Memories of You (6 page)

Aunt Jane led the way upstairs. Helen noticed how she had to grip the banister rail and that she was out of breath by the time they reached the top. Her aunt opened one of the bedroom doors and stood back to allow Helen to enter. ‘This is your room. Unpack your things then come down for a bite of supper. And get that look off your face. You'd think you'd be over the moon to have a lovely room to yourself in a house like this.' Not waiting for an answer she hurried along the landing and down the stairs.

Helen put her suitcase down, looked around and saw nothing that was lovely. The faded oversized cabbage roses on the wallpaper made the small room look even smaller. The matching curtains didn't quite reach the windowsill. Helen guessed they must have shrunk in the wash, and judging by the whiff of household soap they hadn't been rinsed properly.

She pushed the net curtain aside and looked out into the shadowy street of semi-detached houses. Streetlamps shed pools of light on the pavement between the bare-branched trees. Low brick walls and neat privet hedges enclosed small gardens. Porch lights above some of the front doors shone a welcome for people arriving home from work. This was what was known as a respectable suburb. It was only a few miles away and yet it was so different from the rows of old houses tumbling down the steep hill towards the river where Helen had been born and spent all her life so far.

She had been happy there. Her mother had kept their small house clean and warm. She had seen to it that there was always sufficient coal, at least for the fire in the kitchen range if not the parlour, and enough pennies for the meter so that the gas lamps could shed their warm glow on a winter night. Helen shivered. Her aunt's house was cold and this room above the porch probably the coldest in it. The electric light with its dim bulb and frosted glass shade did nothing to disperse the chill.

Smoky mist had begun to curl its way along the avenue and the houses opposite became vague outlines. Somehow they looked less solid, suggesting to Helen's overwrought senses that this was only a dream. She stared out for a moment longer and then sighed. This wasn't a dream; she wasn't going to wake up and find her mother presiding over the teapot at the kitchen table and her brothers, her sister and herself eating bread and jam and talking about what had happened at their different schools that day.

Helen drew the curtains. She turned to face the room and tried to take in the reality of her new life. The single bed was pushed up against one wall and an old-fashioned wardrobe took up most of the wall opposite leaving only a narrow space between. The wardrobe must once have stood in a much larger room. The matching chest of drawers squeezed in between the wardrobe and the window was equally clumsy and just as hideous. An old mirror, the silver spotted, hung above the chest and reflected the picture opposite.

Helen turned and looked at the picture of two rosy winged cherubs suspended in a blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. They were holding a garland of flowers between them. She knew the picture to be overly sentimental but nevertheless it brought an ache of grief to her throat. Her mother, her gentle, tender-hearted mother, would have loved it. She was surprised that it had found a home in Aunt Jane's gloomy house. The paintings she had glimpsed in the entrance hall and on the dark panelled walls as she ascended the stairs were of sailing ships ploughing through stormy seas, and murky landscapes peopled with men in Highland dress and alarmedlooking stags.

She looked down at the suitcase that had been her mother's. It was dark blue with a soft leather top. It was old and battered but it must have been expensive once. The case had been a present from one of the ladies Helen's mother worked for and it had not been empty. The lady had filled it with clothes she no longer wanted. Her mother had been thrilled to own such fashionable garments even though they were second-hand. Helen knew that Aunt Jane had commandeered any of the clothes that had caught her fancy although heaven knew what they would look like on her shapeless form.

Helen lifted the case on to the faded green eiderdown that covered the bed, opened it and began to unpack. It didn't take long. Her underwear, socks, jumpers and blouses only filled three drawers of the chest and her few skirts and dresses hung forlornly in the cavernous space of the wardrobe. She took particular care of her school uniform, smoothing the gymslip and shaking out a school shirt to drape over a hanger.

She remembered how proud her mother had been when at the age of eleven she had passed the scholarship that would take her to the grammar school. Aunt Jane had disapproved. She had told her sister that Helen should remain at the elementary school, leave when she was fourteen then find a job. In Aunt Jane's opinion Helen ought to find a job as soon as she could and bring some money in, rather than cause her mother the extra expense of buying the uniform and books that were needed.

But Grace Norton had refused to listen to her elder sister. She'd told her that with a proper education Helen would one day find a much better job and it was worth every effort to keep her on at school.

‘And what if the twins pass the scholarship, too?' Aunt Jane had asked. ‘How will you manage then?'

‘I'll manage somehow,' Grace had replied, but Helen could see how worried she was.

As it happened she had not had to face that problem. Even though Joe and Danny were far from stupid they had failed to gain a scholarship. ‘Don't worry, Mrs Norton,' the headmaster had reassured her. ‘When the time comes we'll find them good apprenticeships. They'll be a credit to you yet.'

And what would their future be now? Helen wondered. Would the superintendant of Haven House make sure they found good apprenticeships once they reached the age of fourteen? She could only hope so. In the meantime she would keep in touch with them and supply any encouragement that was needed.

After she had put her clothes away Helen took her school satchel out of the case and stowed it in the bottom of the wardrobe. Then she lifted out her precious supply of books. Some of them were her own, bought with her pocket money from the second-hand book stall in the Grainger Market, and two of them had been borrowed from the library. She intended to take the library books back even though she had not finished reading
The Secret Garden
. She knew she couldn't bear to go on with it now that she couldn't share it with Elsie. She looked around for somewhere to put the books and decided to keep them on top of the chest. Perhaps her aunt might have a pair of bookends.

She stared down into the suitcase. The lining was of maroon silk and there was an elasticated pocket sewn along the back. Helen reached into the pocket and took out the doll she had made from a pair of socks. After Mrs Partington had taken Elsie away Helen had gone up to the bedroom she had shared with her small sister to collect her own things and had been distressed to find Maisie on the floor.

She had run downstairs to show her aunt. ‘Can we send this to Elsie?' she'd asked.

Aunt Jane had looked at her scornfully. ‘Don't be silly. What would Elsie want with that old thing now that she can have any toy she wants? Just throw it away.'

But Helen hadn't thrown it away. She had put Maisie in her case. She was sure that no matter how many new toys Elsie had she would want her doll and, somehow, she would find a way to get it to her. She put Maisie in one of the empty drawers of the chest and closed the suitcase.

She looked around for somewhere to store it. The logical place was on top of the wardrobe but she couldn't reach that far. So she kneeled down and slid the case under the bed. As she rose to her feet there was a knock on the door. Surprised, Helen opened it to find a tall, sallow-faced girl standing there. She didn't look much older than Helen herself but she was wearing a grubby white apron over a grey woollen dress and a white cap was clipped to her lank brown hair. Helen had not known that Aunt Jane had a maid.

‘The missus says are you coming down?' the girl asked. ‘I've taken a tray in to your aunt but you're to have summat in the kitchen with me before I go home. I'm Eva by the way.'

‘Oh – I'm pleased to meet you, Eva. I'm Helen.'

The girl sniffed. ‘I know your name. Now, are you coming? I want to get away home.' She turned and began to walk away.

Helen couldn't make up her mind whether Eva had been pleased to welcome her or not. Her words had been polite enough but there had been no smile. She followed her aunt's maid down the stairs. The doors of the rooms downstairs were all closed except for the one which led into the kitchen at the back of the house.

‘Hawway in and shut the door,' Eva said. ‘The missus goes mad if any cooking smells get into the rest of the house, and she had a nice pair of kippers for her tea. Kippers and brown bread and butter – but don't think that's what you're going to get.'

Helen closed the door quickly and looked around the kitchen. It was surprisingly small, but a half-open door on the far wall gave a glimpse of a scullery. A fire burned in the range and a pulley clothes airer hung from the ceiling. An electric light hung above a table covered in blue-and-white checked oilcloth. The table was set with tea plates and cups and saucers for two.

‘I take it you divven't mind sitting down with me?' Eva said challengingly.

‘Of course not.' Helen surveyed the table which was otherwise bare and added, ‘Can I help you?'

‘Help me? What do you mean?'

‘Make the tea?'

The maid laughed. ‘I divven't need help to spread margarine on a few slices of bread but you can make a pot of tea for us, if you like. You'll find everything you need on the dresser and the kettle's boiling on the range. The milk's in the larder back there.' Eva nodded towards the scullery.

Bread and margarine, Helen thought. Not much of a supper. She wondered if there would be any jam. There wasn't. But before Eva sat down she said, ‘There's a bit of cheese left, if you like.'

‘Yes, please.'

‘It's nothing fancy, mind. It's what me ma calls best mousetrap.' Eva actually smiled when she said this. She produced a lump of orange cheese wrapped in greaseproof paper and set it down next to the plate of bread and margarine. ‘We'll not bother with a cheese dish. There's only you and me.'

The two girls sat silently while they ate, neither knowing what to say to the other.

As Eva poured herself a second cup of tea she asked, ‘That won't give you nightmares, will it?'

Helen looked puzzled.

‘Eating cheese before you go to bed.'

‘I shouldn't think so.'

Helen didn't realize how despondent she must have sounded so she was taken by surprise when Eva's attitude seemed to soften. ‘Lost yer ma, haven't you?' she said.

‘Yes.'

‘I'm really sorry for you. But at least your aunt's taken you in. No matter what she's like it must be better than an orphanage.'

The girl sounded truly sympathetic, which was probably why Helen blurted out, ‘But that's not the worst of it!'

‘What do you mean?'

‘There are four of us. I've a sister and two brothers. We've never ever been apart, ever in our lives, and now I just don't know when I'll see them again.'

Eva was silent. The fire crackled in the hearth and the kettle hissed gently on the range. She reached for the teapot and topped up Helen's cup. ‘There you are, pet,' she said. ‘Help yourself to sugar. Now, if you don't mind I'll have to go. I've stayed late because of you.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Divven't be. The moment I get home I'll have to start work again helping with me young sisters and brothers.' Helen choked back a sob and Eva said, ‘I shouldn't hev said that. I opened me mouth and put me foot in it, didn't I?'

‘It's all right.'

Eva reached for her coat which was hanging on the back of the door. When she was ready she said, ‘Look, I'm going to take the rest of the cheese home. You won't say anything, will you?'

‘Of course not.'

‘And would you mind clearing up and washing the dishes? The missus said that you were to help me.'

‘No, I don't mind.'

‘I'll be off, then.'

‘Wait!' Helen looked up at the older girl. ‘What am I supposed to do?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘After you've gone. Am I supposed to sit here in the kitchen until I go to bed?'

Eva looked troubled. ‘I don't know. Mrs Roberts never told me. When you go in for her tray you'd best ask her.'

‘Her tray?'

‘Aye. She'll be finished her meal by now. She said you could wash up.'

Helen tried to take in all this new information and suddenly felt overwhelmed. Eva looked troubled so Helen tried to smile. ‘You'd better go. Your mother will be waiting.'

‘You'll be all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘Goodnight, then. I'll see you first thing in the morning.'

Eva put the cheese in her bag. A moment later Helen heard the back door closing behind her. She sat and sipped her tea, staring out of the window which the dark sky had turned into a mirror to reflect the room. She was not used to being completely alone like this. Even the reflection of the fire did not cheer her. The house was deathly quiet; so unlike the cheerful hubbub of home.

But that much-loved house wasn't home any more; not to Helen nor to her sister and brothers. From the dreadful moment she had learnt of her mother's fatal accident Helen had tried to remain strong for the sake of the younger children but now that her family had been torn asunder and she was completely alone she found she could no longer contain her anguish. She pushed aside the plates on the table, lowered her head on to her arms and wept until her throat ached.