Kitty Neale - Sins of the Father

Susan was the first to speak, her voice high. ‘You mean…you mean our mum’s dead?’

‘Yes, love, I’m afraid so,’ Alice said.

A loud cry pierced the air and, as all eyes went to Bella, Alice quickly drew the child into her arms. Susan too began to cry, and it was Luke who comforted her, whilst Emma struggled to answer Ann’s questions.

‘What does she mean, Em? What’s dead?’

‘Mummy was ill and she didn’t get better.’

‘What? Like Mrs Dunston’s dog?’

The Dunstons lived on the ground floor, the only ones to have use of a small garden at the back of the house. ‘Yes, love, that’s right.’

‘They buried him in the garden. Is that what they’ll do with our mum? I don’t want them to do that to our mum,’ she cried, tears filling her eyes.

‘They won’t, darling.’

James suddenly squirmed on her lap, and looking at everyone with obvious bewilderment, he too began to cry. ‘Want my mummy. Want Mummy.’

It was too much for Emma, her tears spurting as she pulled James close. For several minutes they remained like that, clutching each other and crying, none of them aware that little Archie was sobbing too, obviously affected by their grief.

The door opened. Dick came into the room and immediately swept the toddler up into his arms. ‘It’s all right, Archie. It’s all right,’ he consoled.

Many minutes passed, but at last their tears subsided.

They were still clinging to each other, until Alice gently pushed Bella away, patting her head as she said, ‘I’m sorry, pet, but I’d best go back upstairs. You lot stay here for a while, and if you’re hungry there’s more bread and a pot of jam in the larder.’

Food, Emma thought, feeling sick at the thought, but then James squirmed in her lap again.

‘Want jam,’ he said.

Emma wiped his snotty nose before standing up to place him in her seat. She then went to the larder, but as she cut several slices of bread, her eyes alighted on a newspaper lying on the table. Just below the banner she saw the date, 7 December 1948, and knew it would be etched on her mind for ever. It was the day their mother had died, their cornerstone was gone, their lives changed. What was going to happen to them now? The thought forced its way to the front of her mind. The task of looking after her brothers and sisters would fall to her now.

Oh Mum, how am I going to cope?

On a balmy Sunday morning in June, Alice Moon sat quietly across from her husband, the words she had rehearsed sticking in her throat. Would he agree? God, she hoped so. They had a strong marriage, and she was thankful every day that Cyril had been demobbed in 1945 without a scratch to show for the years of fighting.

Oh, it had been awful without him, and many times she had feared for her own life as bombs rained down on London. Like Myra, she had refused to leave, but felt the children should have been evacuated. Instead, when Myra moved into the attic, Alice had spent night after night helping her to get the kids up when the warning sirens pierced the air, all of them half asleep as they hurried to the nearest shelter. It sometimes felt like a miracle that they’d all survived when so many houses and factories in the area had been flattened. Alice shuddered at the memories, glad they hadn’t ever had to shelter in an underground station, as many people had during the raids. In Balham it had been dreadful, and she was still haunted by what happened in 1940. A high-explosive bomb hit Balham High Road, penetrating the booking hall at the underground station. It had ruptured a large water main, along with the sewer, causing water, mud and gravel to pour down the stairs onto the platform, where about five hundred people were sheltering. Her friend Doreen Broker had been killed, along with sixty-four other poor souls.

Who’d have thought the war would last so long? Cyril had only been on home leave twice in six years. It had been the same for Tom Chambers, but Myra had been lucky, Tom leaving her pregnant on both occasions.

Tears welled in her eyes. Lucky! How could she think that? The poor woman was dead now, and those kids left without a mother. Surreptitiously wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron, she took a deep breath, hoping against hope that she could do something for at least two of them. ‘Cyril.’

He looked up from his newspaper, expression impatient. Cyril’s time on the Sunday morning crossword was sacrosanct and she’d disrupted his concentration. ‘What?’

Now that she had his attention, Alice was determined to plough on. ‘I’m worried about poor Emma.’

‘What? Emma upstairs?’

‘Who else do we know called Emma?’ Alice asked. Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘She’s not coping with the kids.’

‘Well, that ain’t surprising. Bloody hell, seven of them, and noisy little sods they are too!’

‘That’s just it. I think she could manage the older ones, but little Archie is nearly three now and James four. They’re too much of a handful for her.’

Cyril shrugged, his eyes going back to his newspaper. ‘They’ll soon grow up and join the others at school.’

Alice stiffened, determined to keep his attention. ‘Tom Chambers isn’t any help. When he’s not at work, he’s in the pub and rolls home drunk all hours.’

‘Have a heart, Alice. The man’s just lost his wife.’

‘Huh! He’s been like it since he was demobbed. As for losing Myra, it’s been six months now, and if you ask me, things can’t go on the way they are.’

‘He had a rough time of it, and Tom’s one of many who can’t pick up the pieces. Anyway, I reckon you should keep your nose out of it. What goes on upstairs is none of our business.’

‘Myra was my best friend, and for that reason I think it is my business. I’ve been trying to help Emma as much as I can. In fact, to give her a break so she can keep up with the housework and laundry, I’ve been looking after Archie and James for a few hours every day, but it’s rotten for her in the evenings too. She never gets the chance to go out with her friends now, and from what she’s told me, they’ve all drifted away.’

‘I don’t see why the older lads can’t look after the younger ones now and then.’

‘Since when have lads taken on babysitting?’

Cyril pursed his lips. ‘Well, it’s good of you to help her out, but I hope you’re not suggesting babysitting in the evenings.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Good, and don’t go wearing yourself out looking after Archie and James during the day.’ On that note he seemed to lose interest, his eyes going back to his crossword.

‘Cyril Moon! I’m not an old woman! I’m only thirty-eight and quite capable of looking after a couple of kids. In fact, I enjoy it.’