The nurse’s smile broadened. ‘We hope so, Miss Long-den.’
‘Polly.’
The nurse nodded. ‘Very well. We hope so, Polly. He’s showing signs of improvement already.’
‘Is he?’ Polly’s face brightened. ‘Is he really?’
‘Come. You shall see for yourself.’
The nurse led her down the room. ‘By the way, you’ll need to bring some clothes in for him. We had to burn those he arrived in, I’m afraid.’
Polly’s heart sank. There were only her father’s Sunday best clothes left.
‘Here he is,’ the nurse was saying. ‘Sitting up and drinking beef tea. Now, isn’t that good?’
‘Dad?’ Polly approached the bed tentatively, rather fearing another tirade for having caused Sarah’s death.
But William looked up and smiled. He was much thinner in the face and unshaven, his growth of beard hiding the lower part of his face. But his eyes were bright – a more natural brightness now – and he was smiling at her.
‘Polly, lass, I’ve missed you. Are you all right? And the bairns?’
‘We’re fine, Dad. None of us have got ill.’
‘Good. That’s good. A’ ya coping, lass? What about Eddie? Is he behaving?’
‘You know Eddie, Dad.’ She pulled a wry face, but neatly avoided going into more detail. ‘He’s going to school, but he’s talking about leaving as soon as he can.’
‘Aye well, mebbe he’ll have to, lass. We’ll need the money. Talking of money – are you managing? Did you know about yar mam’s little stash in the tea caddy?’
Polly nodded. ‘There’s still a bit left. We’re all right,’ she said, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t feel inside. She was feeling so very tired now. The strain of caring for the family, of grieving for her mother and yet trying to keep cheerful for everyone else was becoming harder and harder each day. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt was the hardest to bear. ‘Just you get better, Dad. Nurse has asked me to bring you a blanket or two and some clothes. I’ll bring them in a day or two, but I won’t come in ’cos I’ll have Baby and Stevie with me.’
The nurse was coming towards them. ‘I’m sorry, Polly, but I’ll have to ask you to go now. There are more visitors and—’
‘It’s all right. I must go anyway. ’Bye for now, Dad.’ She made no move to kiss him, but gave a cheery wave and followed the nurse out.
‘He does look a lot better. If only me mam had gone into hospital earlier . . .’
The nurse put a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, but could think of no words to say. She didn’t know the circumstances of the family, nor what had actually happened to the mother other than that she’d given birth recently, had contracted the dreaded disease and died soon after being admitted to hospital. When William Longden had been brought to the Drill Hall, one of her colleagues had entered on his medical record that he’d been rambling about ‘Sarah’, ‘breakfast’ and ‘Polly’s fault’. The nurse could only guess what might have happened, but she was not going to question this poor girl. William was safe here and would be given dietary advice when he left. If there had been a problem with what the mother had eaten, the nurse believed that such burdens should not have been put on the slight shoulders of this young girl.
As the nurse saw Polly out of the door, the ambulance was bringing yet another patient to the building.
Eight
‘Where is it, you bloody little thief?’
Once more, Polly was waiting for her brother when he sauntered in at nine o’clock on the Friday night of that same week.
‘Gerroff,’ he shouted, trying to twist free of her grasp, but Polly’s outrage was lending her strength.
‘Where’s the money from the tea caddy?’
Eddie blinked and gaped at her. ‘What money? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
For a brief moment doubt entered her mind. He looked – and sounded – innocent. But the next moment her eyes narrowed and she gripped his arm even harder. ‘Oh, you’re a good liar, Eddie Longden, I’ll give you that. But don’t try to tell me you don’t know that Mam kept her housekeeping money in the tea caddy on the mantelpiece. And don’t tell me you haven’t taken the last bit of money we had left, ’cos I know you have.’
With one final wriggle Eddie freed himself, but instead of turning away he stood and faced her, toe to toe. ‘I didn’t take any money from the tea caddy or from anywhere else in this house. I wouldn’t steal from me own family.’
‘But you’d steal from a shop, wouldn’t you? Or a market stall,’ she added pointedly.
Eddie glowered. ‘That’s different.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s still stealing.’
‘But I was stealing for the family.’
‘That doesn’t make it right. We’re not that poor we have to steal from folks that’s probably not much better off than ourselves.’
‘It was only a couple of measly buns,’ Eddie muttered. ‘And it was almost packing-up time. They weren’t going to sell ’em and they’d’ve been stale by next day.’
‘That’s still no excuse, Eddie.’ Despite her anger, her tone softened a little.
‘So – ’ Eddie was meeting her gaze – ‘if I haven’t taken your precious money, who has then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You sure there was some left? A’ you sure you haven’t spent it?’
Polly shook her head firmly. ‘No, there was two shillings and fourpence left.’
‘Blimey! An’ it’s all gone?’
To the boy who had a penny on a Saturday, and only then if he was lucky, the amount of money their mother had managed to put by sounded like a fortune.
Polly bit her lip and nodded, worried to death now about how she was to feed the family for the next week or two until her father came home. And even then he probably wouldn’t be fit enough to go back to work straight away.
‘You get to bed, Eddie.’
As he turned to go, he said over his shoulder. ‘Wake me up at six in the morning, Poll. I’m starting as a delivery lad for a greengrocer in the High Street. I even get a bike.’
Polly’s mouth dropped open but before she could ask him any more questions, he was creeping up the stairs and she couldn’t call him back for fear of waking the others. A few moments later Polly followed him up and slipped into bed beside Violet, shivering in the icy bedroom. Despite her overwhelming weariness, it was some time before she fell asleep.
The baby woke at half-past five crying hungrily. Polly pulled herself up feeling little rested since the night before. She dressed quickly and pulled on her outdoor coat for extra warmth. Carrying the baby in a shawl, she crept downstairs, lying Miriam in the big battered armchair by the range whilst she roused the fire and made the infant’s bottle. She made a bowl of hot porridge for Eddie and, having fed the baby and changed her, she woke her brother.
As he spooned the thick creamy porridge into his mouth, Polly asked, ‘How did you get the job? With Mr Wilmott, is it?’
Eddie answered between mouthfuls. ‘His usual lad’s got the typhoid.’
‘Does he know about our mam and dad?’
Eddie nodded. ‘Yeah. I reckon everyone knows now.’
‘And he doesn’t mind? That – that you might be – well – mixed up with it?’
Eddie shook his head. ‘Leo put a good word in for me yesterday and told me to go and see Mr Wilmott last night after he shut the shop.’ He grinned up at her cheekily. ‘That’s why I was late home.’
Polly blinked and smiled ruefully. ‘Oh, well then. I’ll let you off.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘Just this once, mind.’
He stood up. ‘It won’t be much, Poll. Only pennies, but you can have whatever I get. Leo said some of the customers are quite generous with tips.’
Polly’s face brightened. Now she remembered. Leo had worked for Mr Wilmott, the greengrocer just round the corner on the High Street, at nights and weekends in his last year at school. ‘It was good of Leo to
recommend you, Eddie. Mind you don’t let him down.’
‘I won’t, Poll.’
He pulled on his cap and his shabby overcoat. ‘I’ll be off then.’
That night, when Eddie came home, he was dragging a bag bursting with vegetables.
‘Oh, Eddie . . .’ Polly began, but he reassured her quickly. ‘I ain’t stolen it, Poll. Mr Wilmott clears out all his fruit and veg on a Saturday night that won’t keep till Monday morning. He’s given me all this.’
As Polly peered into the sack and pulled out fruit and vegetables, she saw that they were indeed past their best. Yet, when she’d discarded withering outer leaves on the cabbages, cut out the squashy pieces on the potatoes and the brown spots from apples that had been stored since the previous autumn and dealt with all the other items in the sack, there was still a lot she could use.
She grinned up at Eddie. ‘Things is looking up, Eddie.’
On the following Monday morning, Polly opened the front door to find the foreman from the glue factory standing there.
‘Oh, Mr Spicer – come in, please.’
‘I – er – won’t if you don’t mind, Polly. I – um . . .’
The man was ill at ease, twisting his cap between nervous fingers.
‘Of course,’ Polly said, understanding at once. No one – except perhaps the doctors and nurses – understood just how the disease spread and no one wanted to take unnecessary risks.
‘I just came to ask if you’d be coming back to work, Polly. I’ve managed to keep your job open for you so far, but – but Mr Wainwright’s pressing me . . .’ His voice trailed away.
Mr Wainwright was the manager of the glue factory and Roland Spicer’s boss. A strict, dour man with no sense of humour, Mr Wainwright had little kindness or understanding in his soul.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to come back at all. I’ve got the little ones to look after now that me mam – me mam . . .’ Her voice broke and she dipped her head.
Roland bit his lip. He ran his hand nervously through his mousy hair and his hazel eyes were full of sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry to come like this, Polly, but Mr Wainwright insisted.’
Polly looked up again and brushed a stray tear away with an impatient gesture. Most of the time, she was coping well, but just now and again, when someone showed concern, the loss of the woman who had been at the heart of their home hit her hard.
‘An’ me dad’s in the hospital – well, the Drill Hall. He’s getting better, but I don’t know when he’ll be home.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.’
Polly’s voice trembled as she said, ‘But you’d better tell Mr Wainwright I won’t be coming back.’
‘I’m sorry, real sorry. You’re a good little worker and – ’ he smiled shyly – ‘I’ll miss your cheery smile. We – we all will.’
‘That’s nice of you, Mr Spicer.’
‘Oh please – call me Roland. And if there’s anything I can do to help, you will let me know, won’t you? And if you find you can come back, then you come and see me. Promise?’
Polly nodded and smiled, but as she closed the door after him, she was thoughtful.
Call him Roland, she thought. Now what was all that about?
Nine
‘Where did you get that, Violet?’
‘What?’
‘That pink ribbon in your hair. Where did you get it?’
Violet faced her sister insolently. ‘I bought it.’
‘Bought it? What with?’
‘Money, stupid. What d’you usually buy things with?’
‘And where, might I ask, did you get the money from to spend on fripperies when I’ve scarcely enough to buy food for us all?’
Now Violet was avoiding Polly’s stern gaze. The older girl was standing with her arms folded, her eyes blazing. ‘Where, Violet?’
Violet shrugged. ‘Eddie gave me threepence from his wages for me birthday next week.’
‘No, he didn’t. He’s giving everything to me. At least Eddie’s trying to help.’
‘Oh yes?’ Violet laughed sarcastically. ‘Nicking half Mr Wilmott’s stuff. That’s really trying, that is.’
‘He’s not nicking anything. On a Saturday night Mr Wilmott always sells stuff off cheap – fruit and veg that won’t be fresh enough to sell by Monday morning. You know he does. Mam often used to go down late on a Saturday to the shops and the market just to pick up cheaper food. And he only gives Eddie what he couldn’t sell.’
‘You really think,’ Violet persisted, ‘that Mr Wilmott gives him all that?’
Polly blinked. ‘Maybe it’s instead of money.’
‘Huh!’
Violet was deflecting the questions from herself, but Polly was sharper than that. ‘We weren’t talking about Eddie. I’m asking you where you got the money to buy ribbon.’
‘I told you—’
Polly gripped Violet’s arm. ‘So it was you, was it? You took the money, didn’t you? It wasn’t Eddie at all.’
‘Let go. You’re hurting.’
‘I’ll hurt you all right. Have you spent it all?’
‘I never took—’
‘Don’t make it worse by lying. Where’s the rest of the money? Surely you haven’t spent it all on yourself, you greedy little girl. A whole two and fourpence. Me mam could have fed us for a week on that.’
It was perhaps an exaggeration, but the younger girl wasn’t to know.
Violet glared into her sister’s eyes. ‘I never touched the tea caddy—’
Polly’s eyes narrowed and her voice was quiet now but all the more menacing as she said slowly, ‘Who said anything about the tea caddy?’
The two girls stared at each other for a moment before Polly, holding the smaller girl with one hand, delved into Violet’s apron pocket. Her hand closed over a few coins and she pulled them out and thrust them under the girl’s nose. ‘You little liar! You’re a thief and a liar, Violet. Aren’t you ashamed, with our mam scarcely cold in her grave and Dad—?’
With a cry, Violet twisted free of Polly’s grasp and ran towards the door. Pausing briefly, she turned back and spat, ‘And what are you going to do about it? Get your precious Leo onto me?’
With that she ran out of the house, slamming the door behind her, leaving Polly gazing down at the one shilling and five coppers in her hand. A piece of ribbon hadn’t cost that much, she thought, and wondered what else Violet had spent their precious money on. Sighing, she slipped the coins into her own apron pocket.
No more putting money in the tea caddy, she thought. At least, not until Dad gets home.
Polly’s world was now bound up with housework, caring for the little ones and praying that her father survived; if he didn’t it would be the workhouse for them all, for sure. The responsibility for the family lay heavily on her. She had no free time, no time to read or to play; she’d had to grow up very quickly. Outside the family circle, there was only Bertha in whom she could confide. She’d even lost touch with her schoolfriends. How she yearned to be back at school, sitting in the classroom or playing in the schoolyard. Such happy carefree days that she hadn’t appreciated at the time.
But one afternoon after school had finished, Miss Broughton, her former teacher, knocked on the door.
‘Oh, please come in, come in. That’s if you’re not afraid of catching—’
‘Goodness me, no.’ Miss Broughton smiled as she peeled off her gloves and sat down in the chair near the range. ‘I just came to see how you were coping, Polly. I heard about your mother, my dear. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
Polly shook her head, biting her lip. Then the words she’d held back for so long came bursting out. ‘I don’t want to sound disloyal to my dad, specially not while he’s in hospital. Miss Broughton, I did so want to stay on at school, but he made me leave. Said being a teacher wasn’t for the likes of us.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear he said that and, I have to say, I don’t agree with him. You�
�d have made an excellent pupil teacher, Polly, my dear. I’d already spoken to the head about you and he was willing to give you a trial. And I was ready to give you whatever extra tuition you needed out of school hours.’ She sighed. ‘But you had to leave and now, I suppose . . .’ Her voice faded away.
‘No,’ Polly said dully. ‘There’s no chance now. With Mam gone, there’s only me to look after the little ones.’
‘And you’re so young too,’ Miss Broughton murmured. ‘But don’t give up hope, Polly. You never know, perhaps when you’re older, when Stevie and the baby are both at school, perhaps then . . .’
But to the young girl that seemed an age away; she couldn’t even imagine such a time.
‘And in the meantime, Polly, keep up your reading. I’ll lend you some books, if you like. And read the newspapers if you can. Newspapers are a great source of education.’
‘I will,’ Polly promised, but the promise was made half-heartedly. When on earth would she have time to read? But she did not voice the thought to her former teacher. Miss Broughton meant it kindly.
William was discharged from hospital, but he was still not strong enough to return to his labouring job on the railway.
He came home the day before Violet’s birthday, but there were no celebrations for the eleven-year-old as William sat huddled by the range, weakened by the illness and feeling the cold more than normal. But he was getting better, Polly told herself. Soon their little family could return to normal. Well, not as they’d known it before, of course. Life would never be ‘normal’ again, not since they’d lost their mother. But at least, if her dad got back to work, she’d be able to manage better.
As Polly bustled about the kitchen and the scullery, Eddie came to stand on the hearth in front of William. ‘Dad – Mr Hopkins ses I can leave school at Easter instead of waiting till summer. He ses if I work hard from now till then I can get me certificate, an’ Mr Wilmott ses I can work for him full-time.’
William looked up slowly. His voice was dull and lifeless as he said, ‘That’s good, Eddie. But what about the lad that works for Mr Wilmott usually?’
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