‘Who did your hair, Rosie?’ she asked, gruffly.
‘Mrs Watson,’ replied Rosie, making a face. ‘She pulled.’
‘S’pect it was tangly,’ said Rita, ‘but it looks nice now.’ So different from her own hair, dark and straight, held clear of her face by the tartan snood.
The door opened and Susan and Sylvia came in, brought over by one of the older girls from Pine. They, too, had had their hair brushed, both now wearing neat plaits. They came in nervously, holding hands, and even when they sat down on the floor beside the other two, they kept a tight grip on each other.
‘What we got to do, Rita?’ asked Susan nervously.
‘Don’t know. We’ll get told.’
‘Who’s coming to see us?’ asked Rosie.
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Rita snapped, her own nerves jangling. ‘Just some people.’ How she wished this ‘parade’ was over and they could all go back to their cottages and get on with things.
At that moment the door opened and Mrs Manton came in. ‘Stand!’
They stood, a forlorn group of four children, looking anxiously at the superintendent’s grim face. Rita and Rosie close together, hands clasped; Sylvia and Susan, each holding tight to the other.
‘Stand up straight!’ ordered Mrs Manton. ‘And for goodness sake, stop holding hands like babies!’ She looked them over and seeming satisfied with what she saw, said, ‘I’ll be bringing our visitors in shortly, so remember what I said: stand still and straight, be quiet, and answer properly if anyone asks you a question. Understand?’ When no one replied, she said again, ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mrs Manton,’ muttered Rita, and the three little girls murmured, ‘Yes, miss,’ in a whispered chorus.
Mrs Manton gave a brisk nod and left the room. The four children stood as she’d left them, not daring to move. Moments later the door opened again and Mrs Manton brought in a man and a woman.
Rita, her head held high, standing straight as she’d been told, looked at them. They looked quite ordinary, she thought. The lady wore red lipstick and had permed hair; the man had a red face, wore a blue suit and brown shoes, and his smoothed hair was shiny with oil. Just ordinary grown-ups, really, Rita thought.
The couple paused inside the doorway, their eyes resting on the little group of waiting girls. Nobody said anything. No introductions were made. Mrs Manton stood, a silent presence behind them, as they studied the ‘parade’. Then the man came forward, and walked up to Rosie.
‘Hallo, little girl,’ he said. ‘And what’s your name?’
Rosie edged behind Rita, peering round nervously at this stranger who towered over her, a bear of a man with a red face and wide bristling moustache.
‘Tell Mr Waters your name, child,’ ordered Mrs Manton.
‘Rosie,’ she whispered.
The man bent down, thrusting his big face close to hers.
‘And how old are you, Rosie?’
Again Rosie hesitated and Mrs Manton prompted her with a brisk, ‘Speak up, Rosie!’
‘Five.’ Rosie had taken hold of Rita’s hand again, and Rita gave her a comforting squeeze. She glowered at the man whose face was just inches away from Rosie’s. Can’t you see she’s frightened? she wanted to say. She’s only five.
The man glanced up at Rita and asked, ‘And is this your friend, Rosie? What’s her name?’
Rosie didn’t answer, and so Rita said, ‘My name’s Rita, and I’m Rosie’s sister.’
‘Your sister, eh?’ The man nodded, and stepped back towards the woman who was still standing at the door. He had hardly glanced at the two other little girls, standing stiff and frightened. They didn’t have the blonde curls, they didn’t have the blue eyes, which was what Gerald Waters liked in little girls, and Rosie, in her rose-patterned dress, was an exotic butterfly beside two moths.
The woman now walked across to the little group of children. She asked each of them her name, and how old she was. Each replied, monosyllabic, always with an anxious eye on the superintendent who hovered, a black crow, in the background.
When she reached Rosie she smiled and said, ‘What a pretty dress.’
‘My gran made it,’ Rosie told her.
‘Your gran?’ The woman sounded surprised. She’d assumed that these children here had no family.
‘She made it from her curtains,’ Rosie told her.
‘Did she now? From her curtains! How clever!’
Rosie smiled at her, but Rita, listening, didn’t think the woman really thought it was clever at all. She said the words, but Rita could tell she didn’t mean them.
‘Well, Rosie,’ smiled the woman, ‘you look very pretty in it.’ Rosie beamed at her. She loved being told how pretty she looked.
Having finished her inspection, the woman rejoined her husband by the door. They spoke together in hushed tones for a moment and then Mr Waters turned to Mrs Manton.
‘We’ll take that one,’ he said, and pointed to Rosie.
Mrs Manton treated the couple to her best smile and said, ‘The perfect choice, I’d say.’ She turned to the waiting children and said, ‘Rosie, come over here. The rest of you can go back to your cottages and get changed.’
Susan and Sylvia hesitated for a moment and then scurried out of the room. Rosie came forward as asked, but Rita stood her ground.
‘Off you go, Rita,’ snapped Mrs Manton. ‘We don’t need you any more.’
‘But what about Rosie?’ asked Rita.
‘What about Rosie?’ Mrs Manton’s tone was cold.
‘Rosie’s coming to live with us,’ Mrs Waters broke in. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Rosie? To come and live at our house?’
‘Can Reet come too?’ asked Rosie.
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ replied Mrs Waters. ‘We haven’t room for both of you. But you can come… I’m going to be your new mother.’
Rosie’s sunny smile faded. ‘I got a mother,’ Rosie told her. ‘She’s called Mummy.’ Then her lip began to tremble. ‘But I don’t know where she is now.’ She looked across at her sister and said, ‘Where’s Mummy, Reet? I want Mummy.’
It was so long since Rosie had mentioned their mother that Rita didn’t know what to say. She wanted Mum, too, but she’d already realized that they were never going to see her again. She stepped forward and put her arms round her sister, holding her close.
‘Mummy’s not here now, Rosie,’ she whispered, ‘but I’ll look after you.’
‘Off you go now, Rita,’ snapped Mrs Manton. ‘You can say goodbye to Rose before she leaves.’
‘But—’ began Rita, but the superintendent interrupted before she could protest further.
‘Leave the room immediately, Rita. I’ll deal with you later. Rose, you’ll come with us.’ She took hold of Rosie’s hand and jerked her away from Rita, saying to the couple as she did so, ‘Perhaps you’d like to come through to my sitting room where we can deal with the formalities.’
They left the room, Rosie beginning to wail as she realized Rita wasn’t coming with them, wails that were abruptly cut off by the closing of the door.
Rita was left standing alone, icy despair flooding through her as she knew that her worst fear had come true. She was going to lose Rosie. Just like that. Rosie was going to be taken away, to live with people she didn’t know. She, Rita, was going to be left here at Laurel Farm, and each of them would lose the last link with Mum and Gran and Ship Street. She was going to lose Rosie and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do about it. She gazed round the empty room in anguish. She didn’t even believe Mrs Manton when she said that she’d be able to say goodbye to Rosie before she left.
Rosie’ll have to get her things, thought Rita. And Knitty, she’ll want Knitty!
Rita ran across the dusty grass to Larch Cottage. When she got there, she banged on the front door. It was opened by a girl Rita didn’t know, but she pushed past her and ran along the passage to Rosie’s dorm. There, hidden under the blanket, she found Knitty. He was lookin
g the worse for wear after his travels, but she gathered him up, hugging his familiar striped body to her before tucking him under her arm.
‘You’ll go with her, Knitty,’ she said. ‘At least she’ll have you.’
‘And what is going on here?’ demanded a voice and Rita spun round to find herself confronted by Mrs Watson, standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, it’s you again,’ sighed Mrs Watson, when she recognized Rita. ‘I told you yesterday about visiting cottages uninvited.’
‘They’re taking my sister away,’ cried Rita, her voice breaking with misery. ‘They’re taking Rosie away and I can’t stop them.’
‘No, you can’t,’ agreed Mrs Watson. ‘And you shouldn’t want to! She’s going to a family where she’ll be looked after and loved. You should be happy for her, or are you too selfish?’ She arched her eyebrows and looked expectantly at Rita. When Rita didn’t reply she went on, ‘Come along, Rita, let’s go to my room and talk about this, shall we?’
Rita paused uncertainly. Suppose Rosie came back to her dorm and Rita wasn’t there? Mrs Manton had promised they’d be allowed to say goodbye properly, but suppose she didn’t keep that promise? Supposing they just sneaked Rosie away and Rita never saw her again? The thought made her clutch Knitty to her more tightly.
Mrs Watson held out her hand. ‘Come along, Rita, you can’t stay here, you know.’
‘Mrs Manton said I could say goodbye.’
‘And so you shall. Now come along, there’s a good girl.’ Mrs Watson didn’t sound angry, just tired. Still holding tight to Knitty, Rita reluctantly followed her out of the dorm through the living room, and into Mrs Watson’s domain beyond.
Though sparsely furnished, an attempt had been made to turn the two small rooms into a home. There were some books on a shelf, and a photo of a smiling baby in a frame on the mantelpiece. An easy chair stood beside the empty fireplace and there was a table covered with a red cloth in the window with a chair on either side.
Mrs Watson waved at one of these. ‘Sit down, Rita.’
Rita did as she was told, and Mrs Watson took her place on the chair opposite. She rested her hands on the table and looked across at Rita.
‘Now then, Rita,’ she said, ‘I know you’re upset that Rosie’s been chosen to be adopted and not you—’
‘It ain’t that, miss,’ interrupted Rita, ‘it ain’t that I’m left behind, it’s ’cos she’s going. She’s being took away and I don’t know where. She’s all I got left now. Our dad’s dead, miss. Our mum don’t want us. Our gran’s in the hospital. Don’t know if she’ll get better. Rosie and me got each other and that’s all, see. If I lose her and she loses me, well, we ain’t got no one else, have we?’
‘No, not just now. But if Rosie’s adopted, she’ll have a much better life than if she stayed here.’
When Rita remained silent, her face mutinous, Mrs Watson said, ‘You do see that, Rita, I know you do. You’re not stupid. You’re nine years old, and you know how things work. You think it’s not fair? Well maybe it isn’t, but then life isn’t fair and the sooner you learn that lesson the better.’ She waited and Rita gave a reluctant nod.
‘So you know that Rosie has a chance today that she may never get again. These people want a daughter and they’ve chosen Rosie. She’s still your sister, and it doesn’t make her any less so, you know.’
‘You should’ve seen them, miss,’ Rita said. ‘They walked round us all like we was animals at some market. They looked us up and down and then, bang, pointed to Rosie and said “we’ll have that one” like they was buying a dog.’
‘I expect she was just the little girl they were looking for. They’ll be longing to take her to her new home.’
‘But I shan’t see her,’ blurted out Rita. ‘I shan’t know she’s all right. Gran said to look after her.’
‘And you have, haven’t you?’
‘But if she’s took by these people, I won’t see her no more. They ain’t gonna let me near her.’ Rita fought to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘She’s only five!’ she cried, ‘She’s only little… she needs me.’ For a moment she buried her face into the comforting woollen body of Knitty.
Mrs Watson’s life had not been easy, she’d battled her way through her early years, and having escaped from an abusive family, borne and lost a child of her own, she had assumed the title of ‘Mrs’ and applied for the job she now held in the hope of getting her life back together. She did not suffer fools gladly and had no time for tears and regrets, but even she was touched by the depth of pain she heard now in Rita’s voice.
‘I’m sure she’ll be well looked after, Rita,’ she said gently. ‘And who knows, you may be able to visit her in her new home, if she doesn’t live too far away.’
‘They ain’t going to let me anywhere near her,’ Rita said bitterly.
‘Well,’ Mrs Watson said briskly, ‘you’re much more likely to be allowed to visit her if you don’t make a fuss about her going.’
Rita raised her eyes to the house-mother’s face, a look of scorn suffusing her own. ‘You don’t believe that,’ she said, ‘an’ if you do, you’re just plain stupid.’
‘Rita, that’s quite enough.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ Rita agreed and getting to her feet she walked to the door.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ demanded Mrs Watson.
‘To say goodbye to Rosie,’ replied Rita. ‘I been in here too long.’
With Knitty cuddled against her, she walked round to the main gate. A car was still parked outside, but no one was there. Rita sat down, her back against the wall, to wait.
It was nearly half an hour later when she heard voices and people approaching down the path. She got to her feet and turned to confront the group coming towards her.
Mrs Manton was leading the way, talking to the man. The woman followed with Rosie, holding her firmly by the hand. Rosie was hanging back, dragging her feet, and Rita could see that her face was blotched with tears. As Rita emerged from behind the wall, Mrs Manton stopped in her tracks, her face like thunder. Rosie saw her at the same moment and with a jerk broke free of the woman’s hold and hurtled towards her, screaming, ‘Reet! Reet! I want to stay with you.’
She flung herself against her sister, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Rita held her fiercely in her arms, looking over her head at the three adults who now strode towards her.
‘Rita!’ roared Mrs Manton. ‘What do you think you’re doing here?’ She reached out to pull Rosie away, but Rita’s arms tightened round her sister, and she faced the superintendent, defiance in every line of her body.
‘You said I could say goodbye to Rosie properly,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’m doing.’ She looked down at Rosie, still clinging to her. ‘I’ve brought you Knitty,’ she said, giving her the knitted bear. Rosie hugged Knitty to her, but she didn’t let go of Rita.
‘What a disgusting looking creature!’ The woman was beside them now and she wrinkled her nose. ‘I can smell him from here! We’re not taking that with us.’
‘But she loves him,’ Rita spoke matter-of-factly. She could see that they’d brought nothing with them to the car, and she said, ‘It’s all she’s got to remind her of home, that and her dress.’
‘Made from curtains,’ sniffed the woman. ‘She won’t be wearing any more clothes that are made from curtains, I can tell you!’
‘That’s enough from you, Rita Stevens,’ snarled Mrs Manton. ‘You’ve seen your sister, now you can go straight back to your cottage. I’ll deal with you later.’
‘Don’t go, Reet,’ begged Rosie. ‘Don’t go.’
‘Now then, Rose, that’s enough from you too,’ snapped the superintendent. ‘You’re going to go with this nice lady and gentleman.’
‘And have pretty dresses, just like we told you,’ added the woman, reaching down to take her hand again.
‘I don’t want pretty dresses,’ cried Rosie, the tears starting to flow again. ‘I want to stay with Reet.’
> ‘Come along, now.’ It was the man this time. He’d obviously had enough of female tears. Without warning he scooped the little girl up and carried her to the car. Rosie kicked and screamed all the way, dropping Knitty in the process.
Rita ran forward to pick him up, but by the time she had him safe, Rosie was in the back of the car and the woman was sliding in beside her. The man hurried round to the driver’s side and started the engine. Rita ran to the car, holding out Knitty, but the windows were closed, and she could only peer in for one last glimpse of her sister who was screaming now, held firmly in the woman’s arms as she squirmed to get free. The car began to move, and Rita had to jump clear as the wheels spun in the dust and the car gathered speed. She stood for a long moment, watching the car disappear down the dirt road that led to the town. Rosie had gone and the only thing that connected them now was a tired and grubby-looking knitted teddy, which Rita still clutched in her arms.
A sudden heavy hand fell on her shoulder. ‘As for you, young lady,’ hissed Mrs Manton, ‘you’ve disgraced us all. Your sister was going along quite happily until she saw you here. I will not tolerate such disobedience, and you will be punished. Go back to your cottage, sit on your bed and wait for me there.’ She spun Rita round, her expression icy as she looked into the girl’s mutinous face. ‘And you can take that look off your face,’ she snapped. ‘It’s time you learned to do as you’re told.’ She let go, but when Rita didn’t move she dealt her a stinging slap, saying, her fury barely controlled, ‘Go back to the cottage.’
Rita’s hand flew to her cheek, and then without a word she turned and still clutching Knitty, stumbled back to Oak.
22
On reaching the cottage, Rita hurried to her dorm, pulled the photo of Daddy out from under her blouse and slid it back into the journal under her mattress. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her, but she was determined to keep her photo hidden.
The Throwaway Children Page 26
