Read Online The Girl From Barefoot House by Maureen Lee - Free Book Online Page B

you can have it with us. We’re only just down the street. I’m surprised Ivy didn’t take the afternoon off, ’stead of leaving you by yourself on your first day. Are you okay, luv? You look a bit rough.’
    ‘I’m fine, ta.’
    ‘Why is your frock too short?’ Lily asked rudely.
    ‘Because a bomb tore me old one,’ Josie explained, thinking this would make Lily sorry for her rudeness.
    Instead, Lily said smugly, ‘ We’ve never been bombed.’
    ‘Oh, shut up, Lily,’ her mother said. ‘Come on, Josie.All the kids are home, ’cept Stanley who’s at work. And I’ve made scouse, everyone’s favourite. There’s treacle pud for afters.’
    At the mention of scouse, Josie realised she was starving. She loved scouse – Mam made it all the time because there was a limit to the meals you could do on a hob over the fire.
    The Kavanaghs’ house wasn’t remotely as posh as Aunt Ivy’s, but she much preferred its untidy clutter. A fire burned in the parlour, where the flowered three-piece was faded and well worn. Books and toys littered the floor, and the sideboard was piled high with more toys, a pair of football boots and some ravelled knitting. A doll squinted at her from the mantelpiece, reminding her of Irish Rose. In the square bay window, a treadle sewing machine was draped with yards of bright red tulle. A wireless was on, and a woman was singing very loudly, ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye.’
    Two very sunburnt boys with green eyes and hair the colour of butter wrestled each other on the floor. The biggest, who looked about twelve, was clearly winning, and a girl, a slightly older version of Lily, oblivious to the din, was reading a book, her legs draped over the arm of the chair. She looked up, said, ‘Hello,’ and returned to the book.
    ‘H-hello,’ Josie stammered. The change from the tomb-like atmosphere of her aunt’s house to the noisy chaos of the Kavanaghs’ was welcome, but slightly daunting. She stood in the middle of the room, not sure what to do. Should she sit down? Mrs Kavanagh and Lily had disappeared into the kitchen, and she wondered if she should follow, offer to help set the table or something.
    The boys had noticed she was there. They stoppedwrestling. The older one held his brother down by the throat, and asked curiously, ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I’m Josie Flynn, I mean Smith.’
    The boy grinned. ‘Josie Flynn-I-mean-Smith. That’s a dead funny name.’
    Josie drew herself to her full height and said haughtily, ‘It’s Josie Smith.’
    ‘All right, you don’t need to bite me head off, Josie Smith. I’m Robert, and this is our Benjamin on the floor. We call him Ben. He’s only eight. Us boys are called after prime ministers, Conservative ones, natch.’ His green eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘The girls are only flowers. That’s our Daisy over there. She’s ten, and you won’t get a word out of her till she’s finished that book.’
    ‘Oh, shut up, Robert,’ Daisy snapped. ‘I’m not likely to finish me book while there’s such a racket going on.’
    ‘So why don’t you read in the bedroom?’
    ‘Because our Marigold’s trying on frocks. She’s going to the pictures tonight with Gabrielle McGillivray.’
    ‘What to see?’
    Daisy sniffed. ‘I dunno, do I? I haven’t been invited.’
    Josie was doing her best to remember the names – Marigold, Daisy and Lily, Robert, Ben, and who was the boy at work? Stanley, she remembered. She wondered if Mr and Mrs Kavanagh ever got confused when their children were all there together.
    Throughout the noisy meal that followed, Mrs Kavanagh got confused all the time. ‘Pass us the bread, Mar—, Dais—, Lily ,’ she would finish triumphantly when she got it right. Or, ‘Our Robert’s late. He should be home by now.’
    The children grinned at each other. ‘Robert’s here, Ma. It’s our Stanley who’s late.’
    The six Kavanaghs had been born neatly, a boy and a girl alternately, all two years apart.