Kay Brellend 3-Book Collection: The Street, The Family, Coronation Day. Kay Brellend
a long time yet.’
Their father had found himself a few days’ work at the market and would help overnight setting up the stalls for the following day. If he was lucky, he might stay on and take half-profits for helping old Mr Cooke sell his fruit and vegetables. Of course, if trade looked to be slow and pickings were hard, their dad would be sent home before ten o’clock with very little in his pocket for his night’s work.
‘Dad’ll go mad at her if she’s spent his bacca money on booze.’
‘I know,’ Alice whispered into the dark.
‘How old do you think we’ll be before we get out of this dump? Really old, I suppose. Might even be sixteen. Four-eyes Foster was sixteen before she got enough saved up to get a room in Playford.’
Alice laughed soundlessly. She knew bespectacled Annie Foster, of course. For as long as Alice could remember Annie had lived just a few doors away in Campbell Road. On Annie’s sixteenth birthday she’d finally dodged her step-father’s fists by running away from home. ‘That’s just round the corner!’ she derisively pointed out whilst frowning at the shadows on the ceiling. In her estimation, scarpering to Playford Road was hardly escaping. ‘When I go I’m going a real long way … a real long way. I’m makin’ a move when I’m thirteen. You can come too if you like.’
Sophy raised herself on an elbow and peered through the gloom at Alice. ‘Run away?’ she scoffed. ‘When you’re thirteen? You only just turned twelve last week and you’ve got no money.’
‘I’ve saved a few bob from me doorsteps, and I know old Miss Murphy wants me to do her brasses reg’lar. Done ’em once before and she said they’d never rubbed up so good.’
‘How much she give you?’ Sophy was most interested to know. Any chance of earning regular money from a good paying customer was news best kept to oneself. Sophy shifted closer, peering down into Alice’s face.
Alice pulled the coat up higher to her sharp little chin. She turned over, settling her head into her hand, regretting that she’d been unwisely boastful. ‘Go to sleep,’ she hissed over a raised shoulder. ‘We’ll never get up for school if we don’t get some shut-eye.’
‘Go on! How much did old Murphy give you to do her brasses?’
‘Ain’t saying, so don’t ask.’ Alice curved her small, thin body about her sleeping baby sister and determinedly closed her eyes.
‘I’ll come with you, if you like, when you go,’ Sophy promised quietly. ‘I’m older’n you and I know a lot more than you do.’
‘About what?’ Alice asked dubiously.
‘About everything,’ Sophy boasted. ‘I know about workin’ in good houses, which you don’t ’cos you’re not old enough to go. Mum’s took me loads of times to Highgate when she were working for Mrs Forbes and her daughter.’ Sophy paused, unsure whether to let on a secret of her own. ‘I got meself a nice few handkerchiefs out of Tufnell. Sold ’em for a good price, too.’
Alice immediately turned her head to stare through the gloom at her sister. ‘You don’t want to let Mum hear you say that. She won’t half have yer hide if she knows you’ve been pinching off her clients.’
‘What she don’t know don’t hurt. ’Sides, it were ages ago now.’ Sophy was quiet for a moment. ‘Don’t you let on, right, ’cos I still got a little put by and she’ll want it. And she won’t stop till she finds it, neither.’
‘’Course I won’t say,’ Alice snorted. Should their mother find out any of them had a few bob saved she’d turn the place upside down looking for it. Alice had known her dad, who was a painter and decorator by trade, hide a half a crown in a tin of paint in the hope it would be safe from his wife till he got home. Alice squirrelled further into the bed but there was no warm spot lower down on the freezing mattress. Quickly she drew her knees back to her chest. ‘Well, what else d’you know?’ she asked after a few minutes of trying to get off to sleep.
‘Lots of things,’ Sophy insisted. ‘Know about boys too.’
‘Well, you can keep that to yourself,’ Alice said with genuine lack of interest.
‘You’ll change yer mind soon enough,’ Sophy chuckled. ‘Once you start using the jam rags you’ll know what I mean.’
‘Oh, shut up, will you,’ Alice groaned, disgusted. She knew what her sister meant and she had no wish to ever get involved with all that messy stuff every month. It made her feel quite queasy to think about it.
‘I reckon Tommy Greenfield is soft on me. He keeps watching me all the time. His sister said she reckons he likes me too.’
‘He got Maisie Brookes into trouble,’ Alice hissed. She turned slowly to widen her eyes expressively. ‘You want to watch yourself. Mum’ll kill you if she finds out you’ve been knockin’ around with him.’
‘Ain’t been knockin’ about with him,’ Sophy muttered defensively. ‘Just said he’d been looking at me, that’s all.’ Sophy lay her head back down for a second. Then she leaned close to Alice to add, ‘Anyhow, everyone knows that Maisie’s a slag. Weren’t the first time she’d dropped her drawers.’
Alice grunted noncommittally in response and closed her eyes. A moment later they flicked open and she groaned.
‘What now?’ Sophy asked.
‘She’s wet,’ Alice said. She felt for the rag that served as Lucy’s nappy and her fingers encountered the warm, soggy cloth.
‘Hope that’s all it is,’ Sophy garbled in real alarm.
Alice climbed out of bed and, shivering in her underwear, quickly unwrapped the wet cloth whilst trying to keep little Lucy’s damp bottom protected from the frosty air with a coat. She searched by touch in the gloom and finally located a fresh rag at the foot of the bed. Carefully she wiped the baby dry with it then she turned it, shaped it, and skilfully secured it about Lucy’s fragile pelvis.
Speedily she jumped back into bed and moved Lucy between herself and Sophy. ‘Quick, keep her warm or she’ll wake up and start yelling. Then we’ll know it. We’ll not have a wink of shut-eye.’
Sophy grunted and made room. ‘’Spose we’ll all stink of piss again tomorrer.’ It was her final comment before she fell asleep.
‘Where’s the money?’
An apprehensive look slipped between Alice and Sophy. They each picked up a slab of bread from the plate on the table and started to chew. Bethany slipped down from her chair, murmuring about needing the privy.
‘I said, where’s me bacca money?’ their father suddenly roared. He shook the empty tin in his hand and glared at his wife. With an almighty crash he slammed the tin onto the mantelshelf.
Tilly Keiver settled baby Lucy more firmly on her jutting hip. ‘What bleedin’ money? Weren’t no money in the tin. You had it out Monday. I saw you.’ She swivelled her hips from side to side, rocking the baby, even though little Lucy seemed unconcerned by her father’s fury.
Jack Keiver approached his wife. He was a well-built man in his early thirties. His features were regular and the only blemish on his handsome face was a small, odd-shaped area of freckled skin that ran along his jaw. Presently the birth-mark was stretched by the grim thrust of his chin. ‘You lyin’ cow. I wouldn’t take money out when you was around to see where it was hid. You think I don’t know you by now?’ He stared angrily at the empty tin as though he might get his three shillings back if he wished hard enough for it. ‘You’ve had it, ain’t yer?’ Suddenly enlightenment erased the weariness from his rugged features. ‘You was out boozing again last night, wasn’t you?’
‘Ain’t been nowhere,’ Tilly snapped back.