by Cathy Sharp
‘Suit yourself then,’ her aunt said, pulling on neat grey gloves. She was dressed all in grey without a touch of colour, and Samantha knew her house was dull and dark, just like her. If she’d gone there without Sarah there would be no sunshine left in her world. She loved Sarah with all her heart and she was never going to abandon her, no matter what anyone said. ‘The offer is there, but I shan’t run after you – and I won’t take her. The best place for her is an asylum …’
Samantha hadn’t answered her, because she was upset and angry. Why could no one see that her twin was the dearest, sweetest girl ever? Willing and obedient, she did everything Samantha told her and she never screamed defiance or did anything naughty – and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she’d broken Pa’s favourite pipe.
Despite his unkindness and careless brutality, Sarah adored her father and she often picked up his slippers or a discarded jacket, nursing the object in her arms and crooning a little song that no one else understood. Samantha had tried to listen to the words but although tuneful and pretty, the words were indistinct and came from somewhere inside her twin’s hazy mind.
That evening, just before Pa was due to return for his tea, which Samantha had prepared for him, Sarah had assisted by laying out the table in the big kitchen, as she’d been shown. When Samantha came through from the back scullery with a pot of hot potatoes she’d been boiling, she’d seen her twin had taken down Pa’s pipe rack from the shelf of the larger kitchen and was stroking one of the pipes. Samantha had immediately been anxious, because she knew the delicate long-handled clay pipe was one of Pa’s favourites.
‘Put that down, Sarah, and help me with the dishes,’ she said and Sarah jerked out of the dream she’d been in, her fingers snapping the long thin stem of the pipe. ‘Oh, Sarah,’ she cried, distressed, because she knew what it would mean. ‘What have you done?’
Sarah had dissolved into tears and before either of them realised it, Pa had come in and was staring at the broken pipe.
‘You little devil!’ he said and lunged at Sarah, swiping her across the face with his fist and sending her backwards. He was a big man with a thick neck and strong, his blow knocking the fragile girl off her feet. Sarah had fallen against the oak dresser and the shock of her body hitting it made a china teapot tumble from its shelves and break into pieces. ‘Now what have you done? Imp of Satan, that’s what you are!’ Pa roared at her. ‘That belonged to your sainted mother. I’ll kill you. I’ve had enough of your wickedness …’
Sarah stared at him in horror and then ran from the room before he could grab her and punish her.
‘Pa, she didn’t mean to do it!’ Samantha said and threw herself between them. She was still holding the pot of hot potatoes and when Pa caught hold of her, he burned his hand on the pot. ‘It was an accident … Oh, Pa, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to burn you.’
Pa thrust her away but instead of going after Sarah, he picked up his jacket and went out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to glance back at Samantha. ‘If I find you still here when I get back, I’ll kill the pair of you,’ he threatened and went off in a fury, slamming the door behind him.
Samantha placed the cooking pot on the floor near the range to keep warm and then went in search of her sister. She’d found her under the bed in their room and it had taken several minutes to coax her out.
‘Sarah didn’t mean to …’ she sobbed in Samantha’s arms. ‘Pa’s cross with Sarah?’
‘Yes, he is,’ Samantha said and hugged her. ‘But he’ll go down the pub and have a few drinks and forget about it. Come down and have some supper. We’ll put Pa’s in the range to keep warm for him.’
It had taken Samantha ages to coax her sister downstairs and even then she ate only a few mouthfuls of the food. Sarah had left her sitting on the hard chair in the kitchen while she washed the pots in the scullery. After the kitchen was tidy she took her sister upstairs and put her to bed. Pa had threatened things before when he was angry but then he would get over it and perhaps bring them a packet of chips home for their tea the next day – but this time he hadn’t got over his temper.
Samantha had woken to the sound of her twin’s screams, something she’d heard so seldom that she knew Sarah was terrified. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the light, which came from a lamp in the hall, she saw Sarah lying on the floor and Pa standing over her kicking her as if she were a piece of filth he’d found in the gutter, his savagery beyond anything Samantha had ever seen.
Without truly thinking what she was doing, Samantha seized the chamber pot she had used earlier and flung the contents over her father. Some of the urine went into his face and must have stung his eyes for he was temporarily blinded and screamed out in a mixture of pain and frustration.
‘You little hellcat, you’ve blinded me …’ he cried and stumbled towards her.
Samantha pulled her twin to her feet and, taking her hand, propelled her along the landing and down the stairs, seeking refuge in the large cupboard under the stairs. She pushed Sarah right to the end and crawled after her, shoving some empty cardboard boxes in front of them in an effort to conceal their whereabouts if Pa looked inside.
‘I know you’re in here,’ Pa’s voice was suddenly very close and the stair cupboard door was jerked opened, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him, because he swore and slammed the door shut again. ‘I’m not coming back – do you hear?’ His tone was loud, penetrating the door and reaching Samantha. She trembled as he went on, ‘You can starve before I come back, do you understand me? You’re to go to your aunt, Samantha – and that Imp of Satan can go to the devil for all I care …’
Samantha held her breath as the minutes ticked by. The noise had died down now and the house was quiet. Pa must have gone to sleep by now surely. Yet she dared not risk coming out until he’d left for work. Putting her arms around Sarah, she held her close as they both shivered in their nightclothes, but now the house was silent and Samantha decided to venture into the hall and find a coat to keep them warm.
It was very dark and she had to feel her way along the walls, frightened of making a noise and bringing Pa down on them again, but the house seemed unnaturally silent. She took their coats from the old wooden hallstand and carried them into the cupboard. At least they were safe here and perhaps when Pa came back tomorrow, he would be sorry for his show of temper. He was always worse when he’d been drinking and Samantha couldn’t believe he’d really meant to kill either of them.
In the morning the girls were stiff, cold and hungry when they crept out. The black marble clock on the kitchen mantle said it was past six o’clock. Pa went to work at six every morning so unless he’d slept over he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake for ages and she’d heard nothing. The range hadn’t been made up and it was cold in the kitchen, but the one in the scullery was still warm. Samantha stoked it up and added the coal and wood her father had bought in the previous day.
She was hungry and looked in the pantry, but discovered that the half loaf of bread left from their meal the previous day was missing, as were the cold sausages and the cheese that had been on the pantry shelves. Pa must have taken them for his dinner at work. All Samantha could find was some stale fruitcake she’d made earlier that week; there was just enough to cut each of them a slice and, she discovered, there was sufficient tea left to make a brew, though only a drop of milk and no sugar.
It would be weak tea and warm them through a little, she thought, as she carried what there was through to the kitchen. Sarah was staring at the kitchen shelf, a look of dismay on her face.
‘Pa’s pipes gone,’ she said. Her gaze travelled around the kitchen, the look of fear and puzzlement growing. ‘Tankard and coat gone … Pa gone …’
‘No,’ Samantha cried as the fear struck her too. ‘He couldn’t have gone … He’s coming back, he must be …’
Looking around the room, she saw that the few treasures that had stoo
d on the dresser shelves, like their mother’s tea caddy and a pair of silver berry spoons, had gone. All that was left was an assortment of china that didn’t match and a brass tin, where pins and bits were stored.
She put down the tray she’d been carrying and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, flinging open the door of her father’s room. He wouldn’t have deserted them just like that … surely he wouldn’t? Pa wasn’t really a bad man; it was just that he missed their mother and got drunk sometimes.
As soon as she looked round the room, Samantha knew that it was true. Her father had few possessions he treasured and only a couple of extra shirts and his best suit, which he wore only for a funeral or a wedding. The cupboard was left open, as if he’d torn everything from its place in a hurry, and his brushes and shaving things had also gone from the washstand.
The truth hit Samantha like a drenching of cold water. Their father had been planning to abandon them all the time, just as Aunt Jane had said. He might have told Samantha had Sarah not broken his favourite pipe, but instead he’d gone down the pub to get roaring drunk and then he’d tried to kill Sarah.
Yes, he really had meant to do it, perhaps because he knew Aunt Jane wouldn’t take her. Perhaps he’d thought it better for everyone if Sarah were dead?
Samantha couldn’t believe what her thoughts were telling her. No, Pa wouldn’t do this … he wouldn’t attack his daughter and then go off leaving them both to starve – but he had. She sat down on the bed, feeling empty, drained. What was she going to do now?
If she took Sarah to Aunt Jane, she would send her twin to a place where Samantha knew she would be unhappy. She would never see her – and that would break both their hearts. What people didn’t understand was that they lived for each other and felt each other’s pain and sorrow. Samantha’s body still ached from the kicking that Pa had given her twin, and that realisation brought her out of her shock. She must look after Sarah. She must be hurting all over, because Samantha was, and Sarah bore the scars of more than one beating.
For now she would go down and see what she could do to help her twin. They must look after each other, because there was no one else they could trust – no one who would take them both in.
Samantha knew there was no money in the house. Her father never gave her a penny. He paid the rent and brought home the supplies they needed – and he’d taken all they had with him. She looked about the room, knowing that the contents wouldn’t fetch more than a few pence from the rag and bone man; nothing of value had been left for them. Samantha was frightened of Alf, the man who ran the scrap yard, but she might have to go there and ask him what he would give her for the contents of the house.
There were still a few things in the scullery and kitchen, things that had belonged to their mother. Sarah had broken the best china pot, but there might be some copper pans and a few silver spoons in the drawer.
Yes, she would go to the scrapyard later, after she’d got Sarah washed and dressed. Samantha wasn’t sure what she ought to do next, but she knew they wouldn’t be able to stay here because the rent was due that Saturday and Pa wasn’t here to pay.
She would not go to her aunt’s house, she decided, as she went into the kitchen to discover Sarah nursing the clay pipe she’d broken the previous evening, which Pa hadn’t bothered to pick up from the floor. Tears were trickling silently down her cheeks and Samantha knew that her twin understood Pa had gone. She didn’t realise the implications for them, of course, but Samantha would look after her. She would find somewhere they could stay; there were still bombed-out houses waiting to be pulled down and rebuilt after the war. Samantha knew that tramps and homeless people slept in them and so could she and Sarah, just for a while – just until she decided what to do. First she had to sell everything of value she could and then she would take Sarah away …
‘Put that in your pocket and come and eat your cake,’ she said. ‘We’ll be all right, Sarah love. I’ll take care of you now.’
Sarah’s smile was loving and trusting as she looked at her. ‘Samantha take care of me,’ she repeated, and sat down at the table to eat her cake and drink the tea that was now cold.
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About the Author
Cathy Sharp is happily married and lives with her husband in a small Cambridgeshire village. They like visiting Spain together and enjoy the benefits of sunshine and pleasant walks, while at home they love their garden and visiting the Norfolk seaside.
Cathy loves writing because it gives pleasure to others. She finds writing an extension of herself and it gives her great satisfaction. She says, ‘There is nothing like seeing your book in print, because so much loving care has been given to bringing that book into being.’
Also by Cathy Sharp
The Orphans of Halfpenny Street
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