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Authors: Maureen Lee
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pillows and cushions on the floor. In the bathroom she stopped to vomit in the sink, then rested her forehead on the cool, white porcelain rim.
After a while she lifted her eyes, and noticed the lavatory. It didn’t just have a wooden seat, but a lid as well. She sat on the lid, feeling calmer. Mam would be dead ashamed if she knew the way she’d just behaved. She’d been determined to make a good impression on Aunt Ivy. ‘I’m not having her turning up her nose at us,’ she’d said.
Josie slid off the lavatory, cleaned the sink and went around the house straightening the curtains, putting the cushions and pillows back in place. This time she noticed the lovely things that Mam had told her about. The ornaments and little items of fancy furniture, the pictures and mats that her very own grandad had brought back from foreign countries like Japan – elaborate brass candlesticks, mosaic bowls, statues, vases. She sat briefly on the puffy green settee in the parlour and admired the carved elephant with ivory horns with a table on its back.In the big main bedroom, two lamps with shades made from little bits of coloured glass glittered on each side of the double bed, which was covered with a mountainous maroon eiderdown.
There were two bedrooms at the back, one full of cardboard boxes. The other must have been Mam’s and, she assumed, would be hers. A pretty white mat with raised flowers lay beside the single bed which had a dark blue embroidered coverlet. Another brightly coloured mat hung from a pole on the wall, which seemed a most peculiar thing to do with a mat, though perhaps it was a picture: a man, a shepherd because he had a crook, was standing at the foot of a mountain, a hand shading his eyes as he stared at a rainbow.
Josie threw herself on the bed, exhausted, and stared at the ceiling. In its much smaller way, this house was as grand as the one in Huskisson Street when it had been owned by the importer of rare spices. Even so, she didn’t want to live there, not with Aunt Ivy.
But where else could she go? Even if Maude was willing to have her, Josie knew that Mam, up in heaven, would strongly disapprove. And Mam would be as miserable as sin if she knew her Josie was in an orphanage. She supposed that she had no alternative but to stay with Aunt Ivy, pretend her name was Smith and that she’d once had a dad called John. Most of all, she resented having to say that she was five, because she was proud of being six.
She closed her eyes. If only she could sleep and never wake up! Sleep, however, refused to come, and she remained stubbornly awake, reliving last Saturday, hearing the bomb, the explosion, over and over. She’d known Mam was dead, she’d just known .
When someone knocked on the front door at first sheconsidered taking no notice. But the knock came again. It was almost certainly the person to make her tea. If she didn’t answer, it would be reported back to Aunt Ivy, and she’d have another black mark against her.
She trudged downstairs, wishing she’d had time to wash her face because it was probably all swollen, and her eyes felt as if they were glued together. She wished it even more when she opened the door and found a smiling Mrs Kavanagh and Lily on the doorstep, both looking extremely smart. Mrs Kavanagh wore a pink linen costume and matching hat, and Lily a grey pleated skirt and a white jersey. She had a leather satchel over her shoulder. Her long brown hair rippled, like a cloak, around her shoulders.
‘Hello, Josie, luv. We’ve met before, remember?’ Mrs Kavanagh said warmly.
‘Have you been crying?’ Lily demanded.
‘No,’ Josie said pugnaciously. ‘I never cry.’
‘Me, I’d cry buckets if me ma died.’ Lily tossed her head and looked superior.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Lily,’ her mother said crossly. ‘We all know you have to do the opposite of everyone else.’ She turned to Josie. ‘I promised Ivy I’d pop in and make your tea, but that seems a bit daft when
After a while she lifted her eyes, and noticed the lavatory. It didn’t just have a wooden seat, but a lid as well. She sat on the lid, feeling calmer. Mam would be dead ashamed if she knew the way she’d just behaved. She’d been determined to make a good impression on Aunt Ivy. ‘I’m not having her turning up her nose at us,’ she’d said.
Josie slid off the lavatory, cleaned the sink and went around the house straightening the curtains, putting the cushions and pillows back in place. This time she noticed the lovely things that Mam had told her about. The ornaments and little items of fancy furniture, the pictures and mats that her very own grandad had brought back from foreign countries like Japan – elaborate brass candlesticks, mosaic bowls, statues, vases. She sat briefly on the puffy green settee in the parlour and admired the carved elephant with ivory horns with a table on its back.In the big main bedroom, two lamps with shades made from little bits of coloured glass glittered on each side of the double bed, which was covered with a mountainous maroon eiderdown.
There were two bedrooms at the back, one full of cardboard boxes. The other must have been Mam’s and, she assumed, would be hers. A pretty white mat with raised flowers lay beside the single bed which had a dark blue embroidered coverlet. Another brightly coloured mat hung from a pole on the wall, which seemed a most peculiar thing to do with a mat, though perhaps it was a picture: a man, a shepherd because he had a crook, was standing at the foot of a mountain, a hand shading his eyes as he stared at a rainbow.
Josie threw herself on the bed, exhausted, and stared at the ceiling. In its much smaller way, this house was as grand as the one in Huskisson Street when it had been owned by the importer of rare spices. Even so, she didn’t want to live there, not with Aunt Ivy.
But where else could she go? Even if Maude was willing to have her, Josie knew that Mam, up in heaven, would strongly disapprove. And Mam would be as miserable as sin if she knew her Josie was in an orphanage. She supposed that she had no alternative but to stay with Aunt Ivy, pretend her name was Smith and that she’d once had a dad called John. Most of all, she resented having to say that she was five, because she was proud of being six.
She closed her eyes. If only she could sleep and never wake up! Sleep, however, refused to come, and she remained stubbornly awake, reliving last Saturday, hearing the bomb, the explosion, over and over. She’d known Mam was dead, she’d just known .
When someone knocked on the front door at first sheconsidered taking no notice. But the knock came again. It was almost certainly the person to make her tea. If she didn’t answer, it would be reported back to Aunt Ivy, and she’d have another black mark against her.
She trudged downstairs, wishing she’d had time to wash her face because it was probably all swollen, and her eyes felt as if they were glued together. She wished it even more when she opened the door and found a smiling Mrs Kavanagh and Lily on the doorstep, both looking extremely smart. Mrs Kavanagh wore a pink linen costume and matching hat, and Lily a grey pleated skirt and a white jersey. She had a leather satchel over her shoulder. Her long brown hair rippled, like a cloak, around her shoulders.
‘Hello, Josie, luv. We’ve met before, remember?’ Mrs Kavanagh said warmly.
‘Have you been crying?’ Lily demanded.
‘No,’ Josie said pugnaciously. ‘I never cry.’
‘Me, I’d cry buckets if me ma died.’ Lily tossed her head and looked superior.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Lily,’ her mother said crossly. ‘We all know you have to do the opposite of everyone else.’ She turned to Josie. ‘I promised Ivy I’d pop in and make your tea, but that seems a bit daft when
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