A Sister’s Sorrow. Kitty Neale

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