concentrating hard, his tongue poking out of one side of his mouth and his hands steadying the bricks, as the tower grew higher. Sarah was pleased to notice that the small, grubby hands were steady as rocks and that the tower was rising at an astonishing pace.
Billy had returned from hospital somewhat subdued, but otherwise his normal, cheerful self. ‘Boys will be boys and your Billy is a grand little chap,’ Dr Trelawney had told her. ‘In my opinion, Billy must have knocked his head whilst squabbling with Tommy over the orange peel and this brought on a slight epileptic fit. From what you tell me of his behaviour whilst at the child minder’s, he had been suffering from what we call “petit mal”, which is a very mild form of epilepsy and one which he is almost certain to outgrow.’
This conversation had heartened Sarah considerably. She was determined to keep Kathy at school for as long as she possibly could, partly because it was what she knew her dear Jack had wanted and partly because she admired Kathy’s bright intelligence and quickness of comprehension.
It was unfortunate that the job at Dorothy’s Tearooms might have to be sacrificed. She had been there for ten months and in that time had learned to like both customers and staff. She was proud of the fact that the tearooms, which had not been doing particularly well before she joined them, were now the highest earners in the group. Dorothy McNab owned six tearooms scattered across the city and was truly pleased with the way Mrs Kelling had increased profitability and efficiency at the Stanley Road café. As a result, Sarah had received a generous bonus at Christmas and a promise of an increase in salary when she had worked a full year.
Because she was so happy there, she had said nothing to her employer regarding her intention to leave work as soon as she found some other source of income. She could not help hoping that some miracle would occur which would enable her to keep her job, if only on a part-time basis, but in her heart she knew this was impossible; the tearooms needed a full-time manageress. On the other hand, there were the school holidays. Unless Billy’s fits were more frequent – and more frightening – she was pretty sure that Kathy could cope with her little brother at such times, so she toyed with the idea of getting a short-term job then, preferably in catering of some sort. And of course, if Billy improved, as the medical staff hoped, he would begin school in a couple of years, which would mean she might work once more.
When the knock came on the door, Sarah guessed that it would be a friend calling for either Billy or Kathy. Her daughter was upstairs in her room, working on an essay which was part of her holiday task, so Sarah crossed to the back door and opened it, her brows already rising. ‘Kathy’s busy, but . . .’ she began, then realised that the man who stood in the small yard was a total stranger. Hastily, Sarah tried to smooth her hair behind her ears and glanced, rather self-consciously, down at the stained calico apron she wore. It was Sunday evening and she had not expected a visitor on such a day. However, she did not wish the man to think he had caught her out. ‘Good evening,’ she said politely. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were a friend calling for one of my children. How can I help you?’ She spoke with care for she had learned, in Dorothy’s Tearooms, that a pleasant and unaccented voice won respect from staff and customers alike, and was pleased to see the man remove his cap as he answered.
‘Evenin’. I take it I’m addressing . . .’ he glanced at the piece of paper he held’. . . Mrs Kelling? I came to the back door because I thought it likely you’d be in the kitchen round about now and I didn’t want to put you out. I’ve come in answer to your advertisement . . . is the room still vacant?’
‘I’m – I’m not sure,’ Sarah said cautiously and untruthfully. She had stated
Billy had returned from hospital somewhat subdued, but otherwise his normal, cheerful self. ‘Boys will be boys and your Billy is a grand little chap,’ Dr Trelawney had told her. ‘In my opinion, Billy must have knocked his head whilst squabbling with Tommy over the orange peel and this brought on a slight epileptic fit. From what you tell me of his behaviour whilst at the child minder’s, he had been suffering from what we call “petit mal”, which is a very mild form of epilepsy and one which he is almost certain to outgrow.’
This conversation had heartened Sarah considerably. She was determined to keep Kathy at school for as long as she possibly could, partly because it was what she knew her dear Jack had wanted and partly because she admired Kathy’s bright intelligence and quickness of comprehension.
It was unfortunate that the job at Dorothy’s Tearooms might have to be sacrificed. She had been there for ten months and in that time had learned to like both customers and staff. She was proud of the fact that the tearooms, which had not been doing particularly well before she joined them, were now the highest earners in the group. Dorothy McNab owned six tearooms scattered across the city and was truly pleased with the way Mrs Kelling had increased profitability and efficiency at the Stanley Road café. As a result, Sarah had received a generous bonus at Christmas and a promise of an increase in salary when she had worked a full year.
Because she was so happy there, she had said nothing to her employer regarding her intention to leave work as soon as she found some other source of income. She could not help hoping that some miracle would occur which would enable her to keep her job, if only on a part-time basis, but in her heart she knew this was impossible; the tearooms needed a full-time manageress. On the other hand, there were the school holidays. Unless Billy’s fits were more frequent – and more frightening – she was pretty sure that Kathy could cope with her little brother at such times, so she toyed with the idea of getting a short-term job then, preferably in catering of some sort. And of course, if Billy improved, as the medical staff hoped, he would begin school in a couple of years, which would mean she might work once more.
When the knock came on the door, Sarah guessed that it would be a friend calling for either Billy or Kathy. Her daughter was upstairs in her room, working on an essay which was part of her holiday task, so Sarah crossed to the back door and opened it, her brows already rising. ‘Kathy’s busy, but . . .’ she began, then realised that the man who stood in the small yard was a total stranger. Hastily, Sarah tried to smooth her hair behind her ears and glanced, rather self-consciously, down at the stained calico apron she wore. It was Sunday evening and she had not expected a visitor on such a day. However, she did not wish the man to think he had caught her out. ‘Good evening,’ she said politely. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were a friend calling for one of my children. How can I help you?’ She spoke with care for she had learned, in Dorothy’s Tearooms, that a pleasant and unaccented voice won respect from staff and customers alike, and was pleased to see the man remove his cap as he answered.
‘Evenin’. I take it I’m addressing . . .’ he glanced at the piece of paper he held’. . . Mrs Kelling? I came to the back door because I thought it likely you’d be in the kitchen round about now and I didn’t want to put you out. I’ve come in answer to your advertisement . . . is the room still vacant?’
‘I’m – I’m not sure,’ Sarah said cautiously and untruthfully. She had stated
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