KITTY NEALE
A Sister’s Sorrow

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2019

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2019

Cover design © Debbie Clement 2019

Kitty Neale 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 ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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: 9780008270889

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008270896

Version: 2018-10-24

Dedication

For my husband

Sweet love of mine and best friend too,

I’m blown away by all you do.

My life is enriched because of you.

One love, one life, a love so true.

Now we’re here, we made it through,

Many would have faltered, but no, not you.

We’re strong, we’re great and we’re together,

Eternally, I’ll be yours forever.

Before this ends, there’s just one more thing …

Because of who you are, I’m so proud to wear

your ring xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Battersea, London, 1948

Sarah Jepson’s legs jigged under her desk as she anxiously waited for the school bell to ring for home time. Her mother Annie had woken up with labour pains that morning, and Sarah was desperately worried about her.

Earlier, when Sarah had shown concern, her mum had told her to bugger off and go to school. She’d called her useless and said she’d be no bloody help. Comments like that weren’t unusual and hadn’t surprised Sarah. She was used to her mother’s contemptuous remarks, and though they hurt, she tried her best to ignore them.

At last, the bell trilled, and Sarah hurriedly placed her books in her desk before dashing out of the classroom and then through the school gates. Dirty rainwater splashed the backs of her skinny legs as she ran through the narrow streets of run-down terraced houses. I wish I could fly, she thought, sprinting as fast as she could, as her thin coat billowed out behind her. It was at least two sizes too small, so she couldn’t button it up. It did little to keep out the chill of the cold October wind, or protect her from the hammering rain. Sarah didn’t care about the stormy weather, she just wanted to get back home and silently prayed that everything would be all right this time.

She finally arrived at the staircase of the tenement block, then paused as she caught her breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her long, dark hair hung like wet rat’s tails. She rapidly tapped her forefinger and thumb together, something she unconsciously did when she was nervous. Apprehensively, she grabbed the handrail and stood still, her emerald-green eyes staring up the uninviting stairwell as she urged her legs to keep going. She’d come this far, but the reality of what she might find at home had stopped her in her tracks. Please don’t let it be like last time, she thought, remembering the dead baby her mother had birthed three years earlier. Mrs Brown, a neighbour upstairs, had taken the baby away, but Sarah could still picture his wrinkled little face, and shivered at the memory of his limp, scrawny body.

Sarah recalled Mrs Brown having a go at her mum, telling her she’d brought it on herself and should have stayed away from the gin. She’d told her scornfully that she didn’t deserve to be a mother and had murdered her own child. Sarah didn’t understand how her mother could have killed the baby, as she’d witnessed his lifeless body being born. As she’d listened to Mrs Brown, Sarah had seen her mother glaring at the woman. She had seen that vicious look in her mum’s eyes before, one that she’d now become accustomed to receiving. It was in sharp contrast to the look of pity in Mrs Brown’s eyes as she had carried away the dead baby and said a solemn farewell to Sarah. She wasn’t sure what she disliked most: the hateful stare from her mother or the look of pity from their neighbour.

A distant scream echoed through the tenement, piercing Sarah’s thoughts. She knew immediately that it was her mother, and flew into action. She took the stairs two at a time, then she heard her cry out again, which drove Sarah even faster up the three flights. Please live, her mind raced, please let the baby be alive.

The front door was wide open. Sarah ran in then pushed it closed behind her. The room was dark, but she could see her mother lying on her filthy mattress on the floor, panting hard. As Sarah got closer, she noticed beads of sweat running down her mum’s face even though the room was cold.

‘Get this bloody thing out of me!’ her mother screamed, and gripped the holey blanket that was covering her legs.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Sarah cried in a blind panic. Though she’d seen her mum give birth before, she’d only been ten years old at the time, and had been overwhelmed with horror through most of it. Now thirteen, she was still unsure.

She knew it would be useless to appeal to any of the neighbours for help. Mrs Brown had passed away and none of the other women in the block would have anything to do with her mum.

‘Shall I get the doctor?’ she said desperately.

‘Don’t be so stupid. I don’t need a doctor, I just need some gin. Pass me that bottle,’ her mother demanded, indicating to a bottle of alcohol in the tiny kitchenette.

‘But … but that ain’t no good for the baby,’ Sarah pleaded, though she was loath to disobey her mother’s orders.

‘Don’t you backchat me, just get it. I need it for the pain,’ her mother ground out through gritted teeth.

Sarah reluctantly handed her the almost empty bottle, which she quickly drained.

‘It’s no good, I need more,’ she cried, groaning again and writhing on the mattress.

‘But we ain’t got no more,’ Sarah answered, recoiling at seeing her mum in such discomfort.

‘You’ll have to get yourself down the offie and get me a bottle on tick,’ her mother said, then closed her eyes and moaned loudly again.

It was obvious to Sarah that another painful contraction was washing over her mother. She waited for it to pass before saying, ‘They ain’t open yet, it’s too early,’ grateful that she wouldn’t have to go out begging again. She found it humiliating, and would much rather scavenge for food to eat or clothes to wear.

‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, gal, use your bleedin’ head for once, will ya! I can’t bloody think straight. Go and have a word with Eddy in the next block, and tell him I’ll see him straight next week. I don’t care where you get it from, just get me some bloody gin!’

Fearing her mother’s violent temper, Sarah rushed from the room and back out into the damp corridor. She didn’t want to leave her mother in pain, but considering the mood she was in, Sarah knew it would be useless to try to reason with her. She ran down the stairs, but couldn’t face going around to Eddy’s flat. She’d tell her mum that he wasn’t in. His place stank, and she wrinkled her nose at the memory of it. She found him a rather odd man, and the way he leered at her gave her the creeps and made her feel uncomfortable. He was one of her mother’s long-term customers, and, for as long as Sarah could remember, Eddy had called in to see her mum once or twice a week.

Sarah began to aimlessly wander around the small estate while racking her brain for a solution. It was impossible. She couldn’t think of anywhere to wangle any alcohol. As it was, she didn’t like going into the side room of the pub to get her mother’s booze, and liked it even less when she was made to go cap in hand.

After half an hour, the sun from behind the clouds was almost set and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Sarah’s teeth began to chatter. She’d have to return home empty-handed and face her mother’s fury, though it was of some consolation that her mum would be sober for once.

Outside her front door, Sarah reached through the letterbox and pulled out a piece of string with the key tied on the end. She opened the door and walked back into their one-roomed flat. All was quiet, so she assumed her mother must have fallen asleep. Then she heard a strange gurgling noise.

Curious, Sarah quietly tiptoed over to the mattress where her mother lay, and gasped in shock. She stared in disbelief at a naked new-born baby, lying on the linoleum and kicking his bony legs out. She reacted instinctively and quickly gathered the child in her arms. He felt cold, but she was thankful that he appeared to be well. She grabbed a towel and gently wrapped the small boy, hardly believing she was holding her new baby brother.

Sarah gazed at the bundle and smiled sweetly. He was so thin, his tiny ribcage was sticking out, which put her in mind of a lame sparrow she’d once found. ‘Hello, little one, I’m your big sister,’ she whispered, and kissed the boy on his bloodied forehead.

Her mother stirred and pushed herself up onto her haunches. ‘Oh, you found him then. Where’s me gin?’

‘Sorry, Eddy was out so I couldn’t get any. Look, Mum, you’ve had a little boy,’ Sarah said, holding out the baby.

‘Yeah, I know, you stupid cow. Who do you think cut the cord, eh, the bleedin’ stork? Now get him out of my sight.’

Sarah frowned. ‘But … but I think he might be hungry … you need to feed him.’

‘I ain’t having that little bastard hanging off my tit. Get rid of him. I don’t want to see him again.’

Sarah blinked, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying. ‘What do you mean? How can I get rid of him?’

‘I don’t know, sling him in the Thames or dump him in the park. Just get rid of it. I can’t afford another mouth to feed, not with you bleeding me dry.’

With that, her mother turned her grubby body to the wall, leaving Sarah bereft. She gently rocked the baby in her arms, and Mrs Brown’s words came into her head again. She’d said her mother had murdered her last child. Maybe it was true, as she now wanted Sarah to do the same to this one.

Chapter 2

Sarah huddled on her mattress in the opposite corner of the room from her mother, and gently cooed at her brother in her arms. She’d wrapped a blanket around him now, but it hadn’t pacified his crying. Now she worried that his screams would wake her mother, who was snoring loudly, and she started tapping her finger and thumb together. ‘You’re hungry, little one. What are we going to do with you, eh?’ she whispered.

Though it was early evening, Sarah hoped her mum would stay asleep, but knew that even if she did it would only be a short reprieve. All hell would break loose when she woke to find that Sarah hadn’t got rid of the baby. Still trying to hush her little brother, she rose to her feet and quietly left their flat, to walk along the corridor to knock on her best friend’s door. Jenny was thirteen, the same age as Sarah, in the same class at school, and Sarah inwardly prayed that as she was appealing for the baby, Jenny’s mother wouldn’t turn her away.

‘Hello, Jenny, I couldn’t ask a big favour, could I?’ Sarah pleaded when her friend opened the door. Jenny was short for her age, and her blonde hair and blue eyes gave her a baby-faced appearance, making her look much younger than Sarah.

‘What have you got there? Your mum had the baby then?’ Jenny asked as she craned her neck to peer into the bundle Sarah was holding.

‘Yeah, a little boy. Thing is, my mum’s worn out and she’s asleep, but I can’t stop this little blighter from crying. Could I cadge a bit of your mum’s formula and a bottle, only ’til the morning? I’ll bring it back, I swear.’

‘Come in, you can ask her yourself,’ Jenny replied and opened the door wider. ‘So what’s he called?’

Sarah looked at her brother and it occurred to her he didn’t have a name. ‘Er … Tommy. His name’s Tommy Jepson.’

‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ Jenny said as they walked into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Mrs Jepson’s had her baby, a little boy called Tommy.’

Jenny’s mum’s expression was stern, and four small faces peered at Sarah from around the kitchen table. The flat had the luxury of four rooms, but as Jenny had five siblings it still felt cramped and overcrowded, yet warm and cosy. If Jenny’s dad was home, Sarah wouldn’t have been invited in, but now, as she stood in the kitchen, she wished her flat was like her friend’s. It always smelled of freshly baked bread, unlike the damp smell that greeted Sarah in her flat.

Sarah’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and she spied the tin bath under the kitchen workbench. She’d have loved to soak herself in hot water, but instead had to make do with a shivering strip wash at her small kitchen sink. Jenny was so lucky to have a dad, she thought, as her stomach grumbled at the sight of bowls of stew in front of the little faces sitting at the table.

‘Stop standing there gawping, girl. I suppose your mother’s sent you down here on the cadge for something?’ Mrs Turner said. She was a plump woman, and short like her daughter, but Sarah knew she ruled over her household and kept her brood in order.

‘Er … sorry, but Mum’s a bit poorly, and the baby needs feeding …’ Sarah nervously answered.

‘Poorly my arse! More like passed out drunk,’ Mrs Turner snapped.

Sarah felt ashamed and lowered her head. Everyone on the estate knew her mother had a drinking problem, and they also knew she’d sell herself for a jug of beer or a bottle of gin.

‘I’m sorry, love, it ain’t your fault,’ Mrs Turner said, her tone softening. ‘I can’t see the poor mite go hungry, but you tell your mother this is the last time I’ll help her out.’

Sarah had found it hard to bring herself to ask for food, without the added degrading comments about her mother, but felt a surge of relief.

‘I don’t suppose your mum’s got anything in for the baby, has she?’

‘Erm … er … no, Mrs Turner, she hasn’t,’ Sarah answered, and could feel her cheeks burning red with discomfiture.

‘The woman’s a disgrace. I don’t know what she’d do without you. Jenny, get a bowl of stew for Sarah. I doubt you’ve had your tea, have you?’

‘I … er—’ Sarah said but was quickly interrupted.

‘No, I thought not. Jenny, take the baby while I sort out a few things for him. Bloody good job I’ve not long had one of my own!’

Sarah took a seat at the large wooden table and ate hungrily, gratefully savouring every mouthful of the warm stew. She didn’t care that Jenny’s brothers and sisters were staring at her as she devoured the contents of the bowl, after all, she didn’t know how long it would be until her next meal.

‘He’s going to be a proper little heartbreaker when he grows up, the handsome little thing. He ain’t got your green eyes though, but you know babies’ eyes change colour. Blimey, though, he’s got a good pair of lungs on him!’ Jenny said, holding Tommy as she swayed from side to side. ‘I ain’t being funny, but is your mum going to be all right looking after him?’

‘Probably not,’ Sarah answered, ‘so I’m going to have to do it.’

‘How are you going to manage that?’

‘I’ll have to leave school, I suppose,’ Sarah said.

‘But you can’t do that. You’re right clever, you are. You could have gone to grammar school if you’d taken your eleven plus.’

‘Maybe, but we’ll never know, will we, ’cos I didn’t have any shoes at the time. Not that it would have done me any good now,’ Sarah answered as she devoured the last of the stew.

Mrs Turner came back into the kitchen with a cloth bag bulging at the seams. ‘’Ere you go, love. This little lot will get you started, but I want the bag back.’

‘Thanks, thank you so much,’ Sarah said, taking the bag. ‘Can you show me how to make up the formula, please?’ She had a good idea of how it was done, but she wanted to quieten Tommy before returning home.

Mrs Turner prepared the bottle, while Jenny showed Sarah how to put a nappy on the baby. ‘We’d better put something warm on him too. Babies feel the cold, ain’t that right, Mum?’ Jenny said, and rummaged through the bag for something suitable.

‘Yes, love, they do, so keep him wrapped up warm. And, Sarah, try to get some sleep when you can, ’cos if your Tommy is anything like mine he’ll have you up most of the night.’

Once Tommy had been fed and drifted off to sleep, Sarah made her way back along the corridor. With her arms full, and Tommy content, she slowly pushed open the door to her flat, and was relieved to hear her mother still snoring. She placed Tommy on her mattress and emptied the contents of the bag. Mrs Turner had been very generous. She found towelling nappies and safety pins, and three little hand-knitted outfits, as well as some mittens and a hat. There was even a small stuffed toy.

She carefully moved Tommy over on the bare mattress, hoping it wouldn’t disturb him. Then she lay down next to him and stared at him in awe before closing her eyes.

She gently pulled him close to her. ‘I’ll protect you,’ she whispered, all the time worried her mother would wake up and snatch the child away.

Chapter 3

Annie had never felt so rough. She was sore down below and ached all over. This was one of the worst hangovers she’d ever had. She squinted against the daylight as she opened her eyes. A stiff drink would sort her out, she thought, then remembered with horror – she’d given birth.

Her head was thumping, but she managed to push herself up and saw Sarah sat at the table. To her disgust, her daughter was holding the baby and looked to be bottle-feeding him.

‘I thought I told you to get rid of him,’ she snapped.

Sarah didn’t answer but, to Annie’s surprise, she saw her daughter throw her a look of disdain.

‘So what’s he still doing here?’ Annie demanded.

‘Mum, I can’t get rid of him. It ain’t that easy.’

‘Of course it bloody is! If you’d gone out last night when it was dark, like I told you to, you could have thrown him over Battersea Bridge and no one would have seen you.’

Annie saw her daughter’s eyes widen in shock. The stupid little goody-two-shoes, she thought.

‘I couldn’t do that! It would be murder! I thought you was kidding last night. Mum, how could you? Tommy’s your child!’

‘Tommy, eh. So you’ve given the bastard a name. Don’t get too attached. I’m telling you, he ain’t staying!’ Annie said, and lay back down on the mattress.

‘Please, Mum, I’ll look after him. You won’t have to do a thing. Look, I’ve got him some clothes and nappies … Please …’

Annie rolled her eyes and heaved a deep breath. She didn’t want to be thinking about it. She could feel dried blood on her legs, so she’d have to get up and wash herself down. Bugger, she thought, as she realised she’d be out of action for at least a week. That would make it difficult to get her hands on any booze, and a bottle of gin took priority over a bastard baby.

‘Do what you want, Sarah, just keep the bloody thing out of my sight, and don’t expect me to feed it,’ she answered dismissively. The sooner her milk dried up, the better, she thought, as she glanced down at her engorged breasts. She’d have to be extra careful in future and avoid any more unwanted pregnancies. After all, a swollen stomach wasn’t good for business and was taking its toll on her body.

Worse still, as Sarah appeared reluctant to dump the child, it looked like she’d be burdened with this one too. She couldn’t force the girl to do it, but that didn’t mean she’d have to look after it. As far as she was concerned, if her daughter wanted the baby, then she’d be the one to take care of it, and woe betide her if she didn’t keep the little bastard out of her way.

Chapter 4

Christmas came and went, and, as expected, Sarah’s festive stocking had been empty. Her mother said she didn’t believe in Christmas, and years before had told Sarah that Santa Claus didn’t exist.

Now, another four months had passed and Sarah was pleased the bitterly cold winter was behind them. As the early afternoon spring sunshine broke through the April clouds, she pushed Tommy’s pram through the housing estate. She’d found the pram broken and dumped at the bottom of the stairs, and though she didn’t like Eddy, she’d been thankful that he’d managed to repair it.

Her stomach growled. It had been days since she’d eaten properly, just a few mouthfuls of vegetable broth here and there. Her mother had given Sarah some bread ration coupons, but she’d sold them to buy formula for Tommy.

Sarah stopped for a moment and pulled back the pram hood, allowing the sun to warm Tommy’s face. As he happily gurgled, she smiled lovingly at him, satisfied that her sacrifice of food was worth it to see Tommy thriving. He was six months old now and she’d soon have to wean him off the formula, and then it wouldn’t be long before he would be walking and talking. Though she was keen to see her brother develop, part of her wished he could stay forever a small bundle, safe in her arms. She feared once Tommy was a toddler, their mother’s patience would wear thinner, and she wondered how she’d protect him against her vicious tongue and brutal ways.

‘Hey, Sarah.’

Sarah heard her friend’s voice calling her name and looked behind to see Jenny running towards her. Though they were both now fourteen years old, Sarah thought Jenny looked very young with her blonde hair in pigtails.

‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ Jenny said breathlessly when she caught up with her.

‘I’ve been busy with Tommy. You know how it is.’

‘Yeah, I suppose. A bunch of us are going over to the old bomb site. Stanley’s dad made him a new cart and Molly and me are gonna have a leapfrog race with him. Do you want to come? It’ll be a right laugh.’

Sarah thought for a moment. She would’ve loved to join her friends and play, carefree, but she had more pressing things on her mind. ‘No, not today. I’m taking Tommy for a walk in the park.’

‘Oh, Sarah, you’re not off to see that old codger again, are you?’ Jenny asked and rolled her eyes.

‘Mr Sayers ain’t an old codger … He’s really nice.’

‘If you say so. Well, suit yourself, I’m off. You’re no fun any more.’

Sarah watched her friend skip away. Unlike her, Jenny didn’t look as if she had a care in the world, and as much as Sarah loved Tommy, a part of her was jealous and yearned for her old life back. Dismissing her thoughts for now, and driven by the need for something substantial to fill her belly, she continued through the estate, heading for Battersea Park. A cool breeze caught her long dark hair and whipped it over her face. Tucking it firmly behind her ears, she marched on, hoping to find Mr Sayers working on his allotment.

Part of the park had been given over to the war effort and many allotments remained, though with the new sculptures they were erecting and the redevelopment of the park, Mr Sayers had told Sarah he wasn’t confident he’d have his little piece of land for much longer. Still, it suited them both for the time being.

She had first met him in the park, when he’d seen her picking and scoffing wild blackberries which were growing in some brambles along one of the more discreet pathways. When he’d discovered she was eating the fruit because she was so hungry, he’d taken her to his allotment and offered her some cabbages to take home. That had been a year before Tommy had been born, and since then a firm friendship had developed. Mr Sayers’ eyes weren’t good, and he missed reading the daily papers. Sarah would sit and read aloud to him, and in exchange he would provide her with seasonal fruit and veg.

Once in the park and a little further on, she spotted her elderly friend, leaning into his shovel and digging the soil.

‘Hello, Mr Sayers,’ Sarah called, waving eagerly.

The man stood up and arched himself backwards as he squinted into the sun to see her. ‘Hello, love. I thought you might come down today so I’ve just been digging up some lovely rhubarb for you. Come and have a look at this! I can’t believe how big it’s grown, especially after all that snow we had a couple of months back!’

Sarah had heard of rhubarb but she’d never eaten it. She looked at the red and green stalks with a dubious expression on her face.

‘Boil it up in a saucepan, that’s all you have to do. With these blinking rations, I doubt you’ve got any sugar, but if you have, sprinkle a bit on, and there you have it, stewed rhubarb. You’ll love it, and so will the boy,’ Mr Sayers said, and handed Sarah the fresh fruit before looking into the pram at Tommy, who greeted the toothless old man with an equally gummy grin. ‘Blimey, he’s getting big.’

‘Yes, he is, and I think it’s time he came off the milk, so I’ll give him a bit of this rhubarb later. Thank you.’

‘Sarah, come and sit down, pet. There’s something I need to tell you.’

She noticed a troubled expression on Mr Sayers’ lined face, and instantly her heart began to pound in anticipation of bad news. She sat on a rickety bench and watched with concern as he slowly lowered himself down beside her. His back must be playing up again, she thought, wishing there was more she could do to help the dear old man. His wife had passed away many years ago, and now Mr Sayers rented a room in a house owned by an elderly couple. The rent was reasonably cheap and was supported by the fruit and vegetables he supplied, and though it was not ideal, he always said he was happy enough, although his landlady was a mean-spirited miser. He’d once told Sarah he was even charged extra for using the shed. On a few occasions, Sarah had helped Mr Sayers carry his tools back to the shed, but she’d never been invited into the house.

Mr Sayers took Sarah’s hand, and sighed a long, deep breath. Though his palms were calloused, she noticed the papery skin covering the back of his hands, and could feel him shaking.

‘What is it, Mr Sayers?’

‘Thing is, Sarah … well, I’m an old man and I’ve had a good innings. I’ve seen five kings and queens come and go, and I’ve lived through two World Wars. But my time’s about up and it won’t be long before I’ll be seeing my Dulcie again.’

Sarah knew Mr Sayers’ wife had been called Dulcie, but she was dead.

‘I don’t understand …’ she muttered, praying it wasn’t what she thought.

‘I ain’t going to mince my words, so I’ll tell you straight … I’m dying, love. The doctor says I’ve got this blinking disease that’s gonna finish me off within a few months.’

At the thought of losing her substitute granddad, Sarah instantly felt tears welling up in her eyes. Mr Sayers was such a caring, sweet man, and as most of her old schoolfriends now shunned her, he was pretty much the only friend she had. He couldn’t be dying – it wasn’t fair!

‘Now, now, now … we can’t have any of that sad stuff. Like I said, I’ve had a good and long life, but I’ve missed my Dulcie. It’ll be good to be with her again.’

Sarah pulled her hand away from Mr Sayers’ and wiped her snotty nose with the cuff of her sleeve. ‘But … but … but I’ll miss you!’ she blurted out.

Mr Sayers shuffled further along the bench and placed his arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

‘I’m sorry, pet. There’s nothing I can do about it. Death is a part of life and comes to us all eventually. I didn’t want to tell you, but I had to ’cos I won’t be coming up here no more. It’s getting a bit much for me now. Come on, stop crying, you’ll upset young Tommy …’

Sarah heaved in a juddering breath and looked into Mr Sayers’ grey, watery eyes. ‘So … is this the last time I’ll see you? No, it can’t be! Let me come and look after you … please …’

‘You can’t, love. My son and his wife are coming to pick me up tomorrow morning. They’re taking me to live out my days with them in a town up north called Liverpool,’ said Mr Sayers, then chuckled before adding, ‘It ain’t my cup of tea – they talk funny up there! Cor, you should hear the way my daughter-in-law sounds. Still, it’s for the best, I suppose.’

Sarah threw her arms around the old man, sobbing hard. Mr Sayers was like the granddad she’d never had, and her heart was breaking at the thought of never seeing him again.

‘You’ve got to be a brave girl. No more tears,’ he said, and gently eased himself away from her.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said as she tried to pull herself together. ‘Can I walk back through the park with you?’

‘Of course you can, though when we get to the gates, I don’t want any of this mushy long goodbye stuff … just a quick wave and a “see you later”. OK?’

‘All right,’ Sarah reluctantly agreed. She knew she was going to mourn Mr Sayers for a long time to come. As they walked through the park, she wondered what would happen to him. If he really was going to see his Dulcie again, would he be able to get a message to her dead brother?

Chapter 5

Annie drew a long breath on the roll-up she’d made from old dog-ends that Sarah had collected off the streets. She sat at the kitchen table, irritated at the thought that at any minute the front door would fly open and her children would be home.

Eddy had just left and given her a jug of beer. She poured some into a tin cup and drank quickly in the hope of getting rid of the disgusting taste he’d left. She hadn’t wanted him to finish in her mouth but he’d forcefully held her head to his manhood and had almost choked her. She had thought of biting down, that would have taught the bugger a lesson, but then he’d have been annoyed with her and wouldn’t have given her the beer. So, with little choice, she’d been compliant, but if he wanted that again, she’d demand gin next time.

‘Hello, Mum,’ Sarah said, sounding subdued as she came in, holding Tommy in one arm and a bunch of rhubarb in the other.

Annie managed a grunt, but she couldn’t be bothered to get into a conversation with the girl. Tommy flashed her a wide smile. The brazen little brat, she thought as she glared at him, and was pleased to see him turn his head and bury it in Sarah’s shoulder.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve had anything to eat, have you, Mum?’ Sarah asked.

Annie didn’t bother to answer.

‘I’ll take that as a no then. I’m making me and Tommy some stewed rhubarb. Do you want some?’

Annie rolled her eyes and shook her head. No, she bloody didn’t want any rhubarb. Just the thought of it made her want to heave.

‘Oh, Mum, you’ve got to eat. You’re so thin, come on, it’ll do you good.’

Here she goes again, Annie thought, her righteous daughter, nagging and mithering as usual. Annie didn’t want to hear it. She scraped her chair back, then grabbed her coat and walked to the front door.

She heard Sarah say, ‘Mum … where are you going?’ but didn’t bother to turn around.

‘Out,’ Annie snapped back. She had enough coins in her purse to visit the pub. She knew she wasn’t welcome in there, but anything was better than sitting indoors and watching her bastard son stuff his face with Sarah fussing over him. If Sarah had dumped the brat when he’d been born she wouldn’t have to keep looking at him. Every time she saw his face, she wanted to punch it in. The little bleeder looked just like his father, and that was a face she’d sooner forget.

Ten minutes later, Annie pushed open the door to the pub and was immediately hit by the smoky atmosphere. She made her way to the bar, ignoring the snide comments from men in flat caps supping on their ales.

‘A large gin, straight, and half a beer,’ Annie said to the landlord.

‘Let me see your money first, Annie,’ the man demanded.

‘You know I’m good for it, Cyril, but …’ She pulled some coins from her purse and slapped them down on the counter.

Cyril nodded and proceeded to pour her drinks, and as Annie waited, she caught sight of a woman in the mirrored wall behind the bar. The woman could have been very attractive with her long, dark hair and olive skin. Her black eyes gave her an exotic look, but she appeared old and haggard. With a jolt, Annie realised she was staring at her own reflection. She hadn’t recognised herself.

Cyril placed the drinks in front of her, and she quickly knocked back the gin. How had it come to this, she thought, looking again at the aged image of herself. Men had used and abused her as far back as she could remember, but now she thought she had the upper hand. Surely it was her using them? She was in control, sleeping with them for what she could get. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep a roof over her head and fill her belly with beer.

The trouble was, it had also filled her belly with three kids. Two had lived and she despised and resented them. They had different fathers, but she hated both men equally. Sarah’s dad, Ron Lyons, had been her first love. When they’d got together, he was a married man, but had promised to leave his wife and marry her. She’d been fool enough to believe him, only to be dumped at sixteen as soon as she’d told him she was pregnant. Now every time she looked at her daughter, she saw Ron’s emerald- green eyes looking back at her. As for Tommy’s dad … a shudder went down her spine when she thought of him. The man was pure evil and she regretted the day she’d ever breathed the same air as him.

Annie took a large swig of the beer and belched loudly. A short, balding man who was standing next to her offered a smile. ‘Bloody rotten, this ale. I think Cyril needs to give his pipes a good clean,’ he said with a chuckle.

Annie eyed him up and down. He looked well fed, with a paunchy stomach, and he had a good pair of shoes on, not like the other men in the bar with their work boots and braces. She noted his hands and clean finger nails. He couldn’t be a manual worker, and she guessed he probably had a few quid in his pocket.

‘Yeah, you’re right there. I should stick to the gin,’ she replied. ‘I’m Annie. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before?’

‘Philip,’ the man answered. ‘I don’t get out much these days, but many moons ago, Cyril and I used to be in the army together.’

‘Philip, you say, like the Prince? Oh, I say, pleasure to meet you,’ Annie said, trying her best to be charming as she gave a mock curtsey.

‘Ha, yes, that’s right, though I’m no prince.’

‘Well, you look pretty dapper compared to the blokes in here,’ Annie said with a seductive smile.

‘Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone has flattered me so I think that deserves a drink. Cyril, I’ll have another, and I think this young lady would like a large gin, if I’m not mistaken?’

‘Lady, blimey! You ain’t no prince and I ain’t no lady, but I like the “young” bit!’

‘Well, you’re a lady tonight,’ Philip said and clinked his glass against Annie’s.

‘So why don’t you get out much?’ she asked.

‘It’s the wife. She’s ill, bedridden in fact, so I spend a lot of time looking after her.’

‘Oh, I see. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had a bit of fun then?’ Annie asked as pound signs flashed in front of her eyes.

Philip looked a bit taken aback and laughed before he answered. ‘I suppose it has.’

‘Don’t be shy with me, Philip. I’m a broad-minded lady and for the right price, I could show you a good time.’

Cyril leaned over the bar and said quietly, ‘Oi, I’ll have none of that in here, Annie. I’ve warned you about it before. Either stop touting for business or sling your hook.’

Philip intervened, saying equally quietly, ‘Don’t be like that, Cyril. Annie seems like a lovely lady and was only offering to keep me company.’

‘If you say so,’ Cyril answered cynically, ‘but if there’s any funny business going on, I’d prefer it not to be under my roof.’

‘Tell you what, Philip, how about we go back to my place,’ Annie offered, loud enough for Cyril to hear. ‘It ain’t posh, far from it, but it’ll stop that nosy bugger sticking his beak in.’

‘I think that’s a smashing idea. Lead the way,’ Philip replied, and then gave Cyril a wink.

Once outside, Annie took Philip’s hand and almost dragged him across the road towards the tenement blocks. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and in the dim light she said, ‘This is gonna cost you, and I want the money up front.’

‘How much?’ Philip asked, his voice husky.

‘Call it a quid and I’ll make sure you have the time of your life.’

Philip took the note from a wad in his pocket and handed Annie the money. ‘How about we do it here?’ he urged as he pushed himself against her.

‘No, someone might see us.’

Annie took Philip’s hand again and led him up the stairs. As they got to the top, she noticed he was panting for breath. ‘You all right?’ she asked. ‘’Cos if you ain’t up to a bit of how’s your father, I’m warning you now that I don’t do refunds.’

‘Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine.’

Annie wasn’t convinced as she could see Philip was perspiring profusely, but the man followed her into the flat. She took off her coat and scowled at her daughter, saying, ‘Go on, bugger off for an hour and take the brat with you.’

Sarah was sitting cross-legged on her mattress with Tommy beside her, and instead of doing what she was told, she pulled her blanket closer. ‘But, Mum, it’s dark and cold outside, and Tommy’s asleep. Where are we supposed to go?’

‘That ain’t my problem. Just clear off, will ya!’ Annie snapped, her temper rising at her daughter’s stupid question.

‘Hang on a minute, Annie, you can’t expect the girl to wander the streets in this weather. It’s starting to rain,’ Philip said as he eyed Sarah.

‘Oh, yeah, so you want an audience, do you?’ Annie asked.

‘No … Look, I’m having second thoughts. I don’t think this is such a good idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should call it a night?’

‘That’s up to you, but like I told you downstairs, I don’t do refunds.’

‘Fine, keep my money. It looks like you need it,’ the man said as he made a hasty retreat for the door. ‘You dirty cow!’

The door slammed shut behind Philip, and Annie laughed. ‘That was the easiest quid I’ve ever made.’

‘It’s not funny, Mum. I wish you wouldn’t bring all these men back here.’

Annie’s face hardened as she glared at her daughter. ‘Do you now? Well, let me tell you something – if it wasn’t for me selling myself, you’d be on the streets, you and that brother of yours. So if I was you, I’d keep me mouth shut and stop bloody complaining!’

Annie slumped onto one of the kitchen chairs, angry with Sarah and thinking what a blinking cheek the girl had. She knew she wasn’t a great mother but her daughter didn’t know the half of it! She’d always provided a roof over her head and protected her from stinking, rotten men. In the past, she’d had some of her customers wanting Sarah too, but Annie had always denied them. She didn’t care much for her children, but she wouldn’t allow her daughter to have the same haunting memories she’d carried throughout her own life. The girl was lucky, thought Annie, and she shuddered at the recollection of her so-called father lying on top of her.

She walked over to the sink and grabbed the jug of beer before sitting at the table and downing a cupful. The smooth liquid calmed her, and after another cupful, the room became blurry. She looked at her daughter. The girl was pretty, like she’d once been before years of drinking had ravaged her. She thought Sarah could have a better life than she’d had, but first she’d need to impart some of her wisdom.

Sarah was horrified by her mother’s attitude, but wasn’t surprised. She was used to men coming and going at all times of the day and night. Mostly, her mother would give her the nod and she’d wait outside in the corridor. Sometimes, Annie would bring a man home when Sarah was in bed, so she’d pretend to be asleep and plug her ears with her fingers to block out the horrid grunts and noises.

‘Sarah, get yourself over here, and cheer up. You’ve got a face like a smacked arse,’ Annie said as she poured a cup of beer from the jug. ‘’Ere, get this down your neck, and don’t say I never give you nothing.’

Sarah was astounded. Her mother’s beer was so precious to her and she’d never shared it before. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said as she took a swig of the alcohol. It didn’t taste anything like Sarah was expecting, and she grimaced, the bitterness almost making her gag. She couldn’t understand why her mother enjoyed it so much.

‘Give it back if you don’t bloody like it,’ her mum said, snatching the cup from her hand. She then heaved a sigh. ‘I know you think I’m a bad mother, and, well, I admit I could have done more for you, but you don’t know what it’s been like for me. I don’t want you having the same shitty life I’ve had, so I want you to promise me one thing …’

Sarah stared wide-eyed at her mother. She had never sat her down and spoken to her before, not like this, without yelling or criticising her. She quickly nodded her head, wondering what her mum would make her promise to do.

‘Sarah, you’re all grown up now, and you’ll be having men after you soon. I’m telling you, don’t trust any of them! They’re all pigs, the bloody lot of them. Stay away from them, but, most of all, keep your legs shut.’

Sarah blinked hard. She knew what her mother meant about her legs, but if that’s how her mum felt, why did she so readily have sex with all and sundry? She daren’t ask. ‘OK, I promise,’ Sarah replied, and tried to smile at her mother.

‘Good, now get out of my sight, and don’t you ever show me up like that in front of a bloke again!’

Sarah scampered back to her mattress, almost relieved to hear her mum scolding her again as she’d found that little chat unnerving. She snuggled in close to Tommy and pulled the thin blanket up under her chin.

Thoughts of Mr Sayers floated through her mind, and a tear dropped from her eye. It was hard to accept that she’d never see him again. She’d miss him, and the fruit and vegetables he supplied. She’d have to get her thinking cap on, or she and Tommy would be going hungry.

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