by Cathy Sharp
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photography © Henry Steadman (children); Shutterstock.com (Holly bushes & Christmas tree)
Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008118501
Ebook Edition © October 2016 ISBN: 9780008118518
Version 2016-08-10
Dedication
For my husband with love.
You make it possible!
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Cathy Sharp
About the Publisher
ONE
‘Wait until I catch you, you little bitch!’ The man’s voice struck terror into the hearts of the two small girls hiding under the stairs. ‘I’ll tan your hide, Sarah, you see if I don’t.’
Samantha squeezed her twin sister’s hand reassuringly but didn’t say a word; Pa had sharp ears and even the slightest sound might give their whereabouts away. She hardly dared breathe as she heard the sounds of doors being opened and slammed shut as their father searched for them. Tears were trickling silently down Sarah’s face when Samantha touched her cheek. Both of them knew that if Pa found them they would be beaten, but Sarah would bear the brunt of it, because Pa hated her. He blamed her for causing their mother’s death, as she’d been born last and it had taken so long that Ma had been exhausted and died soon after.
Neither of the girls had known their mother, but Pa said she was a saint and, when drunk, accused Sarah of murdering her. Samantha had come quickly and the parents had been gazing fondly on their daughter when Jenni May was gripped with terrible pain once more and this time it had gone on for hours, ending with Sarah’s birth and Jenni lying in an exhausted fever from which she never recovered.
When the girls were younger, a woman had come in every day to take care of them and to cook Pa’s meals. She was a pretty woman, sharp when addressing the twins, especially Sarah, and quick with her hand, but whenever their father was around she was all sweetness and light, and he was taken in by her every word. When she said Sarah was awkward, stubborn and rebellious, Pa agreed that she must be kept in check, but he left the chastising to Melanie.
Although he had drinking bouts every so often, he’d been content enough whilst Melanie looked after the house and everyone had expected they would marry one day, but the previous year, a few days before the twins’ tenth birthday, there had been a fierce quarrel and Melanie had left them, vowing never to return and swearing that Ernie May was an impossible man. She said he’d taken advantage of her good nature and she wouldn’t put up with it a minute longer – declaring that only she would have had the patience to take care of brats like his, and that she would have no more of it. After that, Pa’s temper had grown worse and worse and he’d taken against his daughters, particularly Sarah. It was Sarah who had caused all his troubles, because she had killed her sainted mother. He wished she’d died at birth and wanted only to be free of his responsibility towards the twins.
Samantha knew all this, because Aunt Jane had told her when she visited a week previously. Their aunt was a tall thin woman with a sharp face and a hard mouth, though her eyes sometimes told of something more inside her, something she kept a tight rein on. Samantha had asked her why Pa hated them so, and her aunt told her in a harsh voice that felt to Samantha like the lash of a whip. Sarah had merely stared at Aunt Jane, taking very little in as always. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand anything, as Pa and Aunt Jane thought, but she was slow at putting things together in her mind and she couldn’t form the words properly unless Samantha told her how.
‘You should have been an only child,’ Aunt Jane had told Samantha. ‘The other one caused all the trouble by killing your mother. My brother adored his wife and they longed for a child, even though Jenni was always fragile. The doctors told her she ought not to have children, because of her weak heart, but she wouldn’t listen – and Ernie could refuse her nothing. All would have been well had that idiot not taken so long to come and killed poor Jenni.’
‘But that wasn’t Sarah’s fault,’ Samantha said, feeling protective of her sister. ‘Mummy wouldn’t have blamed her.’ In Samantha’s mind her mother was a beautiful angel, and sometimes when Sarah was weeping and Samantha was hurting with her twin’s pain, she’d felt the presence of someone warm and loving and believed it was her mummy. Sometimes, she felt that their mother was close by, caressing them, and she thought Sarah sensed it too.
‘Jenni was as soft as butter over kids and I dare say she’d have loved her,’ Aunt Jane said, a bitter twist to her mouth, ‘but she’s gone and Ernie has never been the same since. He drinks because he can’t bear it that she’s gone and he hates Sarah.’
‘It isn’t fair,’ Samantha said. ‘Sarah doesn’t mean to break things but she’s clumsy and it just happens …’
‘Well, I’ve told you why your pa drinks and I’ve made my offer,’ A
unt Jane said in her blunt manner. ‘Your pa doesn’t want either of you and he’s made up his mind to go away to work at sea – and that means you’ll be on your own. I’ll take you in, Samantha, and gladly – but I won’t have her. She should be in a proper home where they take care of girls like that … I could ask at St Saviour’s. I hear Sister Beatrice is a good woman, even though she’s a nun and I can’t abide them as a rule …’
Samantha had looked at her beautiful sister and wondered how her aunt could speak so coldly of her beloved twin, who was so innocent and lovely. Her soft fair hair framed perfect features and her wide blue eyes were soft, slightly vacant and dreamy, but her smile was like sunshine, the light coming from her sometimes so bright that it made her twin blink with its radiance. Samantha knew that although twins, they weren’t exactly alike; her hair was a darker blonde, her eyes more grey than blue, and they could clash with storm clouds when she was angry – or that’s what Melanie had told her when Samantha flew into a temper to protect her sister.
Why did her aunt want to put Sarah in a home? It wrenched at Samantha’s heart to think of being separated from the twin she loved and she vowed that she would do anything to keep them together, but she wouldn’t tell her aunt that; she’d only get angry and tell her she was a fool.
‘There’s nothing wrong with Sarah, except that she’s slow sometimes,’ Samantha said, facing up to her aunt. ‘I’m nearly eleven now. I’ve been helping Sarah to wash and dress, and making supper and breakfast for us all since Melanie left – and I can look after us both. I shan’t go anywhere that Sarah isn’t welcome.’
‘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, much 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 a mental asylum …’
Samantha hadn’t answered her – she was too 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 song that no one else understood. Samantha had tried to make out the words but, although tuneful and pretty, the song’s meaning was unclear.
Earlier that evening, while Samantha prepared Pa’s tea so it would be ready for him when he came home, Sarah had helped by laying 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 seen that her twin had taken down Pa’s pipe rack from the shelf and was stroking one of the pipes. Samantha had immediately been anxious, because the delicate long-handled clay pipe was one of Pa’s favourites.
‘Put that down, Sarah, and help me with the dishes,’ she said.
The sound of her voice had jerked Sarah out of the dream she’d been in, her fingers snapping the long thin stem of the pipe.
‘Oh, Sarah,’ she cried, distressed, knowing 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. He was a big man and strong; the force of the blow knocked the fragile girl off her feet and sent her crashing into the oak dresser, causing a china teapot to tumble from the shelf and break into pieces on the floor. ‘Now what have you done? Child 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 hit her again.
‘Pa, she didn’t mean to do it!’ Samantha said, throwing 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 before storming out.
Samantha had placed the cooking pot on the floor near the range to keep warm and then gone 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, Pa is cross,’ Samantha said and hugged her. ‘But he’ll go down the pub and have a few drinks and forget about it. Come to the kitchen and have some supper. We’ll put Pa’s in the range to keep warm for him.’
It had taken Samantha ages to bring her sister downstairs and even then she ate only a few mouthfuls of the food. Sarah had left her sitting on the lumpy sofa 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.
Only 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 must be 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 stopping to think, Samantha seized the chamber pot and flung the contents over her father. Some of the wee 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 hellcat, you’ve blinded me!’ he cried, stumbling towards her, his hands flailing to grab hold of her.
Samantha pulled her twin to her feet and 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 open, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him as seconds later, 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 Child 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 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. Only when the house had been silent for what seemed like hours did Samantha risk venturing into the hall in search of 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 quiet. She took her own coat and Sarah’s 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 an
d 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 overslept he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake 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 the 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 cake she’d made earlier that week; there was 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 but it would warm them through a bit, she thought, as she carried the meagre breakfast 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 round 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 …’
