing that anyway.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said Meg. ‘I would love to . .’ Afternoon was turning into evening as Meg scurried home, collecting Billy on the way, knowing the children would all be sitting there with their tongues hanging out; her father, too, because he hadn’t gone to work that day. However, if Meg had thought he might be some support for her, then she was disappointed. She’d known he had taken himself off to the Swan after the meal she had put before them all, but the children told her that while she had been at the hospital he had staggered home at closing time and was in bed sleeping it off . . ‘It’s how many men deal with things,’ May told her when they met in the yard as Meg was bringing in the washing. ‘I often think that it is women who are the copers in this world. A man loses his wife and goes to pieces, and yet if a woman loses her man she will roll up her sleeves and work to feed and clothe her children and get on with it without moaning much. Now your father has lost the love of his life, so don’t expect him to just get over it as you will have to.’ In the light of May’s words, Meg was patient with her father when she woke him to have his dinner, and she bit her lip when he sat at the table bleary-eyed and complaining that the food wasn’t a patch on what Maeve would put before him. Meg had been too busy to make anything more than a scratch meal using the meat and vegetables intended for the previous day, and was stung by the criticism. However, to prevent herself either flying into a rage or dissolving in tears, Meg told her father about her visit to see the baby. ‘Ruth is definitely going to make it now,’ she said. ‘So that’s good news.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘Oh, Dad, of course it is.’ Meg insisted. ‘She will be able to come home when she is over five pounds in weight. I can’t wait for that.’ ‘Don’t see why,’ Sally said. ‘Why do you say that, Sally?’ Meg said. ‘I thought you liked babies.’ ‘I do,’ Sally maintained. ‘But not this one, not Ruth.’ ‘Why on earth don’t you like our own baby?’ ‘’Cos if she hadn’t been born, our mommy would still be alive,’ Sally said. Meg was astounded. Sally was only seven years old and Meg wondered if she had overheard the others talking about it. ‘Is this how you all feel?’ she asked, glaring at them all around the table; she knew by the uncomfortable glances they exchanged with one another that they did. ‘You can count me in as well,’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t expect me to get excited over a baby that robbed me of my wife.’ ‘How can you blame one small helpless baby for Mom’s death?’ Meg cried, patience with her father gone. ‘The truth is, Mom shouldn’t have been expecting at all, and the fact that she was can’t be laid at little Ruth’s door. I take it you won’t be going to see her?’ She was met by a wall of silence. ‘All right then,’ she screamed. ‘Have it your way, but I will visit every day until the time I can bring Ruth home. And when that time comes, she is never to feel any sign of this resentment. And that goes for you all,’ she added, looking at each one of the children in turn. The children looked aghast, waiting for their father’s reaction, but he didn’t respond. Meanwhile Meg felt such misery envelop her that she knew if she stayed in the house a minute longer, she would burst into floods of tears. She strode purposefully to the door, stepped into the street and shut it behind her with a resounding and very satisfying slam. She had no plan of where she wanted to go. She felt all churned up inside and so she set off for Calthorpe Park, where she walked alongside the Heath, passing the bandstand where the brass bands played on Sundays. She could see boys having a kick-about with a football on the far side, and a couple of families packing up after a picnic. It was a peaceful scene and began to soothe Meg’s bruised soul. Courting couples arm in arm were strolling along the banks of the river Rea, which were overhung with weeping willows, or walking under the canopy of trees by Pershore Road. And the bees taking in the last of the sun busily buzzed amongst the flowerbeds, which were a riot of colour. Meg gave a sigh that was almost one of contentment. She strolled all over the park, drinking in the peace and tranquillity, taking her time, so that the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon when she turned for home. It was quiet when she went in and all the pots and pans, she saw, had been washed, dried and put away. Only Terry was up, reading a comic. ‘Where is everyone?’ ‘Jenny, Sally and Billy are in bed.’ ‘And Daddy?’ Terry’s eyes met Meg’s and she burst out, ‘He has gone back to the Swan, hasn’t he?’ Terry shrugged. ‘S’pose. He said he was going to see Uncle Robert.’ ‘And that’s where the two of them will make for,’ Meg said grimly. ‘May said men often deal with loss by drinking too much, though I can’t for the life of me see what good it does. I hope Dad gets a grip on himself soon.’ ‘And me,’ Terry said gloomily. ‘Did you just stay up to wait for me?’ ‘And to say sorry,’ Terry said. ‘Maybe Mom shouldn’t have had this baby, but I know a bit of how babies are made and once you are having one, it’s too late then to wish you weren’t. But I got to thinking that the baby hasn’t had any say in it either, has she?’ ‘No,’ Meg said. ‘And that was the point I was trying to make.’ ‘I know,’ Terry said. ‘I should have had more sense, and I will try and make the others feel the same before she comes home.’ ‘Oh, Terry, that’s great,’ Meg cried, for she was very fond of her twelve-year-old brother and had been disappointed with his initial reaction. ‘It will be a poor welcome for Ruth to come to a house where no one wants her.’ ‘I got to thinking that too after you left,’ Terry said. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry for upsetting you.’ ‘None of us is thinking straight since Mom died,’ Meg said. ‘Concentrating on the baby helps me, because it’s something positive.’ ‘Here’s something else positive,’ Terry said. ‘Though maybe not so pleasant.’ ‘What?’ ‘A telegram was delivered while you were out,’ Terry told Meg. ‘Mom’s parents are coming for the funeral.’ When she finally met them, Meg didn’t care for either of her maternal grandparents one bit. Sarah Mulligan was a small woman, but a stout one. Her face was the colour of putty, and so creased and wrinkled it reminded Meg of a dried-up old prune. The wrinkles didn’t hide her thin tight lips, though, or her blue eyes that looked so cold that shivers ran down Meg’s back. Conversely, everything about Maeve’s father, Liam Mulligan, was oversize. He was a tall man, and beefy, with enormous shoulders, a very large stomach and hands twice the size of her own father’s. He had an exceedingly red face with rheumy brown eyes and slack, bulbous lips. However, it wasn’t just how they looked that Meg found off-putting, it was also their manner. They expressed no sorrow at the loss of a daughter, nor any sympathy for the family. They gave the children scant attention and little affection, but they were very quick to find fault and Meg found them very unwelcome guests. On the morning of the funeral, all the Halletts – even Billy – were dressed in black. Meg’s long dark brown hair was up in a chignon, which Miss Carmichael had shown her how to do when she was going to the interview at Lewis’s and it had immediately had made her appear older and given her confidence – she thought she needed both qualities that day. The sun shone from cornflower-blue skies, though it seemed a mockery for the day to be such a bright one when their spirits were so low. The children’s aunts and uncles and grandparents had already gone to the church, and it was just the Hallett family left to walk together, Meg leading the way and her father bringing up the rear, as they walked along Bell Barn Road and down Bristol Passage on to Bristol Street, where St Catherine’s Church stood. All those not attending the Requiem Mass stood at their doorways in respectful silence and watched them pass. The church was packed and Meg told herself she shouldn’t be so surprised, for her mother had been very popular, but it still warmed her heart to see so many there, including Miss Carmichael and the doctor standing at the back. The Requiem Mass was a long one, but none of the children fidgeted or whispered together. Even Billy seemed awed by the solemnity of it all. And after it, as they began the short walk to Key Hill Cemetery in Hockley, where Maeve was to be buried, Meg caught hold of Billy’s hand. His very shiny eyes grew bigger when, after the murmured prayers around the graveside, the coffin that Meg had told him housed his mother was gently lowered into the prepared hole. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him as his father stepped forward and threw a clod of earth on top of the coffin. Thud. That seemed to Billy to bring home the fact that his mother really was dead. One by one the family threw a handful of earth onto the coffin. ‘You don’t have to do it, Billy,’ Meg told him kindly. ‘I want to.’ Billy shook his head emphatically and, dropping Meg’s hand, he stepped forward boldly. People started to cry afresh as the small boy took a handful of earth, but Billy didn’t cry till the clod hit the coffin. Then the enormity of it all seemed to get to him, the realisation that his mother was dead and gone, and he ran back to Meg and buried his face in her skirt as tears threatened to overwhelm him. Charlie, too, felt stricken as he watched his children step forward one by one. Unbeknownst to Meg, the Mulligans had offered to take Billy and Sally back with them to what they said was a much better life in Irish countryside, and he had been very tempted,. They painted a powerful picture of the idyllic life the children would have and Liam Mulligan promised that Billy would inherit the farm one day if he took to the work. Charlie felt he couldn’t just dismiss the offer out of hand, but looking at the kids now, they were so lost and vulnerable. They were his children, he realised; they only had the one parent now. The children needed time to grieve for their mother; surely they could do that better in familiar surroundings with people that loved them. He suddenly peeled Billy from Meg, lifted him into his arms and, carrying him like that, led the way to the Swan, where Paddy Larkin had given him the use of the back room. Rosie and her daughters had worked very hard to put on a good spread for the mourners, and Meg was immensely grateful to them as she took her place beside her father. As tea and beer flowed, and neighbours got chatting, Charlie drew Meg into the corridor and closed the door against the noise. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’ ‘Child, it will be many years before I am all right,’ Charlie told his daughter. ‘Indeed it might never happen.’ He gave a sigh and went on, ‘But I wanted to talk to you.’ ‘Talk away then,’ Meg said. ‘It’s about the children,’ Charlie said, and he told her what Liam and Sally Mulligan had suggested, Meg gasped for it was just the very thing her mother said to guard against. Charlie hadn’t noticed her reaction and went on. ‘I know you don’t like Maeve’s parents and you want to keep us all together, but would it be selfish of us to keep Billy and Sally here when they can offer them a much better life in Ireland?’ Meg took a deep breath. She knew she had to remain calm and rational. He was clearly genuinely asking her opinion, so she had to push down her desire to tell him that she could see cruel malevolence in her grandmother’s gimlet eyes, and how much she hated her grandfather’s coarseness and belligerence, particularly when he had a drink in him. The thought of either Billy or Sally being beaten by that hulk didn’t bear thinking about. And there was also the promise she had made to her mother. But it was more than that: she knew the only way for them all to get over their loss was to stay together, so that they could offer support to one another. She chose her words with care. ‘If I had to choose between health and happiness, I think I would choose happiness every time,’ she said. ‘Mom said she was desperately unhappy at home.’ Charlie nodded. ‘I remember. But I suppose people can change.’ ‘Not those two,’ Meg declared determinedly. ‘So you don’t think they should be given this chance?’ Charlie asked her seriously. Meg shook her head. ‘If you send them away I won’t be able to keep the promise I made to Mom and that will distress me greatly. But, more importantly, I think both Billy and Sally will be desperately sad.’ Charlie still looked hesitant and Meg took his arm. ‘Come on, Dad. Their place, the place for all of us, is in the bosom of the family where we are loved and understood.’ Meg saw with a measure of relief that her words had hit home as her father nodded his head. ‘You’re right. I think you are right.’ The image of his young ones standing by their mother’s coffin came into his mind again. ‘I don’t want to send the two young children away like that, however healthy it is. Their place is here – and more especially now, but have you no qualms at all about how you will cope?’ Meg put her hand on his arm. ‘Dad, I’ll never be another Mom, but I will do my best, and when I make mistakes I’ll learn from them. I know this is what Mom wanted above anything else, and that helps.’ ‘Right,’ Charlie said, squaring his shoulders. ‘I am away back into the room and will tell Maeve’s parents that the children won’t be going with them.’ ‘That’s the spirit, Daddy,’ Meg said, and she smiled with relief as she followed her father. THREE (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) No one felt particularly easy until the Mulligans had left. Charlie ran to the expense of a taxi to take them to the station as their train was leaving very early in the morning. But still the whole family got up to see them off, or, as Terry said, to make sure they really went. As Meg watched the taxi drive down the road she felt the sudden desire to dance a jig. Terry had done his work well and soon Meg had her siblings all helping her with the weekly wash. Terry filled the large copper in the brew house, and when the clothes had had a good boil, Meg hauled the white shirts and the like into a shallow sink, She’d already added Beckett’s Blue to the water and Billy and Jenny swirled the clothes through there before wringing them out and taking them to Jenny who was operating the mangle. The rest of the clothes were heaved into the maiding tub and then Meg pounded them up and down with the dolly stick, That finished they all had a go at turning the mangle, while Meg hung the damp clothes on the lines criss-crossing the yard. This was all done to cries of encouragement from the women from the yard, who knew that Meg was keeping them busy for their own sakes. And when the family wash was completed Meg fished out all the baby things their mother had put in a trunk in the attic and these too were washed in the sinks by hand for as Meg said, ‘There will be nothing new for this baby, so the least we can do is welcome her with sweet-smelling clothes and bedding.’ Later that evening Meg laid down the iron after pressing the last of the little smocked dresses and said to Terry, ‘You know, small as these clothes are, they are going to swamp Ruth. She is so incredibly tiny still.’ ‘She must be all right to come home, though.’ ‘Yes, she’s five pounds now.’ She began folding up the clothes. ‘I suppose I’m just nervous generally. I mean, I really want to bring Ruth home, it’s where she belongs, but I am worried how I’ll cope with everything.’ ‘We’ll all help as much as we can,’ Terry said. ‘I think we’ll have to because I can’t see our dad giving you much of a hand with her.’ ‘No,’ Meg said, shaking her head. ‘I can’t understand him. How can he blame a tiny baby for Mom’s death when it’s more his fault than her’s?’ ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘Nothing,’ Meg mumbled, not wanting to discuss the sexual side of marriage with a boy only twelve years of age. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m just cross with Daddy generally. I mean, we’re all suffering, but he just can’t seem to pull himself together. Where did he slope off to at dinner-time and where is he now?’ That didn’t need an answer. They both knew he was at the Swan. ‘Quite apart from anything else,’ Meg said, ‘he can’t afford to go to the pub every night.’ ‘He says he is bought drinks,’ Terry pointed out. ‘Maybe he is being bought a few drinks at the moment,’ Meg said, ‘especially with Mom’s funeral just over, but that’s not going to go on for ever. And I doubt people buy him enough for him to get in the state he seems to be in some nights. I hear him stumbling around and muttering to himself.’ ‘So do I,’ Terry said. ‘And I know it was agreed that you move into the bedroom with the baby while she is so small and needing night feeds so she won’t disturb us, but Dad disturbs us much more coming home drunk.’ ‘Maybe he’ll take a grip on himself with another mouth to feed,’ Meg said. ‘Yeah,’ said Terry, with a rueful grin. ‘And maybe pigs fly.’ The following day, Meg and her aunt Rosie went to fetch the baby home. The nurse seemed a bit surprised and said, ‘I thought your father might be here with you today to discuss the little one’s care in the future.’ Meg’s eyes met those of her aunt, but she felt she had to defend her father. ‘He … he had to work,’ she said. ‘You know the funeral and all was a great expense.’ ‘Of course, I understand,’ the nurse said, but Meg knew that she didn’t. It was small wonder: Meg herself didn’t fully understand why her father had never been to see his baby daughter since the day of her birth. But she said to the nurse, ‘What do you mean about the baby’s care? She is all right, isn’t she?’ ‘Oh, yes, she is,’ the nurse said, ‘but she is a month premature and so her feeds will have to be little and often – every two to three hours.’ Meg nodded and the nurse went on, ‘And she will be unable to regulate her temperature so you must ensure that she is kept warm. Be aware of that and add an extra blanket if the nights are cold. And guard against infection. Don’t let anyone nurse her if they have a cold or anything. In fact, keep visitors to a minimum for now.’ ‘Little chance of that,’ Rose laughed. ‘Every woman in the street has been on pins all day, knowing the wee one is coming home. They mean her no harm, but want to welcome her properly.’ Meg nodded. ‘And they have all been good to us since Mom died and I’d hate to offend them, but if I see anyone with a cold, I will ask them not to touch her.’ ‘Well, do your best,’ the nurse said. ‘And we will keep our eye on her too. So for now I’d like you to bring her in every week to be weighed to make sure she is gaining enough.’ Meg could see the logic of it but it was yet another thing she had to fit into her week. Rose had seen the resigned look flit over her face and said, ‘It doesn’t have to be you that brings the child back here. I could do it sometimes. Don’t be too independent. We can’t help you if you don’t let us.’ Meg smiled gratefully at her aunt and felt the burden of responsibility that had lodged firmly between her shoulders lighten a little. Rose insisted on paying for a taxi as she said little Rose couldn’t be expected to travel home on a tram, which rattled alarmingly and was probably full of germs. Meg thoroughly enjoyed her second-ever ride in a car, while Ruth, snuggled tight against her, went fast asleep. Rose was right about the neighbours eagerly awaiting the arrival of little Ruth Hallett. The children barely had time to ooh and aah over their little sister before they were invaded. Everyone brought something: matin?e jackets, dresses, nighties, leggings or pram sets. One neighbour brought a rocking cradle and another an enormous pram she no longer needed, and a woman who had had twins five years before brought a selection of clothes that Meg was sure would fit Ruth because the twins had been tiny too. That evening, Meg showed the things to her father, but he showed no interest in either the clothes or the child, his only comment being, ‘That bloody pram is too big for this house.’ Stunned and hurt – Meg could not believe that her father would keep up this antipathy to his own child – she snapped back, ‘Where d’you suggest I leave it then? In the street?’ ‘I’m just saying.’ ‘Yes, well, you’ve said, and unless you have an alternative place for it, it stays right where it is,’ Meg told her father firmly. For a moment he glared at Meg for speaking to him that way in front of the children, but he said nothing. Instead he stood up so quickly that his chair scraped on the lino, and then he lifted his coat from the back of the door and went out, slamming the door after him with such gusto that Ruth, lying asleep in the pram, woke with a start and began to cry. Meg felt desolation surround her as she lifted the baby, realising at that moment that her father was a weak man. She had hoped against hope that when she brought the baby home he would finally mellow towards her and start looking after her in the way he should. But she recognised now that he was unable to take responsibility for his part in making her mother pregnant, and knowing by doing so he had put her life in danger. Instead of accepting any blame, he laid it all on the shoulders of a tiny, innocent baby. The children began to clear the table and wash up the pots as Meg dealt with the baby. Then Terry supervised their getting ready for bed before putting a cup of tea down beside Meg. None of them had spoken about the incident after dinner, or their father’s indifference to Ruth, and she imagined that they were as confused as she was. ‘Not looking forward to him coming home tonight,’ Terry said. ‘Don’t blame you,’ Meg said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have gone for him the way I did, but …’ ‘None of us can understand the way Dad is with Ruth,’ Terry said. ‘I mean, when you see her, she’s just so helpless.’ ‘I know,’ Meg said with a sigh. ‘I suppose I should be worried about his state of mind, really – I know he’s lost his wife – but I just feel angry with him for being so weak when we are all doing our best to muddle through.’ And muddling through it was. Despite the help that Meg had given her mother bringing up her siblings, she had quickly discovered that it was very different being totally responsible for a child. She hadn’t realised how loud and siren-like a baby’s cry was in the dead of night, and how crushingly tired she felt, having been roused every couple of hours. The fitful sleep that Meg would drop into eventually was shallow and far from refreshing, and she would be jerked out of it again and again before the night ended. After four nights of this, she was bleary-eyed on the Friday morning as she ladled porridge into her father’s bowl, poured them each a cup of tea and sat down opposite him. As it was the school holidays she had left the others in bed until they needed to get up, and she was just about to broach the subject of housekeeping with her father – because she hadn’t a brass farthing to her name – when, as if he knew what was in her mind, he handed over what was left in his pay packet. Meg knew he got paid on a Thursday, but when she looked in the pay packet there was only one pound and one ten-shilling note left in there. She had no idea what her father used to give her mother to buy the food for them all, but she could bet it was much more than she had been given. ‘Is this all?’ she asked. ‘Aye, that’s all,’ Charlie snapped. ‘Your mother never moaned. Great manager, your mother was.’ ‘Great manager!’ Meg repeated. ‘The rent is seven and six a week.’ ‘I am well aware of that,’ Charlie said. ‘And you may as well know it all. We are three weeks in arrears. Our landlord, old Mr Flatterly himself, came and offered his condolences when Maeve died and told me I wasn’t to worry about the arrears, that I had enough on my plate. He’s a decent sort, not like his son, who I hear is taking over the properties from him now.’ ‘Great,’ Meg said. ‘So I’ve got to meet with this son, who isn’t a decent sort, and give him just one week’s rent when we owe three weeks. And how am I going to find the money to pay even one week if we are going to eat as well?’ ‘You’ll not likely meet him,’ Charlie said. ‘You know it’s Vince O’Malley collecting the money, and if you tell him you can’t pay anything off the arrears yet, he’s not going to bother about it, is he?’ ‘But I don’t like owing money,’ Meg said doggedly. ‘Mom never held with it, but even with the basic rent paid I don’t see how I will make the money stretch. We have another mouth to feed now and little Ruth has to have milk.’ ‘Well, you know how I feel about that.’ ‘Don’t start that again,’ Meg said. ‘She’s your daughter just as much as I am, and so she is your responsibility and she has to eat.’ Suddenly, Meg saw her father’s shoulders sag and the eyes he turned to her glittered with unshed tears. ‘Don’t fight me at every turn, Meg,’ he said. ‘I am doing the best I can.’ It was on the tip of Meg’s tongue to snap that her father’s best was not good enough, but she stopped herself. Instead she said, almost gently, ‘Perhaps things might be better for all of us if you stayed in more.’ ‘And do what?’ Charlie demanded. ‘Stare at four bare walls?’ Before Meg could reply, Terry entered the room, followed by Billy, and Ruth started to wail. With a glance at them all, Charlie lifted his coat from the door and set out for work. He, Alec and Robert worked in the same place, Fort Dunlop, so they tended to go to work together. As Charlie waited for them that day he went over Meg’s words. Before Maeve’s death he had never been a heavy drinker, nor an habitual one, but whereas during the day he could keep his thoughts in check because he was busy, they came back to haunt him in the evening. To drink heavily was the only way he could try to blot out that dreadful day when his beloved Maeve had died. The doctor had warned them before that another pregnancy would put her life at risk, but he had been selfish and careless and he couldn’t help but blame himself. And now the presence of the child – whose birth had caused his wife’s death – ensured that he would never totally forget. He knew he was wrong to feel this way but he just couldn’t help it; he wished he’d stood up against them all and left her at the hospital. She’d have been taken to some orphanage and adopted, and he would eventually have been able to come to terms with the loss of his lovely wife. When Meg heard the imperious knocking on the door that morning, Meg guessed it must be the rent man. But instead it was a young man wearing a dark blue suit, and a trilby hat over light brown hair. His tanned face had a haughty look to it and his eyes were piercing blue, as cold and hard as granite. ‘I am Richard Flatterly,’ he said. ‘I am here to express condolences about the death of your mother.’ ‘Oh, your father—’ Meg began, but the man cut her off. ‘My father’s unwell and so you’ll be dealing with me from now on. I see you owe three weeks’ rent.’ ‘I can pay this week’s.’ ‘I was hoping for something off the arrears.’ ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got it at the moment,’ Meg said, ‘with Mom’s funeral and all.’ ‘I am not interested in excuses, my dear,’ Richard Flatterly said, and there was no doubting the slight menace in his voice. ‘I am just interested in getting the money owed me. I do not run a charity, and if you can’t pay your rent I shall have to let the house to someone else. Do you understand that, my dear?’ He looked her slowly up and down. Meg nodded dumbly and handed the man the rent book and the ten-shilling note. ‘If I take it all,’ Flatterly said, ‘it will be two and six off the arrears.’ ‘I know that,’ Meg said. ‘But I need it for food.’ Flatterly smiled but his eyes remained cold. ‘I understand your father is in full-time work.’ ‘Yes, he is.’ ‘Then the rent should present no problem to him,’ Flatterly said, handing Meg back half a crown. ‘So next week I will return myself. I will want the full rent and a good bit off the arrears, otherwise I can make life very uncomfortable for all of you.’ Meg scuttled inside as soon as she could, shut the door and leaned against it. She felt really shaken. Flatterly’s animosity had been almost tangible. ‘Phew, sis!’ Terry said. ‘You heard that?’ ‘Every word.’ ‘We must make Daddy realise that Richard Flatterly will have us out of this house without a qualm if we don’t pay off something next week,’ Meg said. ‘I think so too.’ ‘We have to make Daddy see that,’ Meg repeated. ‘But just for now, the problem is making the money I have left stretch, so tomorrow night you and I will go to the Bull Ring just before the stallholders close up and see what they are throwing out that we can use.’ It was what the really poor people did. Meg had seen them a few times: be-shawled women holding keening babies, usually with stick-thin children in tow as well, dressed in little more than rags. She had pitied them. Never had she imagined that she’d be joining them. Terry was looking at her, appalled. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Terry,’ she cried. ‘I like this no better than you, but it’s what we must do to survive.’ ‘There’s no other way?’ ‘Not that I can see.’ Terry sighed. ‘S’pose we must then.’ So the following evening, Terry and Meg grabbed two shopping bags they hoped to fill with cheap meat and vegetables. Ruth was safely in her cradle in the bedroom, and she was sound asleep, as was Billy. Sally and Jenny, were also drowsy, yet still Meg hesitated to leave them as her father was down at the Swan. ‘We’ll have to go if we’re going,’ Terry said. ‘It’s a fair step.’ ‘D’you think they will be all right?’ ‘Of course,’ Terry said heartily. ‘What could happen to them?’ Then, as Meg still dithered, he opened the door. ‘Come on, Meg. We’ll go past May’s and ask her to keep a lookout. And Dad’s not a million miles away.’ ‘Huh,’ said Meg, stepping onto the street beside him. ‘He might as well be in Outer Mongolia. A fat lot of use he’ll be with a bellyful of beer inside him.’ ‘I don’t know so much,’ Terry said. ‘When we told him about Richard Flatterly and what he said, it did shake him up.’ ‘Yes,’ Meg said, ‘but how much? Didn’t bother him enough to offer me extra money . .’ ‘Mmm, I suppose you’re right,’ Terry said. ‘But you would hardly let him near Ruth.’ ‘He wouldn’t go near her anyway, Terry, not by choice,’ Meg said. ‘I really think he would like to pretend that she doesn’t exist.’ Terry knew what Meg said was true but there was no point keeping on about it so after a while he said, ‘I wish we didn’t have to skulk around for leftovers, but it will be nice to see the Bull Ring on a Saturday night,’ Meg smiled. ‘Yeah, it will and we can have a little look around. The stallholders won’t be giving stuff away till they’re near to closing up.’ When they reached the cobbled streets of the bustling market place it was almost as busy as it was in daytime, but they weren’t surprised, for they’d heard lots of stories about the entertainment to be had on Saturday nights in the Bull Ring. It was even better when darkness seeped into the light summer night because then the spluttering gas flares were lit and the Bull Ring was transformed into something resembling fairyland. Terry and Meg walked around looking at the stalls, edging between men dressed up to the nines, even wearing top hats, moving effortlessly on very tall stilts. Elsewhere a boxing ring had been erected and inside it was a bare-fisted burly boxer, challenging the watching men to a fight. There was a prize of five pounds if any knocked him down, but there were no takers. ‘Too early see, ducks,’ an old woman said to Meg and Terry as they turned away. ‘When the men have enough beer inside them, they’ll think they can climb Everest and beat the champ with one hand tied behind their back.’ ‘Have you ever seen it done?’ Terry asked. ‘Has anyone knocked him down?’ The woman gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Well, if they have then I’ve never seen it,’ she said. ‘And I don’t know how that man gets out of the chains either, ’cos I’ve examined them more than once.’ ‘What man? What chains?’ Terry asked, and the woman pointed to a corner in front of Hobbies shop. They wandered over to see a man trussed up like a chicken. A table was put over him and a large shimmering gold sheet laid over that by his assistant. There was a lot of movement behind the sheet, a roll of drums, and then before they knew it, the man stood in front of them, unfettered and unharmed. Even Meg was impressed. Then, as they were making their way to the area behind the Market Hall where a group of ragged-looking women were beginning to gather, Terry suddenly sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’ ‘Hot potatoes,’ Meg said. ‘And they taste as delicious as they smell, but I’m afraid we have no money for such things.’ ‘I know,’ Terry said resignedly. Meg suddenly felt very sorry for her young brother, but there was nothing she could do about it. They passed a man prostrate on a bed of nails. Terry’s eyes were standing out on stalks, for not only was the man lying there as if it was the most comfortable bed in all Christendom, but there was a young man standing on top of him. The girls standing around were giving little cries of alarm, but the man, whose brown skin gleamed in the light from the flares, and who was scantily clad with only a white cloth wrapped around his loins, appeared to feel no pain. Indeed, he had a big smile on his face. ‘How does he do that?’ Terry whispered to Meg when they were out of earshot. ‘Search me,’ Meg said. ‘There must be some sort of trick to it, but for the life of me I can’t see what it is. I mean, you could see the nails pressing into the man’s skin.’ ‘Not half,’ Terry said. Some of the stallholders were getting ready to close up and Meg handed Terry one of the bags. ‘It is better if we stand apart from one another,’ she said. ‘We may get more that way.’ When Meg took her place in the small group, though, she looked at the scrawny-looking woman with gaunt-faced children and felt as if she had no place there. Some of the children looked as if they had never had a square meal in the whole of their lives and their mothers seemed resigned to the fact that they were not able to feed their children adequately. Meg knew she needn’t have been there if her father had tipped up enough housekeeping. But then she reminded herself that her father was not the only man in Birmingham who put his love of drink above the welfare of his family. Any of these women could be in a similar boat to herself. Thinking of her siblings, she stepped forward determinedly. She had expected to feel embarrassed and ashamed, accepting food without paying, but the stall owners didn’t mind that much – if they didn’t give the food away, they would have to throw it away. The butcher and his assistant nearest to Meg tried to be fair and give something to everyone in the jostling crowd surrounding them. Meg was given a sizeable piece of pork and she was also offered some wizened-looking carrots from the stall selling fruit and veg and some peas still in their pods. Terry, standing by another butcher, had come away with a large ham bone with lots of meat still on it, and some slices of liver. He had also dived under barrows to collect anything that might have fallen off in the course of the day and had come up with a few apples, a cabbage and a fair few potatoes. A group of musicians set up in a corner just before they left; they began playing the sort of jolly, foot-tapping tunes he remembered his mother lilting to him when he had been younger, and for a moment he felt the pang of loss so sharply that he gasped. ‘What’s up?’ Meg asked, but she knew what it was when she saw the shadow that flashed across his face. Terry gave himself a mental shake. ‘Nothing,’ he said, and to stop Meg asking any more questions that might cause him to think of a situation he could do nothing to change he said, ‘What do you think of tonight’s haul, then?’ ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ Meg said, catching Terry’s mood. ‘We have the makings of a few good meals in these bags. The wolf shall be kept from the door for a wee while yet.’ FOUR (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) The food had virtually gone by Wednesday so Meg did something else that she had never done before: leaving Ruth with the children she went to Moorcroft’s and asked for tick. Mrs Moorcroft knew the Halletts as a respectable family touched by a terrible tragedy that had made Charlie Hallett turn to the bottle. She assumed, like most other people, that in time he would pull himself together; meanwhile he was in reasonably well-paid work so she was prepared to give Meg some money on account. Meg, though, found the whole thing mortifying, but there was no other way she could find to feed everyone. She bought a tin of National Dried Milk for Ruth, a small bag of sugar and another of oatmeal to make porridge, one loaf, sausages, onions and a pound of potatoes. It made Terry’s blood boil to see the bread with a scrape of marg on, which was the meal for him and Meg and the others, while that same evening his father tucked into a plateful of succulent sausages in onion gravy and mashed potatoes. ‘He has to have the best food,’ Meg said later that night when Terry complained after his father had left. ‘He has to keep his strength up to go to work. He provides for us all.’ ‘Not very well he doesn’t,’ Terry said mulishly. ‘Not when he spends most of what he earns behind the bar of the Swan.’ ‘Hush, Terry.’ ‘Why should I hush?’ Terry demanded. ‘And why are you making excuses for him?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Meg admitted. ‘I suppose because he is our dad, the only one we have, and I once loved him so much. I suppose I still do, really, and I feel guilty that I can’t fill Mom’s place. I mean, I can look after all you lot and everything, but I can’t fill the hole in Daddy’s life. For all he has us, I think he is incredibly lonely.’ ‘So what can we do about it?’ ‘Nothing,’ Meg said. ‘Just wait. Only time will help Dad now.’ But Terry wasn’t prepared to wait, and when his father alighted from the tram the following day, Terry was there, glad to see that his uncles Alec and Robert got off just after his father. ‘Why, Terry,’ Charlie said, catching sight of his son, ‘what are you doing here? Anything up?’ ‘No,’ Terry said, almost contemptuously. ‘Not “up” exactly. It’s just that knowing you are paid tonight, I wanted you to give me some housekeeping for Meg before you go to the pub and blow a big portion of it.’ Charlie just glared at his son but Robert burst out, ‘Terry, that’s a terrible way to talk to your father.’ Terry tore his eyes from his father’s wrathful scowl and faced his perplexed uncle. Meg might want to make excuses for their father, he thought, but he had no intention of doing the same. ‘Uncle Robert, we owe three weeks’ rent,’ he said. ‘The landlord came round himself and threatened Meg, but she hadn’t any money to pay off the arrears because Dad hadn’t given her any. She had so little money we had to go to the Bull Ring on Saturday night and get the stuff left on the barrows.’ Robert gave a start – only the very poor in the city resorted to that – and he glanced at his brother. But Terry hadn’t finished. ‘Even then it wasn’t enough to feed us. By yesterday Meg didn’t even have milk for the baby and she had to go to Moorcroft’s and ask for tick. Only Dad had a dinner; the rest of us made do with thin porridge and bread and scrape.’ Robert saw embarrassment and shame flood across Charlie’s face but he still asked him, ‘Is this true?’ Charlie shrugged. ‘I suppose if Terry says so. I didn’t know about them going to the Bull Ring,’ ‘Then how did you think we would eat?’ Terry burst out. ‘And you knew the landlord had been demanding the arrears the other day because Meg and I told you.’ ‘Dear, dear,’ Robert said, shocked. ‘You know that you haven’t the money to drink every night and provide for your family,’ he told Charlie firmly. ‘Something has to go and it shouldn’t be the children. Now you give young Terry here three pounds ten shillings and that will enable Meg to pay off any tick and still have enough. And now Terry …’ Robert drew his own wage packet from his pocket and withdrew two half-crowns from it, ‘… this is for Meg to help pay off the arrears.’ Charlie might have protested more about the amount he’d been made to hand over, but before the determined eyes of his brothers and the resentful ones of his son, he could hardly do that, especially as his eldest brother had put his hand in his pocket to help them all. Meg was astounded at what Terry had done and enormously grateful to both him and their uncle Robert. She immediately added seven and six to her uncle’s five shillings and put it away in the box with the rent book. She also set aside the amount of tick she had run up at Moorcroft’s, intending to pay it off first thing in the morning. The following morning, Meg was able to pay the rent and five shillings of the arrears. Richard marked it all in the book but emphasised he would want the same every week until all the arrears were paid off. Meg decided she would be only too glad to keep her dealings with him to the minimum each week. He had stroked her hand in a rather unpleasant way as he handed back the rent book, and he had a slow way of looking at her that made her feel uncomfortable. Early the next morning Meg meeting May in the yard told her what Terry had done, and of her uncle’s generosity. May was pleased something had been sorted out and she said, ‘let me give you a bit of advice. Spend as much of the money your father gave you as you can, because towards the end of the week when he is running out of beer money he may take any you have left off you. He will be unable to do that if you have bought food with it.’ Meg saw the sense in that and with the children looking after Ruth she went along to Moorcrofts and paid what she owed. Mindful of her neighbour’s words, Meg came back with brimming baskets of food. ‘I’ve not bought many vegetables and only a bit of meat,’ she told May who popped in to see how she’d got on. ‘Because I think they are cheaper in the Bull Ring’ ‘I agree with you,’ May said. ‘Are you leaving little Ruth here? I’ll mind her for you if you like.’ ‘Thanks, May, but I mean to take her with me,’ Meg said. ‘She was difficult to settle just now, and a pram ride will probably send her off nicely. Anyway, I can pack all the stuff I buy around Ruth; she barely fills a quarter of that enormous pram.’ ‘Aye,’ said May with a grin. ‘She looks lost in it right enough.’ ‘You can give an eye to the others if you like,’ Meg said, settling Ruth in the pram. ‘Terry’s in charge, but Billy plays it up sometimes, as you know, and Sally and Jenny can fight. They’ve been warned – not that that will make any difference.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ May said, and added with another grin, ‘I will be in with my big stick if I think it necessary. Now you get yourself away.’ Meg smiled as she wrapped Ruth in a lighter shawl, as the day was a warm one. It was a fair step, but it was a pleasant day for a walk, warm but with a breeze, and as Meg set off at a lick along Bristol Street, she reflected on how good it felt to have enough money in her purse to feed them all that week, and pay something off the rent arrears as well, though she did wonder if Terry would be able to get money off their father every week in the same way. Still, she chided herself as she turned into Bromsgrove Street, why worry about things before they happen? She pushed the pram down the incline through the teeming mass of people and into the Bull Ring itself. Ruth slept peacefully, not disturbed in any way by the bumpy, cobbled streets or the clamour of the people. The flower sellers were lining the railings that enclosed the statue of Nelson, and the fragrant smell hung in the late summer air as Meg passed the vast array of stalls. Those selling bedding, curtain material, cookery and kitchen utensils, antiques and junk were interspersed with others selling vegetables, fruit, fish, meat and cheese, and the smell of those rose in the air as well. She had bought quite a few good-value vegetables and was just reaching for a cabbage from one of the vegetable stalls when someone beside her said, ‘Hello. Margaret, isn’t it?’ Meg swung round and her big dark eyes met the merry ones of the girl she had met at Lewis’s in July. Just before Meg was due to leave school that summer, Miss Carmichael had encouraged her to apply for somewhere more upmarket than the factories or domestic service and Meg had managed to get an interview at Lewis’s, a city centre department store. Although she had done well at the interview, events with her mother had prevented her actually taking the job. But here was the girl with the head of dark brown curls who had put her at her ease that day with her wide smile and friendly chatter. Meg remembered thinking that her name perfectly matched her character. ‘Yes,’ Meg grinned back. ‘Joy, isn’t it?’ ‘I say,’ Joy said, indicating the slumbering baby in the pram. ‘Not yours, is she?’ ‘Not in the way you mean,’ Meg said. ‘It’s just that when I asked about you, Mrs Matherson in the office said you wouldn’t be able to take up your place at Lewis’s due to personal circumstances.’ Meg nodded. ‘Fact is, my mother started in labour the next day, only she haemorrhaged and died, but they were able to save the baby.’ ‘Oh God,’ Joy cried. ‘You poor cow.’ ‘It was a terrible time,’ Meg said. ‘Still is, I suppose, because I miss my mother so much.’ ‘I bet,’ Joy said. ‘I would miss mine loads. And you are landed with the baby?’ Meg shrugged. ‘Wasn’t something I chose but there was no one else. But it isn’t only the baby. I have a brother, Terry, who is two years younger than me, two sisters, Jenny and Sally, and my youngest brother, little Billy, who is going on for five. Oh, and a dad who is like a lost soul and who has taken to the bottle.’ ‘Typical man, then,’ Joy said. ‘And I will say it again. I think you are a poor cow.’ She glanced at her watch suddenly and said, ‘I have to get back; I’m only on my lunch hour. Nice to see you again.’ Oh, yes, it was nice, Meg thought. She missed her old school friends and envied them as she saw them tripping down the street arm in arm, sharing confidences or else laughing and joking together as they made their way to the pictures or a dance somewhere. But her life was totally different from that of most girls her age, and money was a constant problem. She watched Joy threading her way through the stalls in the Bull Ring and turned regretfully to continue her shopping. She didn’t bother telling any of the others about meeting Joy, and anyway, Terry had news of his own. He announced he had taken on a paper round. ‘A paper round?’ Meg repeated. ‘Who gets their papers delivered around here?’ ‘It’s not round here,’ Terry said. ‘It’s Neil’s uncle’s. You know Neil Drummond.’ ‘Drummond Stores,’ Meg said. ‘His sister, Claire, was in my class. She said it’s at the far end of Bristol Street.’ ‘It is,’ Terry said, ‘not far from where the big houses start – and that’s where they deliver papers, the big houses.’ ‘It will be one hell of a trek for you,’ Meg said. Terry shrugged. ‘Don’t care about that,’ he said. ‘It’s half a crown a week, Meg.’ Meg lifted the baby from the pram and started to feed her as Terry went on, ‘As long as I can get a decent amount of money from Dad before he blows it in the pub, the money I earn will help to pay off the rent arrears.’ Meg’s sigh of relief was audible – she hated to be beholden in any way to a man like Richard Flatterly. ‘It will be a godsend, right enough,’ she told Terry. ‘But you must have something for yourself.’ Terry shook his head emphatically. ‘Don’t want nothing,’ he said. ‘I ain’t done it for that.’ ‘I know, but—’ ‘Meg, we need every penny,’ Terry said earnestly. ‘I want no money for myself, but what I do want is for you all to keep quiet about this to Dad. And that goes for all of you,’ he said, his eyes raking the table. All the children nodded soberly. ‘He’ll get to know, Terry.’ ‘How would he?’ Terry asked. ‘I am out before him in the morning and I’ll be done and back home before he finishes work. He works most Saturday mornings, and him getting up early Sunday is a thing of the past.’ Meg knew that was too true; it saddened her that her father had become such a drunk. She hadn’t a clue how to stop him and to help him revert to the father they all remembered. But her priority had to be the children and keeping them fed and clothed and warm, she wanted to give no excuse for the Welfare to get involved, and she knew that even with the rent arrears paid off, Terry’s paper-round money would come in very useful. The holidays were drawing to a close and Meg would miss the children when they returned to school; they had been a great help to her and there was always someone available to run an errand, or mind the baby, or take her for a walk. She had been able to avoid Flatterly who had come in person to collect the rents till the arrears were fully cleared by giving the rent to one of the children when he called. Meg found his blatant salaciousness hard to cope with and his lewd, lustful eyes ogling her with such intensity. She thanked God that the arrears were paid off in full before the end of the holidays and it was the nice Vince O’Malley knocking the door on Friday morning. She was glad that Billy wasn’t old enough for school yet because he was quite good at amusing Ruth and he seemed able to do it for hours which was how long the washing seemed to take and most of it was all down to her, though Jenny came to help before she had to make breakfast for the others and get them off to school. She knew May would help her if she needed her, but she was getting on now and Meg hated to put on her, but when she said this the following Monday, when they met in the brew house, May dismissed her age. ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle,’ she said. ‘And well used to it – I’ve been at it years. You’ll have the hang of it eventually, but for now if you want a hand you shout. All right?’ ‘All right, and thanks, May,’ Meg said. ‘There is so much washing with four children and the baby, who has a wash load of her own, plus my clothes and Daddy’s.’ ‘Aye, there will be a fair bit of it,’ May agreed. ‘And the nappies alone will fill one line.’ ‘I know, and the ironing takes care of Tuesday.’ May chuckled. ‘A woman’s work is never done.’ ‘I’m beginning to see that,’ Meg said. She wasn’t the only one working hard, for Terry was finding the paper delivering job heavy going. He had a notebook with the roads and numbers and what each house had delivered each day marked down. The houses he delivered to were not squashed together like back-to-backs, but spaced out and hidden behind walls and privet hedges, with sweeping drives, so that it was hard to see the numbers until you were up close. The first week he was very tired, especially when school reopened, but he never said a word about it. His paper-round money, however welcome, was a fraction of what was needed to run the house though, so he still went to meet his father from the tram on Thursday evening. His uncles were there again so Charlie didn’t protest or bluster, and later Terry was able to deliver three pounds ten shillings into Meg’s hand. She was delighted with such an amount and she put it in a tin box that she’d hidden in the false bottom of the baby’s pram. The next day she set out for the Bull Ring again, with Billy holding the handle of the pram till his legs got tired, and though she hoped to see Joy, there was no sign of the girl that day. Still, Meg was well satisfied because she’d managed to end up with a pram packed with vegetables and fruit for the family, and she had plenty of money left for the groceries. As she lifted the baby out of her pram when they’d reached home, Ruth gave her a huge smile that seemed to split her face in two and set her eyes dancing. The doctor at the hospital had warned Meg that Ruth might be later meeting her milestones as she had been a month premature, but here she was smiling away when she was just over seven weeks old. The smile that she bestowed on Meg made up for the exhaustion of the first few weeks, the night feeds and the fractiousness; it caused a lurch of pure love in Meg’s stomach that took her by surprise because it was so powerful. She gave a cry of delight and hugged her tight. Now that Ruth had got the hang of smiling, she seemed to do a lot of it; Billy was trying with her all afternoon and Meg told the other children about the smile when they came home from school and they were as delighted as Meg had been when she smiled at them too, but her father only grunted when he was told. Meg refused to let her father’s reaction pull her down or prevent her feeling more positive about the future; she told him that as Ruth only woke once in the night now and was much easier to settle, she would move back into the attic. She knew her decision would be a popular one with everyone – her father would like his own bedroom back and the children would be glad because he would often wake them up when he came stumbling in at night, and Terry said he took up the lion’s share of the bed and snored loudly once he had fallen asleep. So, life began to fall into a pattern. Meg still found washday hard, but the worst washdays were when it was wet and the washing couldn’t be hung on one of the lines festooning the yard, raised up on gigantic poles to flap in the sooty air. On wet days the washing would be draped around the house, the nappies airing over the fireguard so that everything smelled and felt damp. Sometimes it wasn’t always dry by Tuesday, so the ironing would hang over to Wednesday. Often May came in to help Meg a bit while she dealt with the baby’s needs. Her aunt Rosie called around regularly too, usually armed with a casserole or a pan of stew, and Meg was glad of this because she was able to save a little money, now that the arrears were paid off fully. She knew the money would be needed soon to buy coal for the fires and for boots for them all. Maeve had had a new pair of lovely warm lined boots that Meg remembered her father buying the Christmas before, just as she had begun to suspect that she was pregnant, and she had kept them for best so they were like new. Meg’s boots, on the other hand, were worn and shabby and had begun to pinch her feet; yet she hesitated to use any of her mother’s things and all her clothes still hung in her wardrobe or were packed into the drawers. ‘Is it awful to think of wearing things that once belonged to my mother?’ she asked May one day when she popped in for a cup of tea. May settled herself on the settee and put the tea down on a small table in front of her before saying, ‘How could it? I would call that sensible. What else would you do with them? Give them to the rag-and-bone man?’ ‘Well, no, I suppose not,’ Meg said. ‘But I feel awkward about it.’ ‘Don’t see why you should,’ May said. ‘You could do with the things, couldn’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ Meg couldn’t deny it. In the past year or so her dresses had become extremely short and difficult to fasten over her growing breasts. ‘Mom thought so too,’ she said. ‘She said she would buy me new clothes and shoes for starting work.’ ‘There you are then,’ May said. ‘She wasn’t able to do that, so you adapt her things to fit you now. You’re good with the needle. And there’s something else to think of.’ ‘What?’ ‘Your father,’ May said. ‘I imagine he finds it hard to see his wife’s clothes and shoes still there in the bedroom as if she had never died at all.’ Meg had not really thought about that, but she saw now that May was absolutely right. ‘He’s never mentioned her clothes or anything to me,’ she said to May. ‘Probably hurts him to speak of it,’ May said. ‘I suppose,’ Meg said, and gave a sudden sigh. ‘I don’t half miss her, May.’ May leaned forward and squeezed Meg’s shoulder. ‘I know, and, God knows, I miss her too,’ she said. ‘But what can’t be cured must be endured, as my poor mother would say.’ She took another sip of her tea as Meg said, ‘It might upset me, but Mom’s things have got to be taken out of that room, haven’t they?’ ‘They have,’ May said firmly. ‘You shouldn’t do it all on your own, though. I’ll give you a hand if you like.’ ‘Would you?’ ‘I would and gladly,’ May said. ‘And I say no time like the present.’ ‘Now?’ ‘Why not?’ May said. ‘Little Ruthie is asleep, Billy’s out playing and I have nothing pressing, so come on, let’s strike while the iron is hot.’ Afterwards, Meg was so glad that May was there with her ready banter to keep misery away, for every garment she lifted from the wardrobe, or drew from the chest of drawers evoked poignant memories of her mother. But at last all was done and packed away in two tea chests, which Meg got from the attic; a cardboard box that May produced took all the combs, brushes and creams and so forth that littered her dressing table. Meg was apprehensive about their father’s reaction, but she needn’t have worried. When she asked him to go upstairs to see what she had done, he went straight away and stood for a moment in the doorway. ‘You … you’ve cleared out Maeve’s things,’ he said to Meg. ‘Yes,’ Meg said. ‘Only as far as the attic, though, in case you want to keep anything.’ ‘I don’t need a keepsake to remember Maeve. She will be in my heart for ever,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m glad, relieved that you cleared her things away. I couldn’t bring myself to do it and I thought it would be too upsetting for you.’ ‘It was a bit,’ Meg admitted. ‘But May helped me.’ ‘She’s a good neighbour, that May,’ Charlie said. ‘None better,’ Meg agreed, and then took a deep breath. She didn’t know how her father would take to the idea of her wearing her dead mother’s clothes. ‘The point is, Daddy, what do you want me to do with Mom’s things now?’ ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘Well, Mom was going to buy me some new things for starting work,’ Meg said. ‘The ones I have now don’t fit too well.’ Charlie looked at his daughter and saw that she was right. Her skirts were far too short and her buttons were strained across her bodice. He was ashamed that he hadn’t seen these things for himself. ‘My boots pinch my feet too,’ Meg said. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind me adapting Mom’s clothes to fit me, Jenny could have my things and Sally have Jenny’s and it will only be the boys who will have to have new things for the winter – and Ruth, of course.’ Charlie drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t say that it won’t cut me to the quick to see you in Maeve’s things, but if she were beside me this moment she would berate me for being stupid. She has no need of clothes and you have, you all have, so take what you need and I will learn to deal with it.’ Charlie’s eyes were like pools of pain and Meg cried, ‘Oh, Dad, are you sure?’ Charlie shook his head. ‘I’m not sure of anything much anymore, Meg,’ he said. ‘But I do know that it’s the sensible thing to do. Oh, Meg, Meg, I’ve been little help to you these past weeks.’ ‘Oh, Dad, don’t,’ Meg said, embarrassed. ‘I know I’ve been selfish,’ Charlie said, ‘and I don’t blame you looking like that. My brothers have both been on about how I was behaving, but somehow I couldn’t see any way forward and drinking blurred it a bit. I missed your mother so much, and then the child … every time I looked at her, it brought it all back.’ ‘I know, Dad,’ Meg said. ‘I feel Mom’s loss too, but it isn’t Ruth’s fault.’ ‘I know that really,’ Charlie said, ‘but somehow I can’t feel for her the way I do about you and the others.’ ‘Oh, Dad.’ Charlie looked at the tears sparkling in his daughter’s eyes. ‘Don’t take on, old girl,’ he said. ‘I’m doing my best and I’m determined to change. I reckon I have wallowed in grief long enough. Time to take up the reins again.’ Meg was delighted to hear her father’s words; if he meant them, their way forward would be easier. She thought of saying more about Ruth, but in the end said nothing. If he didn’t spend all the time in the pub and saw more of her, Meg thought he was bound to fall under Ruth’s spell, as the others had. Until that happened, she didn’t want to rock the boat. One day at a time, she told herself as she mounted the stairs to the attic. FIVE (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) Billy had his fifth birthday and there was a little tea party for him with all the delicacies that he liked. May had helped her to make a cake with five candles on it and had also given Billy a couple of toy cars that he was thrilled with. Meg bought him a small blackboard and a packet of chalks that she had seen in the Market Hall at a very reasonable price. Billy’s attention had been taken at the time with the animals at Pimm’s pet shop, so he hadn’t known a thing about it. ‘You can practise for going to school.’ She told him. ‘Only you’ll have a slate there, but it’s more or less the same thing.’ He unwrapped it and gave a cry of delight. Billy’s fifth birthday seemed to bring the thought even closer that he would soon be a school boy and Meg realized that she would miss his company though Ruth would miss him more because they had become very good friends. And every Friday morning after paying the rent, rain or shine, she would push Ruth in her pram to the Bull Ring to shop for the bargain vegetables and meat. It was a hefty walk for little legs, so Billy would usually be hoisted up on the end of the pram for part of the journey there. He could sometimes hitch a ride back too. It would depend on how much produce Meg could pack around Ruth, or stuff into the large bag she had hanging from the pram handle. Meg loved going to the Bull Ring now that she didn’t have to hang about to be given meat and vegetables no one else had wanted, but could buy from the costers, like any other respectable person. She seldom went to the Bull Ring without remembering her meeting with Joy. She knew it was unlikely she would see her again but, Joy or no Joy, the Bull Ring was an exciting place. Meg liked the noise, the riotous energy of the place, the special smells that rose in the air and the banter and cries of the costers. Billy was always as good as gold on these trips because he knew that if he behaved himself there was a chance Meg would take him into the Market Hall to play with the animals in Pimm’s pet shop and see the clock strike. It was the highlight of his visit, and willing hands were always around to whisk the pram up and down the steps to the Market Hall, as if it weighed nothing at all. While Meg scrutinised the prices of the various goods on sale, Billy was entranced by the twittering canaries, the colourful budgerigars and the squawking parrot that called out incessantly, ‘Who’s a pretty boy, then?’ He also liked the fish swimming endlessly around their bowls and the baby rabbits and guinea pigs, but best of all were the mewling kittens and the playful boisterous puppies that nipped at his fingers. When the clock chimed as a prelude to striking the hour it drew everyone’s attention. A sort of hush came over the place as the figures of three knights and a lady struck the bell denoting the hour. Billy always gave a sigh when it was over. ‘I love that clock.’ he’d say nearly every week as they made their way home. Meg could have said she liked the clock too, for waiting for the clock to strike was the only time in the day that Billy stopped chattering for two minutes at a time. Though Terry had been doubtful that his father would change that much, he had been pleasantly surprised. He no longer slipped into the pub on his way home on a Thursday, when one swift drink would turn into half a dozen in the twinkling of an eye, but instead brought his wages home to Meg as he had done to Maeve and took out some pocket money for himself that would pay for his ciggies and beer. He began to go again to the football matches on Saturday afternoons with his brothers and Terry, and promised Billy he would take him along soon, and he gave all the children money to go to the thruppenny crush on Saturday morning. Meg was pleased to see all of them warming once again to the father who had been lost to them for a little while. Aunt Rosie, who greatly admired Meg and the way she had stepped up to take over the family, popped in one afternoon for a cup of tea and asked her if she had ever resented giving up her dreams. ‘No,’ Meg said. ‘Resent is the wrong word. I promised Mom I would look after them all and I want to keep my word, but I can’t help being envious of other girls who don’t have my responsibilities.’ ‘And what of your own future?’ ‘That’s on hold until all the children are grown and settled,’ Meg said, but she said it without the slightest shred of self-pity. Rosie was impressed by her maturity and she said this to Meg. Meg smiled. ‘Nicholas said almost exactly the same thing the day of Mom’s funeral.’ ‘Did he?’ ‘Yes,’ Meg said. ‘I think in many ways he feels a bit like a fish out of water.’ Rosie nodded. ‘Robert thinks that too.’ ‘Well, he’s neither one thing nor the other,’ Meg said. ‘He hardly knows your lads or our Terry because he has never been allowed to mess around with them, and yet he never brings friends home from that posh school or talks about going to their houses or out with them at the weekend.’ ‘Susan says he has lots of homework.’ ‘I suppose he will have,’ Meg said. ‘But surely not every hour of every day? All this studying is making him look different and, however clever he is, no schoolwork is as good as having friends to knock about with.’ ‘It does sound very lonely,’ Rosie said. ‘But the worm might be turning because your uncle Alec was saying that since the funeral Nicholas has been pulling against the apron strings and he hasn’t been as keen as doing his mother’s bidding as he was. Even argued with her, he said, and he had never heard him do that before.’ ‘I’m surprised Uncle Alec has had nothing to say about it before now,’ Meg said. ‘He did try to have a hand in raising the boy at first,’ Rosie said, ‘but Susan made it plain that rearing her child was her business. A man can be too easy-going, and that is our Alec. The general consensus is that Alec is a decent enough fellow, but that Susan is rather snooty, and the way she keeps her lad to his books is neither right nor healthy. Turning him into a mommy’s boy, people say. And for a quiet life Alec has sat back and let her ruin the lad.’ Meg hadn’t thought Nicholas ruined, just lonely, and so she was pleased when Terry came in the following Saturday morning after playing football in Calthorpe Park with his friends to say that Nicholas had not only turned up to play with them but had brought a proper leather ball. Charlie, who had just come home from work for his dinner, was also surprised at what Terry had said. ‘That’s a turn-up for the books, ain’t it?’ Terry nodded. ‘I’ll say it is. ‘Never even knew he owned a football.’ ‘Nor me,’ Terry said. ‘It’s brand-new, like: never been used.’ ‘Is he any good at football?’ Meg asked. ‘No he ain’t,’ Terry said emphatically. ‘He’s flipping useless. Our Billy could play better than him. He don’t even play football at his school. He plays summat called “rugger”. Anyway,’ he added, ‘he said he’ll have to learn the rules so he is going with his dad to a match this afternoon.’ Nicholas didn’t enjoy the football match because he barely knew his cousins. In the company of Uncle Robert’s sons, Stan and Dave, he felt like a baby. Dave was the same age as Nicholas but in September he had joined his father at Dunlop’s, where sixteen-year-old Stan had been working for two years. As they barely knew Nicholas they tended to talk mainly to Terry. And Nicholas decided it was all very well for his mother to crow on about how getting a good education now would mean a better job in the future, Nicholas thought, but in the meantime these were his relatives and the people he lived among, and he hardly knew them. He hadn’t made friends with many boys at school either, because most of them came from much more affluent backgrounds and he was nervous about their finding out he lived in a back-to-back house. There were bullies at the school who he was sure would make his life a misery if it ever got out. In contrast, there hadn’t got to be any pretence with his cousins, so he decided there and then to get to know them better, to take charge of his own life and try and make his mother understand that he wasn’t a little boy any more. By the end of October Meg knew she had to get some winter clothes for Ruth, when she did the usual Friday shopping. Charlie had given her the extra money she had asked for and Terry had told her to go ahead and not to rush back, that they could make something for themselves at lunchtime. Meg thought it was nice to be able to take her time and not have one eye on the clock, so after she had bought her usual purchases, she and Billy made for the Market Hall. As usual the pram was carried up the steps by willing helpers and Billy had his play with the animals at Pimm’s pet shop before they set off to look around the stalls for clothes for Ruth. They watched the clock strike midday and then Meg found a stall with some beautiful baby clothes, including a fair number of winter-weight dresses. Most were not new, but Ruth wouldn’t care about that. They were very pretty, for although they were mainly white or cream they had pretty designs on them or beautiful smocking or contrasting collars. There were fluffy little cardigans and warm pram sets with matching bonnets and bootees, and they were all so reasonable she was pleased to be able to buy a big bundle of clothing. ‘All for you, this is, miss,’ she told the baby, who rewarded her with a smile. ‘Well, long time no see,’ said a voice beside her. Meg swung round. ‘Joy,’ she cried. ‘How lovely to see you again.’ ‘Yes,’ Joy agreed. ‘I come here most Fridays and have a mooch round and a bite to eat usually, in the caf?. Like to join me and we can have a natter?’ ‘Oh, I don’t think …’ Joy knew what was bothering Meg. ‘My treat today,’ she said. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—’ ‘Course you could,’ Joy said. ‘Got paid today so I’m flush at the moment.’ And then she glanced at Billy and with a wink she said, ‘Bet you’d like something to eat?’ Billy, who was always hungry, nodded his head with gusto. ‘Not half,’ he said. Joy laughed. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘You can’t leave yet anyway ’cos it’s pouring.’ Joy was right, Meg realised, for outside the rain was coming down in sheets. ‘Just a cup of tea then,’ she conceded. But Joy wasn’t content for Meg to sit there with just a cup of tea and she ordered egg on toast for the three of them, followed by doughnuts. What impressed Billy most was the fact that she got tea for him too, which he often didn’t get at home, and she didn’t mind that he put three spoonfuls of sugar in it. Although he saw Meg frown at him, he took no heed of that, knowing that she was unlikely to tell him off in front of her friend. After they had finished Meg fed Ruth, and still they talked on. Billy swung his legs and listened while he licked the sugar off his fingers. Joy felt immeasurably sorry for Meg, who, though her little brother was sweet and the baby delightful, wouldn’t be able to have any sort of life for many years. Meanwhile Joy was enjoying her new-found freedom and the money she earned each week. Some she had to pay to her mother, but what she had left was enough to buy clothes in the Bull Ring, or C & A Modes for better-quality clothes. She also went to the pictures once a week and had started taking dancing lessons with friends she had been to school with. She had been drawn to make friends with Meg from the day she had taken her up for her interview in Lewis’s and now she felt she would like to help her in some way. ‘How about if we meet up here every Friday?’ she suggested. Meg shook her head. ‘I have to be back by lunchtime. The children come home for dinner, you see. Today they are seeing to themselves,’ she added, ‘because I had to buy Ruth some new clothes.’ ‘How old is your eldest brother?’ ‘Terry’s twelve.’ ‘So say you left soup or something?’ Joy persisted. ‘He’s old enough to dish it up and get them all back to school on time.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Meg said. ‘My dad might not like it.’ ‘What difference would it make to him?’ ‘None, I suppose,’ Meg said. ‘It’s just I’ve got out of the habit of thinking about myself.’ ‘Then start again,’ Joy said. ‘God blimey, Meg, you’re a long time dead.’ Meg’s laugh startled the drowsy baby a little and Joy said, ‘Why don’t you put it to your dad? I’m sure he will see no harm in it. Anyway,’ she said, getting to her feet, ‘must be away or I’ll be getting my cards, but I’ll be here next week about the same time if you can make it.’ ‘I’ll try,’ Meg promised, and she sat enviously watching her friend returning to work while she held Ruth against her shoulder, rubbing her back in case she had wind. SIX (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) Meg might never have got round to mentioning her meeting Joy if it hadn’t been for Billy telling them that evening about meeting a kind lady. ‘And who is this kind lady?’ Charlie asked. Billy shrugged and said, ‘Dunno, but she bought us egg on toast and doughnuts and her name is Joy and she don’t half talk a lot.’ They all laughed and Terry put in, ‘Surprised you noticed that, Billy. Bit like pot calling kettle.’ for everyone knew Billy was a chatterbox. Charlie, though, was more interested in who the ‘kind lady’ was. He knew because of what she had taken on that Meg had few friends now, and certainly not one who would treat her and her young brother to egg on toast and doughnuts. ‘Billy’s right,’ she told her father. ‘Her name is Joy, Joy Tranter. She’s the girl from Lewis’s that took me up to the interview the day Mom fell in the yard.’ ‘Fancy her remembering you all this time.’ Meg nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. I mean only saw her for a short time and yet we sort of hit it off. I thought we might have become friends if I’d worked there.’ Charlie heard the wistfulness in Meg’s voice and felt guilty that she had no friends her own age. ‘Haven’t you seen her since?’ ‘Just once before today,’ Meg said. ‘She goes to the Bull Ring often on a Friday because it’s her pay day and she has a mooch around the shops and treats herself to a snack in the Market Hall caf?, but normally I have to be home for the children at twelve so I leave before her dinner hour.’ ‘So what happened today?’ ‘I had to buy some winter clothes for Ruth today, remember?’ Meg said. ‘The children sorted themselves out.’ ‘And it did them no harm, I would say,’ Charlie said. He looked from one child to the other. ‘Did it?’ ‘No, Dad,’ they chorused. ‘So can you do that every Friday so Meg has a chance to meet her friend?’ They all nodded solemnly, and Meg was touched by her father’s consideration and the children falling in with his plan so readily. ‘I didn’t think you would be so keen on me going every week.’ ‘Why on earth not?’ Charlie said. ‘God, Meg it’s not much to ask.’ ‘And I am not helpless,’ Terry said. ‘I am twelve, you know, not two.’ ‘I could leave you some soup or something just to heat up.’ ‘There’s no need.’ ‘Well, I’ll leave the details up to you,’ Charlie said. ‘But in the meantime, Meg, while it was very nice of your friend to treat you today, I shouldn’t think she earns that much so she wouldn’t want to do it every week.’ ‘I shouldn’t want her to do it either,’ Meg said. ‘No, I will give you separate money for yourself.’ ‘How?’ Meg asked. She knew how finely the finances were balanced. ‘Never you mind how,’ Charlie said, knowing he would have to cut back on the ciggies and beer to give Meg an extra five bob a week, but he thought there was nothing to be gained by telling her this. Christmas grew nearer. Although it was only six months since their mother died Meg wanted to make Christmas Day a special one for Jenny, Sally and Billy, who still believed in Santa Claus. Her aunt Rosie could see her point and suggested Meg talk to her father lest he be upset, so she mentioned it to him as they sat over a cup of tea one evening. He was quiet when she had finished and she feared she had offended him. ‘Do you think me awful, Dad? ‘For what exactly?’ ‘You know, planning to celebrate Christmas and all with Mom dead less than six months?’ Charlie thought for a little while and then he said, ‘No, Meg I don’t think you’re awful. You knew your mother almost as well as I did and she wouldn’t have wanted us to mourn for ever.’ Meg nodded. ‘I know.’ ‘Or for the young ones to miss out because she isn’t here anymore. She loved everything about Christmas,’ Charlie said, and a smile tugged at his mouth as he recalled his wife’s excitement in past years as the season approached. Meg smiled in memory too. ‘Yes, she was worse than the children, stringing up the streamers and decorations and adorning the tree. ‘She never minded all the cooking,’ Charlie said. ‘She revelled in it, she did, and the house used to smell beautiful with all the delicious food and cakes and puddings and all she cooked. Do you remember?’ ‘Of course.’ Her mother’s enthusiasm had engendered a love of Christmas in all of the children; even Meg’s toes would curl in anticipation as it grew near. ‘Do you know what I think we must do?’ Charlie said suddenly. ‘This is our first Christmas without Maeve and we owe it to her to have the very best Christmas we can in her memory. That would be what she would want us to do, and for children that means presents.’ ‘I’ve been saving for months,’ Meg said proudly. ‘So how much have you saved?’ Charlie asked. ‘Nearly two pounds and ten shillings.’ ‘Well done,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re almost as good a manager as your mother.’ That was high praise indeed, for her father was always saying her mother could make sixpence do the work of a shilling, and then he surprised her still further by putting a ten-pound note in her hand. She had never seen so much money at one time and she stared at it in amazement. ‘Where did you get it?’ Charlie laughed. ‘You can get that look off your face, girl, because I didn’t rob a bank. It’s part of the Christmas Club that I have to pay into every year. It’s taken out of my wages and ensures that we all have a good Christmas. Use it to get some things for the young ones, at least.’ ‘I will, Daddy,’ Meg said. Joy’s going to help me choose because she said it is lovely to buy presents for children who still believe. And it is, so thanks for this.’ ‘I don’t need thanks,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m their father and I know it will be a tough time. Perhaps it will help if they have presents they will enjoy opening on Christmas morning.’ Meg bought skipping ropes for the girls and more toy cars for Billy and a spinning top for each, which Joy encouraged her to buy. Seeing Meg hesitate, the coster wound up three spinning tops. ‘Just a tanner each,’ he said. ‘Watch this.’ And he set them off so they danced along the stall, twirling like dervishes so that the patterns on them melded into rings of vibrant colours. ‘On the table, on the chair, little devils go everywhere,’ he chanted. Meg, knowing the children would be delighted with them, parted with one and six. ‘What about your older brother?’ Joy asked as they turned away from the stall. ‘A model,’ Meg said decidedly, heading for the Hobbies shop. ‘He loves making up sailing ships. He has quite few but there are bound to be some he hasn’t got yet.’ There were, of course, and then Meg picked up the Swiss army knife that she had seen Terry lusting over, a large bag of marbles for Billy, and a set of rattles and building blocks for Ruth. And from Woolworth’s opposite the Market Hall she got some ribbons and slides for Jenny and Sally’s hair, colouring books and crayons for the three youngest and a bottle of whiskey for her father. ‘I just love Christmas, don’t you?’ Joy said a little later in the Market Hall as she placed her bowl of soup on the table. ‘Yes,’ Meg said. ‘And Mom did.’ Joy gasped. ‘Oh, Meg, I’m sorry.’ Meg shrugged. ‘’S’all right,’ she said. ‘Dad said we must make it a special time for the others, that she would want us to. Like he said, we can’t mourn for ever.’ That night, with the children in bed, Meg showed Terry and her father the things she had bought for her younger brother and sisters. Charlie smiled proudly and said she was getting more like her mother every day. The children entered into the spirit of the occasion, weaving garlands to be pinned around the house, helping decorate the tree Charlie had unearthed from the cupboard in the attic, and making a wish as they stirred the Christmas pudding Meg had made with more than a bit of help from May. A few days before Christmas Eve, a large crate was delivered to the house. The children were at school and Billy was at May’s house ‘helping’ her make mince pies, so Meg could open the crate from her mother’s family in America, which she found was filled with presents for them all. There were beautiful rag dolls for Sally and Jenny. They had pretty painted faces and dark brown hair in plaits, the ends tied with shiny ribbons. The clothes, too, were magnificent: they were dressed in Victorian costume, even down to the pantaloons and petticoats, with velvet dresses. Jenny’s doll wore dark red and Sally’s midnight blue, and the dresses were decorated with lace at the neck and cuffs of the sleeves, with a matching jacket over that and black leather boots covering their cloth feet. Meg knew that the girls would be almost speechless at owing such beautiful dolls; even Jenny, who had said only the other day that she was getting too old to play with them. But not dolls like these, Meg was sure – no one in the streets around them would have anything so fine. Billy had a wind-up train on a track. From the box lid it looked a tremendously exciting thing and Meg could guess that her father and Terry would play with it just as much as Billy would. For Ruth there was a soft fluffy teddy and a Jack-in-the-box, which Meg felt sure she would enjoy, though they might have to work it for her at first. They had sent Meg an elegant watch with a silver face and a leather strap, in its own box. She laid the watch over her wrist and turned her hand this way and that, for it was the first watch she had ever owned. When she lifted out the large box for her father and realised it contained cigars, she suddenly remembered her mother had always bought a few cigars for her father at Christmas, because he always said it properly completed the dinner. Terry’s box was even larger and contained Meccano, the lid decorated with all the things that a person could make with all the metal rods and plates and screws and bolts. Underneath the toys there were clothes. Hat, scarf and glove sets for the three girls, a soft grey cardigan for her father, seamen’s jumpers for Terry and Billy. And for Ruth there was a little pink padded all-in-one that would cover her clothes and could be zipped up snugly. It had a little fur-trimmed hood and mittens attached and Meg knew, whatever the weather, Ruth would be as warm as toast in that. She decided not to mention the presents at all; she wrapped everything up again, put them back in the crate and bumped it up the stairs to hide it in her mother’s side of the wardrobe, where her father never went. Downstairs once more, she opened the small parcel she had taken from the very bottom of the crate to find it contained cards from all her American relations and a letter from her mother’s eldest brother. He said that the presents were from all of them. This will probably be a sorrowful time for all your family, because it is the first without your mother, and so we all hope the things we’ve sent, especially the toys for the children, will help a little on Christmas morning and hope, despite the inevitable sense of loss, you still manage to enjoy the day. As she read the letter, tears prickled behind Meg’s eyes at the kindness of her mother’s brothers and sister. Strange to think that she had relatives miles away that she would probably never see, though she knew plenty more were in the same boat. Christmas Day began very early. The children exclaimed in delight as they pulled one item after another from the stocking they had hung on the bedhead, and declared themselves pleased as punch with everything. Despite the early hour they were so interested in playing with them that Meg had trouble getting them all ready for Mass in time. After a wonderful roast chicken dinner, praised by everyone, followed by the sumptuous pudding they had all stirred, Charlie said that he would wash up the dishes and Terry could dry them and give Meg a break. She was really touched by such thoughtfulness and when all was finished she asked her father to give her a hand bringing something downstairs and so produced the crate. As they examined the contents they were almost speechless with pleasure and Meg blessed those kind people in America. The excitement the children felt at being given things they never in their wildest dreams imagined they’d ever own drove any sadness they might be feeling to the back of their minds, and the day took on an almost magical quality. Charlie smoked his cigar and treated himself to a small glass of whiskey, with a look of delighted pleasure on his face, and later, when the boys set out the clockwork railway, he was as interested as they, while Ruth sat on Meg’s knee and waved her arms excitedly, fascinated by the trains running around the track. The girls had taken their rag dolls out on the street to be admired by their friends, and when the cold and darkness drew them in they did some colouring with the new books and crayons. No one was interested in much tea, but Meg made a few chicken sandwiches and put them on the table with the Christmas cake that was May’s present to them. There were mince pies as well, some of which Billy had helped May make, so they were a bit squashed-looking but they tasted all right. When everyone had eaten what they wanted, Charlie led them all in carol singing. Her father had such a pleasant voice that Meg would have been happy just to listen, but Charlie would have none of it and soon she was singing along with the rest. They sang till the children were yawning and Ruth had fallen asleep on her knee, and when Meg got up to make a last drink for the children before bed she placed her in her father’s arms. He was about to protest but Meg said, ‘This is your baby daughter and she has just enjoyed her first Christmas. Is it too much to ask that you nurse her while I make us all a drink?’ Charlie looked down at the sleeping child, her warm body snuggled into him. He knew he would never feel the same for her as he did the others, but that knowledge would upset Meg and he had no desire to do that today of all days. So he said, ‘No, Meg, ’course it isn’t.’ Meg made tea for them all with a smile on her face. Christmas Day was almost over and she had done more than just survive it, she had enjoyed it and she thought she could look to the future with confidence. SEVEN (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) In late February, as the weather became just a little warmer, Ruth suddenly rolled over on the mat in front of the fire and drew her legs underneath her. May, who was having a cup of tea with Meg, chuckled. ‘That young ’un will be crawling afore long,’ she said. ‘Then the fun will start.’ May was right. The next day Ruth crept forward a few hesitant paces, but by the end of the week she was going at a hefty pace. ‘One body’s work, they are at that age,’ May remarked, and Meg knew she was right. The children were great at minding their baby sister when they were home, but there was still the washing and housework to be done during the day when Meg was alone now that Billy was at school too. ‘Without May next door I would be lost,’ Meg told Joy when they met in mid March. ‘She minds her when I am in the brew house doing the washing or ironing the stuff the following day.’ ‘What about your auntie?’ Joy asked. ‘Rose – isn’t that her name? Doesn’t she give a hand?’ ‘She used to, but she won’t be able to soon,’ Meg said. ‘Why not?’ ‘She’s getting a job. Says the money will come in handy. It was a shock to me because there was no mention of her getting any sort of job before.’ ‘Well, there weren’t jobs about for many people,’ Joy pointed out. ‘Lots of men couldn’t get jobs either. You’d see lines of them just standing on street corners.’ ‘Yes,’ Meg said. ‘There’s not so many of them now.’ ‘That’s because they think there might be a war and they are getting prepared,’ Joy said. ‘What’s your aunt looking into?’ ‘Sewing parachutes,’ Meg said. ‘Says it’s really well paid.’ Joy grimaced. ‘Our dad says if there is going to be a war it will be fought from the air and they’ll drop bombs on us like the Germans did in that Spanish town a while ago. I suppose people are getting windy now because of the Anschluss a few days ago’ ‘Oh, yes,’ Meg said. ‘My cousin Nicholas keeps going on about that. But I don’t see it’s that much of a problem. I mean, Hitler’s Austrian, isn’t he, and the Austrian Government seemed to welcome him with open arms.’ ‘Hardly that.’ ‘All right then,’ Meg conceded. ‘But there was no fighting or anything.’ ‘No,’ Joy agreed. ‘So Hitler’s happy and Austria must be too or they would have done something about it, so what has it got to do with us?’ Joy shrugged. ‘I can see what you are saying, but I reckon we just might be dragged into it somehow. I mean, your Nicholas thinks there’s going to be a war, doesn’t he?’ ‘He’s certain sure of it. He goes on about the way Germany is treating the Jews and how we can’t stand by and see it happen, but no one in their right mind wants another war.’ Meg was right: no one did, especially those who remembered the carnage of the last one. But the papers were full of the atrocities Germany was committing against the Jews; even the voices of the announcers on the wireless seemed doom-laden. ‘Fascism’ was the word bandied about a lot, like the Nazi Party that Hitler led in Germany, and Meg had been quite surprised that Britain had its own Fascist party, led by a man called Oswald Mosley, who seemed to dislike the Jews as much as Hitler did. She didn’t really want to think too much about it, and when talking to Nicholas she tried to steer any conversation away from the subject of war. But it seemed like it was all Nicholas wanted to talk about until one day she snapped, ‘Oh, go on, Nicholas, you can clap your hands with joy at the thought of another war because you will be safe as houses away at school while others fight your battles for you.’ ‘No, you’re wrong,’ Nicholas said. ‘If we were to go to war, I would enlist as soon as I was old enough, sooner if they’d have me.’ ‘And what about your studies?’ ‘What about them?’ ‘Your mother would never stand for you leaving school.’ ‘She would have to.’ ‘Well, thank God we shall never have to put it to the test,’ Meg said firmly. On Saturday 1 October 1938, when Nicholas called in with Terry after football, Meg had the pictures in the Despatch ready to show him. ‘So much for you going on about war all the time, Nicholas Hallett,’ she said, stabbing her finger at the picture of Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain waving a piece of paper in his hand as he walked down the steps from an aeroplane. ‘“Peace for Our Time”.’ She read the headline out to him. ‘Peace – see, it’s what every sensible person wants. Peace, not war.’ She knew why Nicholas had thought that there might be a war, because her father had told her that many European countries, especially those near – or sharing borders with – Germany had become uneasy after the Anschluss, especially when Hitler starting grumbling about Sudetenland. ‘Where is this Sudetenland?’ Meg had asked him. ‘I’ve never heard of it before.’ ‘Well, it’s part of Czechoslovakia now,’ Charlie said. ‘It used to be part of Germany once and was taken off them after the Great War.’ ‘Why?’ Meg asked. ‘I didn’t think you did that sort of thing to countries.’ ‘It was like punishing Germany,’ Charlie said, and he shrugged. ‘Anyway, now Hitler wants it back because he claims most of the people there speak German and think of themselves as German, so leaders of countries, including our Neville Chamberlain, are meeting in Munich to decide what to do.’ Meg had not wanted to think very much about politics up until then, knowing whatever government was in power did little good for ordinary people. But now, knowing some of the background, she was interested in the outcome of the meeting. However, the news was good. They’d all agreed to Hitler’s demands and given him back Sudetenland, and any problem with Germany had been averted. However, almost immediately things changed. Meg knew, for instance, that the Birmingham Small Arms Company had begun making guns because two men in the same street, who had been unemployed for years, got jobs there. Then her father, told her that Dunlop’s had started making different tyres for military vehicles. In late October she discussed these changes with Joy as they ate lunch and Joy shared her concern. ‘The thing that bothers me most,’ Joy said, ‘is the fact that I really doubt they would go to all this trouble just to be on the safe side? I mean, I have an uncle who’s begun work in what they call a shadow factory beside Vickers in Castle Bromwich, and they’re assembling aeroplanes.’ ‘Aeroplanes?’ Meg repeated, and felt a flutter of trepidation. ‘It’s like my aunt sewing parachutes. Like you said, in peacetime why would we want so many parachutes, or planes either?’ ‘Maybe Chamberlain was just playing for time,’ Joy said. ‘You know, giving us a chance to get ready.’ A chilling shiver ran through Meg. ‘Oh, Joy, I hope you’re wrong.’ ‘So do I,’ said Joy. ‘Two of my uncles were killed in the last war, leaving my aunts widows. Each of them left a son. They are worried to death. The Great War was supposed to be the war to end all wars; although they lost their husbands in that, they thought at least their sons wouldn’t be sent to fight.’ ‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ ‘No it flipping doesn’t,’ Joy said. ‘And if the unthinkable happens and we do go to war, people say it won’t be a war like any other. If they bomb us like they did in Spain, what are we going to do?’ ‘But surely they’ll find some way of protecting us if we do go to war?’ ‘I’d like to think so,’ Joy said. ‘But maybe we’re worrying before we need to – you know, like meeting trouble halfway?’ Meg nodded. ‘Mom always said something like that. She maintained that you should cross bridges only when you come to them.’ ‘That’s what we will do then,’ Joy declared. ‘And we may find in the end we won’t need a bridge at all.’ Charlie bought a wireless. He said it was best to keep abreast of things. Meg thought the plays and comedy shows were very entertaining and that nothing lifted the spirits like a bit of music, and the children always listened to Children’s Hour as they drank their cocoa before bed. However, Meg soon discovered the downside of having a wireless was the fact it often brought disturbing news. Somehow she found it far worse to hear about things spoken directly into the living room than to read about them in the newspaper. She could always put the paper aside if a certain article upset her, but she couldn’t do that so easily with the wireless, especially when her father was so interested in the news. On the evening of 10 November, with the younger children in bed, Meg and Terry were sitting with their father drinking a cup of tea and listening to a play when the commentator interrupted to tell them of a pogrom against the Jews in Munich that had begun the previous day. The attacks were carried out by storm troopers, members of Hitler Youth and other interested parties, in retaliation for the assassination of a German official in Paris at the hands of a Jewish youth. The commentator went on: It is estimated two hundred and fifty synagogues are burned and seven thousand Jewish businesses destroyed and looted. People have been thrown from their homes and many have perished while their homes have been looted. Jewish cemeteries, hospitals and schools have also suffered the same fate, and so much glass has been broken they are calling it ‘Kristallnacht’ or the ‘Night of Broken Glass’. Meg sat and stared, stunned, at the wireless, and Terry, she saw, was little better. Charlie reached over and snapped the wireless off as Meg cried, ‘Dad, I’ve never heard anything so horrific.’ ‘There will be further repercussions to this, mark my words,’ Charlie said. ‘There needs to be,’ Meg said hotly. ‘We can’t let people be treated this way.’ ‘No, I don’t mean that,’ Charlie said. ‘At the moment we’re letting Hitler get away with murder because everyone is afraid. I think he will impose even more sanctions on the Jews to drive the message home that the German Government doesn’t want them there, and yet some have lived there for generations and a great many fought for Germany in the Great War. They think of themselves as German.’ ‘But where would they go – and why should they?’ Meg asked. ‘Because in Hitler’s Germany things are done his way, and he is a racist,’ Charlie said. ‘Already they are barred from using public transport, entering public buildings or attending school. What’s next, I ask myself.’ Suddenly Meg got up, crossed the room, pulled the curtain back and looked out at the rain-sodden streets. She tried to imagine what it would be like if it had been they who were thrown out into the night, the house looted and destroyed, and felt a frisson of fear trickle down her spine. Nicholas had told her of the maltreatment that Jews in Germany were suffering and she hadn’t really listened, because she had thought that anything, however bad, happening in Germany wouldn’t affect her life in any way. Strangely a disembodied voice on the wireless made much more of an impact. Over the next few days, Meg listened to the wireless as avidly as her father. They heard that a rigid curfew had been imposed on the Jews in Germany. They were forced to repair the damage done to their homes and businesses, though they were not allowed to claim any insurance to help with the cost, and then the repaired houses were occupied by Aryans and allies of the Nazi Party, who also took over their businesses. It was reported that 274 synagogues had been burned and 7,500 businesses destroyed on the Night of Broken Glass and subsequent nights of violence. No details were given of the 300,000 people who had disappeared, the 91 who lay dead in the street or the 600 driven to take their own lives. The weeks slid one into another and Meg tried to shake off her despondent mood. None of the younger children could understand why she felt so low, and there was no need for her to frighten them with her unease about the war. Another crate arrived from America in time for Christmas, and Meg felt better about accepting the gifts now. After the first crate had arrived out of the blue, she’d felt she should get to know the relations that had sent them such fine and thoughtful things, and she now wrote to them regularly. She felt she had got to know them all so well: her mother’s eldest brother, Bobbie, the two younger ones, Martin and Jimmy, and her sister, Christie. She loved their replies, which were often humorous, and if she asked specific questions about her mother they never ignored them, or told her not to think about such thing like they all did in Birmingham – just as if Maeve had never existed – but would answer her questions honestly and she appreciated that. She even knew what they looked like now, because they had sent photographs, all of them standing with their families, looking happy and healthy, and Christie so like Maeve it gave Meg quite a jolt. She had borrowed May’s Brownie box camera to send pictures of them back and Bobbie wrote that they looked a fine bunch. Later Christie wrote asking all their sizes so Meg had guessed that they would be sending clothes. The crate contained good thick winter coats for them all, even Charlie, all beautifully made and with fleece linings. Ruth’s all-in-one this year was dark pink with lighter pink fur lining. There was also a selection of books, board games, boxes of chocolates, and a pair of silk stockings for Meg. By the end of January 1939 world events ceased to concern Meg as much as the foul weather, and she was immensely grateful for the new winter coats. A heavy snowfall had frozen, then further snow had fallen on top of the ice; then this had frozen, too and so on all week. It played havoc with the sports fixtures, with many events cancelled, and so, on the last Friday evening in January as they ate their dinner Charlie had said that Terry mustn’t even try to play football in the park the following morning. ‘Not worth it,’ he said. ‘You’d only have to fall on that frozen ground and you’d end up with a broken leg or something.’ Instead, Terry had gone to get his hair cut, and their dad had given the younger ones money for the pictures, so Meg and Ruth had the house to themselves for once, but the children hadn’t long left the house when Meg was surprised to see Nicholas come in the door. ‘Terry’s not playing football today,’ she said, ‘because of the weather.’ ‘I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I spotted him going in to the barber’s and took a chance on getting you on your own.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘Yeah. I need to tell you something, but it’s sort of delicate.’ ‘Can’t be that delicate,’ Meg declared, with a smile. ‘Come on, spit it out.’ Nicholas’s expression didn’t alter, yet he didn’t answer and Meg felt the first stirrings of unease. But she was the sort of person to meet trouble head on so a little impatiently she said, ‘Come on, Nicholas, you can tell me and if you don’t do it soon Terry may well be in on top of us. Doesn’t take long to do a short back and sides.’ Nicholas blurted out, ‘I – I … look, this is really awkward but look, I think your dad has a girlfriend.’ Meg was flabbergasted, and extremely relieved that there was no one else there to hear words that surely couldn’t possibly be true. It was nonsense, it had to be nonsense, and that was what she told her cousin. He shrugged. ‘Thought it better to prepare you, like.’ ‘Prepare me?’ Meg said. ‘Shock me, more like, coming here telling me things that are not true.’ ‘If you say so.’ ‘But it can’t be true.’ ‘Look, Meg, I’ve told you something and you don’t want to believe it,’ Nicholas said. ‘There’s nothing I can do about that, so we’ll have to leave it there.’ ‘Oh, all right then,’ Meg said impatiently. ‘What have you seen or heard that has made you think that my father is having some sort of affair?’ ‘I overheard my parents talking about it,’ Nicholas said. ‘I was supposed to be doing my homework in the attic but I was coming down for a drink and I heard them.’ ‘So what did they say?’ ‘Dad said he hoped your dad knew what he was doing, messing about with the likes of Doris Caudwell. And Mom said there was no fool like an old fool, and Dad said he’s a bit of a laughing stock at the pub and that she’d set out to get her claws into him from the start.’ Meg groaned. ‘I bet he’s a laughing stock,’ she said grimly. ‘But who is this Doris Caudwell?’ ‘Search me,’ Nicholas said. ‘I think I’ve seen her, though.’ ‘How have you done that?’ ‘She met your dad from the tram the other evening,’ Nicholas said. ‘I thought all the men come home together?’ ‘They do. I don’t know if she meets him regularly or how long it’s being going on or anything, because I’m not usually on the same tram, but a couple of nights ago I had a detention for not handing my homework in on time.’ And here he grinned at Meg ruefully and went on, ‘Not that I told Mom the real reason why I was late home. Said I volunteered for extra maths. As if?’ ‘Get on with it,’ Meg said impatiently. ‘Yeah, anyway, Dad and Uncle Robert and your dad wouldn’t have known I was on the same tram because I was on the top deck and they were already inside when I got on but I didn’t know that and I was coming down the stairs as the tram pulled in to Bristol Street and saw this woman waiting by the stop. I didn’t take that much notice at first, but then I saw your dad seemed mighty pleased to see her, and my dad and Uncle Robert were talking to him on the pavement, sort of arguing, and didn’t see me sneak past. As I went up Bristol Passage, I looked back, and it was as if they were trying to reason with your dad, but he suddenly pulled free of my dad and went off down the road with the woman. I didn’t wait to see any more. I made for home and was in quite a bit before Dad. I reckon he and Uncle Robert were talking about it.’ Meg was chewing her thumbnail. She knew Nicholas was right. Her father had been coming in late for a week or two now, always blaming the traffic and she had thought the traffic was going slower because of the snow and the ice. ‘Why didn’t they talk it over with me?’ she demanded. ‘Surely that would have been the thing to do.’ ‘They probably didn’t want to upset you.’ ‘It’s not them would upset me,’ Meg said. ‘It’s my dad with this sort of secret carry-on.’ ‘Maybe they thought it would amount to nothing in the end,’ Nicholas said. ‘You know, a flash in the pan, and you wouldn’t have had to know a thing about it.’ There was a silence between them and then Meg said, ‘What’s she like, this woman?’ Nicholas shrugged. ‘Just a woman, you know. I only caught a glimpse of her. Sort of ordinary.’ He paused and then asked her, ‘What are you going to do?’ ‘Nothing for now,’ Meg said after a moment. ‘If your dad and Uncle Robert are right and this is just a fling, it will all blow over. I might make things worse if I say anything now. I think I’ll wait and see. And, Nicholas, I don’t want the others to know anything about it.’ ‘I won’t say a word,’ he promised. EIGHT (#ub82fe912-7441-5b58-9895-cb557561cea0) By March, which had come in like the proverbial lion sending icy gusts of wind funnelling down the street, Charlie began leaving the house on Saturday nights as well as being late on Fridays, and then he started disappearing on Sunday afternoons too. By the time the month was drawing to a close, he was out a couple of nights in the week as well. Meg said nothing, but Billy and Sally had begun to ask where he was going. ‘Just out,’ Charlie would answer them. ‘When a man works all week, he values time to himself.’ Meg had thought he might be reverting to the drink, but she never heard him staggering about the place, and he seemed to have no trouble getting up in the morning. Although she still worried that his lady friend might be unsuitable, she had to confess that she’d seldom seen her dad so cheerful since her mom died. He came home from work with a smile on his face and whistled around the house, or sang snatches of songs like he used to do. One evening, Meg decided to tackle her dad about the mysterious Doris Caudwell for all their sakes. The night was a cold one and she pulled the curtains tighter across the windows and shook more coal onto the fire, then put the wireless on for company so that big band music filled the room as she settled to wait for his return. By the time Charlie came home, Meg was asleep, but she roused herself as he came in the door. She was still bleary-eyed as she snapped off the wireless and faced him. ‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Is everything all right? The children …?’ ‘The children are fine,’ Meg said. ‘So, why are you waiting up?’ ‘To ask you something,’ Meg said. ‘Something that I shouldn’t have to ask you.’ ‘What?’ Charlie asked, but he knew full well what his daughter was getting at and she knew it too. ‘Oh, come on, Dad,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘Don’t play the innocent. Are you going out with a woman called Doris Caudwell, or aren’t you?’ The red blush that flooded over Charlie’s face told its own tale, and Meg felt as if a lead weight had settled in her stomach. Shamefaced, her father nodded. ‘Who told you?’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Meg said, and added a little bitterly, ‘It could have been any of a number of people, because one thing I am pretty sure of is that it wasn’t a secret to anyone but us, and for the life of me I can’t think why that was.’ ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’ ‘D’you think this is any less upsetting?’ Meg snapped. ‘And when did you intend to tell us, or were you just going to install her in the house as your wife and the children’s mother without any sort of consultation about it at all?’ ‘Of course not,’ Charlie said. ‘I just thought you might feel it too soon after your mother.’ ‘If you feel that way, you shouldn’t have begun any sort of relationship,’ Meg said icily. ‘I … I don’t feel that way,’ Charlie said. ‘At least … goddammit, Meg, you know what I thought of your mother, and when she died I didn’t go looking for someone else or anything.’ ‘So how did you meet this woman?’ ‘I met her in the Swan where she had come in for a drink with another woman,’ Charlie said. Meg curled her lip. Women who went into public houses alone were considered to be the lowest of the low. ‘Now don’t look like that,’ Charlie censored. ‘She’s not loose or anything like that, but the other woman was going to see her chap and didn’t want to go into the pub alone, and as Doris is a widow she agreed to go in with her. She is actually quite alone in the world, for she has no children and no siblings, and neither had her late husband. Their parents are long dead. She’s also a stranger here, drafted from Yorkshire. ‘You seem to know a lot about her from one meeting.’ Meg commented. ‘That first time we met it was your uncle Robert who did most of the talking.’ That surprised Meg. ‘Why?’ ‘Because she works at the same place as Rosie,’ Charlie said. ‘She doesn’t know her. Apparently they work in different areas. Doris actually doesn’t know many people, unless you count the woman she came out with. She says she hasn’t had time to make friends yet.’ ‘Where does she live?’ ‘She has a small flat on Bristol Street.’ ‘Why did she come here from Yorkshire?’ ‘Because she said she didn’t mind where she went,’ Charlie answered patiently. ‘See, she was a seamstress and not getting that much money and, as she said, she had to provide for herself after her husband died. So when she heard that war-related work was paying more, she made enquiries. They asked what she could do, and when she told them, they asked if she wanted work near to home. She said she didn’t mind where she went and so she arrived here.’ ‘So that was the first time you saw her,’ Meg said. ‘So why didn’t you leave it there?’ ‘Because when she was there again the following week, I couldn’t just ignore her.’ ‘And you asked her out?’ ‘Yes,’ Charlie said. ‘I did,’ and added a little defiantly. ‘To tell the truth I felt a bit sorry for her. And I know how she feels because I’m often lonely myself.’ The plaintive note in Charlie’s voice gave Meg a bit of a jolt, for she had wondered before if her father might be lonely and she felt sorry for him until he said ‘Do you know, I really envy Robert and Alec going home to loving wives and warm beds.’ ‘Oh,’ Meg snapped ‘Is that what you were hoping for: a warm bed with a woman you had just met?’ ‘’Course not,’ Charlie said. ‘There was nothing in it then. Just two lonely people being company for one another. We saw a film at the cinema in Bristol Road and popped into the Trees for a quick drink afterwards and that was the extent of it.’ ‘But it didn’t stay like that?’ Meg tried to hide the deep hurt flowing through her body. ‘No, it didn’t stay like that,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s how relationships do develop. Doris thanked me and said how much she had enjoyed it, and I realised I had too, and I took her out the following week, and so it went on, but I never went looking for it.’ ‘But you did nothing to stop it once you did see what was happening,’ Meg said. ‘How could you, Daddy? Mom has been dead only just over eighteen months.’ ‘There isn’t a timescale on these things, Meg.’ ‘Then there blooming well ought to be,’ Meg burst out. Even recognising her father’s lonely state, she felt such pain at what she saw as his betrayal, and knowing how powerless she was to change the situation, she lashed out. ‘Just what sort of father are you? You knew Mom was risking her life to carry another child and she died giving birth to the child of that union, a child that you then refused to have anything to do with. Little Ruth will grow up without the love of a father or a mother, but it isn’t her fault that Mom died. And now, when she is barely cold, you are seeking to replace her.’ Charlie stared at her. ‘I will forgive you for your outburst,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re extremely upset.’ Meg could feel a pulse beating in her head as white-hot fury filled her body and she screamed, ‘I am not upset, I’m bloody angry. Do you think you are the only one that’s lonely? There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t miss Mom and wish she was here, and I am very lonely at times, too, but all you care about is your bloody self.’ Charlie was taken aback by his daughter’s vehemence but tried for a conciliatory tone. ‘I did it for you, too, if you would only see that.’ ‘Oh, don’t make me laugh,’ Meg said. ‘You did it for you. The rest of us don’t matter.’ ‘You do matter,’ Charles insisted. ‘But Doris will be here to see to the children now and that means that you can have a life of your own.’ Meg’s head was whirring. ‘She knows about us then, this Doris?’ ‘She knows that I am a widower and that I have children,’ Charlie said, and added a little nervously, ‘I didn’t tell her how many. Didn’t want to scare her off. After all, she isn’t that used to children.’ ‘So how do you know she’ll take us all on?’ ‘If she marries me, of course she’ll take you on,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s a wife’s duty.’ Meg knew how traditional her father’s views were. He would expect his wife to get up before him in the morning, make him breakfast, pack up his sandwiches, keep house all day and be there when he got in after work with a hot meal on the table. ‘What if she really likes her job and doesn’t want to give it up?’ Meg asked. ‘Or really can’t cope with the house and kids and that?’ ‘Meg,’ Charlie said, ‘Doris is a lonely woman who I’m sure wants to be married and I am willing to marry her. I don’t know if I love her like I did your mother, but I am fond of her. She will be grateful to have another crack at marriage and will give her job up without a qualm when we wed. And of course she’ll cope. She is a woman, and caring for husband, children and a house is what women are born to do.’ Meg knew her father really believed that. She gave a sigh and realised how bone-weary she must look when her father said, ‘Why don’t you go up to bed now, Meg? We have talked enough for one night.’ However, once in her room, sleep eluded her; she was too agitated to relax enough just to let go and drift off. She knew the children would have to be told about Doris. They might easily see her as an interloper, and while Meg wouldn’t blame them, for their sake she would have to help them accept the inevitable. She tossed and turned as she rehearsed what she would say, eventually falling into a fitful sleep that was filled with lurid nightmares. Meg decided the children had been in the dark long enough so she told them all together the following morning as they sat having breakfast after Charlie had gone to work. There was a howl of anguish from Billy at the news. Ruth, sitting on Meg’s knee, turned startled eyes on her young brother as he blurted out, ‘I don’t want no new mother. We got you, ain’t we?’ ‘I don’t want one either,’ Terry said. Meg knew it was up to her to get the children to feel at least more positive about the woman, because if their father decided to marry her, they would have no choice in the matter. ‘Now come on,’ she said. ‘You haven’t given the woman a chance. You have never even met her.’ ‘And whose fault is that?’ Terry said. ‘We never even knew about her till now.’ Sally burst into tears as Billy said mutinously, ‘Anyway, I don’t want to meet her.’ Sally scrubbed at her eyes with the edge of her cardigan and said, ‘Nor me. I don’t want someone to come in and try and be our mom. We had a mom and now we have you and I don’t want no one else.’ Meg sighed as Ruth, picking up the atmosphere in the room, began to grizzle, and as she cuddled her she said, ‘Now you’ve upset Ruth with your goings-on. You must all realise that if Daddy wants to marry this woman then he will, and none of us can do anything about it.’ She looked at the woebegone faces of her brothers and sisters and felt for them, but it was doing them no favours letting them feel that they could influence their father in any way. ‘Don’t know why he wants another wife anyway,’ Terry said. ‘We’re all right as we are, aren’t we?’ ‘Daddy obviously isn’t.’ ‘Didn’t he love our mom?’ Jenny asked. ‘He did,’ Meg said emphatically. ‘You know he did. I think maybe he’s lonely.’ ‘How could he be lonely when he has us?’ Sally asked. ‘It’s a different kind of loneliness when you an adult,’ Meg said, ‘and I know Daddy feels sorry for this Doris, because he told me so.’ ‘Feels sorry for her?’ Terry repeated. ‘You don’t marry someone because you feel sorry for them.’ ‘Oh, I should imagine there’s more to it than that,’ Meg said. ‘And really you can’t help feeling sorry for her because she’s completely alone. Her first husband is dead, and their parents, they had no brothers or sisters and she had no children of her own. You must admit that’s sad.’ ‘Yeah, I suppose.’ ‘And added to that, she knows very few people here,’ Meg went on. ‘She comes from Yorkshire but was sent here to sew parachutes like Aunt Rosie.’ ‘Where did Daddy meet her?’ ‘In the Swan.’ Jenny’s eyes opened wide. ‘Was she on her own?’ ‘I think there were two of them.’ ‘Mom said she thought women who went to the pub on their own like that were no better than they should be. I heard her telling May one day,’ Jenny said. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening.’ ‘I couldn’t help it,’ Jenny cried. ‘Anyway, that’s what she said. D’you think that?’ Meg did a bit, but it would hardly help Doris’s case to say so. She chose her words with care. ‘I don’t know really. The world is changing all the time. I mean, there are more women working now, married women with families like Aunt Rosie, often doing a man’s job. And more women in the Forces than there have ever been, and maybe that changes your perception a bit. Anyway, let’s not condemn the woman out of hand. Let’s give her a chance, because if Daddy has chosen her, then it would be better for all of you if you try to get on with her.’ As the family were worrying about Doris, news came of discontent spreading throughout central Europe with Hitler’s invasion of Czechoslovakia. Not only was the British Government alarmed, but also the governments of many other European countries, especially those near to Germany. Hitler, rumours of war and now Doris Caudwell – Meg felt weighed down with her anxieties. Meg spent an uneasy couple of weeks with the children. But they were off school from Wednesday for the Easter holidays and she would be meeting Joy on Good Friday. Her father was off work then too, but he declared on that morning he had plans of his own and he would be out all day. Meg could barely bring herself to talk to him and so she said nothing to this and later he came up behind her as she was washing up. ‘You seeing Joy today?’ he asked. ‘Yes, of course.’ ‘Then take this.’ He pressed a pound note into her hand. ‘Get some chocolate eggs for the children.’ Meg nodded. ‘All right.’ She had intended doing that anyway, as the children had given up sweets for the whole of Lent, so she thought they deserved chocolate eggs on Easter Sunday. She also relished the freedom of going out without Ruth because her siblings would look after her and, she thought wryly, she might be able to have a proper conversation with Joy and a hot cup of tea as she wouldn’t be charging around after Ruth all lunchtime. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/anne-bennett/a-girl-can-dream/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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