This is the second part of the first chapter. You can read the first part here.
As I walked through the halls of the hospice to her room, I was struck by the silence. Deathly silence really.
Inside her room everything seemed as it was before, except for her lifeless body, twisted as though in pain. I fell to my knees and started sobbing. This was not something I was ready for, despite 18 months of expectation. I don’t recall what time I left, or what was said. But the next day was a flurry of activity.
There’s just so much to do when someone dies. Certificates to collect, funerals to arrange, relatives to tell. So many officials and functionaries to deal with.
Strange how easy it is to forget that she’s dead. For a moment, after walking out of one funeral director’s office in disgust at the callous and impersonal way he was treating us, I thought I’d ring my mother for her advice on who to use.
Then I realised that I couldn’t. She was the one who was dead.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I remember that the sun was shining – it was hot, actually. And that evening we got together to discuss the plans that had been made by the four of us, her children.
It was then that I learned something that was to change my life.
“There’s something you need to know.”
“What?”, I asked.
“Well, I’m not sure if you’d be better off not knowing.”
What stupid thing to say. Why raise the point all?
“If you know then I’m sure I can cope.”
“Ok, well, she made me promise not to tell anyone until she was gone.”
……
May, 1941
Hitler’s war on Europe was affecting everyone, so there was no point complaining. Evacuation was a fact of life. Even so, it was actually quite exciting for two young city girls to think they’d be going to the country. They’d be safe there and away from the smells and crowding of the city.
C and K were being evacuated together. Their other sisters were all being placed individually.
“I’ll look after you, C.”, said K. “Don’t you worry.”
“No, I’m looking forward to it. It’ll be like going on a holiday.”
Holidays were not something familiar. In fact, holidays were a stranger to the family.
A few excited and sleepless nights followed and eventually the car came to take them. Smiling and waving goodbye they left the comfort and sanctuary of home. It never occurred to either of them that it was strange to be leaving without even a kiss from their mother.
The driver barely spoke as they travelled to the train station, but at least he didn’t tell them to shut up as they babbled on about what they’d do on the farm.
Some five hours later they arrived in the countryside. There was no car for them so they had to walk. It was a long walk and the woman who had met them at the station made no allowance for the fact the little girls were tired. At 7 and 11 years old they were old enough to keep up with her. After all, there was a war on.
The farm proved to be less glamorous in real life than it had been in their imaginations. In fact, it was positively dirty. And smelly. The pungent smell of animal manure was quite a shock and coupled with their hunger – they’d been provided no food for the journey – it was almost over-powering.
C began to cry.
“Now then, stop that!”, ordered the woman. “Mrs. Finnegan won’t tolerate cry-babies so you might as well stop now”.
From the doorway emerged a dark, dishevelled hulking brute of a woman, face lined from heavy toil. Scowling at the girls she took hold of C’s shoulders and marched her into the farmhouse.
Outside, faint words from within could be heard.
“…something to cry about…”
“You might as well join your sister now. Tell Mrs. Finnegan I’ll be back tomorrow with the paperwork. And mind you pay her respect.”
K ran inside to find her sister. She was sitting in the corner, tears streaming down her face. Mrs. Finnegan was holding a large wooden spoon in a striking position.
“Leave her alone!”, screamed K.
At this remark the wooden spoon was delivered with furious might across K’s cheek. The sting was such a shock that K didn’t realise she was now bleeding.
“You little bastards had better get used to the idea that this ain’t no holiday. You’re here to work and if you so much as look the wrong way I’ll leather you. I’ll leather you within an inch of your lives. Spoilt little brats.”
Mrs. Finnegan put the spoon down and began to sing to herself while she made a pot of tea.
C and K huddled together in the corner, sobbing as quietly as they could for fear that they might upset Mrs. Finnegan.
Sipping the tea noisily Mrs. Finnegan made a point of draining the pot in front of the children.
“You’ve arrived too late tonight for tea. Get ready for bed and be quiet.”
The two girls did as they were told. They were already scared enough not to take any risk. Hungry, cold and tired, they went to their bedroom. It was little bigger than a cupboard, but at least they were together.
Snuggling together for warmth, they lay in silence. K put her arm around her sister and pulled her closer. Downstairs the sound of Mrs. Finnegan moving around was followed by the smell of food wafting up into the little attic. The girls didn’t dare move, despite their hunger. They didn’t know if the food was for them, or whether they’d risk another beating by going to see. In the end their hunger and desperation convinced them to check.
As they returned to the attic, after another sound beating, they could hear Mrs. Finnegan downstairs, talking to herself.
“…beat it out of them. Insolent little animals. Think they’re getting a free ride here they’ve got another think coming.”
K hugged her sister tight. She wouldn’t let any more harm come to her.
“Wake up, you little pigs!”, screamed Mrs. Finnegan.
As the girls got out of their bed, drowsy from lack of sleep and food, Mrs. Finnegan howled like a wild animal.
“Who did that? Which of you pissed the bed? Who?”
K knew that C couldn’t take another beating so she spoke up.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. It was an accident.”Running downstairs Mrs. Finnegan shrieked. All of a sudden the shrieking stopped and Mrs. Finnegan could be heard coming upstairs, slowly.
The old leather belt she used to beat K at least had no buckles. But it was enough to do plenty of damage. Making no noise as she repeatedly brought the belt down, Mrs. Finnegan didn’t stop until K was barely breathing.
C stood, unable to move with fear, praying that god would deliver them. No deliverance came.
When Mrs. Finnegan was satisfied she simply walked downstairs, humming.
Technorati Tags: novel, short stories, first novel
Fatal error: Call to undefined function the_bookmark_links() in /home/writenow/public_html/wp-content/themes/Cutline 1.1/single.php on line 17