It was a man’s voice, a man of authority. A voice that had to be obeyed . . . a bit like Uncle Bill’s. She ought to let the man in, but did she dare leave the safety of the wardrobe? Her mouth went dry, and now she was dying to go to the toilet. She jigged her legs up and down and squeezed her eyes tight shut, but she was just busting.

  For a second or two everything went quiet. Emily held her breath. Had the man gone? Was it safe to come out now? She whimpered as the wardrobe door swung gently outwards and the light flooded in. Her mum’s bedroom looked the same as it always did. The red rose bedspread had been pulled back untidily. Emily could see her mother’s hairbrush, lipstick and jewellery box on the small dressing table. Sometimes Mummy let her play grown-ups, and she would put on some lipstick and Mummy’s pretty clip earrings and strut around the room in her mother’s high-heeled shoes. A few old Woman’s Own magazines lay scattered on the floor. Mummy got them second- or maybe third-hand from friends.

  ‘We know you’re in there, Roy Farrent!’

  Emily caught her breath. There must be two of them at the door, and the second man sounded even angrier than the first. The lump of fear in her chest became a gnawing pain. She went to close the wardrobe door and, as she reached out, she saw that her mother’s blood was still on her hands. She pulled the door towards her and the darkness climbed in beside her. Hidden from view, she wiped her eyes with her fists.

  ‘Mummy . . . Mummy, I’m frightened . . .’

  The voices were fainter through the closed door.

  ‘I ran to the phone box as soon as I heard the scream.’

  Emily eyes widened. That was their neighbour, Mrs Kaine.

  ‘They were fighting. Terrible it was. What about Emily? Is she still in there?’

  ‘Who’s Emily?’ asked the first man, who had shouted through the letter box.

  ‘Her bleedin’ daughter, of course!’ Mrs Kaine tutted. ‘Oh my gawd – if summat’s ’appened to her . . .’

  ‘Right, stand back, Constable,’ the man said.

  There was another ominous silence, followed by several very loud crashes, and then the door gave way. Emily cried out in terror and pushed herself deeper into the safe, velvety darkness. The arm of her mother’s best woollen coat draped itself comfortingly around her shoulders. It smelled of April in Paris. It smelled of Mummy.

  She could hear footsteps running down the hall, followed by loud gasps of surprise and then more shouting. They must have reached the sitting room. She could still picture the ugly scene, and a sob escaped from her lips.

  ‘I’ll have to ask you to leave, madam,’ said the man. ‘This is a crime scene.’

  ‘What’s happened? Has he done for ’er?’ Mrs Kaine sounded very concerned.

  ‘Everything is under control, madam.’

  ‘Shall I run down the road and call for an ambulance?’

  ‘On its way, madam.’

  ‘But what about Emily?’ Mrs Kaine protested loudly. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘The constable has looked in every room,’ said the man, ‘and there’s no one else here. Leave your name and address and we’ll come and take a statement.’

  ‘Oh my good gawd . . .’ Her voice faded and Emily heard a door close.

  She stayed in the wardrobe listening to the sound of her own breathing until she heard someone with a very squeaky pair of boots walking about. All at once the door of the wardrobe burst open and someone peered in. Emily cried out in surprise. The man’s dark-blue uniform and his high hat with the shiny silver badge told her he was a copper.

  ‘The nipper is in here,’ he called to somebody else behind him. He turned back to her and held out his hand. ‘Come on, ducks,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  Emily shrank back.

  ‘It’s all right, darlin’,’ he said kindly. ‘This is no place for the likes of you.’

  Reluctantly she took his hand and emerged into the room. The copper looked down at her and Emily saw the look of surprise on his face.

  Another copper came up behind them. ‘Everything all right, Constable?’

  ‘Not quite, Sarge,’ replied the copper, shaking his head. Then, turning to Emily, he said gently, ‘Let’s have a little look at your ’and, ducks.’

  The newcomer stared at her, as the first copper cradled her open palm in his big hand. Her mother’s blood had dried to a brownish colour on her skin. The sergeant looked at it very carefully, and then he stared at Emily.

  Her mind raced. They’d think it was all her fault, wouldn’t they? He’d say she’d done it. She felt the panic rising in her chest. She began frantically wiping her hand against her dress, and she was dying for the toilet again. She should have helped Mummy. She shouldn’t have left her like that. She should have wiped the blood away properly.

  ‘Did you see what happened when your mum got hit?’ the copper asked.

  Emily shook her head emphatically.

  Having given her name and address to someone, Mrs Kaine passed the open door on the way out and, spotting Emily, stopped and came into the bedroom. She had her coat on, but she was still wearing her slippers with the bobbles on top, and her hair was in curlers. ‘Oh, thank gawd!’ she gasped. ‘Emily. You all right? Whatever ’appened?’

  Emily sniffed miserably. Mummy always told her not to say too much in front of Mrs Kaine. ‘She’s nice,’ Mummy said, ‘but she can be a bit nosy.’ Mrs Kaine was old – really old. Fifty if she was a day.

  ‘Looks like the poor little mite needs the lavvy,’ said Mrs Kaine, ‘jigging up and down like that.’

  ‘Then perhaps you could make yourself useful and get her dressed, while you’re at it,’ said the sergeant.

  First Mrs Kaine took her to the bathroom and then they went into Emily’s bedroom. Mrs Kaine looked in the chest of drawers and picked out Emily’s second-best blue dress, the one she wore when Mummy took her to Sunday school. Emily wanted to tell her, I’m not supposed to wear that one; but she was too scared to speak. What if Uncle Bill was listening?

  ‘What ’appened, luv?’ Mrs Kaine asked. ‘You didn’t see him ’it her, did you, darlin’? Bloody men. He wants locking up, ’e does.’

  Emily began to cry.

  ‘Oh my good gawd!’ cried Mrs Kaine. ‘He’s killed her, ain’t he?’

  The nice copper knocked on the door and came into the room.

  ‘He’s only been out the nick five minutes,’ said Mrs Kaine. ‘Has ’e done ’er in?’

  The copper said nothing, but he shot her a look. ‘Let’s just think of the kiddie for now, shall we?’ he said gently.

  Mrs Kaine didn’t say anything else, but Emily sensed she was very upset. She kept sniffing and dabbing her eyes with the corner of her coat.

  ‘She needs a place to stay,’ said the copper, looking directly at Mrs Kaine.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ she replied defensively. ‘I’ve got six of me own, and me movver-in-law at mine. I can’t take ’er in, poor little devil.’

  ‘Better get hold of the Welfare,’ said the sergeant, coming up behind them and making Emily jump.

  ‘Her mother once told me she’d got an aunt in Worthing, I think it was,’ said Mrs Kaine. ‘Talked a lot about her, she did. Can’t remember ’er name, but she had a box of letters from her somewhere. She showed me once.’

  The copper with the squeaky boots smiled down at Emily. ‘Do you know where the box is, lovey?’

  Emily nodded and made her way back into Mummy’s room. As she handed the box over, she saw two men walk past the bedroom door carrying a stretcher. Emily darted forward, but Mrs Kaine held her back.

  ‘It’s all right, darlin’. Don’t worry.’

  Emily couldn’t see who was on the stretcher, but she guessed it was Mummy.

  Chapter 2

  Susan Marley spent a pleasant hour or two with Ruby. As soon as she’d changed his nappy, Alfie had enjoyed scooting around on his bottom in Ruby’s spotless kitchen. He’d banged a wooden spoon on the saucepan lids they’d given him to play with and then enjoyed a drink and a slice of Madeira cake.

  Susan hadn’t seen Jim. Ruby said he was having a lie-in and, although she didn’t say so, Susan was a little shocked that by twelve o’clock he still hadn’t emerged from the bedroom.

  The guest house was tip-top. Ruby had made it look very nice. She only got to see one of the guest rooms, but Susan was most impressed. Although not yet twenty, Ruby had always been a hard-working girl and a real credit to her mother. When she went to leave, Susan Marley didn’t go empty-handed. Ruby gave her a couple of leeks from the garden and a jar of home-made runner-bean chutney.

  ‘Be sure and pop in whenever you like,’ she told the older woman. ‘Only next time, catch the bus.’

  ‘I will,’ Susan chuckled. ‘I may not see you before Christmas, but I hope it all goes well.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ruby. ‘By the way, what are you doing for Christmas?’

  ‘Me?’ said Susan. ‘Oh, I’ll being having a good time, don’t you worry. You know what the people of Newlands Road are like.’

  Ruby chuckled. ‘I shall miss them.’

  The two women said goodbye and Ruby waved to Alfie, who was back in his pram and clearly looking forward to the ride home.

  ‘I hope all goes well with his dad,’ said Ruby.

  ‘So do I,’ said Susan. ‘I reckon he’s got more than a magistrate’s ticking-off to worry about. Betty was not a happy bunny.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ chuckled Ruby.

  On the way home Susan Marley had a lot to think about. Joking aside, she hoped Alfie’s father didn’t end up with a spell in prison – or a big fine, for that matter. She knew the family were struggling as it was. She worried for Ruby as well. She had had high hopes when Ruby married Jim Searle, but ever since his accident, he was a changed man. Along with the other women in Newlands Road, Susan was of the opinion that Jim Searle should pull himself together and be grateful for what he still had. Better people than him had had their lives ruined in the Great War, and yet they’d just got on with it. After all, Jim had a nice home and a lovely, hard-working wife. Susan tutted to herself: fancy still being in bed at dinner time.

  And then there was the more personal problem of Christmas. With no family of her own, Susan Marley had made the people of Newlands Road her family. She’d looked after their children in crisis situations and in times of celebration. She’d taken care of them while their parents were at work. She’d taught them how to cook and how to make mud-pies. She’d shown them how to pull up the weeds and how to collect eggs. She’d wiped their bottoms and fed them wholesome stews and treacle puddings. They’d come to her after school and on the way to their first day at work. A couple of them had gone off the rails, but even if their blood-relatives had cut them off, she’d always been there, if they’d wanted to turn their lives around.

  If Ruby and Jim couldn’t have her for Christmas, Susan knew that she was surrounded by people who loved her and were grateful to her, for one reason or another. Florrie Dart might have a spare place at her table, or young Mrs Riley. It might be a bit tiring being with nine children, but Susan could always make herself useful. Coxswain Taylor and his wife had asked her to spend the holiday with them a few years back. She might drop a hint or two in their direction. Christmas was less than a month away, but she had plenty of time and something was bound to turn up.

  Emily yawned. She was very tired. Why couldn’t she go back to bed? Mrs Kaine had been sent home, but she’d been left in the kitchen on a hard chair with Bun-bun. She could hear people walking up and down the passage, their big policemen boots echoing on the bare boards. The sergeant had gone, but the copper who had found her in the wardrobe was still there. Emily liked him. He was kind. She listened for the squeaky boots – up and down, up and down . . . clump-squeak, clump-squeak – and felt comforted.

  They had begun by talking in whispers, but after a while it was as if she’d vanished and they spoke freely.

  ‘Do you think she saw it happen?’

  ‘Hard to say.’

  ‘If we could get the kid to talk, we could nail the blighter a lot easier.’

  ‘Got to find him first.’

  Emily shivered. ‘Nail the blighter.’ What did that mean? Her Sunday-school teacher said they’d nailed Jesus to a cross. Did that mean they wanted to do the same to Uncle Bill?

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Welfare lady’s here. Where’s the kid?’

  ‘Emily? She’s in the kitchen.’

  Emily’s heart beat a little quicker at the mention of her name. A hand appeared halfway down the door and the copper walked in.

  ‘Here she is,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Here’s my girl!’

  A short, thickset woman in a brown tweed suit followed him into the room.

  ‘This is Emily,’ the copper said rather obviously, but he didn’t say who the brown-tweed woman was. ‘Emily’s a good little girl, aren’t you, Emily?’

  He left them alone, but the brown-tweed woman didn’t even look at her. Instead she heaved a large black bag onto the table and sat down. Emily watched her take out some papers and begin to write something in a black book. The room was filled with the sound of her fountain pen – scratch-scratch, scratching. What was she writing? Emily was still staring at the top of her head when the tweed woman looked up sharply. She jumped and her heart started to beat fast again.

  ‘Now, Emily,’ said the brown-tweed woman, not unkindly. ‘My name is Miss Thorpe. I’ve come to take you to your new home. It’s a lovely big house called Bay Trees. Lots of other children live there and you are going to be very happy.’

  Emily frowned.

  Miss Thorpe leaned towards her. Her breath was smelly. Like it is when you first get up in the morning, before you clean your teeth with Gibbs paste. ‘I think you know what has happened, don’t you, Emily? You’re a big girl now, and what is done can’t be undone.’

  Emily stared at her determinedly and shook her head.

  ‘Listen to me, Emily,’ said Miss Thorpe gently. ‘I know this is difficult, but you are all alone. Nobody knows where your father is, and Mrs Kaine doesn’t want you.’ All at once Miss Thorpe’s mouth looked like an ugly red slit. ‘Your mother has gone to hospital so she can’t look after you, either. You do understand that, don’t you, dear?’

  Emily almost stopped breathing. It wasn’t true. The brown-tweed woman had made it up. Any minute now Mummy would be back to look after her.

  Miss Thorpe patted her arm. ‘Now be a good, brave little girl.’

  A second later she went back to her scribbling. Emily’s breathing became laboured, and when she opened her mouth a huge, ear-piercing sound rushed out. The whole room reverberated with her gigantic heart-rending bellow of anguish. Miss Thorpe sprang back like a scolded cat and the coppers came running.

  Betty Dawkins hugged her little son tight. Her face was pale. When Susan Marley had opened the door to her knock, she’d walked in uninvited and picked Alfie up straight away.

  Susan bit her bottom lip anxiously. This didn’t look good. Surely the magistrate hadn’t sent Sam to prison? ‘Would you like some tea, dear? I’ve just made a pot.’

  Betty turned to her, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘Oh, Mrs Marley, it was awful.’

  ‘Sit down, Betty,’ said Susan, pulling out a chair. ‘You look all done in.’

  Betty sniffed back a tear and wiped her nose with a hankie. ‘I never thought I’d ever see the inside of a courtroom.’

  Alfie leaned back in her arms and studied his mother’s face with a confused expression. As soon as she gave him her full attention, he beamed, grabbed her hair and pushed his open mouth towards her nose.

  ‘They said such terrible things,’ said Betty, lowering herself onto the chair. ‘I don’t know how to look anyone in the face.’

  Susan said nothing as she pushed a cup of tea in front of her.

  ‘They even said he was making unseemly advances towards that sailor in the tub,’ wailed Betty. ‘I mean, what was he thinking of? It’s not even a real person.’

  Susan avoided her eye, desperate not to giggle. ‘I’m sure he meant no harm.’

  ‘According to the policeman who arrested him, he was calling it “my little freckle-face”. That’s his pet name for me.’ Betty was clearly distressed. ‘The thing doesn’t even look like me.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Susan, turning her back for fear of laughing out loud. ‘How did he get up there in the first place?’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ said Betty. Some lad in the pub won something on the horses and was buying drinks all round. My Sam never was much of a drinker, but I reckon they got him legless and then hoisted him up into the barrel.’

  ‘And left him there all night?’ said Susan.

  Betty nodded. ‘No one would have been any the wiser, except that he took his trousers off and hung them on the end of the telescope.’

  Susan took a deep breath and sucked in her cheeks. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He said he thought he was in his own bed.’

  Susan stood up again. ‘Would you like an oatmeal biscuit? I only made them yesterday?’ Getting up to fetch them gave her the chance to try and compose herself.

  Betty shook her head. ‘How much do I owe you, for looking after Alfie?’

  ‘You’ve had a bad day, dear,’ Susan said dismissively. ‘No change for this one.’

  Betty fished for her pocket hankie again. Having given her nose a good blow, she said, ‘How am I ever going to walk down South Street again?’

  ‘I’m sure no one will blame you,’ said Susan, sitting back down with the tin of biscuits. ‘What did the magistrate say?’

  ‘Ten-shilling fine, and bound over to keep the peace for a month,’ said Betty, taking a biscuit and giving it to Alfie. ‘And do you know what, Mrs Marley? I think that man was laughing when he said it.’

  Susan looked suitably shocked. ‘Never!’

  Chapter 3

  Bay Trees was miles from anywhere and at the end of a long drive. Miss Thorpe had told her they were going to a place called Kingston upon Thames, but it meant nothing to Emily. She sat quietly in the back of the car, looking out of the window. At first she’d seen the bright lights of London. It was very late, but people were still walking around. Every now and then the car would slow and she’d catch sight of someone crossing the road, or the railway-crossing gates going down. She saw a man smoking in a shop doorway and a couple kissing in a dark alley, and once she saw a fox scavenging in somebody’s dustbin. As soon as they left the city, it became much darker and all she could see was her own sad reflection in the glass.

 

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