thinking deep thoughts.
‘I can find you a pencil,’ she said at last. ‘How about I pop it over to you when the old cow’s gone to the pub?’
‘She locks the door when she goes out,’ Magda said, her tone not so merry as they got closer to the gloomy house in Edward Street.
‘Never mind. I can pass it under the door to you. How would that be?’
In her mind’s eye, Magda visualised the ill-fitting door.
‘The gap beneath the door is big enough to push a pencil under.’
‘Big enough to push a bit of decent paper and card under too? Paper for your letters, card for your cards.’
Magda was staring into the street, her stomach churning.Her steps slowed. She really didn’t want to go back into that house, but the Bible with those addresses inside was there.
Seeing the stiffening of Magda’s face, Emily slowed her steps too.
‘How come you’re not at school?’
Magda hunched her shoulders and heaved a big sigh. ‘She won’t let me go. She won’t let me read either. Says all I’m fit for is to scrub floors. Mostly her floors. But I’m working on getting her to let me go to school. There has to be somebody who can make her let me go, don’t you think?’
Emily Crocker narrowed her eyes. She had a mind to interfere, but no doubt Winnie One Leg would tell her to mind her own business. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Winnie now, trying not to be seen but there all the same, sneaking a peek out of the window.
‘Leave the pencils and stuff with me. I can find something a bit better than the paper used to wrap sausages. Bit smelly,’ she said, her dark eyes shining as she wrinkled her nose.
Despite the cold wind and her grumbling stomach, Magda suddenly felt warmer.
‘That would be lovely. Really lovely. Thank you.’
True to her promise, Emily Crocker waited until she saw Bridget Brodie on her way to the Red Cow. Her lips were red, her cheeks were rouged and she was wearing a fur coat that Emily reckoned really belonged to the invalid landlady of the Red Cow.
‘Look at ’er,’ she said to the other girls. ‘Done up like a dog’s dinner. And she got the nerve to call us slappers!’
‘Fur coat and no knickers,’ said her best friend Betty Cooper and went back to fastening a sequin-covered hair net over her crinkly dark hair.
‘I’m no expert, but I reckon that kid should be at school,’ said Emily. ‘I weren’t going to say anything because …’
‘It’s none of your business,’ said Winnie One Leg.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ muttered Emily. ‘I’m nipping over there in a minute to shove this under the door.’
Winnie peered at the pencil and paper and sniffed. ‘Can’t do no harm. Just make sure the Connemara mare’s left the end of the street before you do it. You know how she is; any excuse to call the rozzers.’
‘Shouldn’t we be calling somebody out to sort her – you know – the people who deal with child welfare?’
Winnie One Leg didn’t respond straight away. She was looking across the street, aware of a small shadow impairing the light from within.
‘Very likely,’ she said thoughtfully.
The girls exchanged shrugs and pulled faces. Winnie had something on her mind. Winnie could pull strings.
By the light of a street lamp Magda saw Emily Crocker sprinting across the road as fast as her court shoes could carry her.
Magda pulled the draught excluder – no more than an old stocking smelling of her aunt and stuffed with newspaper – away from the bottom of the door.
A cold draught came in first. Her eyes opened wide with delight as not one but three pencils were pushed underneath it, rolling around on top of a piece of stiff white cardboard and a writing pad. To her great joy an unopened box of crayons came in behind it.
It didn’t matter that the cardboard looked as though it had once been part of a shoe or shirt box. It didn’t matter that she’d have to cut the bits of card into shape just as she had the butcher’s paper. She
‘I can find you a pencil,’ she said at last. ‘How about I pop it over to you when the old cow’s gone to the pub?’
‘She locks the door when she goes out,’ Magda said, her tone not so merry as they got closer to the gloomy house in Edward Street.
‘Never mind. I can pass it under the door to you. How would that be?’
In her mind’s eye, Magda visualised the ill-fitting door.
‘The gap beneath the door is big enough to push a pencil under.’
‘Big enough to push a bit of decent paper and card under too? Paper for your letters, card for your cards.’
Magda was staring into the street, her stomach churning.Her steps slowed. She really didn’t want to go back into that house, but the Bible with those addresses inside was there.
Seeing the stiffening of Magda’s face, Emily slowed her steps too.
‘How come you’re not at school?’
Magda hunched her shoulders and heaved a big sigh. ‘She won’t let me go. She won’t let me read either. Says all I’m fit for is to scrub floors. Mostly her floors. But I’m working on getting her to let me go to school. There has to be somebody who can make her let me go, don’t you think?’
Emily Crocker narrowed her eyes. She had a mind to interfere, but no doubt Winnie One Leg would tell her to mind her own business. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Winnie now, trying not to be seen but there all the same, sneaking a peek out of the window.
‘Leave the pencils and stuff with me. I can find something a bit better than the paper used to wrap sausages. Bit smelly,’ she said, her dark eyes shining as she wrinkled her nose.
Despite the cold wind and her grumbling stomach, Magda suddenly felt warmer.
‘That would be lovely. Really lovely. Thank you.’
True to her promise, Emily Crocker waited until she saw Bridget Brodie on her way to the Red Cow. Her lips were red, her cheeks were rouged and she was wearing a fur coat that Emily reckoned really belonged to the invalid landlady of the Red Cow.
‘Look at ’er,’ she said to the other girls. ‘Done up like a dog’s dinner. And she got the nerve to call us slappers!’
‘Fur coat and no knickers,’ said her best friend Betty Cooper and went back to fastening a sequin-covered hair net over her crinkly dark hair.
‘I’m no expert, but I reckon that kid should be at school,’ said Emily. ‘I weren’t going to say anything because …’
‘It’s none of your business,’ said Winnie One Leg.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ muttered Emily. ‘I’m nipping over there in a minute to shove this under the door.’
Winnie peered at the pencil and paper and sniffed. ‘Can’t do no harm. Just make sure the Connemara mare’s left the end of the street before you do it. You know how she is; any excuse to call the rozzers.’
‘Shouldn’t we be calling somebody out to sort her – you know – the people who deal with child welfare?’
Winnie One Leg didn’t respond straight away. She was looking across the street, aware of a small shadow impairing the light from within.
‘Very likely,’ she said thoughtfully.
The girls exchanged shrugs and pulled faces. Winnie had something on her mind. Winnie could pull strings.
By the light of a street lamp Magda saw Emily Crocker sprinting across the road as fast as her court shoes could carry her.
Magda pulled the draught excluder – no more than an old stocking smelling of her aunt and stuffed with newspaper – away from the bottom of the door.
A cold draught came in first. Her eyes opened wide with delight as not one but three pencils were pushed underneath it, rolling around on top of a piece of stiff white cardboard and a writing pad. To her great joy an unopened box of crayons came in behind it.
It didn’t matter that the cardboard looked as though it had once been part of a shoe or shirt box. It didn’t matter that she’d have to cut the bits of card into shape just as she had the butcher’s paper. She
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