connected to Jimmy by a piece of string, so close were they. And if there was one person Jimmy was fond of it was his brother; it’d always been that way. No, it was just her mam she was worried about, but with things as they were she had to put Gertie first.
She twisted on the hard flock cushions but her discomfort was from within rather than without, and despite the late hour she was wide awake. She sat up eventually, clasping her knees over the coarse thick blankets and staring into the faintly flickering shadows.
And now she found herself feeling a slight thread of excitement. She shouldn’t be looking forward to tomorrow and she wasn’t, not really, at least not about leaving her mam, but - and here she put her hand to her heart as it began to thump in her chest - this was her chance to make something happen for herself . Perhaps her only chance.
Twice she’d been approached in the last year, and a couple of times before that too, by touts who’d assured her they could get her a slot in one of the local music halls. One had been really persistent, coming back night after night and claiming he knew the proprietor of the Wear Music Hall and saying that she was just the sort of new act he was looking for. But Josie knew that to get anywhere in the halls you had to be prepared to travel and move around. You needed nice clothes and fancy costumes too, and all her money went the minute she had it in her hand, what with paying the rent and feeding and clothing them all. And she couldn’t have left Gertie at the mercy of their father, not the way he knocked her about. That had always been at the back of her mind too. But now . . .
She hugged her knees hard. She’d find some work in the day; she didn’t care what it was. A laundry, a factory, a shop, anything, and then at night she’d sing. She could ask around a bit, find out the best places for someone to notice her. Perhaps Vera’s sister would know? She slid down under the blankets again, willing her mind to stop its racing. She had to go to sleep; tomorrow was going to be a full day.
She must have fallen asleep eventually because early in the morning she awoke to the double chime of a tugboat sounding on the still frozen air outside. The sound was a familiar one; many a time in the kitchen at home she and Gertie had fallen asleep listening to the tugboats on the river and, on a very quiet night, the rhythmic churning of the big paddles.
For a moment she remained still, the events of the previous day crowding into her mind, and then she roused herself, throwing back the blankets and reaching for her stockings and garters. Once her boots were on she busied herself stoking up the fire in the range and putting some more coal on, after which she lifted the kettle - already full with water - on to boil. The kettle, like everything else in Vera’s kitchen, was beautifully clean, and unlike their range at home which had one oven with a circular door, this one had two ovens, one for baking and one for roasting. It was a canny kitchen. She glanced round the room which was still in deep shadows, the small patch of sky outside the narrow window charcoal grey with only the hint of daybreak.
She would have a kitchen like this one day, and her own house with an upstairs and a downstairs that she shared with no one but her family. And a garden. Not a back yard, not even one like Vera’s that boasted its own privy and washhouse, but a real garden with grass and trees and high walls so no one could see inside. One of the girls she had gone to school with had got set on as a kitchen maid at one of the big houses near Mowbray Park, and she’d been full of what she had seen when she’d had her interview with the housekeeper. But of all Miriam had said - and she had said plenty - it was her description of the Havelocks’ garden that had captured Josie’s imagination. She would have a garden like that one day. Somewhere where the air was filled with the soft scent of flowers
She twisted on the hard flock cushions but her discomfort was from within rather than without, and despite the late hour she was wide awake. She sat up eventually, clasping her knees over the coarse thick blankets and staring into the faintly flickering shadows.
And now she found herself feeling a slight thread of excitement. She shouldn’t be looking forward to tomorrow and she wasn’t, not really, at least not about leaving her mam, but - and here she put her hand to her heart as it began to thump in her chest - this was her chance to make something happen for herself . Perhaps her only chance.
Twice she’d been approached in the last year, and a couple of times before that too, by touts who’d assured her they could get her a slot in one of the local music halls. One had been really persistent, coming back night after night and claiming he knew the proprietor of the Wear Music Hall and saying that she was just the sort of new act he was looking for. But Josie knew that to get anywhere in the halls you had to be prepared to travel and move around. You needed nice clothes and fancy costumes too, and all her money went the minute she had it in her hand, what with paying the rent and feeding and clothing them all. And she couldn’t have left Gertie at the mercy of their father, not the way he knocked her about. That had always been at the back of her mind too. But now . . .
She hugged her knees hard. She’d find some work in the day; she didn’t care what it was. A laundry, a factory, a shop, anything, and then at night she’d sing. She could ask around a bit, find out the best places for someone to notice her. Perhaps Vera’s sister would know? She slid down under the blankets again, willing her mind to stop its racing. She had to go to sleep; tomorrow was going to be a full day.
She must have fallen asleep eventually because early in the morning she awoke to the double chime of a tugboat sounding on the still frozen air outside. The sound was a familiar one; many a time in the kitchen at home she and Gertie had fallen asleep listening to the tugboats on the river and, on a very quiet night, the rhythmic churning of the big paddles.
For a moment she remained still, the events of the previous day crowding into her mind, and then she roused herself, throwing back the blankets and reaching for her stockings and garters. Once her boots were on she busied herself stoking up the fire in the range and putting some more coal on, after which she lifted the kettle - already full with water - on to boil. The kettle, like everything else in Vera’s kitchen, was beautifully clean, and unlike their range at home which had one oven with a circular door, this one had two ovens, one for baking and one for roasting. It was a canny kitchen. She glanced round the room which was still in deep shadows, the small patch of sky outside the narrow window charcoal grey with only the hint of daybreak.
She would have a kitchen like this one day, and her own house with an upstairs and a downstairs that she shared with no one but her family. And a garden. Not a back yard, not even one like Vera’s that boasted its own privy and washhouse, but a real garden with grass and trees and high walls so no one could see inside. One of the girls she had gone to school with had got set on as a kitchen maid at one of the big houses near Mowbray Park, and she’d been full of what she had seen when she’d had her interview with the housekeeper. But of all Miriam had said - and she had said plenty - it was her description of the Havelocks’ garden that had captured Josie’s imagination. She would have a garden like that one day. Somewhere where the air was filled with the soft scent of flowers
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