Read Online Birdcage Walk by Kate Riordan - Free Book Online Page B

off to get some work or money or both, slipped through the front door and hurried up the street before Annie could dry her hands and come to the front door to her berate her further.
    When she got to George’s, it was Cissy who answered. In the instant before she knocked Charlotte had felt sure it would be George whose face appeared from out of the dark stairwell. The nervousness that had surged in her only a moment before was immediately smothered by Cissy’s meek face blinking at her in the bright daylight, like a gas lamp that had been abruptly turned down.
    “If you’re after George, he’s at work,” said Cissy. “He might be doing his half day—I didn’t ask him this morning when he left. Do you want to come in and wait to see if he is out early? I’ve put some tea on.”
    The younger girl spoke the words hopefully and, though Charlotte felt too restless to sit still and sip Cissy’s tea, her mind turning over George’s avoidance of her and whether Annie was already packing up her sister’s sad bundles so she could be gone all the quicker, she nevertheless found herself following the thin figure up the stairs.
    When they reached the Woolfes’ rooms, Charlotte was relieved to see that George’s father was nowhere to be seen. His silence had unnerved Charlotte the only other time she had been there, when George had spontaneously decided to introduce her. It had made for an awkward conversation, with yawning gaps interspersed with overlapping flurries of meaningless chatter between her and Cissy. Throughout, Mr. Woolfe had remained impassive to the collective embarrassment, simply rolling a slim metal file back and forth on the table with downcast eyes, his only contribution the occasional wet clearing of his throat.
    “Dad’s out this morning,” said Cissy, seeing Charlotte’s quick glance about the room. “I said he could take his own cages to the market today, now it’s so chilly. I can’t stand how freezing it gets staying in the same spot. It gets into my bones. He needed the fresh air, I told him.” She smiled to herself as she poured a cup of weak tea out and handed it to Charlotte. “There’s no sugar, I’m afraid,” she remembered, her smile fading.
    To Charlotte, who had grown accustomed to Annie’s regime of bleaching, scrubbing and boiling, the air of the room was not transparent but yellowed, as if discoloured by a layer of old grease. Cissy did her best, but she was still young and cleaned only what had been spilled, the rest of the time just dabbing with her cloth at the middle of things while the edges silted up.
    Distracted, Charlotte sat down on the one easy chair. Cissy, now armed with her own cup of tea, pulled a hard chair over towards the older girl and sat down opposite, smiling down into the steaming liquid.
    “So, you and George have been courting for a fair few months now, haven’t you?” she said shyly, when the quiet between them had grown noticeable. They had barely spent any time alone before.
    “Yes, I suppose we have,” said Charlotte with a sigh. “It’s gone quick. But listen, Cissy, while I’m here I may as well ask you. Was he in with you last night? He’d said he might, well, I thought I might see him down the pub.”
    Cissy looked both embarrassed and eager at the same time. “He was here for his tea and then he went out for a couple of hours, said he fancied a walk—I don’t even ask no more—and then he was back in, well, it must have been about 10. Then he was up late, keeping me awake with the candle burning while he did his drawing again.”
    Charlotte leaned back and let her head rest against the back of the chair. Her headache had descended so it sat immediately above her eye sockets and with her free hand she massaged her brow.
    “Are you alright, Lottie?” asked Cissy. “You look ever so pale. Have you had any breakfast?”
    “No. Thanks, Cissy, but I couldn’t eat a thing. I had one too many last night and my head is pounding. I