by Tania Crosse
Hillie stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then she slapped her hands together. One down and one – the worse one – to go. She set her chin determinedly as she went back into the kitchen.
‘Oh, Hill, you came back!’
‘I knew you wouldn’t let us down!’
The four young girls crowded around Hillie, hugging her, the little ones clinging onto her legs. She had to bite back the tears that pricked her eyes, and peeled her sisters’ arms from about her.
‘Come on. We’ve a lot to do. Daisy, Frances, you clear away the things that witch was using, then go and get a clean tablecloth from the drawer and lay the table,’ Hillie instructed, since she felt she owed it to her mum’s memory to keep up standards. ‘Joan, leave the washing and take over the pan,’ she went on, tying on one of Nell’s old aprons and getting stuck in. ‘I’ll finish chopping the vegetables, and, Trixie, you just take them over to Joan as I do it. Helping out is one thing, but doing everything is another. Why didn’t you tell Dad what was going on?’
‘We tried, but he wouldn’t listen. Said we were lying that Mrs Maguire wasn’t doing anything.’
‘I’d’ve thought that was obvious,’ Hillie observed, glancing at the thick dust on the side-dresser and the accumulated ash in the hearth.
‘We haven’t had a cloth on the table since Mummy died,’ Joan told her ruefully as Daisy and Frances spread the pristine damask out between them.
‘Really? And what did your father have to say about that?’
‘He didn’t seem to care.’
Hillie raised an eyebrow. Didn’t care? So bullying her mum all those years into having the table set as if for royalty all the time was simply part of his punishment, was it? Grrrh! She could cheerfully throttle him!
‘Right, let’s get the rest of the veg in the stew, and then, Joan, if you can peel some spuds ready to boil, I’ll finish off the washing.’
In no time at all, the dinner was simmering on the stove, Hillie had given the room a lick and a promise, and the younger girls were playing on the hearth rug, just as they should have been, Hillie observed with satisfaction. She and Joan between them had finished the laundry which consisted mainly of Frances’s sheets, since – no surprise to Hillie – the poor child had gone back to wetting the bed since her mummy had gone away and Dolly had been ordering her about and terrifying her all day long while the others were at school. By six o’clock, everything was in order, and the atmosphere was utterly changed from when Hillie had walked in the door two hours previously.
‘Your dad’ll be home soon,’ she warned. ‘There’s likely to be a huge row, so the minute he gets in, I want you lot upstairs and making yourselves scarce until I call you back down. OK?’
dad, father. So far, that had sounded all right, and she didn’t think even Joan had latched onto what Dolly had said. Hillie would have to explain at some point, but not just now. They’d been through enough. The two little ones would be too young to understand anyway, but when the moment was right, she’d tell Luke, Joan and Trixie. After all, they’d want to know why she’d be calling their dad Harold from now on, while Daisy and Frances should be young enough just to accept it. She’d reveal the truth to them when they were older.
Her younger sisters all nodded, Joan casting her a knowing, wary look that said she was glad she wasn’t in Hillie’s shoes. So when they heard Harold’s key in the front door, Joan swiftly herded them all upstairs.
‘What’s going on?’ Hillie heard him bellow from the hallway as the girls retreated upstairs. ‘Where’s that Dolly Maguire…?’
He stopped dead as he flung open the kitchen door. The delicious aroma of something cooking on the stove – far more tantalising than anything Dolly’d ever thrown together – filled his hungry nostrils. The table was set with an immaculately laundered cloth and perfectly arranged cutlery. The whole room was generally cleaner and more orderly, and for a second Harold was confused. It was as if Nell had come back from the dead. This certainly wasn’t Dolly’s handiwork.
And then he realised it was Hillie standing at the far end of the table, arms folded fiercely across her chest and her face set with challenging ferocity.
‘What the hell are doing here?’ he bawled, striding forward. ‘And what the blazes have you done with Dolly?’
‘Stop… right… there!’ Hillie commanded icily. ‘Dolly’s gone. Said she couldn’t cope with everything you wanted her to do, so she left.’
‘You mean you threw her out, you bloody liar!’
He raised his arm as if to cuff her across the face. But Hillie was too quick for him and dodged the blow so that he banged his wrist against the chimney breast instead. He gave out a yelp of pain, and bent over to nurse his injury.
‘No. She left of her own accord,’ Hillie hissed in his ear. ‘Ask her if you don’t believe me. And I warned you not to try hitting me again. So you just listen to me. Dolly’s gone, but you’ve got me instead. You can pay me the same as you were paying her. You won’t get anyone else to do it for that money.’
‘You’re my daughter and you’ll do it for nothing!’ Harold spat, straightening up menacingly as the pain wore off.
‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m not your daughter. I know the truth now. You have no hold over me at all any more. Yes, that’s right, Luke,’ she said more gently, gazing across at her brother who’d just come in the door and was standing on the threshold, aghast at what he’d just heard. ‘I’m sorry you found out like this. I wanted to tell you in a quiet moment, but forced my hand. We’re all half-brother and sisters. That’s why this monster always treated Mum and me so badly.’
‘I suppose it was that bitch, Eva Parker, what told you!’ Harold fumed. ‘Well, I’ll bloody teach her a less—’
‘No,’ Hillie interjected, her brain racing. ‘Mum told me herself as she lay dying,’ she lied, since she didn’t want Harold doing anything to dear Eva. ‘She wanted me to know the truth before she went. So from now on, you listen to me. I’ve given up my job at Price’s. So I’ll be here every morning before the girls go to school so I can look after Frances and keep house for you. And I’ll stay until either you or Luke get home from work. We’ll hardly see each other, which will suit me fine, too. I’ll do everything Mum did, and you’ll pay me twelve and six a week, same as Dolly.’
‘Twelve and six, she said, did she?’ Harold chortled. ‘That what she told you? Well, it was only ten bob, so how you going to manage on that if you’re not working at Price’s no more?’
Hillie was fuming, but she had to think quickly. Dolly could well have been lying in order to get more money out of her, but Harold seemed to be coming round. If Hillie held out for twelve and six a week, he might change his mind. So instead she went on calmly, ‘Jimmy’s doing perfectly well, if you must know. And he does shifts at the Falcon at the weekends, so don’t you worry your ugly head over our finances.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about Jimmy’s work for Mr Jackson. It was all cash in hand, and she wasn’t sure it was all above board, despite Jimmy’s assurances. But it had been Jimmy’s idea, bless him, that she gave up her job at the factory to look after her half-sisters instead of Dolly. ‘So, enjoy your meal,’ she went on. ‘It’s all ready on the stove. All you’ve got to do is serve yourselves, and leave the washing up. I’ll do it when I come back in the morning. Oh, and leave me some housekeeping money. Dolly helped herself to almost everything in the larder and I’ll need to do some shopping. And no arguing, ’cos you know I’m right.’
Without giving Harold a chance to come back at her, she slipped out of the door past Luke. ‘I’ll tell you everything later,’ she whispered to him as she passed, and then retrieving her coat from the hall stand, called the girls downstairs. ‘I’ll see you all bright and early in the morning!’ she sang out, and went out through the front door.
She paused for a moment, glancing up and down the familiar street. Phew! She wouldn’t want to live through all that again! But it was done now, and hopefully
she’d sorted everything out. Harold might try and stop her, but she doubted it. The arrangement would suit his mean pockets too much!
So she set off through the dark, freezing streets feeling more than pleased with herself. Dear Jimmy would be home by now, and they could have a lovely evening together, the first time she’d felt happy since her mum had passed away. And she hummed to herself as she made her way home.
*
Hillie walked briskly along the street, Frances skipping along beside her and both of them wrapped up against the December cold. They’d been shopping, as with a little more money in her pocket this year, Hillie had planned a slightly better Christmas for her family, and she wanted to make up for their mum not being there. Harold had even agreed to let her cook the Christmas dinner, so she’d see her brother and sisters for a little while. Jimmy, however, was excluded, but he would wait for her at the Parkers’ house.
What she cooked would depend on what money she could wangle from Harold, of course, but she planned on making Christmas Day as enjoyable as possible. Among other little treats, they’d just now called into Jon Jax Corner, where she’d bought some little toys for the younger children to exchange, including some plastic farm animals for Trixie who was always so enthralled by the deer in the enclosure in the park. She’d also noticed a tiny doll in a little bed that she knew Frances would like, but she’d have to get that when she was on her own on Saturday afternoon.
‘Can we wrap them up when we get home?’ Frances asked happily.
‘Yes, of course,’ Hillie grinned down at her youngest half-sister. ‘And we’ll make some little decorations to hang on the tree when the others get in from school,’ she added, since she was determined they’d have a tree this year. ‘That’s what the glue and the glitter are for.’
‘Oh, goody,’ Frances cried, hopping about Hillie in excitement.
Hillie smiled down at her, feeling her heart warm. It was good to see the little ones happier than they had been since Nell had died. Frances and Daisy had seemed quite content with the explanation that their mummy hadn’t been well and had gone away for a long time to get better. Hopefully their memories would gradually fade. Luke was grieving in an adult way, so it was mainly Trixie and Joan that Hillie was most concerned about. But there was definitely relief that Dolly Maguire had gone, even if she did still live a few doors away. And Hillie was making a great effort to be cheerful for her sisters and make life as much fun for them as she could, even if her own heart was heavy with grief.
In some ways, though, she was really enjoying her new role as surrogate mother to her siblings. Her mum had been a good cook and taught her well how to make a tasty meal out of cheaper ingredients. But Hillie’s main satisfaction was seeing Luke and her sisters sitting down eagerly to their meal as she left each night, their appetites returning. She had kept her promise to her mum, and that was the most important thing to her.
She unlocked the front door to Number Twelve and ushered Frances inside, not noticing the man in the long raincoat and trilby hat who’d been trailing her ever since she’d left home that morning. Earlier, he’d loitered on the corner of the street. If she hadn’t emerged from the house with Frances not long after Harold and Luke had left for work, and the girls for school half an hour later, he might not have hung around – and come back again another day. But as it was, he slowed his step as they went back inside, and then went to wait at the end of the street. Just to see what happened next.
It wasn’t long before an older woman came out from the house on the end. She looked a bit down at heel, a grumpy expression on her face and a battered shopping bag dangling from her arm. But she might be useful to him.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ he addressed her, bounding up and doffing his hat. ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Hilda Baxter. I believe she lives on this street.’
‘That bitch!’ Dolly Maguire sneered down her nose, still seething from having been thrown out so recently from what she’d considered a cushy job. ‘No, she don’t live here no more.’
‘Oh, I must be mistaken—’
‘Yeah, but after her tart of a mother died, she’s here every day, keeping house and looking after the little brats.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yeah. Number Twelve.’ Dolly jabbed her head at the Hardwick front door. ‘Probably there now.’
‘Ah. So she has younger brothers and sisters, does she?’
‘Yeah. A boy just started work, three girls at school and a little one. Why d’yer wanna know?’
‘Oh, just finding out for a friend.’
Dolly’s eyes suddenly gleamed. ‘’Ere, that sounds a bit dodgy. Guess yer want me ter keep me gob shut about yer snooping? Well, it’ll cost yer. Ten bob.’
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Five.’
‘Eight.’
‘OK. Seven and six,’ Jackson laughed, putting his hand in his trouser pocket. ‘You sound like a woman after my own heart. Wouldn’t be interested in making a bob or two on the side, would you? I might need someone like you occasionally. Someone who knows how to keep things to themselves, if you know what I mean?’
‘Depends. I might be,’ Dolly answered shiftily.
‘Then you and I should get to know each other better. Pubs’ll be open soon. Fancy a drink?’
‘Yeah. As long as it’s a double. And not ’ere at the Cambridge. Make it the Falcon.’
‘Exactly where I was going to suggest. Ah, didn’t I see you there last New Year’s Eve? Singing and dancing, the life and soul of the party?’ Until she was so drunk that she fell over, he added to himself.
‘Yeah, that was me,’ Dolly nodded, preening herself that someone remembered her. Not that she remembered him. In fact, all she really remembered about that evening was nearly being run over on her own street and Miss Hoity-Toity Hardwick sneering down at her. So if this chap was going to give her a chance to get back at her, so much the better. ‘Lead on, mister,’ she grinned, lacing her arm through his. ‘The shopping can wait.’
Chapter Eighteen
Hillie glanced up from the ironing. ‘Oh, sounds like we have a visitor, Frances,’ she told her little half-sister in surprise. ‘Shall we go and see who it is?’
Frances had been sitting up at the table, concentrating on filling in the colouring book Hillie had given her as a second present at Christmas. Now she slipped down from the chair and skipped out into the hallway with Hillie on her tail. When the door was opened, they found a familiar figure dressed against the January cold in a smart winter coat.
‘Oo, it’s Auntie Jessie,’ Frances beamed in delight.
Hillie, too, was delighted to see her friend. It seemed that since the tragedy that had befallen the Hardwick family, Jessica’s parents had softened in their attitude a little, and they had allowed their daughter more freedom to see Hillie and the children, even if they didn’t entirely approve. But it meant the girls had seen quite a lot of each other lately, and their friendship had deepened.
‘Jess, hello!’ Hillie exclaimed happily. ‘Come on in. It’s freezing out here.’
‘Mmm, yes, I will. Thanks,’ Jessica said, huddling her arms across her chest. ‘Not disturbing you, am I?’
‘Give me an excuse to have five minutes’ break,’ Hillie grinned back. ‘Cuppa?’
‘Yes, please,’ Jessica answered as Frances proudly took her hand and led her down the hallway.
‘Come and look at my colouring,’ the child invited her.
It was cosy and warm in the kitchen, the air scented with the smell of fresh ironing. The second Jessica took off her coat and sat down, Frances climbed up onto her lap.
‘What d’you think?’ she demanded, showing Jessica the book.
‘That’s very good. You’ve really kept the crayoning inside the lines.’
‘And look, I can write my name. Hill taught me. And I can count to a hundred.’
‘Well, you’ll be top of the class when you start school.’
Hillie rolled her eyes heavenwards. �
��That won’t be soon enough for me. She’s got such an enquiring mind, she could do with school now. I’m constantly trying to think of ways to keep her occupied, but it’s difficult when I’ve got so much to do.’
‘You’ve certainly got a pile of ironing there! I’m glad to see you’ve got an electric iron, though. So much easier. I imagined you might be stuck in the dark ages with a flat iron.’
‘I would’ve been if Jimmy hadn’t got this for me,’ Hillie told her, reaching up to disconnect the wire from the ceiling light. ‘He got me one for myself at home, too.’
‘Spoils you, then?’
‘He does when he can. Oh, there’s the kettle singing its head off. I’ll just make the tea.’
A couple of minutes later, they were sitting at the table together, with Frances absorbed in her colouring.
‘So, how are you coping with all this?’ Jessica asked, gesturing about the room. ‘And how’s it working out with your… I mean with Harold?’ she corrected herself, since Hillie had told her about Harold not being her real father, although she’d sworn her to secrecy.
‘Fine, actually,’ Hillie shrugged. ‘I mean, I hardly ever see him. Joan’s OK to hold the fort until it’s time for school, so I don’t need to get here till then, and Luke and his lordship leave for the factory long before that. Then at night, I have the dinner ready and waiting on the table for when they get in, so I only see him for a few minutes. And it’s much the same Saturday lunchtime. I get a meal while they’re at work in the morning, and push off as soon as they’re back. Although a couple of times I’ve stayed on to take the girls to the park in the afternoon, and it’s the only time I get to see Luke.’
‘And… Harold’s all right with that? Even though he banned you from the house when you married Jimmy?’