were probably the same. Everyone looked after their own.
She’d noticed the public house, the Wassand Arms, as she’d walked along the road, but she dared not go in. Such places were not for women or girls like her.
The boy came out of the shop and muttered, ‘I’ve gotta tek ’bread home first or me mam’ll bray me.’
Jeannie nodded and followed him further up the road until he turned off into a narrow terrace.
‘Wait ’ere,’ he said. ‘Don’t follow me or it’ll cost you more.’
She waited as instructed and watched as he raced up the terrace and turned into a gateway. All the houses had a patch of soil in front of them but none as far as she could see were cultivated. In the nearest one, weeds flourished among decayed cabbages. She waited what seemed an interminable time and wondered if perhaps his mother wouldn’t let him come out again. She thought of what her mother might have done if a stranger had asked Tom for directions when he was a child. Jeannie knew for certain that she would have come out to inspect the enquirer before letting him go anywhere with someone she didn’t know.
Presently the boy came out again. He walked nonchalantly, biting into an apple core.
‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘Your mother doesn’t mind you taking me?’
He stared at her, his mouth half open as if to bite the apple. ‘I didn’t tell her,’ he breathed nasally. ‘She’d’ve wanted more’n tuppence and she’d’ve kept it.’
They walked away from the terrace, and when out of sight of the houses he turned towards her. ‘I’ll ’ave ’money fost.’
Jeannie felt in her deep skirt pocket, brought out a penny and held it out to him.
‘I said tuppence!’
‘A penny now,’ she said firmly, ‘another when we get there and I know it’s the right house.’
He grabbed it from her. ‘It is ’right house. I know ’lad who lives next door.’
Jeannie nodded. ‘That’s all right then, but you’ll still have to wait for the other penny. Are we going or not?’
He seemed to hesitate, as if wondering whether to scarper with the unearned coin or make an effort to earn another. ‘Yeh!’ he said at last. ‘Come on then, it’s not far.’
She followed him back in the direction from which she had come until he turned off down the road marked Walcott Street, which had a large church on the corner. She was encouraged to believe that he probably did know the house and the family, for it was close enough to his home for him to have a friend in the vicinity.
The street was lined with terraced houses, their front doors opening on to the pavement. Halfway down Stan stopped and pointed. ‘Next but one to ’bottom.’ He waved a finger to the right side. ‘That’s where they live.’
‘Who lives?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Harry Carr. That’s who you said, wa’n’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It was.’
She gave him the other penny and he scooted off without a thanks or goodbye, leaving her to walk alone past the windows of the other houses, wondering if anyone was looking out inquisitively at her.
She came to the house he’d indicated and timidly knocked on the door, waited a second and then knocked more firmly. She waited, shivering, wet and cold, and was about to knock again when she heard footsteps on wooden boards. The door opened a crack and she saw an eye peering out and a grey head.
‘Yes?’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘I’m – I’m looking for Harry Carr.’
The door opened wider and an old woman stood there, and for a second Jeannie felt that she was looking at her own grandmother Aggie Marshall. The same iron-grey hair tied in a knot, the same thin lined face. But this woman’s expression was granite hard; her eyes were cold as steel and her mouth was set in a thin narrow line. Her voice when she spoke was harsh.
‘An’ who’s askin’?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEANNIE SWALLOWED HARD and pushed her soaked hair away from her face. ‘I’m Jeannie Marshall, a –
She’d noticed the public house, the Wassand Arms, as she’d walked along the road, but she dared not go in. Such places were not for women or girls like her.
The boy came out of the shop and muttered, ‘I’ve gotta tek ’bread home first or me mam’ll bray me.’
Jeannie nodded and followed him further up the road until he turned off into a narrow terrace.
‘Wait ’ere,’ he said. ‘Don’t follow me or it’ll cost you more.’
She waited as instructed and watched as he raced up the terrace and turned into a gateway. All the houses had a patch of soil in front of them but none as far as she could see were cultivated. In the nearest one, weeds flourished among decayed cabbages. She waited what seemed an interminable time and wondered if perhaps his mother wouldn’t let him come out again. She thought of what her mother might have done if a stranger had asked Tom for directions when he was a child. Jeannie knew for certain that she would have come out to inspect the enquirer before letting him go anywhere with someone she didn’t know.
Presently the boy came out again. He walked nonchalantly, biting into an apple core.
‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘Your mother doesn’t mind you taking me?’
He stared at her, his mouth half open as if to bite the apple. ‘I didn’t tell her,’ he breathed nasally. ‘She’d’ve wanted more’n tuppence and she’d’ve kept it.’
They walked away from the terrace, and when out of sight of the houses he turned towards her. ‘I’ll ’ave ’money fost.’
Jeannie felt in her deep skirt pocket, brought out a penny and held it out to him.
‘I said tuppence!’
‘A penny now,’ she said firmly, ‘another when we get there and I know it’s the right house.’
He grabbed it from her. ‘It is ’right house. I know ’lad who lives next door.’
Jeannie nodded. ‘That’s all right then, but you’ll still have to wait for the other penny. Are we going or not?’
He seemed to hesitate, as if wondering whether to scarper with the unearned coin or make an effort to earn another. ‘Yeh!’ he said at last. ‘Come on then, it’s not far.’
She followed him back in the direction from which she had come until he turned off down the road marked Walcott Street, which had a large church on the corner. She was encouraged to believe that he probably did know the house and the family, for it was close enough to his home for him to have a friend in the vicinity.
The street was lined with terraced houses, their front doors opening on to the pavement. Halfway down Stan stopped and pointed. ‘Next but one to ’bottom.’ He waved a finger to the right side. ‘That’s where they live.’
‘Who lives?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Harry Carr. That’s who you said, wa’n’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It was.’
She gave him the other penny and he scooted off without a thanks or goodbye, leaving her to walk alone past the windows of the other houses, wondering if anyone was looking out inquisitively at her.
She came to the house he’d indicated and timidly knocked on the door, waited a second and then knocked more firmly. She waited, shivering, wet and cold, and was about to knock again when she heard footsteps on wooden boards. The door opened a crack and she saw an eye peering out and a grey head.
‘Yes?’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘I’m – I’m looking for Harry Carr.’
The door opened wider and an old woman stood there, and for a second Jeannie felt that she was looking at her own grandmother Aggie Marshall. The same iron-grey hair tied in a knot, the same thin lined face. But this woman’s expression was granite hard; her eyes were cold as steel and her mouth was set in a thin narrow line. Her voice when she spoke was harsh.
‘An’ who’s askin’?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEANNIE SWALLOWED HARD and pushed her soaked hair away from her face. ‘I’m Jeannie Marshall, a –
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