A Sister's Duty Read online

  ‘But nothing. Do it! I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Coming with me?’ squeaked Rosie. The last thing she wanted was her aunt setting eyes on her grandmother’s poky little back-room shop.

  ‘Yes. You’ve no objections, have you?’ Amelia’s eyebrows elevated in that speaking way which Rosie hated.

  ‘Gran will,’ she said. ‘You know you don’t get on.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to try, won’t we?’ said Amelia sweetly. ‘Now, move!’

  Rosie swore under her breath. Not one thing had gone as she had planned.

  Maggie was in the shop, tidying shelves and muttering to herself when they arrived. Immediately, she turned on Rosie as she entered a little ahead of Amelia. ‘And what time’s this to be coming in? I expected yer hours ago.’

  ‘Sorry, Gran, but I’ve brought a visitor,’ said Rosie with a grimace.

  ‘A visitor?’ growled her grandmother. ‘I don’t want any visitors.’

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Kilshaw.’ Amelia stood in the doorway, filling the shop with her flowery perfume. ‘Rosie, leave us.’

  Maggie looked taken aback but made a fine recovery. ‘Here now, who do yer think yous are, telling her to go? Under my roof she does what I say. You want to speak to me? Be sharp about it, Miss Hoity-Toity.’

  Amelia’s nostrils flared as if scenting something distasteful and a muscle quivered in her cheek. ‘Rosie is to stay on at school. I’ll let her come and live with you but she works for me full-time once she leaves school. Is that understood?’

  Rosie stared at her dumbfounded. Maggie spluttered, ‘No, it bleedin’ isn’t! What good is she to me under them terms?’

  ‘I’d have thought it was obvious. But if that’s all you’ve got to say, we’ll say goodbye now. Come on, Rosie,’ said Amelia.

  ‘Hang on! What is this? What right have yous to keep my granddaughter from me?’ said Maggie.

  ‘I told you last time – and I’ll not have her wasting a good education in this dump.’ Amelia’s gaze swept disparagingly over the shelves and counter.

  ‘Dump?’ Maggie’s tone was scandalised. ‘Who are you to be calling my little shop a dump?’ Her eyebrows bristled and she clenched her fists as if ready to square up to Amelia. ‘A little goldmine this is!’

  ‘Fool’s gold more like. Rosie, come.’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Maggie seized hold of the girl’s sleeve. ‘Yer not going to walk out on me, girl. Yer not going to let her talk to your old gran like that? Yer know how bad I am on me pins. Tell her yer want to work here!’

  ‘It’s no use talking to her like that. She only stays on my terms,’ said Amelia firmly.

  Maggie looked at her with dislike. ‘I suppose she could help me in the evenings – when me legs swell up like balloons because I’ve been on them all day.’

  ‘Excuse me while I get out the violin.’

  ‘I don’t mind doing that.’ Rosie managed to get in a word edgeways.

  ‘That’s up to you. But you have to get through your exams and do well.’ Amelia picked off an invisible thread from her coat sleeve. ‘Mrs Kilshaw has to understand that. I’ll be keeping in touch with the school to make sure you keep your head down.’

  Rosie was horrified. ‘Don’t you trust me? I’ll do it if I say so.’

  ‘See that you do. Now I’m going. I’ll expect to see you the Sunday after next, Rosie. That’ll give you time to settle in and see how things go. Good evening, Mrs Kilshaw.’ And Amelia inclined her head and walked out.

  ‘Bleeding cheek!’ said Maggie, stomping into the kitchen and lowering herself into a chair. She dropped her chin in her hands, gazing broodingly at the fireplace.

  Rosie thought it best not to speak and tiptoed across the room to the other door with the suitcase which Amelia had overseen her packing.

  ‘And where are yous going?’ growled Maggie.

  ‘To unpack, Gran.’

  Maggie muttered something under her breath but before Rosie could creep out a bell jangled. ‘You come back here!’ ordered her grandmother, hoisting herself up out of the chair and beckoning Rosie to follow her.

  In the tiny shop stood a woman dressed in a shabby winter coat and wearing a headscarf. There were shadows beneath her eyes and she had a child in her arms and another clinging to her coat-tails. She cast a furtive glance at Rosie, who recognised her and immediately felt ashamed for her.

  ‘I’ll come back another time,’ whispered the woman, turning about.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Gertie,’ chided Maggie, clawing her back. ‘This is me granddaughter who’s come to live with me, so yer’d best get used to her being around. She knows to keep mum.’

  ‘I didn’t know . . . I didn’t realise,’ muttered the woman, hanging her head. ‘I was sorry about your mam, girl. She was a right laugh. She’ll be missed.’

  Rosie thanked her and would have retreated as far from the counter as she could, but Maggie seized her arm. ‘Now take note, Rosie girl. I’ll want yous here every evening so I can rest me carcass. Right now yer going to be me hands and feet.’ She turned to Gertie. ‘Give us yer list and we’ll get cracking.’

  Rosie was to get cracking several times that evening and was kept so busy she began to wonder how she was to fit in cleaning, polishing, cooking, working in the shop, school and homework. Would she be expected to do the washing as well? Maggie eased her mind on that score, telling her the big wash went to the laundry every Monday. But Rosie was glad in a way that Amelia had laid down the law. Working in the little shop day in, day out, would soon have bored her to tears. It was a relief to think that come summer she would be back in the chemist’s shop, learning pharmacy from Mr Brown.

  In the days that followed, Rosie often felt disorientated and tired. When she came in from school she cooked the evening meal, washed up and helped in the shop, which stayed open until ten o’clock. Saturday was taken up with scrubbing the front step and the back yard and being available to help in the shop. She wondered what Maggie would say when it came to Sunday, expecting her grandmother to kick up a fuss at the idea of her seeing her aunt.

  On Sunday morning, Rosie was weighing out sugar and sealing it in blue bags, wondering how best to broach the subject, when her grandmother told her she had done enough and handed her a shilling. ‘You’ve worked well, girl, and without complaint. That pleases me. Don’t come back until suppertime. I’ve a visitor coming.’

  Exhilarated by the sudden freedom, money, and not having to mention where she was going, Rosie tore out of the back door, racing down the entry past the laundry which Mondays to Saturdays filled the air with billows of steam and the gorgeous smell of fresh washing, to catch the tram.

  At ‘Eden’ the front door was opened by a tousle-haired Amelia wearing slacks and a Fair Isle jumper. She looked so different from the last time Rosie had seen her that for a moment the girl was tongue-tied, not sure how to react.

  ‘So you remembered?’ said Amelia. ‘Come in quickly. I’ve the twins in the back and I want to measure you up for a frock. Later we have to go to St Vincent’s.’

  ‘St Vincent’s? A frock?’

  ‘Bridesmaid! You haven’t changed your mind again.’ There was a hint of the old Amelia in her tone of voice.

  ‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘Is Mr Hudson here?’

  Amelia gave her a sharp look. ‘No. He’s at home. He’s got a lot of sorting out to do before the wedding.’

  Rosie was disappointed. ‘Does he need any help?’

  Amelia glanced over her shoulder at her and did not answer immediately, leading the way into the sitting room where the French windows were open and the sounds of the twins playing Cowboys and Indians wafted through on the still air. ‘I think he’ll manage on his own now the twins are out the way.’ Amelia dragged a tape measure from her sewing basket.

  ‘It’s a good job he’s marrying you, isn’t it? I mean, having you take the twins out of his hair is so convenient.’

  Amelia’s eyes searched her face. ‘I think he reali
ses that. Come over here.’

  Rosie submitted to having her measurements taken, wondering how Amelia could be so dispassionate about her remark. She must like Peter a lot to have agreed to marry him. After all, her aunt had her own house and the shop bringing in an income. The girl wondered whose idea it was to have a marriage of convenience.

  ‘You’re shaping up nicely,’ murmured Amelia. ‘Dot is so much thinner. That’s why I want you to come to St Vincent’s with me once Evensong is over. Chris should be here by then. I’ve mentioned this before but I’ll say it again: get Dotty to talk to you. Her work’s fine but she seems to be withdrawing into herself. Find out what’s wrong – and don’t tell me she hates the place. It’s more than that. It’s something deeper.’

  ‘We have lost our mother and our sister and our brother,’ said Rosie. ‘Don’t you think it might be that?’

  ‘Maybe. We’ll see.’

  Rosie was silent as they walked along the lane and up the driveway to the school; mentioning her mother and thinking of Babs and Harry had brought the early months of the year vividly to mind. Since she had lived with her grandmother, she had not had time to feel miserable, but now she felt down again.

  St Vincent’s was a red-brick building with a statue of the saint set in a niche high up in the wall. Rosie could hear children playing and wondered how they coped with being blind. Dotty had said many of them were far from home and family. If they could cope, why couldn’t she?

  While Amelia was speaking to the Mother Superior, Rosie was escorted to the playground. She was amazed to see the girls pushing, shoving, chatting, playing tig – but could not see Dotty anywhere. The nun who had accompanied her called over one of the girls.

  ‘Margaret, would you be so kind as to find Dorothy? This is her sister come to see her.’

  ‘She’s probably in the orchard. Shall I show her the way, Sister?’

  The girl wore spectacles with lenses so thick her eyes appeared huge behind them. She indicated Rosie should follow her. ‘I’m partially sighted like Dotty. And, like her, I can find my way to the orchard. She’s lucky! Most of us never have visitors and seldom go further than a walk to the shops.’ She sighed. ‘We’re not allowed to mix with the boys here, either.’ She sighed. ‘Lackaday! Here’s the orchard. Doesn’t it smell lovely?’ She breathed in deeply and danced away over the grass back to the playground.

  It was lovely. Hearing bees, Rosie glanced up at the pink blossom-laden branches of the apple trees and felt sad for those children who could not see how beautiful the world was when it was like this. She held up her arms as if in supplication. Then, catching sight of her sister sitting in the grass with her back against a tree trunk, went over to her, feet making no sound on the turf.

  ‘Go away!’ shouted Dotty.

  ‘It’s me, Rosie!’

  ‘I know it’s you. I heard your voice. I’m not deaf,’ she muttered.

  Rosie sank on to the ground next to her. ‘What a lovely little orchard. It’s a bit different from our old street, isn’t it?’

  ‘I was happy there.’ Dotty’s chin rested on her bent knees.

  ‘Me too, most of the time. But we can’t go back.’

  There was silence, then Dotty began to hum tunelessly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Rosie gently.

  ‘I hate this place.’

  ‘Aunt Amelia says that’s a lie.’

  ‘What does she know about it? She’s never been blind or had to stay here.’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘How’s the old granny? Tell me how you’re getting on?’

  ‘It’s hard work and she’s a grouch.’

  ‘I don’t know why you want to live with her.’

  Rosie thought of Maggie’s alleged fortune but was not going to mention that to her sister. It would seem mercenary. ‘I told you why. Are you looking forward to the wedding? The material for our frocks is nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s only pink cotton,’ said Dotty. ‘Have you seen her frock yet?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  ‘I asked her about it but she said she hadn’t sorted anything out yet. It seemed funny to me.’

  Rosie was silent, thinking how nice it would be to have a new frock.

  ‘I suppose I should go and see the old granny?’ burst out Dotty.

  ‘Why? You said she was an old witch.’ Rosie rolled over on to her stomach and gazed up into her sister’s thin, strained face. She suddenly felt terribly sorry for her. ‘What is it, honeybun?’ she said gently. ‘Tell your big sister and I’ll do my best to help. Things mightn’t be as bad as you think.’

  Dotty opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, opened it again. ‘I’m going blind,’ she said baldly.

  For a moment, Rosie could not speak, shocked to the core. ‘Who says?’

  ‘Nobody says but I know,’ said Dotty in a choking voice. ‘Mary! Sh-she’s partially sighted like me but they’re training her on the Braille machine for when she loses her sight. So it’s better I go and see the old witch now before I can’t.’

  ‘Of course you can come and see her,’ said Rosie hurriedly, not sure what to make of her sister’s words. Surely Aunt Amelia would know if Dotty was going blind? She squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘I’ll ask Aunt Amelia about it. She’ll sort it out.’

  ‘Thanks. And you will come and see me again?’

  ‘If I can.’ Rosie kissed and hugged her, holdly her tightly.

  It had gone nine o’clock by the time Rosie arrived home. Her grandmother was waiting for her, black shawl over rounded shoulders, arms akimbo across her sagging bosom. ‘And what time d’yer think this is to be coming in, miss?’

  ‘Sorry. But you told me not to come back until supper,’ said Rosie. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘I can bleeding put me own kettle on. Where’ve yer been?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been. I saw Dotty. She wants to come and visit you next Sunday.’

  Maggie appeared mollified by that but said, ‘Not Sunday, girl. I have me visitor coming again and I don’t want yer hanging around. As soon as Dotty gets here, yous can go and have a nice walk to the Pierhead.’

  ‘But she wanted to see you,’ said Rosie patiently.

  ‘Well, she can say hello and go.’

  Rose gave up. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘And how’s Miss Toffee Nose?’

  ‘Preparing for the wedding – which I’ll have to go to, Gran.’

  ‘Humph! As long as yous don’t start looking down on me, comparing me to her.’

  ‘You’re Dad’s mam. We’re part of each other.’

  Maggie grunted. ‘Just as long as you remember, girl, I’m doing yer a favour letting yous live here. Yous treat me with respect, d’yer hear?’

  ‘I hear,’ she said, wondering how her grandmother worked out all the favours were on her side.

  Rosie was thinking about that and the wedding when she bumped into Davey a few days later on the way home from school.

  ‘Long time no see,’ he said, braking in front of her. ‘I thought you might have been round by now.’

  ‘I thought you might have been round to me,’ she said with a toss of the head, heart fluttering at the sight of him. ‘You know where I live.’

  ‘I called but your gran wasn’t very welcoming. Even when I came bearing gifts.’

  Rosie slid her satchel off her shoulder and leant against a garden fence. ‘She never said.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ She genuflected. ‘Anyway, what gifts are you talking about?’

  ‘The Yank. Set Ma’s pulses racing, I can tell you. Not much to write home about, I think, but she reckons he’s got charm.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Monday.’

  Rosie’s face registered annoyance. ‘The old faggot! I bet she’s put them in the shop. How dare she? I could have given something to Dotty.’ She clenched her fists, seething with anger. ‘I’m going to have words w
ith her.’ She hoisted the satchel back on her shoulder. ‘Thanks, Davey. Be seeing you.’ She marched off as if to war.

  ‘Anytime,’ he murmured, taking a cigarette from behind his ear and putting it in his mouth.

  Rosie bounced into the house and found Maggie in the shop, leaning over the counter, her head close to that of a customer. The girl wondered whose reputation they were tearing to pieces this time.

  ‘Go and put the kettle on, girl,’ said Maggie, shooing her away.

  ‘I’d rather wait here.’ Rosie’s voice was cold.

  The customer stared at her. ‘The cheek! I know what I’d do, Maggie, if one of mine dared speak to me like that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not one of yours, am I?’ said Rosie. ‘Thank God.’

  The woman raised her eyes ceilingwards. ‘College education! It does them no good. I’m going, Maggie. I’ll see you tomorrow and tell yer the rest then.’

  Even before she had closed the door, Maggie turned on Rosie. ‘Don’t yous ever make a show of me like that again, girl! Or yous’ll be wishing the final trump had already sounded.’

  ‘You don’t frighten me,’ she said scornfully, folding her arms. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Gran. Why didn’t you tell me Davey had called and brought a box of goodies?’

  Maggie’s eyes blinked rapidly and she put her hands beneath her large bosom and heaved it up like an enormous jelly. ‘Box of goodies! Aye. Fine goings-on, my granddaughter having relations with a Yank.’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘Arrh, don’t you be lying now. Yerra dark horse. Not a word to me about him. Making out instead yer carrying on with that lad when all the time it’s a Yank yer seeing.’

  Rosie was incensed. ‘Sam was Mam’s Yank, so there!’

  Her grandmother gasped and put a hand to her bosom. ‘So you think that makes everything fine and dandy? Yous is your mother’s daughter, all right! And a highty-flighty flibbertigibbet she was!’

  ‘Don’t you speak of Mam like that! She loved us and Dad. She’d never have cut us off like you did Dad, whatever we did!’ blazed Rosie, sweeping tins off a shelf. ‘And I’m not surprised Granddad left you if you treated him like you did Dad. I just wish he was here now. I’d give him plenty of love. Anyway, Mam was married to Sam so put that in your pipe and smoke it!’