A Sister's Duty

by June Francis

  ‘Definitely not. I’d rather be out gallivanting.’

  Amelia’s eyes swept over her and the younger children from head to foot. ‘Wellington boots should be taken off at the door. You are dirtying the floor.’ Her tone was icy. ‘Tell me – our Violet, did she keep all her documents in here?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Rosie through gritted teeth, determined not to be intimidated.

  She left the room and her brother and sister followed her to the front door where they kicked off shoes and wellies, hanging their coats on the hooks in the lobby before going into the kitchen where Rosie had set the table. She looked into the cooking pot and asked Dot whether Mrs Baxendale had made the soup and how much did they owe her for getting in coal. Dotty said their aunt had sorted that out.

  Rosie felt unreasonably irritated about that but no sooner had she cut bread and spooned pea soup into bowls than Amelia entered the room.

  Before the girl could demand how much she had given to Mrs Baxendale, her aunt said, ‘I’ve found what I was looking for.’ She shrugged off her coat. ‘I’m glad our Vi didn’t lose all her wits when she lost Joe. She kept up her payments to the clubman, which shows more sense than I’d expected from her. It also proves she wasn’t as broke as she made out.’

  ‘Mam had plenty of sense,’ said Rosie, voice rising. ‘And you have no right to—’

  ‘What’s that uniform you’re wearing?’ Amelia’s words cut through hers like a knife through stone.

  Rosie told her in a stiff voice and her aunt’s eyebrows rose. ‘Not a school I would have chosen but at least it shows you’ve got brains. It must have cost, though.’

  ‘I won a scholarship,’ said Rosie impatiently. ‘But I’d have left by now, if Mam would have let me, and found work.’

  ‘You surprise me. Because scholarship or no, Violet would still have to pay something, plus need money for uniform and the rest. I suppose Joe’s mother relented and helped her out?’

  ‘We haven’t seen head nor tail of Dad’s mam. We always presumed she was dead,’ said Rosie, sudden hope in her eyes.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t set eyes on the woman since she came storming up our path, demanding Father do something to stop his daughter from marrying her son. Mother had just died and everything was at sixes and sevens.’ Amelia’s face darkened. ‘Cheek of her! It was a better match than she had any right to expect. She was a Mary Ellen with a stand in town selling flowers. Did you know that?’

  ‘No! But I always knew you were a snob.’

  Amelia’s eyes flashed green fire. ‘And Joe’s mother was an inverted one! As for you – you’re impudent. And if you had any sense at all, you wouldn’t be trying to provoke me. The last thing I want is to be here.’

  ‘Then why stay? I can look after us,’ retorted Rosie, a flush on her cheeks.

  ‘If only!’ said Amelia, rolling her eyes. ‘As it is, our Violet’s doubly amazed me.’ From her pocket she took a sheet of paper and waved it in the girl’s face. ‘I never thought she’d consider the possibility of her own death but she did and . . .’ She paused, giving a wry smile.

  ‘No!’ cried Rosie, backing away from her. ‘She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t. She hated you!’ The girl could scarcely believe what her aunt was hinting at.

  Amelia’s laugh lacked mirth. ‘Oh, yes she could. She’s asked me to be your guardian. She certainly hated me, all right!’

  ‘Rip it up! Nobody need know. You can go away again. I’ll get a job. I’ll look after us,’ said Rosie desperately.

  The laughter died in Amelia’s face as she folded the paper, replacing it in her pocket. ‘Don’t tempt me. But she’s done this deliberately, not lightly. She’s thrown me a challenge.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Rosie’s expression was puzzled.

  Amelia’s eyes met hers. ‘Think about it, kid.’

  Rosie could only think that her mother had betrayed them.

  Her aunt’s gaze wandered over to the table. ‘Is there any soup left?’

  Rosie nodded absently, seeking to unravel the mystery of why her mother should ask the sister she hated to take charge of them.

  ‘How did Violet manage financially?’

  Rosie gazed at the slender figure silhouetted against the fire, blackened saucepan in hand. ‘She worked.’

  ‘At what? She’s got some lovely clothes upstairs.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ The girl’s voice rose. ‘War work. She never talked about it. Have you been nosing up there, too?’

  ‘I’ll ignore that last remark.’ Amelia sat at the table, spoon in hand. ‘You never asked what she did?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . I think it was some kind of hush-hush work. Perhaps for the government?’

  ‘The government?’ Amelia’s laugh was genuinely amused. ‘She’d need some kind of qualification and our Violet was never one for studying.’

  ‘She never got the chance,’ said Rosie, temper rising again.

  ‘Is that what she told you?’ Her aunt’s mouth curved into a derisory smile. ‘She had more chances than soft Joe – and I don’t mean your father.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Rosie’s voice was harsh.

  Amelia raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you think I care? She had looks and a certain charm and used them to get what she wanted.’

  Rosie sprang to her mother’s defence again. ‘She’d have to, wouldn’t she? She knew she wouldn’t get any help from Grandfather or you. I mean, where is he now? He doesn’t care about us at all, does he?’

  Amelia’s face went blank. ‘He’s dead. And it was your mother who killed him.’ Her voice sounded hollow.

  Rosie was stunned. She gripped the back of Harry’s chair. ‘How could she? She hadn’t seen him for years.’

  ‘That last big row when she brought you all to our house for the first time . . . He suffered a stroke – was more than three years dying.’

  ‘That wasn’t her fault! You were all at it except for Aunt Iris,’ cried Rosie. ‘Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘Married. Left Liverpool.’ Amelia sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyebrows.

  Babs, who was sitting across the table from her, exchanged looks with Rosie. No help from that quarter then, the look said.

  Amelia reached for the crusty loaf in the middle of the tablecloth. ‘Where will we live?’ asked Babs. ‘Will you come here or—?’

  ‘You’re joking! I’d be mad to move in here when I’ve four bedrooms at home and the shop to see to in Kennie.’ Amelia sawed herself a slice of bread, dunking it into her soup, one elbow resting on the table. She chewed deliberately, staring at Babs. ‘Besides, it’s not exactly Buckingham Palace here, is it? Anyway, I haven’t made up my mind yet whether to rise to our Vi’s challenge.’

  ‘You – you wouldn’t put us into an orphanage?’ stammered Dotty.

  Amelia frowned as she glanced at the girl. ‘I can’t understand our Violet. That woman next door tells me she’s kept you at home since your eyes were damaged. Stupid and utterly wrong! You’re scared of your own shadow. You need to mix. Learn to look after yourself.’

  Dot squeaked a protest. ‘I couldn’t see the blackboard! It was no use me going to school.’

  ‘She can read, you know,’ said Rosie belligerently, hand on hip. ‘And write. Even though her nose almost touches the paper because she can only see close up. She knows some history and geography, I taught her them, and Mrs Baxendale next door is teaching her to knit.’

  ‘That’s something at least,’ murmured Amelia. ‘But can she make her own bed? Does she do any cooking? Can she wash her own things and light a fire? Does she go out on her own and shop?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘There you are then. She needs to be a little more independent. I suppose our Violet found it hard to accept that her child wasn’t perfect.’

  Tears of fury started in Rosie’s eyes. ‘Do you have to criticise her? Don’t you care at all that she’s dead?’

  Amelia stared at her. ‘Actually, I do car
e. I’d like nothing better right now than to have her in front of me so I could tell her just what I think of her.’

  Rosie gasped. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘I know what you meant! And you know there was no love lost between our Vi and me.’ Amelia’s voice was hard. ‘But we knew each other well enough for her to be sure I wouldn’t shirk my duty.’

  ‘Duty! Is that all you care about?’ Rosie’s voice broke. Turning her back on her aunt, she struggled for self-control while seething with hatred.

  ‘Someone has to,’ said Amelia in a tired voice. ‘Our Vi never did.’

  Harry slipped down from his seat and pressed himself against Rosie. Her arm went round him and she rested her cheek against his mass of golden curls, finding comfort in the act.

  ‘Very touching,’ murmured Amelia. ‘He reminds me of that painting, Bubbles – but it’s time he had a haircut.’

  Rosie lifted her head. ‘You wouldn’t! Mam loved—’

  ‘I would,’ said Amelia, a glint in her eyes, remembering how angelic her twin godsons had seemed when their hair was that length and how deceptive appearances could be. Not only that but . . . ‘I bet he gets teased at school. You’d like a haircut, wouldn’t you, Harry?’

  The boy fingered one of his curls and nodded vigorously. ‘They call me cissy.’

  ‘Right.’ Amelia made up her mind there and then. ‘Doubt I’ll have time tomorrow so I’ll do it tonight.’ She dunked the last of her bread into the soup.

  ‘You’re going to cut his hair tonight?’ gasped Rosie in disbelief.

  Amelia nodded, finished the soup and dusted her hands against each other. ‘Get me the scissors.’

  Rosie did not move but Babs slid off her chair and shot over to the fireplace where a pair hung on a nail above the mantelshelf. She handed them to Amelia. ‘Towel? Basin?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said her aunt, smiling.

  ‘Sucker up,’ hissed Rosie as Babs brushed past her. Her sister only stuck out her tongue and marched into the back kitchen.

  Rosie could not watch but turned her back as Amelia knotted the towel at the nape of her brother’s neck. The girl could not shut out, though, the snip-snip of the scissors as each golden curl fell on to the linoleum.

  ‘You can look now,’ said Amelia, voice smooth with satisfaction.

  Rosie turned and could have killed her aunt because gone was her sweet angelic-looking baby brother and in his place stood a replica of a basin-cut street urchin, preening himself as he stood on a chair to gaze at his reflection in the sideboard mirror. ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘And I’ll swipe anyone who calls me cissy now!’

  ‘You do that,’ said Amelia. ‘Boys have to learn to take care of themselves and protect the weak. Now bed, you three younger ones.’

  ‘You’re not staying?’ said Rosie bluntly.

  Amelia stared at her. ‘Wash the dishes, then I think you and I’d best have a talk.’ She pulled a sagging easy chair in front of the fire and began to go through a pile of papers she had brought in from the parlour.

  The last thing Rosie wanted was a tête-à-tête with her aunt. ‘I always take Harry to bed and tell him a story,’ she said.

  ‘Not tonight you don’t,’ said her aunt, without looking up. ‘He can go up on his own. Can’t you, Harry?’ She smiled at the boy. ‘You’re not frightened of anything, are you? You’re a big boy now.’

  ‘Don’t like the yard in the dark,’ he said after a brief cogitation, bottom lip thrust out.

  ‘Babs and Dotty can go down the yard with you then,’ she said reasonably. ‘And don’t forget, girls, take a bucket of water with you to flush the lavatory.’

  Rosie watched them go, boiling with frustration, wanting to tell Amelia to go to hell. Who did her aunt think she was, coming into this house, rooting through cupboards, giving orders and taking over? How could her mother have left that note? How could she, after all she had said about her sister?

  ‘Dishes, Rosie,’ said Amelia, a hint of warning in her voice.

  Rosie felt like throwing the crockery at her but instead made as much noise as possible as she gathered plates, bowls and cups together, singing defiantly as she took them out into the back kitchen.

  ‘Night, night, Rosie,’ said her sisters and brother as they trooped past her.

  ‘Night,’ she muttered, not looking up from the sink.

  When Rosie had put away every dish and piece of cutlery, she entered the kitchen and tiptoed across the room towards the other door, only to be stopped short by her aunt’s voice.

  ‘You can’t escape. Sit down.’ Amelia waved her to the green and black moquette chair on the other side of the fireplace. ‘We have to talk about the funeral.’

  Reluctantly, Rosie sat down, hands resting on the wooden arms of the chair. ‘When is it?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’m going to sort things out tomorrow. But I’m sure the best thing would be to have Violet’s body taken to my house and the funeral to go from there.’

  ‘No!’ The word burst from Rosie. ‘This is her home. She’d want to be here with us! She never wanted to set foot in your house ever again.’

  ‘Well, she won’t be doing that, will she?’ retorted Amelia, a spark in her eyes. ‘I wonder if you realise what it’s going to be like?’

  ‘I know it’ll be upsetting. I’m not a fool.’ Rosie slouched way down in the chair, as if it could provide her with shelter and comfort.

  Amelia was silent a moment. ‘All right. We’ll bring her body here, if that’s what you want. We will lay Violet out in the front parlour and I’ll provide the candlesticks and black crêpe. As her eldest daughter, I expect you to keep vigil with me the night before she’s buried.’

  ‘What about Aunt Iris? Have you told her?’

  ‘I’ve dashed off a note but don’t be looking for her to be here. There’s a war on, remember.’

  ‘But she’s Mam’s sister!’

  Amelia fixed Rosie with a stare and said in bored tones, ‘You’re stating the obvious again. She lives in Canada. She can’t possibly get here.’

  Rosie’s heart sank even further. Definitely no help from that quarter.

  ‘Now you can go to bed. I’ve had enough of you.’ Amelia picked up that evening’s Echo and began to read the front page.

  Rosie opened her mouth to say, ‘I feel the same about you,’ but before she could utter a word, Amelia said, without looking up: ‘You’ll catch flies like that. Shut your mouth and the door on your way out. There’s a helluva draught in here.’

  Rosie slammed the door and stormed upstairs, half expecting, half wanting her aunt to come flying after her. She would know then she had got to her. But there was no movement from downstairs.

  When she went into her bedroom it was to discover that she was not even going to have the comfort of Harry’s warm little body snuggling up to hers. Their bed was empty and when she looked in on her sisters it was to find the crowns of three heads showing above the bedcovers. She whispered their names but there was no response. Feeling rejected, angry and miserable, she made her way to her own lonely bed.

  The next day, Rosie did not want to get up. Her head and heart felt chock-a-block with a dragging, heavy sadness. Reluctantly, she threw on some clothes and went downstairs, expecting to have to confront Amelia. To her relief, there was no sign of her aunt, only a note propped against the teapot, saying she had gone to sort things out and would Rosie stay in and tidy the place because there would be lots of other things to do later on that day.

  ‘Blast, blast, blast,’ she muttered, noticing a fire burning in the grate. She pouted, not wanting to think any good of her aunt at all. The oats had been put in soak, too, and that did not please her either. She placed the pan on the fire then went upstairs to wake the others.

  ‘What’s a vigil?’ asked Harry, picking up his empty porridge bowl and licking it after Rosie had told them what had been said last night after they went to bed.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she said autom
atically. ‘Amelia’ll say you’ve got the manners of a pig.’ She gave him more porridge.

  ‘A vigil means keeping awake and watching,’ Babs informed him from her position on her knees in front of the grate where she held the toasting fork to the fire.

  ‘What’s our Rosie going to watch for?’ He spooned up the rest of the porridge, smacking his lips.

  She shrugged. ‘The Holy Ghost? Or maybe we’re there to keep evil spirits away?’

  Dotty shivered. ‘Rather you than me. Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘It’s for Mam, isn’t it? And it’ll probably be the last thing I’ll be able to do for her.’ Tears caught her by the throat and she lowered her head so the others could not see her face.

  ‘I miss Mam,’ said Harry, bottom lip trembling. He scrambled off his chair and climbed on to Rosie’s lap. She held him tightly, kissing his cropped hair.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ sighed Dotty.

  ‘Stick together, whatever happens,’ said Rosie. ‘That’s what Mam would want.’

  Dotty stammered, ‘You don’t mean Aunt Amelia’ll try and separate us?’

  Rosie did not think that at all but she wanted the others on her side, not sucking up to Amelia, so she remained silent.

  ‘You think she will!’ Dotty’s voice was shrill, blue eyes apprehensive.

  ‘It’s as I said last night: I just wonder if she might think there’s too many of us for her to cope with.’

  There was a dismayed silence and Rosie felt horrible for scaring them so said cheerfully, ‘I could be wrong. Let’s pray the old gorgon will have second thoughts. Now, we’ve got to get the house tidied up before she comes back.’

  She set them various tasks. When they had done theirs, Babs and Harry wrapped themselves up warmly and went out to play.

  Before Rosie started scrubbing the front step, she took Violet’s handbag from the sideboard cupboard, intending to go to the corner shop for a loaf and milk. But there was no bulging purse inside nor the brown envelope that had been there yesterday; there was only a lipstick, a pot of Pond’s vanishing cream and a half bottle of Evening in Paris.

  Surely she couldn’t have dropped them in the cupboard? Rosie searched among the clothes there but found no purse. Then she sat back on her heels, clenching and unclenching her hands, face screwed up in thought, remembering how surprised she had been at the amount of money in that purse. Now it had gone and she could only believe Amelia had found it in her search of the sideboard and taken it. The thought filled her with fury. A thief! Her aunt was nothing more than a common thief. When she came, Rosie was going to say something to her, even if it meant getting a clout for it.