The Corner House (21 page)

Jessica Nolan, pink, breathless and wonderfully naughty, sat on a tree stump. She was being so disobedient that she could scarcely believe herself. The potatoes were peeled and washed, the floor was clean, the cutlery drawer had been tidied. Encouraged to play alone in the fresh air after her chores, Jessica had seen a couple of hares leaping about in a field. March was long over, as was April, but the madness endured and, fascinated by the animals’ antics, Jessica had sped across meadows, laughing each time those ridiculously long ears popped out of a clump of foliage.

She looked up into the trees, saw the sun sparkling through newborn leaves, heard music created by birds and by a gentle breeze that rocked overhead branches. This was the country, then. This was where lucky people lived, people who kept sheep, cows and chickens. Men who stayed at the farm strode about all day in rubber boots, farm smells clinging to their clothing, faces shining as a result of toiling out of doors.

Of course, Jessica had seen the country for several months, had viewed it from the peeled-back windows of Williamson’s Sanatorium. But this was her first real experience, her first bodily contact with Nature’s true wildness. She bent over, lifted a clump of moist earth and held it to her nose. It had a beautiful smell, clean, exciting. Opening her fingers, she allowed the crumbs to trickle back to their home, amazed to see that her hand remained clean. Dirt and soil were not even related, she decided.

There were no clocks here in the woods. The
seasons dictated time, short days in the winter, longer days in summer. She could have lived here quite happily, she thought, imagining herself as a Robinson Crusoe, a human forced by circumstance to create from natural materials a shelter, a place all her own.

But she had to go back. If she did not return to the house soon, Dr Blake might well change his mind and force her to stay within the confines of the main building. Retracing the route back to the farmhouse would be no problem, because Jessica seemed incapable of getting lost. Always, she found her way home in the end, depending on instinct or, perhaps, on exterior forces of which she was not fully aware, like the position of the sun or the general drift of wind and rain.

Emblem Street. Until recently, a weary little house, set with others against a backdrop of factories, had been her home. Up here on the moors, air was plentiful and sweet. Jessica and her mother would be forced to go back, she supposed, back to pinched, cobbled streets and dark alleyways, back to foul air, a pub on every corner, back to monotony.

She had expected the countryside to be quiet, but it wasn’t. Birds fought their territorial wars, built nests, fed young, called out to one another when separated. Sometimes, in the night, foxes barked, often travelling miles to search the sanatorium’s bins for food scraps. Unwanted food was saved for the pigs, but wily foxes learned quickly how to up-end a container and remove its lid. One night, Jessica promised herself, she would meet a fox.

As if summoned by her thoughts, an animal yelped. She sat up straight, only to be bowled over by a large puppy, all big feet, long legs and vigorous tail. ‘Where did you come from?’ she asked.

Chaplin grinned at this Katherine-type creature. Her smell was not quite right, but it was familiar. ‘Woof,’ he said by way of introduction.

Jessica frowned. Was this poor little dog lost? And, if he was, would Dr Blake allow her to keep him? Perhaps he could live at the farm or in Mam’s room. Somehow, Jessica knew that there was no possibility of either option being viable. Grownups made so many complicated rules across which children stumbled blindly every day. Older folk altered regulations to suit themselves, never bothering to consult children, the particular group which was affected by constantly moving goalposts. Life would have been so much easier for everyone, adults included, if simpler ideas could only get a look-in. Dog needed man, man needed dog, so the answer was easy: take the dog in, feed it, treat it well, make a friend. ‘Whose are you?’ she asked.

Chaplin sniffed the girl’s hair, then cocked his head to one side. The nearly-Katherine was definitely a friend, but he still wanted the real Katherine. Where was she? Why wasn’t she here, with this other one? They belonged together, he decided.

The child’s heart was beating faster and she didn’t know why. She was hovering on the brink of … of a happening. Tiny hairs on her arms stood to attention when pores opened expectantly. Somebody or something was coming towards her. Far from feeling threatened, she found herself hoping, wishing, wanting.

Jessica patted the dog’s neck, sniffed his warm fur, held him close. The excitement had settled slightly, was becoming a warm, inexplicable emotion deep down in her stomach. She studied the animal, gave him a huge smile, wished that she could have a dog
of her very own. There was probably no chance, because there was no dad. After the war, a dad would have gone to work, leaving Mam at home to look after the puppy. Puppies wanted company, wanted feeding. There was not enough money to buy food for an animal and, once well, Mam would return to a job and Jessica would be at school, so a pet would be lonely.

She lifted her head, saw a figure moving through the small copse. Here came the dog’s true owner, then. Jessica rose to her feet and whipped a few bits of moss off the skirt of her blue coat.

‘Hello.’

Jessica looked at the girl, knew that her jaw had dropped. It was Lucy. Lucy, who had kept Jessica company for years, had virtually disappeared after that night in the coal hole, only to materialize here, in the middle of nowhere. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Katherine stood as still as stone for several seconds. She felt drawn to this girl, as if she had known her for ages. She wanted to touch her, hold her hand, talk to her at length. ‘Katherine,’ she replied eventually.

‘Oh.’ It wasn’t Lucy, yet it was. ‘I’m Jessica.’

The dog charged about, fussing each girl in turn, pushing them closer together. He felt happy inside, a silly, bubbling kind of happy that burst from his mouth in a series of excited barks.

‘He’s called Chaplin,’ said Katherine.

‘Oh.’

‘Because he’s so funny and his feet are too big.’

‘Yes.’

Katherine bit her lip. ‘You’re … like me,’ she mumbled. The longed-for sister seemed to have
turned up. But that was silly, because a sister would have been born young, would have been a baby, not a girl as big as this one.

‘You look like me, you mean.’ Jessica was determined to be at least as important as this dog owner. Her heart was a bit loud, as if the volume knob on a wireless had been turned up. It was almost like looking in a mirror, except that the girl was the right way round. Both had blond/brown hair, Jessica’s slightly fairer than Katherine’s. Each pair of eyes was wide-set and cornflower-blue, while noses and mouths were exactly the same.

‘Like in a mirror,’ announced Katherine.

‘But the proper way round. Things always finish up backwards when you look in a mirror.’

‘Yes.’ Katherine leaned against a tree. ‘Do you live near here?’

Jessica looked at the girl’s beautiful Clothes, the satin hair ribbons, the patent-leather ankle-strap shoes. ‘I live on a farm,’ she answered, wondering why she was lying. Well, was it really a lie? She spent each afternoon at the farmhouse, though she still slept in the sanatorium.

‘How exciting. I love animals,’ said Katherine.

‘We’ve got cows, hens and pigs. And we grow all our own vegetables. We’ve got a great big house with loads of rooms and a proper bath with taps. We make our own butter and cream. And I can play out whenever I want to. Foxes come at night. I was just chasing some big rabbits called hares.’

‘How lucky you are,’ smiled Katherine.

It was too late for the truth now. ‘This is where I look for the foxes. They come to our house at night, but they’re hard to find in the daytime. They’re
forever pinching all the leavings from the pigswill buckets.’

Katherine hooked a lead through Chaplin’s collar. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘Mam and Dad are waiting for me.’

‘Oh.’ People who had dads were so lucky. ‘Will you come again?’ asked Jessica wistfully.

‘I expect so.’

‘Katherine?’ boomed a man’s voice.

‘Here, Dad.’ Katherine waved at her father. ‘Come here. I’ve met a girl who looks just like me.’ She turned to grab Jessica, reached out and snatched at a handful of air. ‘She’s gone.’ Katherine’s voice raised itself. ‘Jessica? Jessica, where are you? Come and meet my dad.’

Three or four trees away, Jessica crouched and peeped through a drooping branch. The girl was not Lucy. She belonged to a different place, a different life. Chaplin, straining on his leash, was doing his best to bring Katherine back to Jessica, but the man, who was strangely familiar and red in the face from running, took charge. He looked a bit like one of the fishmen, Jessica thought, though she was far from convinced with regard to his identity, as she had never seen the Walshes wearing ordinary clothes.

‘It’s getting late,’ said Bernard quietly. ‘Your mam’s just at the edge of the wood looking for you.’ The unthinkable had happened; the twins had found one another. He had caught a glimpse of Katherine’s sister, just a split-second’s view, had heard Katherine calling out the dreaded name. Why hadn’t he realized that he had brought his family so close to Belmont? And what the hell was Jessica Nolan doing wandering about through fields and woods? She was supposed to be locked away with TB.
He stumbled on blindly, dragging the dog with one hand and the backward-looking Katherine with the other.

Liz stared at her husband when he reached her side. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

A ghost would have been preferable.

‘I met a girl who looks just like me,’ repeated Katherine. ‘Mam, you have to come. I want you to meet her. She’s called Jessica.’

Bernard held his daughter’s hand tightly, prayed that Liz would not put two and two together – or one and one, come to that. Jessica Nolan wasn’t the only Jessica in the Bolton area, he reminded himself. ‘We’re going home,’ he announced now. ‘I feel a bit tired after all that chasing about.’

Jessica, who had crept to the edge of the wood, watched as the family walked away, the mother, the father, the girl and her dog. She wanted to follow them, to beg to be taken to their home: a cosy fire, toast, a dog basket in the corner. But she had told lies. And anyway, nobody would want a TB girl to visit a proper house, because TB girls belonged in hospitals.

Sadly, she trudged her way back to the farm. If her absence had been noticed, she would be in trouble. But she had not been missed. Katherine had been missed, though. Her parents had come dashing across fields to find her. They had bought her a dog and shiny shoes and ribbons for her hair.

The housekeeper pushed a mug of cocoa into Jessica’s hands. ‘Have you had a nice play, love?’

Jessica nodded.

‘Do you want a scone with that?’

‘No, thank you.’ Jessica’s appetite had disappeared.
All she could see was a girl with a dog, a girl who looked uncannily like herself. She felt cold inside, as if something important had been taken away from her. ‘I wish I had a sister,’ she said mournfully.

Alice Sharples laughed. ‘Nay, love. I think your mam has enough to worry about. Off you go now, back to your ward.’ The child looked so sad. ‘Are you all right?’

Jessica drained her cup. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She wasn’t all right, but who cared?

It was a long, long corridor with cream-painted walls, rows of doors punctuating the monotony. Jessica floated along, hands held out before her, feet trailing just above ground level. Dr Blake stood outside the X-ray room with a fox. The fox, who was remarkably well behaved, sat decorously at the end of a lead. Dr Blake’s white coat was spotted with custard, gravy and what looked like beetroot juice.

Mam was well again. She wore a pretty blue suit and a hat with an open-weave veil. Next to Mam, the girl called Katherine was bedecked in satin ribbons, black shoes with T-bar straps, a red coat and white stockings. Jessica arrived at Mam’s side.

‘Who are you?’ asked Theresa Nolan.

‘I’m Jessica.’

Katherine beamed upon her lookalike. ‘We’re better,’ she said. ‘We’re both going home.’

Jessica wept. She was Mam’s daughter. Mam had got mixed up. Or had she decided to take the other girl because she was prettier and better dressed? ‘You can’t go home with my mam,’ announced Jessica crossly.

‘Of course I can. I can do anything I like, because I have a dad.’

‘She can do anything she likes,’ repeated Theresa Nolan. ‘She has a dad, so I’m taking her home with me.’

This wasn’t right. Jessica watched the two figures as they moved away from her. They burst through a doorway and into a meadow full of dancing hares. When the door closed in Jessica’s face, she wept uncontrollably.

‘Jessica! Jessica, wake up!’

The little girl opened her eyes and reached for Ellen Crabtree. ‘She’s taken my mam,’ she wailed.

‘Who has?’

‘Katherine. The one who looks like …’ Jessica inhaled, tried to control her sobs.

‘It were nobbut a dream, lass,’ said Ellen Crabtree. ‘I reckon they’re giving you too much cheese. Cheese never sits easy in a young stomach. Makes you have nightmares. That’s all it is, love. That were all down to a bit of undigested Cheddar.’

For once, Jessica was pleased that the toothless Mrs Crabtree knew everything. The night nurse came in, made tutting noises and soothed Jessica’s brow.

‘This is no life for a kiddy,’ snapped Mrs Crabtree. ‘Is there not a place for children with TB? She shouldn’t be shut in here with old women like me and Sadie Knowles.’ As if agreeing with her companion, Sadie let out an extra-loud snore. ‘There’s nowt’ll wake her,’ grumbled Ellen. ‘But she keeps the bloody rest of us red-eyed, I’m telling you.’

The nurse gave Jessica a sip of water. ‘There’s no hospital round here for kiddies,’ she replied. ‘And them in Yorkshire and Cheshire are all full up. Anyway, Jessica won’t be here for much longer. She only had a bit of a spot on one lung, and that’s on the mend.’ She grinned at Jessica. ‘You’ll be
living with Mrs Harris, or so I’m told. Just have a bit of patience, sweetheart. We have to make sure you’re all right, or the TB’ll be spreading like wildfire all over the place.’