I was scared of entering my own front door. The children had stopped playing hide and seek ages ago, and were now lolling about the house, with Mildred snapping at them, giving the boys a clout about the head for good measure.
She glared at me. ‘Where did you get to then, Clover? The kids said you just disappeared. They’ve been up and down the alley calling for you. Did you go and see that doll man even though I expressly forbade it?’ she demanded, her fist clenching.
I opened my eyes wide in an expression of innocence. ‘Of course not. I went for a walk by myself because I was feeling so sad about Megs,’ I told her. ‘I ended up at the church and I went inside and tried to say a prayer.’
‘Don’t give me that rubbish,’ said Mildred, but she looked disconcerted, almost as if she believed me.
I told the same story to Pa when he came home from the factory, reeking of drink again. He nodded blearily, seemingly fond of me again. I nestled close to him and told him I’d been to the church.
‘And I found where my mother’s buried,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Pa, could our Megs be buried there too? There’s not much room but she’s only little. Please ask if Megs can be squeezed in beside her.’
Pa nodded. ‘I thought of it before you did, Clover. I’ve already given my instructions to the funeral director. Megs is to be buried in our family plot, as it were. They say she might have to be put atop your ma, but I figure neither would mind that, eh?’
‘Oh, Pa, that would be even better!’ I gave him a big hug, not minding the smell of drink now. ‘You’re the best pa in the world!’
‘And you’re the best girl,’ said Pa. His voice was slurred but still distinct.
Jenny and Mary had been trying to persuade Bert to walk, but now they let go of him. They frowned at Pa, while Bert sat down hard on his padded bottom and complained bitterly.
Mildred’s face contorted. ‘You’re all best girls,’ she said, evenly enough, but the look she threw me was venomous.
I’d always known she disliked me. I would have to have been a fool not to realize this. When I was small she smacked me frequently, and these days attacked me even more violently. I fingered the wound on my forehead. She hadn’t hurt me simply because she wanted to teach me a lesson or thought me a bad child. She actively hated me.
It made me shiver inside. I knew there was nothing I could do. I could behave as meekly as possible, forever doing her bidding, but she’d still go on hating, simply because I was me. Of course, I hated her too, but it still seemed shocking that my stepmother clearly wished me as dead as poor Megs.
I thought of the big book of fairy tales that Mr Dolly had read to me in instalments between customers. I loved the story of Snow White best of all, fascinated by the seven little dwarfs who cared for her so devotedly. There was a colour plate of all seven – small, smiling, hunched over men in strange outfits, very much like Mr Dolly himself. I wanted to look like Snow White. We both had hair as black as coal, but the girl in the picture had pearly skin, full lips as red as cherries, and a beautiful blue silk gown. My face was sallow, my lips were thin and colourless, and my dress was in tatters.
Now I turned Mildred into Snow White’s wicked stepmother. It was easy enough. I could just imagine her commanding a woodcutter to take me into the woods to cut out my heart. I saw her buying the rosiest apple in the market, injecting it with the deadliest poison, and then tempting me with it.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a handsome prince to come to my rescue. I had to rescue myself, but I didn’t know how.
9
THE NEXT DAY I woke early, before anyone else was stirring. I crept downstairs and out to the privy, and then stripped off my nightgown and washed myself thoroughly at the tap, even my tangled hair, using a handful of Mildred’s carbolic washing crystals. They stung my skin and the water was icy, but I was determined to be spotless for Megs’s funeral.
I hated putting my dirty old dress back on, but I had no choice. I was as helpful as I could be, suddenly terrified that Mildred might push me back in the cupboard for no reason. I got the range going and set the big kettle to boil, and then laid the table. By the time Mildred stumbled downstairs to the privy, nightgown taut against her stomach, hair hanging over her face, I’d cut the bread and laid out butter and a new pot of jam as well as the usual bowl of dripping.
‘Butter and jam for breakfast?’ Mildred snapped when she came back, her nightgown wet down the front from splashing her face under the tap. ‘Do you think we’re made of money?’
‘It’s not for us kids. It’s for you and Pa, to keep you going through the funeral. It’ll be an ordeal,’ I told her.
Mildred peered at me, twisting her hair up into a bun and stabbing pins in it. ‘What are you up to, Clover?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘If you’re still angling to come too, the answer’s no. Look at the state of your dress! And it’s barely decent, hardly covering your knees,’ she pointed out.
It wasn’t my fault! I was the eldest so I didn’t get hand-me-downs. I’d been begging for new clothes for the last six months but Mildred never took any notice. Still, I held my tongue, knowing she was spoiling for a fight.
‘I’ll go up and get Bert changed,’ I said. ‘He’s doubtless sopping wet.’
I was right about that – and Pete had wet himself too. Jenny liked to play the big sister so she could boss the little ones about, but she was hopeless at looking after them and making sure they had a wee before bed.
I tipped the rest of the children out of the bed, hung the damp sheet over the banister and set about changing the boys. Pete was subdued, hanging his head in shame, especially when Richie started teasing him for being a big baby, but Bert was in a boisterous mood, flailing at me with his fists and kicking his legs when I laid him on his back.
‘Hold still and stop waving that little sausage at me,’ I said, struggling to pin a dry napkin on him.
The children laughed and Bert joined in, crowing delightedly as if he’d done something very clever. I tickled him and he laughed even harder, his face pink with merriment. When I set him upright again he held out his arms for a proper cuddle.
‘Oh, so you’re my friend now, are you?’ I said, hugging him to me, realizing how much I’d missed having his warm little body snuggling up to me.
I hugged all the others in turn, but somehow none of the hugs felt right. I wanted Megs. I loved all my half-brothers and -sisters, but not the way I loved my own sister. I thought of her now, lying flat on her back in her coffin, so cold and lonely.
‘What’s the matter, Clover?’ Pete asked.
‘Don’t be silly, Pete. She’s upset about Megs,’ said Jenny. ‘I keep crying for her.’
‘Why isn’t she back yet?’
‘She’s in Heaven,’ said Mary. ‘I won’t get sent to Heaven, will I, Clover?’
‘Not until you’re an old, old, old lady,’ I said.
Mary giggled at the idea of being old and started hobbling around the bedroom, her back stooped.
‘Oh, Mary, don’t!’ said Jenny. ‘You’re walking just like the crookback dolly man.’
Pete and Richie laughed and started doing the silly walk too.
‘Stop it!’ I said fiercely. ‘You’re not to mock like that. It’s very unkind. Mr Dolly’s a lovely kind man. He can’t help the way he walks.’
‘He’s scary,’ said Jenny, shuddering. ‘Ma says he gives her the creeps and she’ll give you what for if you go to his shop again.’
‘I don’t care what Mildred says. She’s not my ma,’ I said, starting to brush Jenny’s hair a little too vigorously.
‘Ouch! You’re hurting. I’m going to tell Ma you said that,’ Jenny threatened.
I took hold of her. ‘You won’t really tell, will you, Jenny?’ I asked.
‘I could,’ she said, wriggling. Then she smiled at me. ‘But I won’t.’
‘That’s a kind girl. Come on then, all of you. Let’s go an
d get breakfast,’ I said.
‘What sort of breakfast will Megs have now she’s in Heaven?’ Mary asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe . . . manna?’ I said. I didn’t know what it was, but Mr Dolly had once used the phrase ‘manna from Heaven’ when he shared a cold meat and pickle sandwich with me.
‘What’s manna? Is it bread and jam?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then Megs won’t like it. She only likes bread and jam,’ said Mary, and her face crumpled. ‘I want Megs to have bread and jam!’ she wailed.
Mary had never seemed especially fond of Megs, and I’d seen her pinch Megs’s slice of bread off her plate when she wasn’t looking, but now she seemed truly upset.
‘Poor Megs,’ said Jenny. ‘Perhaps they’ll make special bread and jam in Heaven just for her.’
Mary seemed comforted and I smiled at Jenny approvingly.
Richie and Pete were less kind.
‘You’re daft, you two. Megs is dead. She can’t eat nothing any more,’ said Richie.
‘She’s dead like that cat we found up the alley. She’ll be all stiff now, with maggots,’ said Pete.
Mary started wailing again and Jenny joined in.
‘Stop it, Pete! Button your lip!’ I said. ‘You’re upsetting the girls.’
He was upsetting me. I had pictured Megs dead and cold but still herself, looking as if she’d simply fallen asleep. But now I had the most grisly images in my head. I shook it violently to try to get rid of them.
‘Oh Megs, oh Megs, oh Megs,’ I mumbled, as if it were a magic spell and I could somehow summon her back from the dead.
‘Megs!’ said Bert. He beamed because he’d said a new word. ‘Megs! Megs!’ He looked disappointed when I didn’t pick him up and kiss him and make a fuss of him. ‘Megs,’ he kept repeating, as if perhaps I hadn’t heard.
I thought how thrilled Megs would have been to find that she was the first sibling Bert had named. I resolved to tell Bert all about Megs as he was growing up. I would remind him again and again that he’d had a wonderful sweet sister. I could even say she was an angel now, with great white wings to spread over him and keep him from harm.
There was an impatient shout from downstairs.
‘Come on, that’s your ma. Breakfast. Bread and dripping. Now!’ I said, shooing them out the room.
They ran downstairs in a rush, but stopped in shock at the kitchen door. Pa was sitting at one end of the table, Mildred at the other. Pa wasn’t in his usual rough blue shirt and grey trousers. He was wearing his wedding suit. I think he’d only worn it three times before. Once to marry my mother. Then again to bury her. And once to marry Mildred. It had seldom hung in his wardrobe. It spent most of its life in and out of the pawn shop.
Mildred’s costume was another pawn-shop regular – a black jacket and skirt and the cream lace blouse she’d worn at her wedding. I think the jacket and skirt might once have been her mother’s because they were cut in a strange way and were much too small, especially the skirt, which she’d had to leave unfastened. Her wedding blouse no longer fitted either. Her great chest strained at the stitches, threatening to burst right out.
It was hard to keep a smirk off my face, but Pa was looking at her as if she were still his new bride.
‘You look proper handsome in that get-up, Mildred,’ he said softly.
I couldn’t believe it. There he was, drooling over her the very day of Megs’s funeral – and she looked a total sight anyway.
‘Doesn’t your ma look splendid, Clover?’ he said, making it worse. ‘She’s still a fine figure of a woman.’
I managed a cursory nod because I didn’t want to risk a row before they left for the funeral. I didn’t even murmur that Mildred wasn’t my ma. She gave me a little nod back and offered me the jam. I spread it on my bread, though the sickly sweet taste reminded me of the cupboard.
I continued to act the docile daughter, clearing the dishes and wiping a damp rag round the children’s sticky faces. Pa went out to the privy twice, saying his stomach was in a state. Mildred had a cheap brass fob watch from the fancy goods stall pinned to her jacket. When it showed twenty past nine she stood up, adjusting her skirt and checking her hair.
‘We’d best be going,’ she said. ‘They’ll be here at half past.’
There wasn’t room for the funeral carriage and its fancy horses to turn down our alley. Pa and Mildred had been told to wait in the street.
‘You be good now, children, and think of your poor sister,’ said Mildred. ‘Keep an eye on them, Clover.’
‘Of course I will,’ I said.
Pa actually gave me a kiss. ‘I’ll make sure the little lass is buried with her mother, I promise,’ he said in my ear.
They set off, Mildred’s hand tucked firmly through Pa’s arm. We watched from the doorstep. Some of the alley folk were out in the street, watching too. The adults nodded in respect, though the children carried on playing, swinging on a rope from the gas lamp. Old Ma Robinson dabbed at her eyes with her apron. Peg-leg Jack stood still and saluted when Pa and Mildred passed.
Pa shuffled along, bent over, scarcely noticing, but Mildred tossed her head and walked with mincing steps, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention. She took a new handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, as if she were crying.
‘I can’t see no horses!’ said Richie. ‘I thought there was going to be a grand carriage and horses with plumes.’
‘They’ll be waiting outside the alley,’ I said.
‘I want to see them!’
‘Me too, me too!’ said Pete.
‘We want to see the horses too, don’t we, Mary?’ added Jenny.
‘Well, look, you take them all to see the horses, Jenny. Take Bert too. I’m going to slip out to do some errands, so you keep an eye on all the kids till I get back, all right?’ I took hold of Jenny and looked at her. ‘You will see they’re all right, won’t you?’
‘Course I will,’ said Jenny, shrugging me off impatiently. She put Bert on her hip, took Mary’s hand and lumbered off with them, the two boys running ahead.
I ran too – down the alley to Jimmy Wheels’ house. I saw him waiting for me. His pa and ma were out doing their shift at the sauce factory. They just rented the downstairs back room. I’d never been inside before. I’d expected it to be similar to our place, with a few sticks of furniture, rags and rubbish in the corners and a dirty old rug on the floor. But this room was pretty and pin neat. The walls had been whitewashed, the floor scrubbed and polished, the rug newly knotted in gay reds and purples. The bed against the wall was carefully made, with a patchwork quilt in bright colours that matched the rug, and there were pretty curtains at the window – simple limp white cotton, but tied with red and purple scraps of ribbon. Jimmy’s bed was the most touching. It had a special quilt with animals stitched in a pattern – a lion, a tiger, funny little monkeys and a big grey elephant.
‘Oh, Jimmy!’ I said. ‘I love your quilt!’
‘Ma and Pa took me to the zoological gardens one Sunday when I was little. Well, I’m still little now, ha ha. See that Jumbo? I fed him a bun. His trunk didn’t half tickle! Ma made me a quilt to remind me of that day.’
‘I expect my ma made me a quilt once,’ I said quickly. ‘Jimmy, have you got my parcel?’
‘Parcel? What parcel?’ he said, and then burst out laughing when he saw my face. ‘Course I’ve got your flipping parcel. Here it is.’ He wheeled himself over to his bed and pulled the brown paper parcel from underneath.
‘Right. I’d better be quick. Turn your back and no peeping!’
I pulled off my old dress and slipped on the black one. It smelled a little strange from the dye, but it felt beautiful, crisp and fresh. I tried on the coat and it fitted perfectly. It had lovely details: little brass buttons and carefully fashioned pockets. I crammed the floppy black beret on my head, setting it at an angle. Then I pulled on both stockings, eased my feet into the felt boots and tied the laces. I str
aightened up, smoothing my clothes.
‘My Lord!’ said Jimmy, staring at me.
‘I told you not to peek!’ I said self-consciously. Then, ‘Do I look all right, Jimmy?’
‘You don’t look a bit like you, Clover. You look like a toff!’ he said. ‘You’ll do your Megs proud.’
‘Oh, Jimmy, you’re a true pal.’ I bent down and gave him a kiss on his cheek.
‘Leave off!’ he said, scrubbing at it, but he looked pleased.
I thanked him again and then ran off. I couldn’t go the quickest way – up the alley – because the children would still be there, and Mildred and Pa might very well catch sight of me. Instead I ran down the alley and went the long way round to the church.
It meant going along Whitgift Road and Jacob’s Lane, both terrifying territory. Cripps Alley and Market Street were genteel by comparison. I had to tread very carefully in my beautiful felt boots because half the folk who lived there relieved themselves wherever they fancied, especially when drunk. And I had to dodge quickly past any man or lad who stared at me. The women worried me too. I’d heard tales of them shadowing a well-dressed child, luring them into the lane with the offer of a toy or sweet, and then suddenly tearing off all their clothes to sell up Monmouth Street. I’d normally nothing to fear in my dirty rags, but now, in Mr Dolly’s fine outfit, I really did look a swell.
I ran like the wind – easy now that I was wearing my light felt boots instead of my old broken ones with their flapping soles. By the time I got to the church I was so winded I could barely speak and my new black dress was sticking to me. There was no sign of any funeral carriage or black horses. The church bells were tolling dolefully.
A vicar was standing in the porch in his strangely feminine garb of long frock and white pinafore. ‘Hello, little girl. Have you come for the funeral of Margaret Anna Moon?’
For a moment I didn’t even recognize Megs’s name. No one ever called her that at home. It was a wonder Pa had even remembered it.
I nodded.
‘Are you family or friend?’ the vicar asked.
Clover Moon Page 10
