The Girl From Barefoot House by Maureen Lee

Aunt Ivy scorched his best shirt, or the time he lost one of his gold cuff links. Even his wife was struck dumb when My Vince lost his temper. Josie had a feeling that telling her uncle to stop when he was making the funny noises was something that would make him very annoyed indeed.
    She couldn’t stop thinking about it all day and next morning pretended to be asleep when he called. After a few minutes, she gave a sigh of relief – he must have given up. Instead, the door opened and he came in.
    ‘Who’s a little sleepyhead this morning?’ He smiled, but behind the smile his eyes looked strange. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a squash in a single bed, but never mind, eh?’ Josie turned away, feeling trapped, helpless, when he climbed in. She kept her eyes shut until he finished making the funny noises.
    ‘Don’t forget, luv,’ Vince whispered, ‘this is our secret. It’s just between you and me. Don’t think of telling Ivy, ’cos she’d never believe you. She’d think you were making it up, like, and there’d be hell to pay. She might even send you to one of them orphanage places, and you’d never see your friend Lily again. And that’d be a shame, wouldn’t it, luv?’
    At St Joseph’s, class 5 was being prepared to sit the scholarship in June. Miss Simms had left long ago to get married, and Mr Leonard had been called up, although he was forty-one. Other teachers had gone, either to join the forces or take up important war work. Their replacements were retired teachers, glad to return and do their bit.
    As there was no one to know better, Josie was assumed to be nine and entered for the scholarship along with Lily. Lily had convinced herself she would pass with flying colours.
    Their form teacher, Mrs Barrett, was eighty if a day. Mr Crocker, the headmaster, was even older. They had worked together before and disliked each other intensely.
    Everyone had been working hard and was looking forward to the Easter holidays. Lily would be ten on Good Friday, and was having a party the next day. Mrs Kavanagh had made them a new frock each. Lily’s was a genuine party frock – green taffeta with short sleeves, a heart-shaped neck and a gathered skirt. Aunt Ivy didn’t believe in party frocks, they were a waste of money. ‘You don’t get enough wear out of them,’ she said thinly, so Josie’s frock was more sensible – cream Viyella, with long sleeves, a navy blue collar and matching buttons – and would do for less salubrious occasions, likechurch. Even so, Josie was delighted. She was having a final fitting after school. It was her own birthday in May, six weeks off. There wouldn’t be a party. Josie’s age was something her aunt preferred to ignore.
    She sighed happily, ignored Mrs Barrett, who was enthusing about fractions, and thought instead about Ben, who’d passed the scholarship two years ago and was now at Quarry Bank Grammar School. He’d kissed her for the first time last week, but only on the cheek. They’d discussed where they would live when they were married. Would she mind leaving Liverpool? he wanted to know. Josie said she wasn’t sure.
    In desperation, because she felt left out, Lily had more or less forced Jimmy Atherton to be her boyfriend, and they went out in a foursome, to the Pier Head or the pictures, to the fairy glen in Sefton Park or for a cup of tea in Lyon’s in Lime Street. Jimmy insisted Lily pay for herself. He was prepared to be her boyfriend, reluctantly, but not if it meant being out of pocket. Mr Kavanagh had doubled Ben’s pocket money for passing the scholarship and also, he said, chuckling, ‘Because he’s got a woman to support.’
    The Easter holiday would be the gear. There was only one fly in the ointment, an enormous one: Uncle Vince, who was part of that other, inside world, where nothing had ever been the gear.
    Josie’s stomach churned. She gnawed her lip and wondered how she could avoid him. If she got dressed and sneaked out of the house as