LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

had never liked boys much anyway. She did have Molly, who was the image of her bold and wilful mother, and she would make the child pay and dearly for her mother’s transgressions until she wished she had never been born.

      Molly and her grandmother were due to leave on 21 May and the time left in Birmingham passed in a blur to Molly, especially as Biddy kept her hard at it. Each morning she had to get up first. Biddy gave her an alarm clock to ensure she did this. Her first job of the day was to clean the grate and lay and light the fire. That had always been her father’s job, even long before her mom took sick, and when he had lit the fire he would bank it with slack for safety. Then, when her mother got up, she would poke it well and put some nuggets of coal on it before calling Kevin and Molly, and so the room was always warm for them in the morning.

      Molly decided very early on that she would rather clean the whole kitchen than the grate. It took skill to lay a fire that drew properly and lit first time. Biddy boxed her ears on a couple of occasions when the damned thing had gone out on her. The point was she couldn’t watch it because she had to make the porridge for breakfast, which she could never linger over because she had to make the beds and wash up the breakfast things before she left for school.

      After school, she would be presented with a shopping list and when she had hauled the stuff home, she had to cook the evening meal. How she missed Hilda at those times, for her lively encouragement, ready sense of humour and the way she could make Molly smile, even when she had been worried about her mother. Molly often wondered bleakly if she would ever smile again.

      And when the meal that Biddy carped about and criticised had been eaten, Molly would clear away and wash up, and then Biddy would produce a basket of mending. She taught Molly to darn, sew on buttons and turn up hems, and there was always plenty for her to practise on in the long evenings.

      Any homework Molly did secretly in the bedroom by the light of a candle. It meant she was almost constantly tired, but she didn’t bother saying anything, knowing there would be little point.

      Saturday was particularly tiring, for as well as a big shop, there were the beds to change and the washing to do. When the wet and heavy clothes were hauled from boiler to sink, and her fingers rubbed raw on the wash board, it all had to be put through the mangle and hung out on the line.

      Molly hated the wet and miserable days when it had to be hung inside, for she knew it would take ages to dry and, as Biddy would not let her iron on a Sunday, there would pile of ironing waiting for her on Monday after school. On good days she would start this chore after she had given the house a good clean. Clothes for Mass, for Biddy and herself, had to be ironed and left on the picture rail to air if they were still not completely dry, and then the shoes had all to be cleaned. Molly would often be nearly sobbing with weariness by the time that she was able to seek her bed.

      That last Saturday Biddy went into the station to see about the tickets and, despite the mountains of things Molly had to do, she said to her grandfather, ‘I’m popping next door. I can’t leave without bidding Hilda goodbye.’

      ‘You do right,’ Stan said. ‘The woman is worried about you. She stopped me in the street the other day and was asking about you. She would value a visit.’

      Hilda was delighted to see Molly, though she saw the black bags beneath her tired, sad eyes in her bleached face, and her heart turned over. She made a cup of tea and produced a tin of biscuits, and Molly felt the saliva form in her mouth, for she was nearly always hungry.

      Hilda saw her expression and she said, ‘Tuck in, girl. You look as if you need feeding up. I know one thing: your mother would hate seeing you this way.’

      ‘You have known Mom always, haven’t you, Hilda?’ Molly said.

      Hilda nodded. ‘From the day she and Ted moved in after the wedding.’

      ‘Didn’t they have a honeymoon?’

      Hilda shook her head. ‘Few people did then. Your father did have a few days off and used the time to do up the house a bit and get the garden tidied up, and Nuala and I were the very best of friends from that first day. I promised your mother that I would look after you if anything happened to her. She asked me just before she was taken to hospital.’ Hilda went on, adding sadly, ‘I feel right bad that I have been unable to keep that promise.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it, Auntie Hilda,’ Molly said. ‘There is no help for it, I know that now. At least Kevin is all right and I will survive it. It is only a year until I leave school and then once I have a wage, I will save, however long it takes, and come back here just as soon as I can.’

      ‘You do that, ducks, and you knock on my door any time ’cos you will be welcome.’

      ‘I know that, Hilda,’ Molly said. ‘Will you sort of keep an eye on Kevin? Granddad too, of course?’

      ‘You don’t really need to ask that,’ Hilda said. ‘A poor sort of neighbour and friend I would be if I just washed my hands of them now. Your mother and father were the best neighbours to have in the world, and your mother the kindest, sweetest person, and there isn’t a day goes by when I don’t miss her. Anything I can do for any of you, I would do gladly in her memory.’

      There were tears in Molly’s eyes as she said, ‘I know how much you thought of Mom, in particular. I spotted you at the funeral, at the church, but when I looked for you afterwards, I couldn’t see you.’

      ‘No, I slipped back home,’ Hilda said. ‘I went to the church to say my goodbyes, but afterwards, I wasn’t in the mood for any party, and anyway, your grandmother was looking daggers at me and I thought it best to make myself scarce.’

      ‘That’s her normal expression,’ Molly said gloomily. ‘It is the way she looks at everything and everybody. I don’t mind the work that I have to do in the house really, though I would be grateful if she would lend a hand now and again, but it is the constant finding fault that gets to me.

      ‘D’you know, Auntie Hilda,’ she went on, ‘when I think of Mom and Dad it’s like there is a gaping hole inside me and sometimes it hurts me so bad. I sort of hoped that my grandmother might help fill it, give me a link with my mother when she was younger. But when I asked her, she said horrible things about her, hateful things. I can’t think of my mother like that anyway, and I told her that. I know Mom would have done anything for me and I really can’t think of any time when I might do something she disapproved of so much that she would never, ever forgive me.’

      ‘No, of course not,’ Hilda said. ‘It isn’t normal to do that either. I mean, children have to go their own way in the world. It is what it is all about. You might not like the decisions they make and the people they take up with, and yes, if you are concerned enough you might say something, but if they take no notice, you don’t cast them out like some sort of avenging God.

      ‘What you have got to realise, Molly,’ she continued, ‘is that your grandmother is a very unhappy woman, because no one could be happy with all that bitterness inside them. You have got to develop the strength to rise above that. Don’t let it bog you down and destroy you too.’

      ‘I’ll try,’ Molly promised. ‘I really will try hard ’cos I’d hate to turn out like her anyway. Now I’d better go back.’

      ‘Yes,’ Hilda agreed. ‘Wouldn’t do to give that old besom reason to berate you again.’

      ‘She doesn’t need a reason.’ Molly said glumly. ‘Honest to God, she doesn’t.’

      ‘I know, lass,’ Hilda said. ‘And this isn’t goodbye, it’s just farewell for now.’ She enfolded Molly in her arms as she spoke and then pushed her away gently and said in a voice thick with unshed tears, ‘Don’t you go round forgetting us now. I’ll want to know how you are getting on.’

      ‘I will write to you,’ Molly promised. ‘I’d like to. Granddad has packed a paper, envelopes and stamps in my case already. He said rural Ireland is not like Birmingham, with a shop on every corner.’

      ‘Dare say he is right there,’ Hilda said with a slight smile.

Скачать книгу