A Sister’s Sorrow. Kitty Neale

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.

       Chapter 6

       Four years later

       February 1953

      ‘Tommy, pick your feet up or you’ll wear your shoes out,’ Sarah said to her brother. She glanced behind to see Tommy reluctantly trudging along the pavement and dragging his shoes as he did so.

      ‘But they’re already worn out. I’ve got a hole in the bottom,’ Tommy replied in a whiny voice.

      ‘Well, there’s no need to make them any worse. Anyhow, with that cardboard I patched them up with, they’ll be good for months yet. Come on, get a move on, we’ll be home soon.’

      Sarah’s basket had been full this morning, but now, as dusk drew in, she was pleased to see it was empty and all her kindling sold. It had been a good day’s work, and she was looking forward to getting home and resting her aching legs.

      ‘I’m hungry,’ Tommy moaned, coughing chestily.

      ‘I know you are, love, but we haven’t got much further to go,’ Sarah said, trying to placate the child. It wasn’t much fun for him, in the cold February winds, wearing short trousers and having to traipse the streets with her as she went door to door hoping to get a ha’penny for her bits of wood for the fire. She worried about his chest, as the boy suffered with coughs that rattled his small body.

      ‘You said that ages ago …’ Tommy moaned again and huffed.

      Sarah fished in her coat pocket and pulled out a shiny coin.

      ‘See