A Sister's Duty Read online

  ‘So I’m a burden, am I?’

  Amelia made no answer but poured milk into a cup and the cat’s saucer.

  ‘Don’t ignore me!’ yelled Rosie, smashing a plate against the sink.

  Amelia stepped over the broken crockery.

  The girl opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out knives and forks, flinging them on the floor. She stared at her aunt. Amelia returned her stare but did not speak, opening the oven and taking out the casserole. Inside she was quivering, but she could see no sense in having a fight. She made some tea and went upstairs.

  Rosie did not follow her. She put her head down on the table and wept. After a while, she wandered into the sitting room and huddled on the sofa, arms clasped about her knees, thinking of Harry and Babs. They would be feeling as miserable as she was. The thought brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. She snuffled like a baby, wanting her mother. Then, suddenly, she decided she would go to the cemetery and visit her grave. She got up and put on her blazer and went out again. As she passed St Vincent’s, she thought of Dotty and sympathy for her mingled with her own misery and anger. Perhaps tomorrow she would try to get to see her.

  Dotty had made up her mind that she had to get out of St Vincent’s. They had cropped her long silvery hair because there had been a lice scare and she could not bear the feel of it. She grieved for her mother and the easygoing routine of her old life. She missed the outings to the shops and being spoilt by Gwen Baxendale when Violet was working. She missed the chatting and playing with her sisters and brother at the end of the day; she yearned for the shabby cosiness of the home she had left behind and the comfort of Babs’s warm body snuggling up to hers in their old bed.

  At St Vincent’s, she had to share a dormitory with seven other girls, and although one of the nuns slept in a small room nearby, Dotty was scared at night because some of the older pupils had whispered of a ghost called Betty Eccles who haunted the building, watching for any child who misbehaved. Dotty was desperate to behave well but she was frightened in bed, nervous of the staircases and the playground outside. The other girls shrieked and shouted, touching her face and clothes when she spoke. She had been told this was because most of them were blind and sound and touch was their way of drawing attention to themselves. But there was something else that bothered her far worse, which she had not voiced to anyone.

  A gate post loomed right in front of her nose and she drew back her head and felt her way round it. She was out! Terrified and exhilarated at the same time, Dotty began to walk.

  ‘You OK?’ said a male voice.

  She spun round, attempting to see through the fuzziness that plagued her. ‘Who is it?’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘Are you from St Vincent’s?’

  ‘No!’ she denied emphatically, and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I’m – I’m looking for the cemetery. My – My mother’s buried there and I’ve forgotten exactly where it is.’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Instantly, he was much more than a voice and a misty outline as his face came into focus. He had brown eyes, a long narrow nose with delicately flaring nostrils and untidy chestnut hair. ‘Have I seen you before?’

  She fell back a pace, aware of an overpowering smell of manure, peppermint and carbolic soap, and almost tripped over a dog. He took her arm, steadying her. ‘I’m not from round here,’ said Dotty swiftly. ‘You’ve made a mistake. After I’ve been to the cemetery, I’m going to my aunt’s.’

  ‘Well, if you’re going to the cemetery, you’re going in the wrong direction.’ Turning her round, he fell into step beside her, close enough for her to know he was gazing at her.

  She knew she was pretty, having been told so often in the past, but did she look like a person who was almost blind? The thought terrified her and Dotty, who for so long had accepted her reliance on others and relished the attention, now knew she had to act as if there was nothing wrong with her. ‘I’m Dotty Kilshaw. My aunt lives just up the road. I’ve been to visit her.’

  ‘Kilshaw? You’re not related to Rosie and Babs, are you?’

  ‘You know them?’ she said in a startled voice.

  ‘Of course I know them. My dad’s going to marry their aunt. Your aunt, too, by the sound of it.’

  For a moment, she could not think what to say. Then she stammered, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Chris Hudson.’ He laughed. ‘It looks like we’re going to be related but I don’t know what that makes us.’

  ‘Me neither!’ She bit her lip. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘It’s only just happened. Dad’s been away in the Army. They’re marrying for the sake of us kids. A marriage of convenience, he called it. We’re going to move into her house because it’s bigger. He said that’s the sensible thing to do.’

  ‘I see,’ she said forlornly.

  ‘You don’t like the idea?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘What’s it to do with me?’

  ‘You’re her niece.’ His face swam into vision again and he touched her shoulder. ‘Look, here’s the cemetery. Are you sure you’ll be OK? Only I’m on a message.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, and to prove it walked straight through the cemetery gates, not stopping until she blundered into a headstone and went sprawling.

  ‘Hey there, little missy, are you OK?’ The voice had a Transatlantic twang and the hands that lifted and steadied her were strong.

  She clutched at his jacket, thinking what an outing this was turning out to be. ‘You’re American!’

  ‘My, you’re quick.’ There was a smile in his voice.

  ‘It’s the way you speak,’ she stammered. ‘Just like at the pictures. I’ve never met a Yank before. Although Mam married one.’

  ‘Is that a fact now?’

  ‘Honestly,’ said Dotty, brushing herself down. ‘I’m visiting her grave now.’ She peered about her. ‘The trouble is, I’m not exactly sure where it is.’

  ‘Does she have a headstone? What’s her name?’

  ‘Violet. I don’t remember her married name or whether they even put it on the stone.’

  He drawled. ‘It was Dixon. Sam Dixon. And this sure is some coincidence. I am that American and I was just visiting your mom’s grave.’ He thrust out a hand. ‘I think I remember you now from the funeral. Weren’t you sitting in a corner, just by the piano?’

  Dotty’s mouth fell open but before she could say what a good memory he had, a more familiar voice spoke. ‘Dotty, what are you doing here? I was just thinking about you! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Something terrible’s happened!’

  Dotty gave a cry and fell into Rosie’s arms. It really was turning out to be some outing. She was glad she had escaped.

  The two sisters hugged each other, rocking from side to side. ‘Fancy us meeting like this! This is the first time I’ve been here since Mam died and I wouldn’t have come now if I hadn’t had a row with Aunt Amelia,’ said Rosie, eyes clouding.

  ‘Aunt Amelia? Why did you?’

  ‘You’ll never guess what she’s done. I feel like never going back there again.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Dotty in a scared voice. ‘What would happen to me if you weren’t there? Besides, where would you go?’

  ‘I’d think of somewhere, don’t you worry!’ Rosie’s tone was savage.

  There was the sound of a throat being cleared. ‘Excuse me, ma’am?’

  Rosie turned. She had forgotten the man standing there but now she gave him her full attention. ‘You’re Mam’s Yank!’

  ‘Widower, ma’am,’ he said, removing his cap.

  ‘Ma’am? I’m only sixteen!’ Rosie laughed, eyeing him with interest. He looked even younger than the last time she had seen him, despite the thinning hair. She wondered anew what had got into her mother to put him in Joe’s place. ‘You can call me Rosie. After all, you’re our stepdad, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Rosie, I forgot your birthday!’ burst out Dotty, hand going to her mouth.

  ‘That’s OK. I
wasn’t there to remind you. I won’t forget yours, though.’ Rosie’s head swung in her sister’s direction. ‘What on earth’s happened to your hair? I’ve only just noticed your plaits have gone.’

  ‘They chopped them off!’ Dotty’s face crumpled. ‘My hair looks terrible, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I think you look kinda cute,’ said Sam.

  The two girls stared at him as if he had run mad. ‘I loved my hair long,’ said Dotty in a sad little voice. ‘Mam always said it was a woman’s crowning glory.’

  ‘Veronica Lake put hers up for the war effort as an example,’ said Sam, turning his cap round and round between his hands. ‘Women working in factories could catch it in the machinery. Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

  They agreed.

  There was a lull in the conversation, none of them knowing what to say next. The two girls waited for the man to speak first.

  Sam cleared his throat again. ‘You’re not really thinking of leaving your aunt’s?’

  ‘Sure I am,’ said Rosie instantly.

  ‘But where would you go?’ said Dotty, concerned.

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  Sam shook his head at them. ‘Your aunt seemed kinda nice.’

  Rosie looked at him pityingly. ‘You don’t know her. And I’m surprised Mam didn’t tell you about her.’

  ‘She mentioned no sisters, nor kids. Only an elderly pa who hated Yanks.’

  ‘I’ll never understand why she did it,’ said Rosie, hurt and sad. ‘Anyway, to get back to Aunt Amelia – she’s gone and got rid of Babs and Harry! She’s sent them to Aunt Iris in Canada, and without a word to me.’ Her voice rose indignantly on the last few words.

  Dotty gasped, placing a hand on her narrow chest. ‘That’s awful!’

  ‘I hate her!’ said Rosie, folding her arms and digging her nails into the fabric of her blazer.

  ‘You know why, don’t you?’ said Dotty. ‘She’s getting married.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘You’ve lost your marbles. Why should you think that?’

  ‘Someone called Chris Hudson just told me.’

  Rosie stared at her and thought she saw it all. ‘The cow! That’s why she got rid of Babs and Harry.’

  ‘And me!’ said Dotty. ‘She’ll probably want you to stay to help with the housework and everything.’

  Sam, who had been listening with interest, said, ‘So what are you gonna do? Where’ll you go?’

  ‘I know where I’d go,’ said Dotty thoughtfully.

  They looked at her. ‘Mrs Baxendale’s. She was good to us and she has a spare room.’

  ‘She was Violet’s next-door neighbour,’ said Sam, nodding his head sagely.

  ‘She told you that?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Said she was good with her pa. Looked after him when she was at work.’

  Rosie shook her head, still scarcely able to believe her mother could dissemble the truth in such a way.

  ‘If you do decide to go, will you come for me?’ said Dotty, slipping a hand through her sister’s arm. ‘I could bear St Vincent’s for a few more days if I knew I wasn’t going to be there for ever.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Rosie, thinking that if Mrs Baxendale took her in, she would be living under the same roof as Davey and she didn’t know about that.

  Sam glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll have to be going.’ He fumbled in his trouser pocket and brought out a slab of chocolate. He handed it to Rosie. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you again. You’re very like your mom, you know.’

  ‘So they say.’ Her eyes had lit up at the sight of the chocolate. Impulsively, she leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks, Stepdaddy!’

  ‘It’s nuthin’!’

  ‘It is! You Yanks – don’t you know we’re always hungry?’ She kissed his other cheek and he blushed.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you again some time, girls?’ He saluted and strolled away in the direction of the gates.

  ‘Chocolate,’ breathed Rosie, breaking the slab. ‘Here, Dotty.’ She handed her sister half.

  ‘Lovely, lovely,’ said Dotty, putting several squares into her mouth all at once and closing her eyes in ecstasy.

  ‘Hmmm!’ Rosie let the chocolate melt in her mouth.

  When they had finished it all, she said, ‘Shall we visit Mam’s grave?’

  ‘We’re here, we might as well. She might have been a liar but she’s still our mam.’

  The girls made their way through a maze of angels and crosses and when they reached the grave saw there were fresh flowers on it. ‘One thing,’ said Rosie with a sigh. ‘Mam certainly knew how to pick nice men.’

  There was silence but for the sound of the wind in the trees. ‘This Mr Hudson . . .’ said Dotty tentatively. ‘Is he a nice man? Only his son said it was a marriage of convenience.’

  Rosie chewed on a fingernail, eyes thoughtful as she gazed unseeingly at the grave. ‘He’s the father of the twins, isn’t he? How can he be nice? Let’s go. I’ve had enough of cemeteries.’

  They went, stopping when they came to the entrance to St Vincent’s. ‘You’re going to have to go in,’ said Rosie. ‘I won’t be going anywhere tonight.’

  ‘I’m going to have sneak in,’ whispered Dotty. ‘I hope I won’t be caught.’

  ‘You can come up with some excuse. Anyway, I’ll see you soon.’ Rosie kissed her and slowly walked home.

  The next day was the first of May and in another lifetime Rosie, Babs and Dotty would have dressed up in old frocks of Violet’s and waltzed out into the street to join a May procession. Rosie’s heart ached as she wished Babs and Harry could come bouncing into the room as they had on so many other mornings. She ignored Amelia’s presence across the table from her, although there were in fact several questions she would have liked to put to her.

  ‘They reckon that a declaration of peace is imminent,’ said her aunt, voice extra loud in the quietness. ‘There’ll be celebrations and you’ll probably get a couple of days off school. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your studies, it should be fun. There’ll be a party here. I want you in the shop full-time as soon as you leave school, Rosie.’

  The girl remembered what Dotty had said. ‘I’m surprised you want me around at all. This house is going to be full enough without me, isn’t it?’

  Amelia lowered the newspaper. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She leant back in her chair, raising the front legs off the floor. ‘Mr Hudson. You’re going to marry him. Another little secret you kept from me,’ she said bitterly, bringing the chair down with a crash.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Amelia automatically. ‘I intended telling you this week. Today hardly seemed the right time with you already upset.’ She folded the newspaper. ‘I can imagine how your mind’s working but it’s not true. I didn’t get rid of Babs and Harry because I’m marrying Mr Hudson. Nor do I want to get rid of you. I appreciate your good points. You work hard and you’ve been very helpful to me.’

  ‘Work hard! Helpful! Is that the best you can say to keep me here?’ Rosie’s voice cracked and she got to her feet hurriedly, fearing she might give way to tears. ‘You’re so cold,’ she whispered. ‘I feel sorry for Mr Hudson, but then, I suppose all he needs is a housekeeper.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Colour flamed in Amelia’s face as she sprang to her feet, resting her hands on the table. ‘You’re very rude. And I didn’t ask your opinion. Now get to school. I’ve a busy day ahead of me.’ She click-clacked furiously out the room.

  I’ll kill her, thought the girl. I’ve read in that herbal book of hers about different potions and Brownie’s told me about the dangers of overdosing. I’ll poison her tea. Then she won’t be able to get married.

  The cat miaowed and stropped Rosie’s leg. Suddenly, all the anger seeped out of her. ‘What do you want?’ She bent and lifted Sooty, resting a cheek against his fur, finding comfort in his warm purring body. ‘What am I going to do, puss?’ Her voice was melancholy.

  Of course,
Sooty made no reply, only rubbed his head against her chin in a way that was infinitely soothing, almost like a kiss. Rosie remembered their old cat and thought of that day they had left their home and her grandmother had turned up. She froze. She had scarcely given Maggie a thought since then because life had been so full since they’d moved. Now she smiled. Perhaps this was the time to visit her.

  Chapter Seven

  Rosie turned into the street where she had once lived to see a scene that was being duplicated all over Britain. Women were decorating windows with red, white and blue bunting; youths were piling up wood for a bonfire to be lit that evening. The war in Europe was over and people’s relief knew no bounds. The King had announced a three-day school holiday.

  ‘Rosie!’

  She glanced up and saw Davey’s mother hanging out of a bedroom window, holding a large Union Jack. ‘Wait there, lovey! I’ve got something for you.’

  Rosie waited, wondering what it could be.

  Gwen Baxendale appeared at the front door with the Union Jack draped over her shoulder, carrying a box.

  ‘What is it?’ Rosie lifted a flap and gazed inside. Then she lifted her head and stared at Davey’s mother. ‘It’s food!’

  ‘Your mam’s Yank brought it. Seemed to think he might be able to get in touch with you here.’

  ‘Sorry!’ Rosie grimaced. ‘I need to get away from my aunt and Dotty suggested your house in front of him as somewhere for me to stay.’

  Gwen looked upset. ‘I’m sorry, lovey, but I’ve taken in a lodger. Come this time next year our Davey will have had his call-up papers and I’m going to feel it. Besides, I could do with the money. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. We just don’t get on,’ Rosie said brightly, reluctant to explain because the subject was still too painful for her to talk about. ‘Anyway, as it is I thought I’d look up my grandmother.’

  Gwen’s expression altered. ‘Are you sure about that, lovey? She’s been round here a couple of times. Sharp as a knife she is. You’ll need to watch she doesn’t put too much on you. Now this box – can you manage it?’