Memories of You (7 page)

Eventually her sobs subsided. Her head was aching and she felt slightly feverish. She became aware once more of the crackle of coals and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece but she did not hear the kitchen door open, and it wasn't until she felt a cold draught of air on her back and saw a shadow fall across the table that she realized someone had entered the kitchen.

Helen's hair had fallen forward and she pushed it back from her face as she raised her head to find her aunt staring down at her. Aunt Jane's expression was unfathomable. Helen wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. It must have been obvious how distressed she was but there was no sympathy forthcoming.

‘I can see you're tired, Helen,' her aunt said. ‘Perhaps you'd better go up to bed – after you've washed the dishes, that is. You'll find mine on the tray in the sitting room. Come, I'll show you.'

Wordlessly Helen rose and followed her aunt to a room at the front of the house. She looked around the over-furnished room with surprise. She had not expected such an austere individual as her aunt to indulge in creature comforts, but the carpet was thick, the velvet-covered settee and easy chairs well padded and the matching maroon and gold curtains overpoweringly luxurious for a small sitting room. A fire blazed in the hearth set into a fireplace decorated with exotically patterned tiles and the mantelpiece was crowded with what Helen guessed to be Dresden figurines.

Helen became aware that Aunt Jane was staring at her expectantly. She realized that her aunt was waiting for her to say something. She hesitated, not knowing quite what was expected.

‘Well?' Aunt Jane said, her arms folded over her body. ‘What do you think?'

‘Of the room?'

‘Of course of the room! Have you ever seen anything like it before?'

‘No.'

‘So?'

‘It's . . . very nice.'

‘Very nice? Is that all you can manage? You with your superior education?'

Helen thought the room suffocating and unappealing but decided she should keep that opinion to herself. But neither would she express an admiration she did not feel. ‘It's . . . opulent,' she said, deciding that that didn't necessarily mean she approved.

Aunt Jane narrowed her eyes and looked at Helen suspiciously. Helen adapted an expression of wide-eyed wonder and had to control an urge to laugh when she realized that Aunt Jane had no idea what the word meant.

She frowned and pursed her lips. ‘Well, then, there's the tray,' she said, pointing to a low table that stood by one of the armchairs. ‘When you've washed the dishes you can make cocoa for us and bring it in.'

When Helen returned Aunt Jane was sitting by the fire flicking through a magazine. ‘Just put my cup down on this little table,' she said. ‘But haven't you made one for yourself?'

‘I have. But I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to sit in here with you.'

‘Of course you can. It will be a real treat for you. Bring your cup in and sit by the fire for a while before you go to bed.'

She did as she was told, thinking that perhaps her aunt wanted to talk to her. But Aunt Jane didn't even look up from her magazine when she came back into the room. Apparently just being here was a privilege. Helen sat by the fire gratefully enough but she felt entirely out of place and longed for home. As soon as she had finished her drink she rose and said, ‘I'm very tired, I think I'll go to bed.'

Aunt Jane looked up as though she had forgotten Helen's existence. ‘Oh, of course,' she said. ‘You can wash these cups before you go up, and do you know how to see to the fire in the range? Build it up just enough to make sure it keeps going through the night so that there will be hot water in the morning.'

‘Yes, I can do that.'

‘And put the milk bottles out.'

It didn't take Helen long to wash the cups. She rinsed the pint and the half-pint milk bottles and put them out on the front doorstep. Then uncertainly she opened the door to the sitting room. ‘Goodnight, Aunt Jane,' she said.

Her aunt didn't even look up from her magazine. ‘Goodnight, Helen.'

Upstairs was cold and the air felt slightly damp. Helen found her way to the bathroom and got into her pyjamas as quickly as she could, but as soon as she was in bed she realized that no matter how tired she was she was not going to be able to sleep. She wondered if her sister and brothers were sleeping, or were they lying awake like she was?

Joe and Danny . . . were the beds in the home warm and comfortable ? Was the food good? Had the other boys there welcomed them? And did anyone care if they were happy or not? But at least the twins had each other. They had never been separated since they were born. They had always been in the same class at school and had always sat next to each other in the classroom. And Joe . . . Joe was resourceful and good-hearted. He would always look out for Danny and in doing so would always make the best of things.

And what of Elsie? There was no doubt that she would be warm and comfortable tonight. The Partingtons' house must be truly luxurious. As she grew she would be well nourished, well dressed and lovingly cared for. Elsie was young enough to adapt to her new life. But Helen prayed that in doing so her little sister would not forget her real home and how happy she had been there. Mrs Partington would be kind to her, would love her, and for that Helen was grateful, but she was afraid that Elsie would forget all the wonderful times they had had when their mother was alive.

Helen thought back to the summer days when they would take the train to the seaside and have a picnic on the beach. And how their mother, like a child herself, would take off her shoes and stockings and paddle with them, dodging the incoming waves and laughing if she got caught. And the winter nights sitting together by the fire and looking for pictures made by the burning coals.

Elsie had never known their father; he had succumbed to Spanish flu before she was born. Richard Norton had been a tall, good-looking man but he had never been strong. He was fit only for clerical work but he had always done his best for his wife and children and he had been a kind and loving father. Helen wondered if the boys remembered him. They had been barely walking when he died but he had happily crawled along the floor with them, playing with their toys and minding them when their mother left the house for the cleaning job she had in a department store each evening.

And now their mother had gone. Helen wondered if what they told the children at Sunday school was true. Had her parents met up in heaven and were they looking down on their children now? If they were, surely their mother's heart would break to see them separated like this.

We were so happy, Helen thought. I will cherish those memories all my life. But what about Joe and Danny and Elsie – particularly Elsie? As the years go by will they forget? I can't let that happen, Helen thought. No matter that we have been parted, I must find a way to bring us all together again. And until then I must remember every little detail of our life together.

Shivering in the damp air, Helen got out of bed and switched on the light. Her schoolbag contained a pack of exercise books that her mother had bought for her at Woolworths. She took one of the books and a pencil, got back into bed and, sitting hunched against the pillow and with her knees up, she began to write.

Joe had not found it easy to get to sleep. All his life he had shared a bed with Danny, and even though this had become more and more uncomfortable as they grew, given a bed of his own he felt as though he had lost a limb. But sheer exhaustion had claimed him and he had been sleeping deeply until a moment ago. Surely it couldn't be morning? He stirred reluctantly and opened his eyes only to close them again immediately. A bright light shone in his face, hurting his eyes, and all around the source of light there was darkness.

‘What the—' he began.

‘Shut up!' someone whispered urgently and the light dipped, vanished for a moment then swivelled round to reveal a face barely a foot away from his own. ‘It's me, Ginger. I was on your table at supper, remember?' The boy moved the torch down until it no longer glared in either of their faces and just gave enough light for them to see each other, a small pool of light in the shadowy vastness of the dormitory.

Joe's heart was pounding from the sudden awakening. He stared nervously at the thin, freckled face topped by a mop of ginger curls. The boy grinned and Joe relaxed a little but remained wary. ‘What do you want?' he asked.

‘Just a chat. Which one are you?'

‘What are you talking about?'

Ginger grinned. ‘I've told you, keep your voice down. You know what I mean. You must have been asked it a hundred times or more. Are you Joe or are you Danny?'

‘Why do you want to know?'

A spasm of irritation drew Ginger's brows together. ‘Because I like to know who I'm talking to, that's why.'

‘And why do you want to talk to me in the middle of the night?'

‘I just want to fill you in about one or two things you should know if you want to keep out of trouble. I want to help you and your brother.'

‘Why should you want to help us?'

‘God knows. And do you know what? I've gone right off the idea. I'm going back to bed before I catch me death. It's bloody freezing in here.' He turned to walk away.

‘No – wait,' Joe breathed. ‘I'm sorry. Stay and talk. Tell me things I ought to know.'

Ginger came back. He was obviously of a forgiving nature. ‘Well, for a start, was it you who took that last bit of cake?'

‘It was mine.'

‘Makes no difference. Don't ever cross Tod Walker. He likes to think he's the boss round here.'

‘You're kidding, right?'

‘Why should I be kidding?'

‘Because he's just a big dozy lump.'

Ginger drew his breath in and shook his head. ‘Don't be fooled by the look of him. He may look like Billy Bunter but he's no fat owl. He's as strong as an ox and surprisingly quick on his feet. Like I said, keep out of his way and try not to annoy him or he could make it difficult for you. There's a bunch of them will do anything he tells them.'

Joe peered at Ginger and saw that he was in earnest. ‘OK,' he said. ‘Now what else should I know?'

‘Mr Jenkins. He looks harmless enough and most of the time he is. But after he's had one of his secret tipples he's mean-tempered and vicious.'

‘Yeah, I think I've already worked that out.'

‘Have you?' Ginger looked puzzled.

‘He was as nice as ninepence when he came to collect us but then he had a drink at the station bar and he turned sour.'

Ginger nodded. ‘There you are then.'

‘Anything else?'

‘Nothing major. But if you keep on my right side I'll see you're OK.'

‘Thanks, pal. Good of you to bother. Let's shake on it.'

Ginger looked at him quizzically then said, ‘Are you taking the mick?'

‘Nah, why should I?'

‘I dunno. There's something about you. And you still haven't told me which one you are.'

Joe grinned. ‘You'll work it out.'

‘You mean there's a way to tell the difference?'

‘Yep, but if you figure it out don't let on to anyone else, OK?'

Ginger looked at him searchingly for a moment and then returned his grin. ‘OK.'

‘Now go back to bed and let me sleep. I'm fair whacked.'

Keeping his torch pointed down at the floor, Ginger left without further comment and made his way across the dormitory to the bed opposite Joe's. Joe heard the bedsprings creak and a rustle of bedclothes. Then all was silent. He lay back and tried to sleep but the talk with Ginger had unsettled him.

 

When they had arrived at Haven House Mr Jenkins had taken them straight to the headmaster's study. After he had knocked and received the summons to enter he had ushered them into a book-lined room with a large desk dominating the floor space. A thin scarecrow of a man stood warming his backside at the fire. He looked at them over the top of half-moon spectacles perched near the end of his nose.

‘Ah, yes, the Norton boys,' Mr Ridley said, ‘Joseph and Daniel.' He paused as if trying to remember what he should say next. ‘Um – I hope you will be happy here. If you work hard and follow the rules there is no reason why you should not be.' And then the air of geniality gave way to stern admonition. ‘But if you are disobedient and cause trouble of any kind you will be dealt with accordingly.'

Joe had not been sure exactly what that meant but he didn't think it would be pleasant.