A Sister's Duty

by June Francis

  It was a year since Rosie had met him in the cemetery. Instantly, she decided to go there again tomorrow. She would drop in at ‘Eden’, too, and see how things were between Aunt Amelia and Uncle Pete, and invite Dotty along to the pantomime next week. Dick Whittington was on at the Empire this year. It was time they both had a bit more fun in their lives and it wouldn’t be a bad thing if her sister saw less of Chris.

  On Sunday morning, it was as if the whole world agreed with Rosie that everyone needed a bit of sunshine in their lives. The fog had gone and a pale yellow sun flooded the kitchen with a brightness that made her sing along with the carols on the wireless as she cooked her grandmother’s salt fish.

  ‘I don’t know what yous have got to be so cheerful about,’ grumbled Maggie.

  ‘It’s almost Christmas, Gran.’ Rosie put an arm round her and planted a smacking kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

  ‘Gerroff,’ she said, scrubbing at her face. ‘What are yous after?’

  ‘It’s the sunshine. I’m going out to visit Mam’s grave and see our Dotty.’

  ‘I thought yer might have put up some deccies for me in the shop, yous and Walt,’ mumbled Maggie. ‘Liven it up for the customers. I’m feeling knackered and yer said yous’d be home today.’

  ‘Let the girl go and visit her ma’s grave. It shows respect,’ said Walter, jabbing the air with his pipe. ‘If you’re not feeling too good, yer can go back to bed. If you’ve crêpe paper, I’ll cut up some deccies and see to the shop.’

  ‘Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,’ muttered Maggie, wincing and moving her head as if it pained her. ‘The only time my mam took to her bed during the day was when they carried her out feet first.’

  ‘You’ll outlive us all, Gran,’ said Rosie, wondering how she was ever to persuade her to have her other grandchildren living with her. Maybe singing Babs’s praises would be the best. Saying what a good little worker she was. And Maggie was going to need someone to take her own place when she married Davey. As for Harry, she felt sure he’d be able to charm his way into his grandparents’ hearts. Having decided that, Rosie got on with things, thinking too that maybe she and Dotty could find some holly in the fields around West Derby and bring it here so the place would look even more festive once her grandfather had done his bit.

  Walter snipped and twisted and soon the shop was looking a lot more cheerful with red, white and blue streamers (left over from the VJ celebrations) as well as green and yellow ones. They criss-crossed the smoke-grimed ceiling in the kitchen as well, but Maggie had yet to see them. She had gone up to bed with a hot water bottle and he had not heard a peep out of her since. Now it was time for him to surprise her by taking her up a cup of tea. On the stove bubbled a pan of scouse for their Sunday dinner.

  He found Maggie asleep, fully clothed with just the eiderdown over her, lying in a pool of sunlight, the sun having worked its way round to the front of the house. He thought how much better she looked like that, peaceful, almost friendly with her mouth shut.

  He crept downstairs and ladled himself out a bowl of scouse. After wiping the plate clean with a round of bread, he switched on the wireless, fiddling with the knobs to get rid of the static. He lit his pipe and settled back to listen to some music, wishing Rosie was there. She was good company, his granddaughter, knew when to be quiet, a bit of a thinker like her dad. Before long the old man had dozed off.

  Walter woke, not knowing how long he had been asleep. It was still light, though, so he decided it had not been that long. Someone was banging on the yard window so he stumbled to his feet and hurried into the shop to open the back door, which Maggie must have locked.

  He dealt with the woman, who said she hadn’t got a leaf of tea in the house or sugar either and went on adding this and that to her bill, asking after Maggie and Rosie and complaining about her kids. Once she sniffed and asked could he smell smoke, but his sense of smell was not all it should be since a bang on the nose a few years back.

  At last he got rid of her and went straight upstairs to check whether Maggie was awake and wanting her dinner. All was quiet and he stood for a moment in front of the window overlooking the street where a couple of neighbours were gossiping in the afternoon sunshine. Some lads were kicking a ball and he watched them for a moment, reaching into his pocket for his pipe. But it was not there. Must have left it on the counter, he thought, and went downstairs, thinking to listen to the shipping forecast, a habit he had picked up from his years at sea.

  He pushed open the door only to step back swiftly. ‘Bloody hell!’ he whispered, heart in his mouth, eyes starting in his head as they took in the burning armchair and curtains. Even as he watched, the linoleum burst into flames as did some of the decorations.

  Taking a deep breath, he dashed over to the sink and turned on the tap. Water gushed into the washing-up bowl but even as he turned to throw it on the flames, he saw that the shelf on which the wireless stood had caught fire and the edge of the wooden mantelpiece was beginning to smoulder.

  ‘Oh, hell, she’ll murder me,’ he groaned, hurrying out of the room and clambering upstairs, shouting, ‘Maggie, get out of bed! The house is on fire!’

  His wife was still asleep, which surprised him. ‘Maggie, come on, queen,’ he implored, shaking her roughly. ‘Wake up! Wake up! D’yer wanna end up like a cinder, girl?’

  ‘Wha’? What’s going on?’ Her eyelids fluttered open. ‘Walt, what are yer doing in here?’ She sat up slowly. ‘Now listen, melad. Don’t yous be thinking yer getting in my bed. Yer still on trial.’

  ‘Shut up, yer stupid woman!’ he gasped. ‘The bloody house is on fire! And if yer don’t stir yer stumps, we’re both dead!’

  Her button eyes fixed on him. ‘The house? My house! Hows the bloody hell did that happen?’

  ‘Never mind that, girl. Let’s get out!’ He seized her by the arm and dragged her out of the bed, but she was so heavy she fell on to the floor. He pulled her up but she brushed off his arm and clung on to the bedstead. She slapped his hand away. ‘Hang on, hang on! Let me think!’

  ‘There’s no time to think,’ he wailed, wringing his hands.

  ‘Stop whingeing! I’m not going without me jewellery.’

  He dropped his hands, expression alert. ‘Where is it?’

  She told him and watched as he lifted the floorboards, while she clawed beneath the eiderdown for her handbag.

  Walter weighed the soft chamois bag he had taken out of the box on the palm of his hand. He had thought she kept everything in her handbag but he had been wrong. ‘I’ll carry these, queen.’

  She reached across the bed as if to snatch the bag out of his hand. Then unexpectedly she sank on to the floor, looking bewildered.

  Walter pocketed the bag and dragged her up, gasping as he forced her over to the door. But as soon as he opened it, he had to shut it again, both of them coughing as the smoke caught them by the throat. He wondered what the hell he was going to do now.

  Rosie’s day had not turned out quite as she’d expected. First she had found Aunt Amelia and Dotty at the grave before her, they having remembered it was Violet’s birthday too. Then, instead of Amelia’s asking her back to the house, she had suggested that Rosie take Dotty home with her, saying it was a long time since she had seen her grandparents and if they weren’t going to see her on Christmas Day, it would be nice for them to see her today. On the way home, Dotty, who had seemed reasonably keen to see her grandfather at least, suggested they drop in on Mrs Baxendale, of whom she had always been fond.

  Davey’s mother had made them welcome, inviting them to share her dinner, saying there was plenty because her lodger had told her at the last minute she had been invited out. Gwen had made so much fuss of them both that they had stayed far too long, talking of Christmasses past.

  So it was getting on for late afternoon when they finally made their way to Maggie’s house. As they turned the corner, Rosie saw that a crowd had gathered and it took only seconds for her to realise what was happening.
‘Hell and damnation, the blinking house is on fire!’ She gripped Dotty’s hand and ran.

  Smoke was billowing out of the parlour window where the glass had shattered and seeping through the letter box and cracks round the front door. ‘Yer gran and granddad are in there!’ shouted a neighbour.

  Immediately, Rosie made a dash for the door, but a woman dragged her back. ‘Don’t be daft, girl! Yer can’t go in that way. Besides, look!’ She pointed upwards.

  Rosie’s eyes followed her finger and she saw her grandfather’s face at the bedroom window. Even as she watched, Walter pushed up the lower sash.

  ‘Granddad, how are you going to get down?’ she yelled.

  ‘Has someone phoned for the fire brigade?’ he said in a tremulous voice. ‘And we need an ambulance. Your grandma’s not too good.’

  Rosie turned to the crowd. Those next door to Maggie were standing on their own steps, having already brought out some of their possessions in case the fire spread. ‘Has someone—?’

  ‘They should be here any minute, luv,’ said the woman who had stopped Rosie going into the house.

  As if on cue, there came the clanging of bells and a fire engine came tearing round the corner, followed by another.

  ‘Ah! Aren’t they a lovely bunch of men?’ said Gertie, who was a regular customer of Maggie’s. She was wearing curlers, headscarf and a thin winter coat. ‘Although I feel sorry for the one that’s got to carry old Maggie down the ladder.’

  ‘Fireman’s lift, luv,’ said the woman next to her. ‘Those men know exactly how to get a grip on a girl!’

  Rosie gnawed on her lower lip, watching impatiently as a hose snaked along the ground as a fireman connected it to the nearest water hydrant. Another two had already set about getting a ladder up to the bedroom window.

  A trembling Dotty clung to Rosie’s hand. ‘What’s happening? What’s happening? I can’t see clearly.’

  ‘A fireman’s started to climb the ladder,’ Rosie informed her, her gaze on the bedroom window where Walter appeared to be trying to persuade Maggie to get her leg over the sill and give up her handbag, but she was struggling with him, determined to hang on to it.

  ‘The fireman’s there now,’ said Rosie. He was saying something to the old couple. Then, not without a struggle, Maggie was hoisted firmly over the fireman’s shoulder. ‘He’s bringing Gran down.’

  It was halfway down that it happened. Maggie stopped struggling and seemed to go limp. The handbag which swung from her wrist slid off and disappeared in the billowing smoke.

  ‘Phone for an ambulance,’ panted the fireman as soon as he reached the ground.

  ‘It’s done, mate,’ said someone else.

  Rosie dragged Dotty over to where Maggie lay and searched for a pulse. Minutes later her granddad joined them, having descended the ladder unaided. ‘Is she OK? Stubborn old faggot,’ he said fretfully.

  ‘She looks proper poorly,’ said a woman. ‘And you don’t look too good either, mate,’ she added to Walter. ‘Here!’ She seized his arm. ‘Best come over to my place and sit down and I’ll make you a nice cup of char.’

  ‘I can’t leave Maggie,’ he gulped, face blackened by smoke. ‘Is she still breathing, Rosie girl?’

  Rosie shook her head, too upset to speak.

  ‘Now don’t you fret yourself, Rosie luv.’ A woman helped her to her feet. ‘She’d had a good innings.’

  Rosie nodded but could not help remembering her mother lying on the ground, dying. Tears filled her eyes and she put an arm round Dotty.

  ‘Where’s her handbag?’ said Walter.

  ‘She dropped it,’ said Gertie. ‘It disappeared through the smoke.’

  ‘Bloody hell! They say He works in mysterious ways,’ said Walter faintly, then his legs buckled under him and he would have fallen if Rosie had not moved swiftly and eased him down on to the pavement. ‘Don’t you die on me too,’ she said unsteadily.

  He clung to her but his gaze was elsewhere, on the house where the firemen fought the flames, thinking it was amazing the damage one small pipe could do.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ said Rosie, sitting on the kerb at the bottom of the garden opposite, staring at the still smouldering building, gloved hands cupped round a steaming enamelled mug. ‘We’ve lost everything. All my letters from Davey and my present from America.’

  ‘Ration books?’ said Dotty.

  ‘No. Fortunately I had mine with me in my handbag. I planned on nipping into town in my lunch hour tomorrow.’

  ‘Yer gran’s handbag held all her wealth,’ said Walter, looking wretched. ‘It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been having a smoke and fallen asleep.’

  ‘It’s just one of those things, Granddad,’ sighed Dotty. ‘What’s more important is, where are you going to sleep tonight? I think you’ll have to come back with me to Aunt Amelia’s and Uncle Pete’s. They’ll make room for you.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ he said glumly, chin in hands. ‘I hardly know them.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ said Rosie, knowing Amelia would see it as her duty to take them in.

  ‘Well, just for tonight, queen,’ he said, struggling to his feet. ‘Then tomorrow we’ll have to see.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,’ said Dotty with a touch of excitement in her voice. ‘You won’t be able to go looking for somewhere else to live until after the holiday.’

  It’s going to be some Christmas, thought Rosie. Another funeral to face. And how were they going to pay for it with all Gran’s worldly wealth gone? So much for her inheritance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Their footsteps rang on the frosty pavement as they passed Beech Farm and the chemist’s on the corner, hurrying to get in out of the cold – only to collide with Peter as they turned into Honey’s Green Lane.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he said immediately, staring at Rosie.

  ‘Something terrible,’ said Dotty with a barely suppressed shudder. ‘Gran’s dead and the house has burnt down!’

  Peter looked flabbergasted. ‘You are joking?’

  ‘Honest to God,’ she said sadly. ‘It was terrible.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he told her. ‘I take it you’re the girls’ grandfather?’ he addressed Walter.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the old man lugubriously, holding out a hand. ‘How d’yer do? You must be their Uncle Peter.’

  ‘Yes.’ His brow creased sympathetically. ‘It’s a helluva thing to happen.’

  ‘They’ve nowhere to live,’ said Dotty, eyes bright. ‘I said you’d put them up.’

  ‘Of course we’ll put them up,’ said Peter without hesitation.

  ‘Only for the one night,’ said Walter hastily. ‘I’ll find meself somewhere else tomorrow. It’s different for Rosie, though.’

  ‘How’s it different? We’ve got to stick together,’ she said, linking her arm through her granddad’s.

  ‘Can’t always do that, queen,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I can stay places that wouldn’t be suitable for you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Walter looked lost for words so Peter butted in. ‘Why don’t you discuss this later? You’re not going to find anywhere until after Christmas anyway. Let’s get on home. You all look freezing.’

  ‘Gran dropped her handbag into the fire!’ said Dotty melodramatically as they hurried along. ‘They’ve got no money.’

  ‘Shut up, Dotty,’ said Rosie. ‘We might be able to salvage something. I mean, how does fire affect metal and precious stones?’

  ‘It’ll melt and shatter them, me lovely,’ said Walter, limping beside her. ‘I think yer going to have to accept her jewellery’s gone.’

  But Rosie was not convinced. As soon as she had the chance, she was determined to go and search the ruins for Maggie’s treasure.

  Amelia could hardly believe her eyes when they all trooped in and told their tale. At any other time she would have been pleased to have her niece living with them but right now, when Bernard and Chris were so much on her mind,
it was the last thing she wanted. Yet she had no choice but to make Rosie and her granddad welcome. She ushered them into the sitting room, where the fire still glowed, before going into the kitchen with Peter to discuss where to put them and to make a hot drink.

  ‘We’ll have to have a move around,’ he said, putting on the kettle.

  Amelia delved into the box Iris had sent her and brought out a tin of spam. ‘We can’t do it right now.’

  ‘Tomorrow then. Chris’ll have to move back in with the twins and they can top and tail in my single bed. We’ll move the double into our room and Walter can have your bed. Rosie and Dotty will have to top and tail too.’

  ‘You’ve worked that out quickly,’ she said, unable to prevent a smile. ‘But you can guess what Chris’ll think of us sleeping in the double.’

  ‘Who cares? But if you’d rather top and tail in a single . . .’ he murmured, winking at her as he opened the spam.

  Amelia flushed. ‘It would be fun and games, knowing you, but the double’s more sensible. I hope he doesn’t get a face on him, though. Things are going to be upsetting enough for Rosie and her granddad. I don’t count Dotty because she had little to do with her grandmother.’

  Peter frowned. ‘You worry too much about Chris. He’s not a kid any more. It’s time he grew up and learnt to thank his lucky stars we’ve been so patient with him. It’s almost two years since Tess went and look how well the twins are doing.’

  ‘You’re right. I won’t mention him again.’ She put on the frying pan.

  ‘Good! It’s time you started thinking more about yourself.’

  ‘It won’t be easy. I wasn’t brought up to it,’ she murmured.

  ‘Try!’

  There was silence.

  He took a jug of milk from the pantry and changed the subject. ‘Think you’ll manage with a full house?’