Read Online Forgive and Forget by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Dickinson
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girl that seemed an age away; she couldn’t even imagine such a time.
‘And in the meantime, Polly, keep up your reading. I’ll lend you some books, if you like. And read the newspapers if you can. Newspapers are a great source of education.’
‘I will,’ Polly promised, but the promise was made half-heartedly. When on earth would she have time to read? But she did not voice the thought to her former teacher. Miss Broughton meant it kindly.
William was discharged from hospital, but he was still not strong enough to return to his labouring job on the railway.
He came home the day before Violet’s birthday, but there were no celebrations for the eleven-year-old as William sat huddled by the range, weakened by the illness and feeling the cold more than normal. But he was getting better, Polly told herself. Soon their little family could return to normal. Well, not as they’d known it before, of course. Life would never be ‘normal’ again, not since they’d lost their mother. But at least, if her dad got back to work, she’d be able to manage better.
As Polly bustled about the kitchen and the scullery, Eddie came to stand on the hearth in front of William. ‘Dad – Mr Hopkins ses I can leave school at Easter instead of waiting till summer. He ses if I work hard from now till then I can get me certificate, an’ Mr Wilmott ses I can work for him full-time.’
William looked up slowly. His voice was dull and lifeless as he said, ‘That’s good, Eddie. But what about the lad that works for Mr Wilmott usually?’
Eddie hesitated a moment before saying, ‘He got the typhoid. He – he’s not coming back.’
Polly, overhearing, moved closer. ‘Little Benny? Don’t tell me he died, Eddie.’
Eddie nodded. ‘Last week, Mr Wilmott said. They took him to the County, but it was too late. Bit like—’ He broke off and looked down at the floor, but they all knew what he’d been going to say. ‘Bit like our mam.’
William glanced at Polly, bitterness in his eyes. ‘Mebbe his mam cooked him a nice breakfast, did she?’
Polly swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but already William had turned back to Eddie.
With the thought of his Sarah still on his mind, William said, ‘Is it what you want, lad? It’s not what your mam would have wanted for you. She had high hopes you’d stay on at school. Mebbe get an apprenticeship.’
Polly turned away, feeling a shaft of jealousy. She couldn’t help it. Why was it always boys who got the chances? She’d been forced to leave school when she’d wanted to stay on, forced to work in a smelly glue factory. And now, at thirteen – nearly fourteen, she reminded herself – her life for the next few years was mapped out for her and she’d have no say in the matter. She’d be expected to stay at home and run the household; trapped in a life of drudgery that was none of her making.
She stalked back into the scullery and plunged her hands into the sink, not trying, for once, to stem the flow of tears that plopped into the hot washing-up water.
Ten
William was improving. Even the doctor said he was ready to go back to work whenever he liked. But no one could pull him from his lethargy. He was content to sit gazing into the fire, letting Polly wait on him hand and foot.
At last the girl could stand it no longer. She stood on the hearth looking down at her father as he sat slumped in his chair. ‘Dad, this won’t do. We’ve no money left at all.’ In fact, there’d been no money for weeks and they were existing on the half-rotten fruit and vegetables that Eddie brought home on a Saturday night, and the few pence Mr Wilmott paid him. Even if he started fulltime work after Easter as had been promised, the young boy’s wage would not stretch to feeding the whole family.
William raised soulful eyes. ‘I can’t seem to get going, Poll. If only yar mam was still here . . .’
Polly bit back the rising anger and tried
‘And in the meantime, Polly, keep up your reading. I’ll lend you some books, if you like. And read the newspapers if you can. Newspapers are a great source of education.’
‘I will,’ Polly promised, but the promise was made half-heartedly. When on earth would she have time to read? But she did not voice the thought to her former teacher. Miss Broughton meant it kindly.
William was discharged from hospital, but he was still not strong enough to return to his labouring job on the railway.
He came home the day before Violet’s birthday, but there were no celebrations for the eleven-year-old as William sat huddled by the range, weakened by the illness and feeling the cold more than normal. But he was getting better, Polly told herself. Soon their little family could return to normal. Well, not as they’d known it before, of course. Life would never be ‘normal’ again, not since they’d lost their mother. But at least, if her dad got back to work, she’d be able to manage better.
As Polly bustled about the kitchen and the scullery, Eddie came to stand on the hearth in front of William. ‘Dad – Mr Hopkins ses I can leave school at Easter instead of waiting till summer. He ses if I work hard from now till then I can get me certificate, an’ Mr Wilmott ses I can work for him full-time.’
William looked up slowly. His voice was dull and lifeless as he said, ‘That’s good, Eddie. But what about the lad that works for Mr Wilmott usually?’
Eddie hesitated a moment before saying, ‘He got the typhoid. He – he’s not coming back.’
Polly, overhearing, moved closer. ‘Little Benny? Don’t tell me he died, Eddie.’
Eddie nodded. ‘Last week, Mr Wilmott said. They took him to the County, but it was too late. Bit like—’ He broke off and looked down at the floor, but they all knew what he’d been going to say. ‘Bit like our mam.’
William glanced at Polly, bitterness in his eyes. ‘Mebbe his mam cooked him a nice breakfast, did she?’
Polly swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but already William had turned back to Eddie.
With the thought of his Sarah still on his mind, William said, ‘Is it what you want, lad? It’s not what your mam would have wanted for you. She had high hopes you’d stay on at school. Mebbe get an apprenticeship.’
Polly turned away, feeling a shaft of jealousy. She couldn’t help it. Why was it always boys who got the chances? She’d been forced to leave school when she’d wanted to stay on, forced to work in a smelly glue factory. And now, at thirteen – nearly fourteen, she reminded herself – her life for the next few years was mapped out for her and she’d have no say in the matter. She’d be expected to stay at home and run the household; trapped in a life of drudgery that was none of her making.
She stalked back into the scullery and plunged her hands into the sink, not trying, for once, to stem the flow of tears that plopped into the hot washing-up water.
Ten
William was improving. Even the doctor said he was ready to go back to work whenever he liked. But no one could pull him from his lethargy. He was content to sit gazing into the fire, letting Polly wait on him hand and foot.
At last the girl could stand it no longer. She stood on the hearth looking down at her father as he sat slumped in his chair. ‘Dad, this won’t do. We’ve no money left at all.’ In fact, there’d been no money for weeks and they were existing on the half-rotten fruit and vegetables that Eddie brought home on a Saturday night, and the few pence Mr Wilmott paid him. Even if he started fulltime work after Easter as had been promised, the young boy’s wage would not stretch to feeding the whole family.
William raised soulful eyes. ‘I can’t seem to get going, Poll. If only yar mam was still here . . .’
Polly bit back the rising anger and tried
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