Cathy Sharp - Christmas for the Halfpenny Orphans

‘I know you’re in here,’ Pa’s voice was suddenly very close and the stair cupboard door was jerked open, the light from his torch waving about. It touched on Sarah’s face but she must have been hidden from him as seconds later, he swore and slammed the door shut again. ‘I’m not coming back – do you hear?’ his tone was loud, penetrating the door and reaching Samantha. She trembled as he went on, ‘You can starve before I come back, do you understand me? You’re to go to your aunt, Samantha – and that Child of Satan can go to the devil for all I care …’

Samantha held her breath as the minutes ticked by. The noise had died down and the house was quiet. Pa must have gone to sleep by now, surely. Yet she dared not risk coming out until he’d left for work. Putting her arms around Sarah, she held her close as they both shivered in their nightclothes. Only when the house had been silent for what seemed like hours did Samantha risk venturing into the hall in search of a coat to keep them warm.

It was very dark and she had to feel her way along the walls, frightened of making a noise and bringing Pa down on them again, but the house seemed unnaturally quiet. She took her own coat and Sarah’s from the old wooden hallstand and carried them into the cupboard. At least they were safe here and perhaps when Pa came back tomorrow, he would be sorry for his show of temper. He was always worse when he’d been drinking and Samantha couldn’t believe he’d really meant to kill either of them.

In the morning the girls were stiff, cold and hungry when they crept out. The black marble clock on the kitchen mantle said it was past six o’clock. Pa went to work at six every morning so unless he’d overslept he must have gone, though Samantha had been awake ages and she’d heard nothing. The range hadn’t been made up and it was cold in the kitchen, but the one in the scullery was still warm. Samantha stoked it up and added the coal and the wood her father had bought in the previous day.

She was hungry and looked in the pantry, but discovered that the half loaf of bread left from their meal the previous day was missing, as were the cold sausages and the cheese that had been on the pantry shelves. Pa must have taken them for his dinner at work. All Samantha could find was some stale cake she’d made earlier that week; there was enough to cut each of them a slice and, she discovered, there was sufficient tea left to make a brew, though only a drop of milk and no sugar.

It would be weak tea but it would warm them through a bit, she thought, as she carried the meagre breakfast through to the kitchen. Sarah was staring at the kitchen shelf, a look of dismay on her face.

‘Pa’s pipes gone,’ she said. Her gaze travelled round the kitchen, the look of fear and puzzlement growing. ‘Tankard and coat gone … Pa gone …’

‘No!’ Samantha cried as the fear struck her too. ‘He couldn’t have gone … He’s coming back; he must be …’

Looking around the room, she saw that the few treasures that had stood on the dresser shelves, like their mother’s tea caddy and a pair of silver berry spoons, had gone. All that was left was an assortment of china that didn’t match and a brass tin, where pins and bits were stored.

She put down the tray she’d been carrying and ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, flinging open the door of her father’s room. He wouldn’t have deserted them … surely he wouldn’t. Pa wasn’t really a bad man; it was only that he missed their mother and got drunk sometimes.

As soon as she looked round the room, Samantha knew that it was true. Her father had few possessions he treasured and only a couple of extra shirts and his best suit, which he wore only for funerals or weddings. The cupboard had been left open, as if he’d torn everything from its place in a hurry, and his brushes and shaving things had also gone from the washstand.

The truth hit Samantha like a drenching of cold water. Their father had abandoned them, as Aunt Jane had said he would. He might have told Samantha of his plans had Sarah not broken his favourite pipe, but instead he’d gone down the pub to get roaring drunk and then he’d tried to kill Sarah.

Yes, he really had meant to do it, perhaps because he knew Aunt Jane wouldn’t take her. Perhaps he’d thought it better for everyone if Sarah were dead?

Samantha couldn’t believe what her thoughts were telling her. No, Pa wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t attack his daughter and then go off leaving them both to starve … But he had. She sat down on the bed, feeling empty, drained. What was she going to do now?

Samantha knew there was no money in the house. Her father never gave her a penny. He paid the rent and brought home the supplies they needed – and he’d taken everything they had of value. She looked about the room, knowing that the contents wouldn’t fetch more than a few pence from the rag-and-bone man. There were still a few things in the scullery and kitchen, things that had belonged to their mother. Sarah had broken the best china pot, but there might be some copper pans and a few silver spoons in the drawer. She would have to go through every room and take whatever items she could find to the scrapyard later. Samantha was frightened of Alf, the man who ran the scrapyard, but she couldn’t think of any other way to get money to buy food. After that, she wasn’t sure what to do. She knew they wouldn’t be able to stay here: the rent was due on Saturday and Pa wouldn’t be around to pay it.

Samantha ran her hands over her sides, her body aching in the same places that her father’s blows had rained down on her twin. She didn’t know why she always felt her sister’s pain, she just did. That realisation brought her out of her shock and she got up off the bed, knowing she had to go downstairs and see what she could do to help. Poor Sarah must be hurting all over – she already bore the scars of more than one beating and last night’s attack had been the most vicious of them all.

What people didn’t understand was that Samantha and her twin lived for each other. Each felt the other’s pain and sorrow as if it were her own. That was why Samantha couldn’t do as her father ordered and go to Aunt Jane. She’d made it clear she would send Sarah to a place where Samantha knew she would be unhappy. They would never see each other – and that would break both their hearts.

When Samantha walked into the kitchen she found Sarah nursing the clay pipe she’d broken the previous evening, which Pa hadn’t bothered to pick up from the floor. Tears were trickling down her cheeks and Samantha knew that her twin understood Pa had gone, even if she couldn’t grasp what that meant for the two of them. They were all alone in the world now, with no one to turn to, no one who would take them both in.

Well, there was nothing else for it: they would just have to look after each other. As soon as she’d got her sister fed and dressed, Samantha would go to the scrapyard and sell everything of value, and then she would set about finding somewhere they could stay. There were plenty of houses that were standing empty after having been bombed-out in the war. Tramps and homeless people slept in them, and so could she and Sarah – just for a while, just until she could decide what to do …

‘Put that pipe in your pocket and come and eat your cake,’ she said, wrapping an arm around her sister. ‘We’ll be all right, Sarah love. I’ll take care of you now.’