The Girl From Barefoot House (11 page)

She flew downstairs. Outside the house, she panicked. Which way to go? If she didn’t get a move on, Uncle Vince might come out and drag her back. No one would stop him, they’d consider he had a perfect right. She
began to ran towards St Joseph’s. By the time she reached it she had a stitch in her side. The iron gate was padlocked, as expected, and she wondered why she’d come. A few boys had managed to climb over the high, spiked wall and were playing football in the playground. She watched them through the gate, envious. They seemed without a care in the world.

Where now? She needed somewhere quiet, to think. More slowly now, she walked towards Sefton Park, to the fairy glen.

The gently sloping banks were a carpet of yellow daffodils, and the trees looked as if they had been sprinkled with pale green confetti as buds sprouted into tiny leaves. Josie watched two squirrels chase each other up and down the branches, leaping skilfully from one tree to the next. There was a fresh, invigorating smell, springy. Could you smell the spring?

A pale sun shone weakly through a veil of light grey cloud, and it made the dew glisten like little diamonds on the grass. It was too wet to sit on, and the only bench was already occupied by a girl in a yellow frock, her face buried in a newspaper. Josie went down to the stream and watched the large goldfish moving ponderously through the water and the smaller ones dart aimlessly this way, that way, backwards and forwards.

She knelt beside the stream, and it was only then that the events of the morning caught up with her and she began to tremble. Uncle Vince had been about to rape her, she realised that now. She knew about rape because less than a month ago a friend of a friend of Marigold Kavanagh had been raped by a soldier on the way home from a dance. Lily had told her about it. She shouldn’t have been listening, but Lily spent half her life listening to conversations she wasn’t meant to hear. She knew all
sorts of things. How babies were made, for instance – men put their John Thomas in the place where women did a wee, and nine months later a baby was born. ‘It’s as easy as that!’ Lily had said, wide-eyed and a bit dismayed.

What had happened that morning, however, dreadful though it was, seemed less important than what was to happen now. Where was she to live? How could she possibly
tell
people what Uncle Vince had tried to do? If she could get over the embarrassment of putting it into words, they’d say she led him on. Josie had the squirmy, uncomfortable feeling that it was all her fault. She felt sick, remembering the way she’d let him touch her, press against her, make funny noises.

She shivered. The grass was cold and she hadn’t got a cardy. She longed for a drink, a cup of tea. Something plopped on to her bare knees – tears. She was crying.

‘Josie, is that you? I thought I recognised you from the back.’

She turned. Daisy Kavanagh was coming towards her through the wet grass, folding a newspaper. She held it up. It was called
The Daily Worker
. ‘Me da’ won’t allow this in the house. They get
The Times
, which is dead stuffy, full of letters from retired colonels.’ She lifted the skirt of her yellow frock, which went perfectly with the background of daffodils, and knelt beside the younger girl. Daisy always looked as if she were posing for the cover of a romantic novel. Her long hair was tied back with a big yellow bow. The Kavanagh girls always had matching bows, headbands, dolly bags and even hankies to go with their frocks, which their mam made from bits of leftover material. ‘What’s up, Jose? You don’t half look sad.’

Daisy was the quietest of the girls, and spent all her spare time reading. She had just left St Joseph’s, and was
due to start work next week in the local library, putting books away, keeping the shelves tidy, while she trained to be a proper librarian.

‘Has your Auntie Ivy been horrid? You know, I’ve never liked that woman.’

Josie wished that were the case. It was something she was used to. She shook her head.

‘Something’s wrong, Jose. I can tell by your face. Have you had a fight with our Lily?’

‘No.’ She quite enjoyed her fights with Lily.

‘You know, a trouble shared is a trouble halved, so Ma always ses,’ Daisy said wisely. ‘If you tell me, I promise, on my honour, to keep it in total confidence. I won’t tell a soul.’

‘It’s something dead awful.’ Josie picked up a clump of grass and pulled it to pieces. ‘You’ll be disgusted.’

Daisy gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘Nothing disgusts me, Jose. I’ve read hundreds of books, and you wouldn’t believe some of the things that happen. But let’s sit on that bench first before me knees freeze solid. Come on, Jose.’

‘Well,’ Josie began hesitantly when they were seated. Daisy seemed the ideal person to talk to, not quite an adult, not quite a child, worldly wise and not easily shocked. ‘It all started last Christmas, no, four Christmases ago, when I was six …’ It was a relief to let it all pour out. She kept making excuses for herself. ‘I know it’s me own fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged him. But we were pretending he was me dad, see,’ she finished.

‘Some dad!’ Daisy’s face was blank. She had always seemed very grown up but now she looked a bit lost, as if Josie’s story was nothing like she’d read in books. Perhaps it was too dreadful to have told someone who was only fourteen.

There was a long silence. ‘Oh, I knew you’d be disgusted,’ Josie wailed. ‘I wish I’d never told you. Now you hate me.’

‘Oh, Jose. I don’t hate you. I just don’t know what to say.’ Daisy reached for her hand. ‘Let’s go home. You’ve had nothing to eat. You must be starving.’

‘You won’t tell your ma, will you?’ Josie said anxiously. ‘I’d hate anyone else to know.’ She felt a bit worried when Daisy didn’t answer.

Apart from the clink of dishes from the kitchen, the Kavanaghs’ house was unusually quiet. Quarry Bank didn’t break up until tomorrow so Ben was still at school. Marigold had gone to work in the solicitor’s office where she was a junior secretary, and Robert to the factory where he was a trainee draughtsman – Mrs Kavanagh was praying the war would be over before he reached eighteen. Lily, still in her nightie, was in the parlour with her head buried in an exercise book. Josie thought she had started on her homework, until Daisy angrily snatched the book away.

‘That’s mine,’ she snapped. ‘How dare you? It’s my novel.’

‘It’s very good.’ Lily had no shame. ‘I don’t think much of the hero, though. And what’s a mousetachy?’

‘It’s moustache, idiot. I can’t see you passing the scholarship. And you should have been called Deadly Nightshade, or Garlic Mustard, instead of Lily. You’re dead horrible.’ She turned to Josie. ‘I’ll ask Ma to make us a cup of tea.’

‘What are you doing out so early?’ Lily enquired when her sister had gone. ‘And you haven’t combed your hair. It doesn’t half look untidy.’

‘Oh, shut up, Lily.’ Josie sank into a chair. Her head was throbbing. She glanced around the untidy room.
There were hardly any toys nowadays, but the typewriter Marigold had used to practise on, and now Daisy, was on the sideboard, alongside a pile of
Girl’s Crystals
, which she’d borrowed and avidly read. Pieces of grey flannel were draped over the sewing machine, waiting to be turned into a pair of trousers, and there were books everywhere, dozens of them. How wonderful it would be to live here, be part of this family, she thought.

‘You’re very lucky,’ she said.

Lily misinterpreted this completely. She tossed back her wavy hair. ‘Oh, I know. I’m pretty and clever, and I’m going to pass the scholarship and be a great success. When I grow up, I shall be a famous film star or a singer or a dancer. The whole world will know who I am. Have you ever heard me sing?’

‘Of course I have. It was dead awful.’

‘It was not.’

‘It was.’

‘It was not.’

‘Josie,’ Mrs Kavanagh said from the door, ‘would you come here a minute, luv?’

Daisy appeared behind her, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry, Jose. I’ve never betrayed a confidence before, but I couldn’t have kept what you told me to meself. Something’s got to be done, and I’m afraid I haven’t a clue.’

‘What?’ Lily leapt to her feet and nearly fell over her nightie. ‘What’s she told you? She’s
my
friend – why didn’t she tell me?’

‘Oh, calm down, Lily,’ her mother said irritably. ‘This is nothing to do with you. Go upstairs and get dressed this minute, or I shall be very cross.’ Lily flounced out of the room, and Mrs Kavanagh led Josie into the kitchen. ‘I can keep an eye on the stairs from here, case that little madam
creeps down to listen.’ Her plump, good-natured face became grave. ‘Now, luv, Daisy’s told me everything, so you don’t have to go through it again. There’s just one thing I want to say –
it’s not your fault
. None of it’s your fault.’ She gave Josie’s shoulders a little shake. ‘Understand?’

‘Yes, Mrs Kavanagh.’

‘Now, we’ve got to tell Ivy as soon as possible, because you can’t go home the way things are.’ She thoughtfully bit her lip. ‘I’ll meet her off the bus tonight. She’s going to have to give his lordship his marching orders, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s exactly what me mam said!’ Josie exclaimed. ‘There was something Mam had wanted to tell Aunt Ivy a long time ago, but she couldn’t because it would have killed her. Then something happened, and we were coming back to Machin Street, but the night before Mam was …’ She stopped, unable to go on.

Mrs Kavanagh had gone as white as a sheet. She gave Josie another little shake. ‘Try not to think about it, luv.’ She turned away and took the cosy off the teapot. ‘Oh, Lord,’ she muttered. ‘This is worse than I thought. Much worse.’

Over the next two days, Josie felt as if there was a little black cloud hanging over her. She stayed with the Kavanaghs, sleeping on the settee in the parlour, and would have enjoyed herself had it not been for the cloud. And there was another worry lurking in the corner of her mind, too awful to think about.

Lily oozed curiosity from every pore. She had been forbidden to ask questions, but Josie could tell she ached to know what was going on.

Ben took her to the pictures to see
Pinocchio
, which
helped a bit. She’d never seen a picture in Technicolor before. On the way home, he said seriously, ‘When we’re married, everything’s going to be dead fine. You’ll never have a single thing to worry about again.’

On Thursday evening after tea, Mrs Kavanagh suggested gently that she go home. ‘I’ll take you, luv. It’s been lovely having you, but you can’t stay for ever.’

‘But Vince’ll be there, and Auntie Ivy’s still at work!’

‘You’ll find Vince has gone, luv, and Ivy hasn’t been to work in days.’

Josie hung back. ‘She’ll
hate
me,’ she said fearfully.

‘No, luv. She doesn’t hate you, not the least little bit.’

Outside number seventy-six, Josie said shyly, ‘Ta, very much. You’ve been dead kind.’

Mrs Kavanagh’s eyes were watering for some reason. ‘It’s one of the reasons we’re put on this earth for, to help each other. Least, so I’ve always thought. One of these days, when you’re grown up, maybe you can give me a hand if I need it.’ She smiled. ‘The way things are going with you and our Ben, I reckon you’ll be one of the family by then. Go on, luv.’

Mrs Kavanagh gave her a little shove, and Josie returned to the house she thought she had left for ever.

It was still light outside, but the parlour was in semidarkness because Aunt Ivy never parted the thick, green curtains by more than a few inches in case the sun faded the carpet. Even so, Josie was able to see the numerous framed photos of Mam which were scattered around the room.

‘Ooh!’ she whispered. She picked up one of Mam
when she was a little girl making her First Holy Communion. She wore a white frock with puffed sleeves and smocking on the bodice, white shoes and socks. Most of her hair was hidden beneath a short, triangular veil, and she was holding a white prayer book and grinning broadly. A sprinkling of snow lay on the ground outside the church, and the trees were tipped with frost.

Josie pressed the photo against her breast. ‘She must have felt cold,’ she said to Aunt Ivy.

‘She never felt the cold, not much,’ her aunt replied. ‘You might have noticed. She took a lot of persuading into a vest when winter came, and I could never get her to wear a liberty bodice. I’ve still got that prayer book and the veil put away. You can have them if you like.’

‘I’d like them very much, ta.’

Aunt Ivy was wearing the navy blue coat overall she only wore on Saturdays to clean in. Since Josie had last seen her a few days ago, she seemed to have aged twenty, thirty years. Her yellow face was wizened, she looked smaller and was hunched in the corner of the big settee, as if she’d like to disappear inside it. Josie was shocked to see the naked misery evident in the small grey eyes.

‘I loved her, you know.’ She nodded at the photo. ‘She was six then. Same age as you the day you came. I hated you for looking so much like her. I felt she’d come back to haunt me. Every time I looked at you I felt guilty. I’d put them away, the pictures, hid them in the spare room. But I couldn’t put you away, could I? You were always here, reminding me of what I’d done. Oh, God!’ She put her head in her hands and began to cry.

‘What did you do?’ Josie felt as if they had swopped places, that she was the aunt, Ivy the child.

‘I chucked her out, didn’t I?’ Ivy cried wildly. ‘I threw me own sister on the streets, when all the time I knew it
wasn’t her fault. I
knew
Mabel as well as I knew meself. I’d brought her up. I knew damn well she’d never go with a fella, particularly her own sister’s husband. She wasn’t that sort of girl. But I put the whole thing to the back of me mind, out of sight, and whenever it came to the surface I pushed it back again, because although I loved Mabel I loved my Vince more. I refused to let meself
think
he could have done such a thing.’ She raised her burning eyes. ‘You know he was your father, don’t you?’

Josie sat down. She held Mam’s photo tight against her breast. ‘I’ve wondered, over the last few days, but I did me best not to think about it.’