One Step at a Time (2 page)

She traced her finger over the letters, trying to fix the shapes in her mind, but when she copied them, they didn’t look the same, no matter how hard she tried.

Half an hour later she gave up and decided it would be better if she concentrated on her signature. Her initials were AC, so she sorted through the sheets until she found a large A for apple, and C for cat. She had seen lots of people sign things, because she always watched very carefully, and they just scribbled. The tallyman’s name just looked like a wiggly line. With tongue sticking out in determination, she began to practise.

After quite a while she gave a satisfied grunt. She had managed to make the same marks over and over again. Whether it was anything like her name, she didn’t know, but it was better than a cross!

Now she was hungry again, and stood up to rifle through the larder to see what she could find. There was a tin almost full of biscuits, so she made tea and
dunked them until nearly half of them had disappeared. Then she practised her signature again, just to be sure she could still do it. It took a great deal of concentration, but it looked something like those she had done earlier – at least she thought so. She would just act as if she knew what she was doing if there was something to sign.

It was only eight o’clock and the sun was still shining. Amy knew her mother wouldn’t be back for ages yet, so, slipping the spare key into her pocket, she left the house. She would wander down to the docks and see if her dad had sailed yet. But she’d been so upset about being taken out of class that she hadn’t asked him the name of his ship. It was always in big letters, and if she already knew the name she could sometimes pick out the right one when she got close enough. Some days she
could
make out words, but other days were hopeless and she couldn’t read at all. That usually happened if she panicked or was feeling miserable. Then everything was just jumbled up.

Her heart missed a beat when she saw a gang of boys at the end of the road, and they jeered as she got near them.

‘Barmy Amy can’t read. She can’t read,’ they chanted. ‘She ain’t got no brains.’

Her step didn’t falter. Walking through the middle of them and ignoring their grinning faces, she moved unhurriedly until she was past them.

Once round the corner and out of their sight, her bottom lip trembled, but she refused to let the tears
of self-pity flow. She was always being picked on, both in and out of school. Why did they have to be rotten to her? She’d never done anything to hurt them. No one wanted to be her friend. Why? She was always on her own, and very lonely.

There were three girls she knew across the road, laughing and walking arm-in-arm. Amy watched, longing to be with them, but they ignored her, just like always. Her mouth set in a determined line. They were too soppy and giggly for her, anyway. She didn’t need them.

Running the rest of the way to reach her vantage spot, she saw a ship setting out, its horn blasting. Oh, it was lovely. Was her dad on that one? If only she were a boy, she’d be able to go to sea like him and visit all the lovely places he told them about. It had crossed her mind to cut her hair short and try to pass herself off as a boy, but it wouldn’t work: she was already sprouting breasts. Looking down at her chest she grimaced; they were quite big and she wouldn’t be able to hide them for long. Her dad said she was going to be pretty like her mum, but she couldn’t see it. Her hair was long, dark and much too curly, her eyes were green with a strange upward tilt at the corners, and her mouth was too big. No, she didn’t think she was going to be attractive, but she certainly wouldn’t pass for a boy. She giggled when she thought what fun it would be to try, but with her dad away so much she couldn’t leave her mum. When Dolly was bad she could hardly lift her head off the
pillow. That’s when there was no time for school as Amy’s days were taken up with cooking, shopping and cleaning.

How she wished her life was different. How she longed to be like the other children. But she wasn’t. It was no good trying to kid herself about that. Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed them away before they could spill over. Her granny had told her she was special, but she couldn’t believe that. She just didn’t fit. If only she could sail away like her dad.

Amy watched the ship until it was out of sight, sighing wistfully. It was nice to dream though.

On her way back to the house she was relieved to see the boys were no longer there. The older she got the more the vicious comments hurt. She wanted to cry and bash their grinning faces, but the boys were always in a crowd and they were a rough lot. The girls weren’t much better. None of them would hesitate to beat her up, she knew, because a few times she hadn’t been able to stop herself from lashing out at the boys and girls after school. She always got the worst of it as they ganged up on her, and others would rush over to join in the fun. Then she would have to hide somewhere out of sight and sob in misery and pain, not understanding why they wanted to be horrible to her. She had tried to be friends – she really had – but just because she was different, they tormented her.

Letting herself into the house, she went straight to the scullery and picked up her papers, gazing at her granny’s careful letters and drawings. These were
Amy’s most precious possessions and she took them carefully back to her bedroom, tucking them in the chest of drawers under her knickers, wishing Gran were still alive. She was sure Gran would have found out why she couldn’t read. Her granny had said she wasn’t daft in the head; she just didn’t see things the same as everyone else.

Amy sat on the edge of her bed, head bowed now she was alone and didn’t need to keep up the pretence, and raged inside. Why didn’t she see the words properly? There wasn’t anything wrong with her eyes; she could see clearly for miles, and close to as well.

Her mum came back then, so Amy quickly undressed and slipped into bed. Dolly had others with her, and Amy heard the clink of bottles as they put them on the table. Their laughter was loud and she knew they wouldn’t leave until all the booze was gone.

‘Let’s have a cuppa, Dolly,’ someone shouted.

Amy stuck her fingers in her ears to shut out their racket. Her mum would be in a sorry state in the morning.

She hoped that lot didn’t eat all the biscuits.

2

Before Amy could have some breakfast she had to clear up the mess from last night. There were bottles in the sink, on the floor and tipped over on the table, spilling out the dregs. That would have to be scrubbed before it was fit for use again. The smell of stale beer was disgusting. With a resigned sigh she filled a bucket with soapy water and set about cleaning up, not caring how much noise she made. Her mum wouldn’t stagger out of bed until about lunchtime after the night she’d had.

When the place was spick and span again she put the kettle on and went to her mother’s room, pulling back the curtains to let in the light.

A groan came from the bed. ‘Shut those bloody curtains. My head’s splitting.’

Amy ignored the order and ground her teeth. ‘Why’d you drink so much, Mum? You know it makes you feel bad the next day.’

Her mother shielded her eyes from the sunlight streaming into the room. She looked a mess. She was still wearing her make-up and it was all smudged, leaving the sheets covered in orange powder. As soon as Amy could get her mother up those sheets would have to be washed. This was not her favourite job,
but the weather was good so they could be hung across the back yard. In the winter it was a nightmare trying to get things dry. Her mother didn’t seem to care if things weren’t too clean, and was quite happy to leave everything to her daughter, who couldn’t stand living in dirt. A bucket of soapy water and a scrubbing brush worked wonders.

‘You want a cup of tea, Mum, and something to eat?’

‘Just tea.’ Dolly opened one eye. ‘Did we leave the place in a pickle?’

Amy nodded. ‘I’ve cleaned it up.’

The eye closed and her mother groaned. ‘You’re a good girl. Don’t know what I’d do without you. Get me that tea. My mouth feels like the inside of a bird cage.’

Grimacing, Amy returned to the scullery and found the kettle boiling away nicely. She was never going to drink like that. They were all happy while they were doing it, but the next day was awful. It was hard to understand why they did it. Her dad was the same; he liked his booze, and when he was home her mother got into the habit of spending hours in the pub. Once he’d gone back to sea her mum usually settled down to a quieter life.

She made the tea and took a cup in to her mother. Dolly gulped it down, although it was boiling hot.

‘Ah, that’s better.’ After a coughing fit, her mother wiped her eyes. ‘You going to school today?’

‘No, you told me to get a job, and that’s what I’m gonna do.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot that. It’d be a big help if you could. Your dad won’t be back for ages. He’s gone to the other side of the world to a place called Australia.’

Lucky devil, Amy thought, but didn’t say it out loud. ‘We won’t see him for months then.’

Her mother shook her head – carefully. ‘But he’ll turn up loaded with money, so we’ll have a good time. One thing about him, he don’t gamble away his earnings like some of them. But in the meantime, anything you can earn will help. Where you going to try?’

‘Don’t know.’ Amy hunched her shoulders. She didn’t want to do this, but what choice did she have? School wasn’t doing her any good, and she was fed up with the others jeering at her all the time. She wouldn’t tell anyone she couldn’t read. She’d had enough of people making fun of her.

‘There’s all those buildings by the river where they make clothes and things. You might get something there.’

‘I’ll try. Will you be all right for a while?’

‘Yes, I’m just going to have a little sleep, then I’ll get up.’ Dolly closed her eyes. ‘Don’t slam the door when you go out.’

Amy pulled the curtains across again to cut out the light, and went back to the scullery. Her stomach was churning about finding a job, so she poured herself a cup of tea and had a slice of bread. That was all she could manage. Then she dragged a brush through her hair, trying to make it look tidy, but it just
shot back to its usual springy mass. There was so much of it: perhaps she should cut some off, but her dad said she mustn’t do that because it was pretty hair.

Slipping a key into her pocket, she left the house quietly and headed for the river.

The buildings here were drab, run down and probably damp inside from the river lapping at their doors. The first thing she noticed was some women standing outside one place, talking and waving their arms about. Amy hurried up to see what they were doing.

The women were reading a notice stuck on the door. She stood behind them, unable to decipher the writing. This was going to be harder than she’d thought if she couldn’t even make out what the notice said.

‘You don’t wanna work here, Flossy,’ one woman said. ‘Heard bad things about the place. Marshall’s work you like a slave.’

The woman who’d been addressed as Flossy stared at the notice. ‘But it says here they need workers, pay and conditions good.’

Another woman snorted in disgust. ‘Don’t believe that. My girl tried it last year and didn’t stay more than two weeks. Said the work was terrible hard.’

‘Ah, well, your girl’s no weakling.’ Flossy turned away from the notice. ‘Let’s try somewhere else. I got to get something cos my Sid’s been laid off again. He’s never been able to hold down a job.’

Another woman looked gloomy. ‘It’s getting bloody hard to find work. We’ve all got to try and get jobs today.’

As they walked away, Amy hesitated for only a second before opening the door and slipping inside.

The place was huge, like a warehouse, and that was probably what it had been at one time, Amy figured. There were long benches where girls sat sewing by hand or by machine; other girls were running around with arms full of clothing. Along the entire length of one wall were racks loaded with finished garments. Amy had never seen so many clothes in her life.

‘What do you want?’ a short, balding man asked, looking rather harassed.

‘Um, the notice on the door said you need workers. Good pay and conditions,’ she added.

The man sighed. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you read. But come with me and I’ll take you to the boss.’

Amy was pleased with that bit of deception. The man believed she could read the notice. Bit of luck those women being there. She followed him, hoping her luck was going to hold.

‘Young girl to see you about the notice you put outside.’

The man behind the desk continued to frown and mutter over something he was reading. He was a gaunt man, quite old, Amy thought. He must be at least forty. His black hair was peppered with grey and he was wearing thick glasses. He didn’t look too friendly and she clenched her hands in front of her to stop them shaking.

‘Boss.’

He looked up then, his dark brown eyes unfocused for a moment. ‘Sorry, Jim. The price of material’s going up again. How the hell are we supposed to make a profit?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Perhaps you don’t want to take on more workers after all.’

At those words Amy’s hopes were dashed. ‘Your notice outside said you do,’ she blurted out.

The boss turned his gaze to her for the first time. ‘You’re a bit young, aren’t you?’

‘I look younger than I am because I’m short. I’m fifteen.’ Squaring her shoulders she held his gaze. It wasn’t much of a lie. She’d be fifteen in December.

He didn’t seem to believe her, but he nodded to Jim. ‘We’ve got to have workers or we’ll never meet our targets. I’ll see to this.’

When Jim had gone back to work, the boss said, ‘Sit down. What’s your name?’

‘Amy Carter, sir.’ She perched on the edge of the seat while he sorted through a drawer in his desk until he found what he was looking for.

‘That’s your hours and pay. Read it and if you want the job sign your name at the bottom and write down your address.’ He pushed the paper and a pen towards her.

Panic surged through her. What was she going to do? She pretended to read it while trying to stop her heart from thumping erratically. After what she thought was a reasonable amount of time for anyone to read the form, she picked up the pen and signed
her name, just as she had practised last night. She gripped the pen hard, trying not to stick her tongue out between her teeth with the effort. He wasn’t watching so she pushed it back and stood up.