Hetty Feather by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

Hetty. I love you so,' he mumbled.
    'I love you too, Jem. I love you, I love you, I
love you.'
    'You won't forget me, will you, Hetty?'
    'Never ever ever ever ever ever . . .' I still chanted
it as Mother tore our hands apart and bustled Gideon
and me past the barrier and the ticket man, urging
us towards the train. I craned my neck and saw
Jem waving and waving. I sawed my own free arm
wildly in the air until Mother found the third-class
carriages at last and tugged us up into the train as
the whistle went.
    I sat on the seat by the door, my legs sticking
out. I fingered the leather strap to open the window.
As we started chugging slowly out of the station,
I wondered if I dared leap right out. I could jump
onto the platform, rejoin Jem, and then we could
run away together . . .
    Mother slapped my hands away from the strap.
'Stop that, Hetty! Do you want to fall out to
your death?'
    'Yes!' I declared, deciding I did indeed want to die
if I couldn't be with Jem.
    As the train gathered speed and hastened
through the town and out into the countryside,
I pictured myself leaping out of the window.
My guardian angel would scurry down and
snatch me up in his strong arms. We would fly up
and up to Heaven. I would wear a snowy nightgown
and build castles in the clouds and jump from star
to star . . .
    'I definitely want to die,' I declared.
    'That's a dreadful thing to say, child,' said Mother,
shocked. 'You can't mean it.'
    'Yes, I do. I'd like to go to Heaven right
this minute.'
    'If you choose to kill yourself, you'll go straight to
the Other Place, Hetty,' Mother reminded me.
    I thought about H-e-l-l. I remembered the time a
hot coal fell out of the fire and glanced against my
leg. It had hurt so badly I screamed and screamed
– and then I'd had to stump around with a rag
bandage for a week or more. I pictured burning my
whole body, cooking for all eternity.
    I decided I didn't want to die just yet. I stopped
fiddling with the carriage door and slumped in my
seat, my chin on my chest. Gideon reached out and
clutched my hand. His eyes were wide with fear now.
He burrowed hard against Mother.
    'There now, my lambkin, Mother's here,' she
said automatically.
    Gideon kept quiet, but he started crying, tears
seeping down his cheeks. I cried too, clutching my
rag baby, using her soft legs as a handkerchief when
I got too damp and soggy. Mother pulled me closer,
her arms round both of us now.
    The train started slowing down. I peered out of
the window in agitation. Were we there already?
    Mother saw my expression. 'It's a long
journey, Hetty. A couple of hours until we get to
London town.'
    Gideon wailed fearfully, understanding properly
now. The train stopped at a little country station and
a large woman in a purple gown squeezed herself
into our carriage. She smelled very sweet and her
cheeks were very red. I thought she must have been
running hard to catch the train, but Mother sniffed
slightly and edged away from her.
    The purple lady beamed at all three of us. 'Hello,
my dearies. Why the tears and long faces?' She
peered at Gideon's pale face and dark-circled eyes.
'Oh dear, is he not well, the little lad?'
    'He's been poorly,' Mother said shortly. She stuck
out her shoulder, trying to protect Gideon from the
purple woman's glance.
    She looked at me instead. 'And what about
this little mite?' she asked. 'Why are you crying so,
my dearie?'
    I sniffed, not knowing what to say. 'I don't want
to go to Hell,' I mumbled – though I wanted to go to
the hospital even less.
    'Hetty!' Mother hissed.
    The purple women shook with laughter. We could
hear her stays creaking. She threw back her head,
her chins wobbling. Then she reached into her
reticule for a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her
streaming eyes. 'Children!' she said to Mother. 'Oh
my Lord, the things they say!' She looked at me,
pinching my cheek with her fat fingers. 'Cheer up,
little girlie. Have you been a bad