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Rosie Kilshaw is only fifteen when her mother Violet is killed in a tragic accident, but as the oldest of her siblings, she vows to keep her family together, no matter what the sacrifice.

But as distant family members begin to resurface into their lives, Rosie quickly realizes that there is a lot more to parenting than she first thought. And when her estranged aunt Amelia decides to take them in, she will have a difficult choice to make . . .

About the Author

June Francis was brought up in the port of Liverpool, UK. Although she started her novel writing career by writing medieval romances, it seemed natural to also write family sagas set in her home city due to its fascinating historical background, especially as she has several mariners in her family tree and her mother was in service. She has written twenty sagas set in Merseyside, as well as in the beautiful city of Chester and Lancashire countryside.

Dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my mother May Milburn Nelson and Great Aunt Jane, who took Mum and her sister Flo in when their mother died.

‘Duty is the cement which fills in the cracks in a family and helps hold it together’

– J.F.

‘Love, it is said, is blind;

But love is not blind.

It is an extra eye which shows us

what is most worthy of regard’

– J.M. Barrie

Chapter One

Fifteen-year-old Rosie Kilshaw paced the kitchen floor, arms folded across her chest, thin fingers gripping the shabby wool of her coat. Her delicate face, all planes and angles in the gas light, was screwed into a ferocious scowl.

‘She better hadn’t have,’ said Rosie darkly, glancing down at her younger brother and sisters huddling as close as they could to the smoking fire struggling for life in the black-leaded grate.

‘She did promise,’ said Dotty, looking anxious as she knelt up on the rag rug.

‘She did. But she doesn’t always keep her promises,’ said Babs, the second in the family, flicking back the light brown plait which hung over her shoulder. ‘Where could she be? She’s always late in, lately.’

‘God only knows,’ muttered Rosie, impatience and concern forming a tight knot in her chest. It was going to be a big disappointment if they didn’t get to the pantomime this evening. A promise was a promise and although she accepted her mother had to work odd hours doing this extra war job she had taken on, Rosie wished she hadn’t accepted it. The trouble was her mother hated being at home and was blinking pigheaded into the bargain! Rosie could easily have left school and got herself a job by now. But no, Violet Veronica Kilshaw had insisted on her eldest daughter getting an education, which was stupid when they were so hard up.

Rosie looked down at the three upturned faces framed by royal-blue woolly hats which still had a crinkly appearance, having been knitted from an unpicked pullover by their nextdoor neighbour, and felt a surge of anger. Not with her mother this time but with her maternal grandfather and aunts Amelia and Iris, who lived in the lap of luxury out West Derby way on the outskirts of Liverpool.

It was more than five years since the row which had caused the newly widowed Violet to storm out of her father’s house, but Rosie, like her mother, had not forgotten or forgiven that day, which had left them both shocked and resentful for different reasons.

They heard the noise of the front door opening and closing, the tap-tap of high heels on the linoleum, and the next moment Violet entered the kitchen, carrying two shopping bags. ‘Hi, sweethearts.’

‘You’re late. I hope you haven’t forgotten, Mam?’ said Rosie, relieving her of the shopping bags and eyeing her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes with curiosity and relief. Her mother’s moods swung up and down like a yo-yo but this evening she looked particularly pleased with herself. ‘Where the heck have you been?’

Violet laid a finger against her nose. ‘We all have our little secrets. But – hell, I’m sorry I’m late, kids! Look at you, all ready and raring to go.’ Her scarlet-painted mouth widened in a beaming smile as she took in their coats and wellies. ‘But I’m late for a reason. I had to go and get my birthday boy his present.’ She bent and kissed five-year-old Harry on the top of his balaclava-clad head and took a box from one of the shopping bags Rosie had placed on the chenille tablecloth. The boy took it from her hands, tearing eagerly at the brown paper.

‘Tea’s in the other bag,’ said Violet, seating herself on the easy chair to the side of the fireplace and kicking off her high heels. She rested her curly dark head against the back of the chair and began to hum to herself.

‘You have remembered you’re supposed to be taking us to the pantomime?’ said Rosie, undoing the newspaper-wrapped package. Babs, almost fourteen, pounced on the parcel. ‘Is it fish and chips?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Of course it’s fish and chips,’ said Dot, her junior by a year. Her delicate nostrils quivered in her lovely face as her head turned in the direction of the table, eyes damaged by a bout of measles unable to focus on her sister.

‘Lovely!’ said Babs. ‘I’m starving. We’ve only had jam butties, Mam.’

‘Well, Mam?’ said Rosie, knowing Babs’s greed and shoving her aside to open the vinegar-soaked newspaper herself. ‘You haven’t answered. Can’t you afford to take us now?’

‘I’ll keep my promise, don’t you worry, but let me have a rest first.’ Violet half closed her eyes, stretching sheer nylon-clad legs towards the fire. ‘There’s a second house, isn’t there?’

‘Yes. But that’s at eight o’clock and there’ll be a queue. And can we afford the tram fare to get there on time?’

‘Mmmm. I got a bonus tonight,’ said Violet, opening her velvety brown eyes briefly before closing them again and smiling to herself.

‘That’s great! But nobody else I know’s mother goes out to work like you do. Let me leave school, Mam? Let me get a job?’ pleaded Rosie.

‘No.’ Violet’s expression hardened. ‘You have your paper round and that’s help enough. I want you to do well at school. I want you to get qualifications that’ll help you to get a better job than I’ve ever been able to have. I want you to be able to cock a snook at our Amelia and say: “Look at me! I’ve done it without any help from you Needhams.” Besides, your dad really wanted this for you. They hated him, you know that. They hated him, my two ugly sisters,’ she said vehemently. ‘Dead jealous of me they were – so you’ve got to show them.’

Rosie had heard all this before, expressed one way or another, and each time it fuelled her own rage because she could not understand anyone hating her father, Joe. He had been so good and kind and funny. Never would she forget the day his body had been brought home, all broken and bruised. Her mother had been expecting Harry’s birth, and after she had recovered from the initial shock had rushed with her three daughters to her father’s house to ask for financial help. None had been forthcoming.

‘This is just what I wanted, Mam.’ Harry was on his feet, chubby face alight with pleasure, clutching a red-painted wooden engine to his chest. He leant against her knees, throwing back his head and smiling up at her.

Violet kissed his rosy mouth. ‘Aren’t I a clever mam? I wasn’t able to get it for Christmas but your birthday’s a much better day, isn’t it, sweetheart?’

‘How much was your bonus, Mam?’ mumbled Babs, her mouth full of chips. ‘It must have been a few pounds to be able to keep us, buy Harry that train and take us to the pantomime as well.’

‘Don’t be nosy,’ Violet reproved, a frown clouding her brow. ‘Now pass us some chips before you scoff the lot, greedy guts.’

‘What is this work, Mam?’ said Rosie, sawing at a loaf. Her lovely, long-lashed eyes, so like Violet’s own, were watchful. It was not the first time she had asked.

Violet clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘All these bloody questions! It’s secret war work, if you must know, so don’t ask again. Now make us a cup of tea, there’s a love, before we have to go out into the cold, cold snow.’ She shivered expressively, winking at Harry as Rosie handed her a folded slice of bread with chips inside.

She shook her head. ‘But Jack Frost is about and the pavements are bloody slippy. I don’t know how I didn’t break my leg getting here.’ She cocked her dark head on one side and grimaced. ‘You are all sure you want to go to the pantomime? It’s freezing out. We could stoke up the fire and put on the wireless?’

Their faces fell, uncertain whether she meant it. ‘But you promised!’ wailed Dotty. ‘And it is Harry’s birthday.’

‘I know, I know. Keep your hair on,’ said Violet, biting into the chip butty. ‘You don’t all have to look like a wet weekend. I was only joking.’

‘You’re a good lad.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘The spitting image of your dad.’

And he was, too, thought Rosie, biting into a chip butty herself. Family likeness – you couldn’t get away from it. He had Joe’s flaxen hair, blue eyes and easygoing nature. She loved the bones of him. His birth had brought the colour back into their lives after months of Violet’s dark moods and living hand to mouth. Had it not been for the goodness of their neighbours, she did not know how they would have survived. He had been an adorable baby, capturing her heart from the moment he was born. His presence had gone a long way to filling the gap left by her father’s death. Joe and Rosie had been close and he would have loved tonight. He would have said what were chilblains and frozen noses and them being broke for the rest of the month when it came to seeing Mother Goose at the Shakie? Like his four children, he would have walked through a blizzard for such escapist delight on this dark freezing evening of January 1945.

Their breath formed clouds of vapour as the children raced the tram to the stop. Violet shouted at them to slow down, slithering on the ice in a flat pair of shoes with well-worn soles.

They jumped aboard. Harry and Babs sat next to Rosie, nudging each other in their high spirits and demanding to know if there would be a beautiful princess in Mother Goose.

‘I don’t know. But it’ll be fun, I know that!’ Her eyes were bright with anticipation, remembering the last pantomime she had seen. It had been The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe with Old Mother Riley before the war, and had been her last trip out with Joe.

Her father had been a carter, and according to Violet, Grandfather Needham had considered Joe not good enough for her. Yet Grandfather Needham himself had pulled himself up by his boot straps to become a pharmacist. Perhaps he was ashamed of his beginnings and that was why he hung on to his money despite having his own shop and a four-bedroomed semi-detached house. Snobs of the first order, Violet had called him and her sister Amelia, and Rosie could only agree.

‘I was thinking of Grandfather and the ugly sisters,’ she blurted out without thinking.

‘Well, don’t!’ Violet twinkled. ‘It’s not Cinderella we’re going to see, you know. We’re going to have fun this evening, so fix your face.’

The tram rattled on down London Road, approaching the Paramount cinema which was across the road from Fraser Street where the Shakespeare Theatre was situated. They all stood up, Rosie holding Babs and Harry by the hand, Violet with Dotty in front. To their surprise and dismay, the tram went rattling past the stop.

‘Hey, mate, where yer goin’?’ demanded a youth standing at the bottom of the stairway. ‘I wanted that stop!’

The driver ignored them, pulling desperately on the brake handle as the tram hurtled like a rocket towards William Brown Street, screeching as it went, and straight on past the bomb-damaged Liverpool Museum. Dotty screamed, clinging to her mother’s arm. ‘It’s going too fast!’

‘Of course it bloody is,’ muttered Violet as they all swayed and pitched with the tram as it thundered towards Dale Street.

‘Sweet Jesu!’ The words were torn from Violet as the tram leapt the points where Dale Street met Byrom Street.

People screamed and yelled as all the lights went out and the tram toppled over. Rosie lost her grip on Babs and Harry and was flung against a seat before rolling over and vanishing between two of them as the tram went skidding along the ground with a noise reminiscent of a knife scraping a tin plate. The next moment, they hit something, making a horrible grinding noise. Rosie clung to one of the seat supports, praying the tram would stop, but it carried on sliding. Then the tram hit something else before shuddering to a halt.

For a moment, she dared not move and could only think how quiet and still everything had gone. Then, just as the first chirp of a lone bird signals the dawn chorus, came the tinkling of falling glass and shifting bricks, followed by the moans and groans of the injured.

Gone where? she thought, stupefied but beginning to think about moving. The trouble was the floor was not where it should be. But she managed to drag herself painfully upright and took several deep breaths. ‘Harry! Babs!’ she yelled.

They both answered. Using the seats for support, she was able to move in the direction of their voices. Her gloved fingers touched a bare leg. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Me. Wasn’t that fun?’ Harry’s teeth were chattering as he clung to her arm. ‘Are we upside-down?’

He trembled in her arms and she could just about make out his face. ‘Where’s Mam?’

‘Here somewhere.’ She tried to sound cheerful, subduing her own anxiety. Carefully, she put him down, ordering him to stay put.

‘You have to while I find Mam and the others,’ she said, coaxingly. ‘Now do as you’re told, please.’

Rosie touched her own forehead where it hurt and the discovery that she was bleeding too made her feel sick, but at least she was walking wounded, she thought. How would it be with those who weren’t?

‘I’m stuck,’ came Babs’s calm voice somewhere to Rosie’s left. ‘One of me plaits is caught on something and it doesn’t half hurt when I pull.’

Stretching her arm in the direction of the voice, Rosie touched a face. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yeah.’ Babs rubbed her cheek against Rosie’s hand. ‘Can you get me out?’

The same female voice which had spoken before said, ‘You go and see to her, luv. I’ll deal with these two.’

Rosie thanked the woman and made her way to the front by dint of dragging herself from seat to seat. She found Dot wedged under the stairwell by the groaning, prone body of the youth she took to be the one who had been standing at the foot of the stairs. He was barely conscious but she managed to drag him out of the way, realising by the look of the mess about her that the tram had ploughed into a shop window. Her heart began to thump heavily as she wondered if her mother was under all that rubble.

Dotty’s fingers searched Rosie’s face. ‘It is you but your face is all wet!’ she said, voice trembling with relief.

‘It’s blood, but I’m OK. Can you get up?’ Rosie touched her sister’s arm but withdrew her hand swiftly, aware of shards of glass penetrating the wool of her glove. Ordering Dotty to lean on her, she levered her sister upright.

Suddenly, Rosie was blinded by the glare of headlights as a vehicle squealed to a stop. There was the sound of male voices.

‘Here comes the cavalry,’ drawled the woman who had offered to take care of Babs and Harry. ‘The Yanks, by the sound of it.’

A cheer went up and a voice said, ‘A bit of light on the subject. That’s a relief.’

‘Shut up!’ said Rosie fiercely. ‘Don’t be such a baby. You’re thirteen and you’re making a show of us.’

‘But Mam’s gone! She nearly yanked my arm off,’ whimpered Dotty, breath catching on a sob.

Rosie almost choked with relief. A broken arm or leg, she thought, remembering what Violet had said about slippery pavements.

A head popped into view above a shattered window. It was male, wearing a helmet with ‘MP’ on it. A large capable-looking hand shone a torch into their faces. ‘Anyone want out of there?’ asked its owner cheerfully.

‘Ask a daft question,’ murmured the woman, who had Harry and Babs in tow. She thrust the boy forward. ‘Could you get these kids out, mate?’

‘Sure, ma’am!’ He touched his helmet with the side of his hand, telling them to step back, and got rid of the jagged pieces of glass remaining in a side front window pretty sharpish.

In no time at all, the four Kilshaw children were standing on the road. Several firemen, civilian policemen and transport workers were now on the scene, their offices in Hatton Garden a short distance away having been swiftly alerted. The headlights of the US jeep lit up a scene reminiscent of the Blitz and there was a smell of brick dust and hot metal in the air. A live cable swung dangerously above two trams lying on their sides and Rosie realised that the other tram must have been the first thing theirs had hit.

She took Dotty and Harry by the hand, telling Babs to stick close, and began walking back to where the tram had jumped the points. Suddenly, a constable, past middle age and plump, loomed up in front of them. One of those, she presumed, who had been called upon after retirement when younger men had gone to war. Rosie could see where he had cut his chin shaving as, lowering his head, he gasped, ‘Where are you off to, kids? You’ve got a few cuts that’ll need seeing to. Wait for the ambulances. They’ll be here soon.’

‘We’re looking for Mam. She fell off the tram when it jumped the points.’ Rosie’s voice trembled despite all her efforts to stay calm.

‘Well then, I think I’d better come along with you,’ he said, taking Babs’s hand and falling in beside them.

People were hurrying past towards the scene of the accident but one man was crouching over a figure sprawled on the pavement. Instantly, Rosie left the others and ran.

‘Take it easy now,’ said the policeman, catching up with her and placing a hand on her shoulder as she knelt on the pavement.

Scarcely aware of him, Rosie gazed down at her mother’s ashen face. There was blood coming out of her nose, which made Rosie feel sick all over again. She was scared, just as she had been on the night of Harry’s birth. Removing her woolly hat and swallowing back tears, Rosie placed it beneath her mother’s cheek. Then, taking one of her hands, she chafed it, pretending not to have seen the blood staining the hoary pavement.

‘An ambulance’ll be here soon,’ said the constable in a would-be comforting voice, taking off his cape and covering Violet with it. It was true. Rosie could hear bells clanging as if to say, Make way! Make way! He picked up a handbag lying on the pavement. ‘Is this your mam’s?’

‘Yes!’ Rosie almost snatched it from him, looping it over her shoulder. Violet never allowed anyone to look in her handbag. She made jokes about keeping her secrets in there. She watched the policeman taking out a notebook and pencil, and was irritated. Surely he wasn’t going to start asking them questions now?

But he was. ‘Now how about giving me some details about yourselves while we’re waiting?’

‘It’s my birfday,’ said Harry, breathing noisily through his nose while sucking his thumb.

Harry took his thumb out of his mouth and looked up at the policeman. ‘I’m five today, and we were going to the pantomime.’

‘To see Mother Goose. Mam was treating us,’ said Dotty in a shaky voice. ‘We won’t be able to go now and I was looking forward to it even though I wouldn’t have been able to see it. I’d have enjoyed the jokes and the music.’

‘Shut up about it,’ snapped Rosie. ‘What’s a pantomime when Mam’s bad like this?’

‘Now don’t be getting yourself upset,’ said the policeman. ‘Give me your mam’s name and address and, tell me, is your dad in the Forces?’

The four Kilshaws shook their heads. ‘He was killed before he could go and fight,’ said Babs. ‘Crushed by a truckload of scrap iron on the dock road.’

The policeman clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Shame! Any other family? Grannies, aunts, uncles?’

Before they could reply, a man appeared, carrying a small black bag. Hastily, Rosie moved out of his way, holding her breath as he bent over Violet, willing him to be able to do something. But his inspection was brief, and he asked the policeman to direct the ambulance over to them before giving the children his attention. ‘You’d all better go to the hospital along with your mother and have those lacerations seen to.’

‘Too early to tell.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder a moment and then left.

An ambulance came and Violet was slid on to a stretcher. Rosie thought how lovely it would be if suddenly she regained consciousness because of the movement, just like in Snow White when the poisoned bit of apple had been dislodged and the heroine came back to life.

‘I’m frightened,’ whispered Dotty, her hand creeping into Rosie’s as they climbed into the ambulance.

‘“Don’t think it and it won’t be,”’ muttered Rosie. ‘Remember Mam saying that? Now smile or you’ll worry Harry.’

‘I’ll try. Honestly, I’ll try. But it’s not easy, Rosie. What’ll happen to us if—’

‘Don’t say it,’ she said fiercely, squashing her sister against Babs and putting an arm round Harry.

The policeman joined them, asking the little boy about his birthday, going on to talk about steam locomotives and a journey to Yorkshire before the war with his own son.

Within minutes, they’d arrived at the Royal Infirmary in Pembroke Place and once inside, Violet was whisked away. Rosie would have gone with her but was told to be sensible and look after her brother and sisters. There followed an unpleasant half hour while glass was dug out of faces and abrasions dealt with. Then the policeman asked them if there were any female relatives who could stay with them that night.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Rosie, expression defiant, folding her arms. ‘I’m staying here until I know Mam’s OK.’

Rosie continued to glare at her and Babs rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that! I bet half of it was Mam’s fault. You know how she gets.’

‘How can you say that? She’s only the way she is because of them!’ cried Rosie, her fury ready to erupt.

Babs shrugged. ‘Aunt Iris was OK. Remember how she took us in the garden and played with us?’

‘Her? She’ll be no help! She was under their thumb. Remember Mam telling us that?’

‘What’s it matter now?’ Babs rested her chin on one hand. ‘It’s years ago. The war’s probably changed everything.’

‘Having trouble?’ A woman dressed in the uniform of the Women’s Auxiliary Peace Corps stood at the policeman’s shoulder.

Rosie nudged her sister in the ribs. ‘Not a word,’ she hissed. ‘Or it’ll be the worst for you when Mam comes to.’

The policeman looked down at the two sisters and they stared woodenly back at him. He sighed. ‘I need someone to stay with these kids tonight. Their mam’s not too good,’ he explained.

‘Sure, I’ll look after them,’ said the woman, expression sympathetic. ‘What an evening it’s been for you, hey, kids? I bet you’re worn out. Shall we be off?’

‘I want to stay,’ insisted Rosie, scared all of a sudden that if she left the hospital she might never see her mother again.

‘I understand how you feel,’ said the woman brightly. ‘But think of your sisters and brother. They need you and their beds. Leave your mam to the experts.’ She placed a firm arm round Rosie, ushering her unwilling body to the exit.

At home, the cat was mewing on the step. Rosie scooped him up, pressing her face against his fur a moment before thrusting him into Babs’s arms. She hurried ahead to light the gas mantle, tears threatening, remembering how they had been so looking forward to the evening a few hours ago. She rushed out of the room, not wanting to disgrace herself by giving in to her tears, and ran down the yard to the lavatory.

It was almost pitch black with the door closed because the storm lantern placed there to prevent the pipes from freezing had gone out. Placing her mother’s handbag on the wooden seat, she allowed the tears to fall. She remembered Joe hanging that very same lantern here year after year when she was a child and wished fervently he had not died. Her father had had eyes which could change from sadness to humour and devilment as quickly as you could say ‘Flash Harry’.

They had never had much money, though their house had been a happy place with him in it. But she knew little about his family background, she realised. He had seldom mentioned his mother who, Violet had told her, had been as against the marriage as her own family and had cut her son out of her life after he set his will against hers. As for his father, Joe himself had said he remembered there being a row and his sailor father Walter Kilshaw leaving in a hurry. His mother had told him Walter had gone to join his ship, but he had never returned and Joe, only a small boy at the time, had mourned his passing, believing him lost at sea.

Rosie felt doubly sad now, regretting she had never got to know any of her grandparents. Violet had been convinced Joe’s mother, Maggie Kilshaw, was dead. She had lived not far from the docks where the city had been heavily bombed. The houses there were a far cry from the one in West Derby. Rosie found herself thinking again of her Grandfather Needham and aunts and of that visit after Joe’s death.

Her mother had been quite cheerful, convinced she could persuade Grandfather Needham to give them money. After all, she had said, she had once been his favourite daughter. That was why it had hurt him so much, her marrying against his will.

Rosie shivered, remembering the humdinger of a row with Aunt Amelia’s angry contralto voice joining in. They could be heard in the garden where Aunt Iris had taken the children to play. Rosie had immediately rushed to press her face against the French windows and been scared almost out of her wits by the sight of her grandfather’s face. His eyes were bulging, his cheeks scarlet, and she had moved away quickly, thinking he might explode. But not before Amelia had spotted her and given her a furious look.

Within minutes, Violet had come searching for them, hurting their wrists as she seized hold of them, storming out of the garden, yelling she would never return and that they’d better never darken her doors, ever! And they never had.

Footsteps sounded in the yard and a voice called, ‘You haven’t fallen down, have you, luv?’

‘No, I’m coming.’ Rosie dragged automatically on the chain but it did not release a torrent of water. The pipes had frozen and in the morning they would have to carry a bucket of water down to flush the lav. It was enough to make her weep all over again.

‘You OK?’ said the woman cheerfully, meeting her at the back door and hurrying her inside.

‘Fine,’ she said tersely, realising in an almost heart-stopping moment that the woman must have used nearly all the coal to have stoked the fire so that it glowed deep red. Babs was making toast before it.

‘We don’t have any. Just underpants and vest or knickers and vest,’ said Rosie, embarrassed.

‘No problem,’ said the woman, still cheerful. ‘It’ll save warming them up. I’ll bunk down on the couch.’

‘You could have Mam’s bed,’ said Dotty eagerly, turning her face towards her. ‘Me and Babs sleep in her room in a single bed.’

‘I sleep with Rosie,’ said Harry, pushing his new engine back and forth on the linoleum. ‘We couldn’t afford another bed when I got too big for me cot.’

‘Shush,’ muttered Rosie. ‘You don’t have to tell everyone. It would have been difficult getting one anyway with shortages.’

‘That’s true,’ said the woman, adding casually, ‘Does your mother have any family?’

Rosie shot a warning look at Babs and said swiftly, ‘We’re not going to tell you! We’ll manage without them.’

From her perch on a sagging easy chair, Dotty said, ‘I’ve only met them once. When Dad died and Mam took us to see Grandfather. I was only eight. It was a lovely house with a huge garden. I remember the flowers smelling all spicy and sweet.’

‘It was just after I caught measles and my eyes went funny,’ said Dotty. ‘Mam went there for money. D’you think—’ She turned her face in Rosie’s direction.

‘I think you should shut up,’ muttered her eldest sister, scraping margarine on to the toast.

Harry looked up at her and without a word left his engine, resting his head against her thigh. ‘Don’t get upset,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘Don’t get upset, Rosie. You know Mammy doesn’t like it when we get upset.’

Rosie placed her cheek against his hair. ‘You’re right, love. But she’d like it even less if her sisters set foot in this house. So let’s have no more said about them, Dotty. It’s time we were all in bed, anyway.’

The woman looked at her but said nothing more about the aunts, and after having a slice of toast each and a hot drink, they went upstairs.

Rosie woke early, slipping out of bed cautiously so as not to wake Harry, dressing and creeping down the wooden stairs.

In the kitchen she found their local bobby, drinking Camp coffee with the WAPS woman. He stood up immediately Rosie entered, a solemn and unhappy expression on his face. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. But they said she didn’t suffer at all.’

Although half expecting the bad news, it knocked her sideways and if she had not sat down hurriedly, she would have fallen. Rosie sank her head into her hands, struggling with tears.

‘You cry if you want to, luv,’ said the woman, standing at her shoulder and patting it.

Immediately, the girl lifted her head. What was the point in weeping? she thought. It wasn’t going to bring her mother back. She rose and made herself some tea, drinking it piping hot. But even the heat did not melt the icy lump inside her chest.

‘These aunts, Rosie.’ The bobby straddled a dining chair, gazing at her with a whole world of sympathy in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to tell me where they live.’

‘No! I can look after us,’ she said desperately. ‘I’ll leave school and get a job. I’ve been used to caring for the others when Mam’s been out evenings.’

Rosie was silent, twisting a handful of the chenille tablecloth between her fingers. ‘You’re wrong. I could look after us with Mrs Baxendale next door’s help. She’s very respectable, sings in the choir.’

He sighed. ‘She’ll do for today, luv. But you’re going to have to tell me where those aunts live. What are you going to do for money, like? You couldn’t earn enough to keep you all.’

Rosie jumped to her feet, dark hair flying about her shoulders, a wild look in her eyes. ‘The last thing they’ll give us is money! They wouldn’t give it to Mam. They’re not going to care about us. You don’t know that family. Mam said . . .’ She stopped, sinking on to her chair, knees shaking, realising she would never hear her mother saying anything ever again.

‘Families do fall out. There could be reasons you don’t know anything about,’ said the bobby with careful patience. ‘So where do they live?’

Rosie stared at him, full lower lip pressed against the thinner upper one. Then she swallowed. ‘You’re not going to wear me down.’ She rose to her feet, adding loudly, ‘I’ve got to get the kids’ breakfast ready before we go to school. I’ve had the oats in soak.’

‘You’re not doing yourself any favours. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to tell me,’ said the policeman, exasperated. ‘With your mam dead, yer don’t have a choice.’

Dotty came further into the room, padding on the linoleum in her bare feet, clutching a disreputable golliwog in one hand and wearing her underskirt and liberty bodice. She collided with the chair which the bobby had pulled out, yelping, ‘Who moved that?’

‘Serves you right,’ said Rosie coldly. She turned to the policeman. ‘She won’t remember. She was only a kid.’

‘It smelt of lavender and beeswax polish,’ said her sister, sitting down. ‘It’s in Honey’s Green Lane, Babs said.’ Dotty’s face turned in Rosie’s direction. ‘She said if Mam died we could be put in an orphanage and I don’t want to be put into an orphanage, Rosie, so what else can we do? Aunt Iris was OK.’

Rosie made no reply, her own face pinched and drawn. Placing the trivet over the fire and putting on the porridge pan, she said, ‘I’m going to wake the others and then we’re going to school.’ She walked out of the kitchen, head held high.

‘She’s like Mam.’ A tear escaped to roll slowly down Dotty’s left cheek. ‘Poor Mam. But they will help, won’t they? They’re family. They’ll have to. They live in Honey’s Green Lane. It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?’

‘No. But Babs said the house is called “Eden”. It’s interesting, isn’t it? It’s out of the Bible. Mrs Baxendale next door read the story to me. It’s where Adam and Eve lived.’

‘Hmmph!’ The bobby wrote down the name, thinking all had not been lovely in the Garden of Eden either. Then he got up. ‘You staying?’ he asked the WAPS woman.

She shook her head. ‘I’m whacked. I think the girl can cope with making porridge and getting them off to school.’

They left the house together, he to visit the next-door neighbour to ask her to keep her eye on the Kilshaw children before making the house called ‘Eden’ his next port of call.

Chapter Two

Amelia Needham checked the standard measures on the back of the NH card against the side of the bottle and handed it to the woman on the other side of the counter. ‘That’ll be tuppence.’

‘Tuppence?’ she exclaimed, sounding scandalised as she reached for the bottle. ‘My husband’s supposed to get this free. It was Lloyd George who said—’

‘I don’t care what Lloyd George said. You know what the tuppence is for, Mrs Rothwell,’ said Amelia, holding the bottle of cough mixture just out of reach. ‘Your husband might be on the panel but if you don’t want to pay the tuppence again, bring the bottle back next time.’

‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ muttered the woman, fumbling in her shabby purse. ‘Tuppence! I could put that in the gas meter.’

Amelia remained unmoved, wishing not for the first time she could afford to give the darn bottles away but knowing that if she did, none would ever be brought back, and bottles had to be saved. Counting the cost of the war was something the whole country still had to do.

The elderly woman pressed a penny and two ha’pennies into Amelia’s palm and almost snatched the bottle from her. Turning away, she collided with a younger woman. ‘Watch where yer going!’ she snapped before hurrying out.

‘Tess, are you all right?’ Amelia came out from round the counter and steadied her friend.

‘Don’t fuss, Lee!’ Tess’s voice shook as she thrust a prescription into Amelia’s hand.

She glanced at it. ‘What’s this? Sleeping pills?’ Amelia had known Tess Hudson since they had attended college in Blackburn Place thirteen years ago to study the theory part of their secondary certificate in pharmacy. She noticed that her friend’s lipstick was smeared halfway up her thin cheeks and the metal-framed, thick-lensed spectacles needed cleaning. Her auburn hair dangled untidily and the buttons of her coat were fastened through the wrong holes so that it hung lopsided.

‘It’s getting worse, isn’t it?’ said Amelia, guiding her to the chair used by customers needing a rest. Tess was a diabetic and had ulcerated feet. Amelia wondered if she was eating properly and taking enough insulin.

Amelia’s face tightened with concern. ‘I wish I could help you. Are you worrying about Peter?’

Tess avoided her eyes. ‘If he had gone to Burma, maybe, but we worked out a code and he’s in Norway. The war’s as good as over there.’

Tess clasped her hands tightly in her lap. ‘You should know,’ she said wearily. ‘I can’t keep up with the twins and the place is always a bloody mess. I can’t see well enough to do anything properly – and I can’t bloody sleep!’

‘But you’ve got Chris. He’s a good lad, and he’s got a job now. His wages must help? Although I never thought Peter would agree to his working on the land.’

Amelia bit her lip. ‘I had. Peter’s always behaved like a father to him and I put what you told me all those years ago out of my mind. Have you ever heard from the real father?’

Tess made a queer little noise in her throat which could have been a laugh, before saying in a breathless kind of voice, ‘I don’t think he even loves his wife. Listen, Lee, are you going to give Mr Brown that prescription or not? I haven’t got all day.’

‘Of course, keep your hair on.’ Amelia squeezed her shoulder, hating to see her friend going downhill so fast. ‘I wish I could help you more,’ she repeated, about to add that what with the shop and the house to see to, she didn’t get much of a chance for anything else.

Tess lifted her head. ‘Do you mean that, Lee? Do you?’ There was an almost hysterical note in her voice. ‘That you’d really like to help me?’

‘Thanks.’ Tess smiled, the smeared lipstick making her face appear clown-like. ‘Now, that prescription, if you don’t mind?’

‘All right! I’m going, I’m going.’ Amelia returned her smile and went into the dispensing room to the rear of the shop.

It was a place she had always loved ever since her father had first brought her here when she was only a child just after the Great War. When old enough, she had started her training as a dispenser but had never completed it because her mother had died and her own life had been turned upside-down. ‘Be quick with this, Brownie. Mrs Hudson’s waiting for it,’ she said to the man her father had trained before her.

She returned to the shop, only to be brought up short by a navy-blue-uniformed figure. Of Tess there was no sign. Amelia wondered where she had gone.

‘Can I help you, Constable?’ she asked, raising well-shaped eyebrows interrogatively.

‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down, miss?’ There was gingery stubble on his chin and where he had taken off his helmet she could see a red mark caused by the strap.

His expression was compassionate. ‘Your sister – I’m afraid she’s met with an accident.’

Amelia gripped the counter with both hands. ‘Iris! Is it serious? But no—’ Uncertainty appeared in her face. ‘They wouldn’t tell me like this. Iris is in Canada.’

Amelia stared at him, shocked. But almost instantly she was remembering the last time she had seen Violet, could hear the harsh words echoing in her head. Now all that defiance, all that vitriol, was wiped out. Violet was dead. She thought of the pain and suffering they had all gone through after Violet had stormed out with her daughters, and the memory left a sour taste in her own mouth.

Amelia stiffened and flung back her head, pale green eyes as hard as glass. ‘I’m perfectly all right, and I’m not going to shed any crocodile tears if you expect that! Thank you for telling me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’

‘Your sister’s children. They’re all alone. They need you,’ he said urgently.

‘I don’t know my sister’s children.’ Amelia’s voice was dismissive. Yet she was remembering a girl’s face pressed to the window, gazing in just as Father had suffered his stroke. ‘My sister kept them away from us. She let my father die without ever seeing him again.’ Amelia’s voice was passionate. ‘Don’t expect me to grieve for her!’

‘That’s as may be, miss,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘But the children . . . they need someone.’

‘Then find someone,’ she urged, leaning across the counter, cheeks flushed. ‘Someone else!’

There was silence broken only by the voice of the pharmacist. ‘Miss Needham, prescription’s ready.’

Amelia turned and took the drugs from Mr Brown with a murmur of thanks, and then she did what she should have done earlier and filled in the prescription book.

‘Excuse me, miss, but you don’t really mean that, do you?’ said the constable.

‘I do.’ Amelia’s voice was carefully controlled now, though her heart was pounding painfully.

‘But they’re all alone and there’s a funeral to arrange. You can’t expect them to do that.’

Amelia plucked the eldest girl’s name out of the air. ‘Rosie – how old is she?’ she said, glancing up from the book.

‘Aye. But not old enough to cope with this kind of thing. Doesn’t want to believe it’s happened. That’s how it can take people. Throws them right off their stride.’

Amelia finished writing and fixed him with a stare. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything about grief, Constable. It’s only a year since my father passed away, and my mother died in childbirth when I was eighteen, along with the baby boy we’d all been hoping for. I had to break off my engagement and my studies to take care of my father and younger sister, who was eight at the time. Violet, the eldest, decided she had her own life to live and left me to pick up the pieces while she waltzed off with her latest boyfriend, marrying him against my father’s wishes.’

‘Aye, well,’ he murmured, looking even more uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons for feeling the way you do, but are they good enough to split up the family and let your own kith and kin go into a home? Because that’s what’ll happen to the younger ones if you can’t help out. I mean, where’s your conscience?’

‘You take too much on yourself, Constable!’ Her voice was like a whiplash. ‘There’s nothing on my conscience. I’ve done my duty by my family. Who’s with the children now? What about their father’s mother?’

‘Don’t know anything about her. Never mentioned her. A neighbour’s with the one they call Dotty but the other three went to school. You can’t really expect a neighbour to see to the funeral and everything. That’s family business, miss,’ he said firmly. ‘So are you going to come?’

A heaviness seemed to descend on Amelia and she felt chilled to the bone. She did not need a cocky little policeman to tell her where her duty lay. Duty was what had killed all her hopes and dreams; her romance with Bernard, which in the end had turned sour on both of them. It was as if once more Violet was mocking her for doing what she had, except this time instead of across a table it was from beyond the grave. ‘Where’s your sense of duty now, Lee?’ She could almost hear her sister saying it.

Well, she wasn’t going to have it! Why should she have to look after Violet’s children? Why? It wasn’t fair! Then she caught the policeman’s eye and knew she would at least have to make the funeral arrangements.

‘I’ll go,’ she said, resentfully. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve work to do.’

He thanked her and turned to leave the shop. Tess collided with him on her way back in and he begged her pardon. She waved him away and headed for the counter. ‘Is that prescription ready, Lee?’

‘Yes.’ Amelia brought her thoughts back to the job in hand. ‘Give me your bag and I’ll put it in. But you’ll be careful with these sleeping tablets, won’t you? Don’t ever take more than two.’

‘No. This one’s on me,’ said Amelia, folding her friend’s fingers over the coins.

Tess gave a twisted smile. ‘You’re very good to me, Lee. Thanks for everything. Goodbye.’

‘I’ll see you soon,’ called Amelia. Then she turned and went into the dispensing room to tell Brownie he was going to have to hold the fort for the next few days.

It had been a difficult day for Rosie. School had seemed so normal that despite the painful stitches in her face and aching ribs where she had fallen against a seat on the tram, she had wondered several times if she had dreamt the policeman sitting in the kitchen saying her mother was dead. She wanted it to have been a nightmare. She certainly felt strange, limbs leaden and head woolly, as if she had just woken from a deep, deep sleep. Stupidly, she pinched herself, knowing all the time it was no dream.

A gust of freezing wind blew up the skirts of her school mackintosh and, shivering, she broke into a run, humping the satchel of books over her shoulder.

‘Hey, Rosie!’ A delivery bicycle came to a skidding halt in the gutter beside her. ‘Give us your satchel?’ said its rider, balancing his heavy machine with one foot set against the kerb.

‘Is that a joke?’ She gave him a hostile stare. Davey lived next door, Mrs Baxendale’s only remaining son, the eldest having been killed in the war. She had always been kind to the Kilshaw children but Davey had been the bane of Rosie’s life for as long as she could remember.

‘I’m trying to be neighbourly,’ he drawled, flicking back the curling lock of dark hair that dangled over his forehead. ‘I’ve heard about your mam.’

‘Give us a break.’ He drew together eyebrows like sooty slashes, slanting upward at the outer corners. ‘Worms turn. So do leaves.’

‘You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face,’ he warned, a mite impatiently, stretching out one hand. ‘Give us it here, I’ll drop it off at yours. Then you can go straight off and do your paper round. No need to worry about the kids. I dropped in on Ma and she tells me your aunt’s there.’

Rosie’s heart felt as if it had suddenly taken a ride on an helter-skelter. She decided to take a chance on him, dumping her satchel in the wicker basket at the front of the bicycle. ‘I can’t afford to replace those books, you know. So don’t be losing them. Or else!’

Contents

About the Book

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two