The Throwaway Children (11 page)

‘We’ve got a new baby brother,’ Rosie said conversationally. ‘He’s called Richard.’

‘We won’t go with you,’ Rita said. ‘We ain’t got to. Mum’s coming home.’

‘Come along, now,’ said Miss Hopkins, ignoring Rita’s outburst and getting to her feet. ‘We’ve got to collect your luggage and then we’re being fetched in a car.’

‘Never been in a car,’ remarked Rosie.

‘Well, you won’t go in one now if we don’t get a move on,’ replied Miss Hopkins briskly. ‘Now come along, both of you.’

She held out a hand to each girl. Rosie took one, trustingly enough, but Rita thrust her own hands behind her back and turning her gaze on Miss Hassinger, said, ‘I want to go home. I don’t want to go with her.’

‘I’m afraid you must, Rita,’ said Miss Hassinger gently. ‘She has come to take you somewhere to be looked after…’ She hesitated and then added softly, ‘until your Mum can have you home again.’ Then she took Rita by the hand led her to the door. ‘Come along, Rita, there’s a good girl. You’ve got to look after Rosie, you know. That’s what Mum would want you to do.’

‘Now then, Rita, Rose,’ she said when they reached the street, ‘be good girls and do what Miss Hopkins tells you.’ She turned to the Children’s Officer and said, ‘Good afternoon, Miss Hopkins. I hope you are satisfied with this day’s work.’ Then she turned and walked, ramrod straight, back into her school.

Rita stared at Laurel House. It was grey and grim and she hated it before she’d even passed through its heavy front door. Why were they here? It must be a mistake. They lived in Ship Street with Mum. But she knew there was no mistake. Uncle Jimmy didn’t want them and somehow he had got this piggy-eyed woman to take them away.

Still, Rita thought, it won’t be for long. When Mum brings baby Richard home from the hospital, she’ll come and find us. While we’re here, decided Rita, I’ll look after Rosie.

Miss Hopkins had led them away from the familiarity of Capel Street with its elementary school and its park, to the centre of town, bustling with people. The sun was beating down from a clear blue sky and the air was hot and sticky. Rita dragged her feet as she was towed through the streets, and though Rosie skipped along cheerfully enough at first, eager for the promised ride in a car, her legs were soon tired and she, too, dragged her feet, making Miss Hopkins snap, ‘Pick up your feet, child, and come along.’

When they finally reached a big building in the middle of the town, the piggy-eyed woman had picked up a small suitcase that Rita recognized at once.

There was no car. Miss Hopkins walked them to a bus stop where they stood in a queue and waited for a bus.

A number 37 bus came at last and the two girls scrambled aboard, followed by a lumbering Miss Hopkins with the little suitcase in one hand and her capacious handbag in the other. She pushed the two girls into a seat near the back and sat behind them.

‘One and two halves to Russell Green,’ she told the conductor as she paid the fares. The bus was a novelty, and Rosie knelt up on the seat, her nose against the window, watching the town pass by.

Rita looked out of the window too, trying to remember where the bus went, but it was impossible, it drove down unfamiliar streets, over a river and past shops that Rita had never seen before. How far they were going? How far from home and from Mum and Gran?

When they finally got off the bus Rita watched it trundle away. Number 37. Mum would come to fetch them on a number 37.

Five minutes’ walk through suburban streets finally brought them to Laurel House. Rita reached for Rosie’s hand as they waited for the front door to open. When it did they were greeted by a pale-faced girl, wearing a black dress and a white cap.

‘Miss Hopkins to see Miss Vanstone,’ announced Miss Hopkins, pushing her way into the hall. ‘Please tell her we are here, Betty.’

‘Yes, mam.’ The girl bobbed a curtsey, and disappeared. As they waited, Rita looked round the hall. It was painted a dull green and sparsely furnished, with a bench along one wall and a chair opposite. A wide staircase led to a landing above and, standing in the curve below it, a tall grandfather clock ticked solemnly in a corner, ticking-tocking the time away.

After a few minutes another lady came into the hall. ‘Ah, Miss Hopkins,’ she said, ‘here you are at last.’ She glanced down at the two girls who edged closer together. ‘And you must be Rita and Rose Stevens.’ The girls didn’t reply and she said sharply, ‘Answer when you’re spoken to.’

‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Rita. This woman was not like the fat, piggy-eyed Miss Hopkins. She was tall and straight, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her eyes were grey and penetrating, drilling into them. Instinctively Rita was afraid.

‘Yes,
Miss Vanstone
,’ said the lady. She looked at Rita expectantly and Rita murmured, ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

‘That’s better. Now then, follow me.’ Glancing behind her, she called, ‘Betty, ask Mrs Hawkins to come to my office.’

Miss Vanstone led them into her office. It was furnished with a large desk and a filing cabinet on either side of a window which looked out onto the front garden. It was sunny outside, but the room was gloomy and rather forbidding. Miss Vanstone sat down behind her desk, waved Miss Hopkins to a chair in front of her and said to the girls, ‘Sit on the floor and cross your legs.’

Paying them no further attention she addressed Miss Hopkins. ‘You’ve brought the relevant paperwork with you?’

‘Oh, yes, Miss Vanstone,’ Miss Hopkins replied. ‘It’s all here.’ She delved into her handbag and brought out the papers. ‘All signed. All correct.’

Miss Vanstone took the papers and began to peruse them. As she was reading there was a knock on the door. Without glancing up she called, ‘Come.’

The door opened and a small, dark woman came in. ‘You wanted me, Miss Vanstone?’

Miss Vanstone set the papers aside. ‘Ah, Mrs Hawkins. Yes. Here are Rita and Rose Stevens. They’ve arrived today. I’ll pass them over to you now.’ She looked down at the girls. ‘Now you two, up you get and go with Mrs Hawkins. Do as you’re told, and you’ll do very well here. Disobey, and you will be punished. Do you understand?’

Rita had scrambled to her feet, pulling Rosie up as well.

‘Do you understand?’ Miss Vanstone repeated.

‘Yes, miss,’ muttered Rita.

‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

‘Yes, Miss Vanstone,’ echoed Rita.

‘Rose?’

Rosie looked across at her. ‘I’m called Rosie,’ she said.

It was as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Do you understand, Rose?’

Rita crushed Rosie’s hand in hers and muttered, ‘Say “yes, Miss Vanstone”.’

Rosie looked at her and then obediently said, ‘Yes, Miss Vanstone.’

‘That’s better. Off you go with Mrs Hawkins, now.’

Mrs Hawkins picked up the small suitcase and they followed her along the passage to a narrow stairway. ‘These are the stairs you use,’ she told them. ‘Not the main staircase.’ When neither girl replied, she looked at them sharply and snapped, ‘You’re to answer when you’re spoken to. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, miss,’ murmured Rita.

‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins,’ corrected the woman.

‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’

‘Everyone here has a name,’ Mrs Hawkins said. ‘Miss won’t do. Now then, let’s see where you’ll sleep.’

At the top of the stairs was a long landing with doors opening on either side. Halfway along were the main stairs, and at the far end another staircase led up to the tower. Pointing to it, Mrs Hawkins said, ‘That’s the way to my rooms. You are never to go up those stairs unless I have sent for you. Do you understand?’

Rita had now learned to answer so she said, ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins.’

Mrs Hawkins opened a green door and led them into a bedroom. ‘This is Green Dormitory,’ she said, ‘where you’ll be sleeping, Rose.’

It was a small room with six narrow beds crammed into it, and just enough room to walk between them. Each bed had a stool at the end, a wooden locker beside it, with a metal basin on the top. A wide window looked out onto the garden below, but the view was marred by the black iron bars that crossed it. No child could fall… or escape… through that window. The only thing green about the room was the door.

Mrs Hawkins pointed to one of the beds and said, ‘This is your bed, Rose, and that is your locker. That is where you’ll keep your things.’ She opened the suitcase and took out the small washbag that contained their toothbrushes and flannels. She opened the locker and put one of each inside.

‘Please, miss… Mrs Hawkins,’ Rita corrected herself hastily, ‘that’s my toothbrush. Rosie’s is the pink one.’

Mrs Hawkins said nothing, simply gave her a long look and closed the locker door.

‘Sit on the stool, Rose, and wait here until I come back,’ she instructed. ‘Rita, come with me.’

She turned and walked out of the room and Rita whispered to Rosie, ‘Sit on the stool and wait, Rosie. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Rosie’s lip began to tremble, but Rita gave her a push and she sat down.

Rita followed Mrs Hawkins to another room on the opposite side of the landing. Apart from its purple door, it was identical to Green Dormitory.

‘You’ll sleep in here, Rita,’ Mrs Hawkins said, and pointed to a bed under the window. ‘That’s your bed.’

‘Please, Mrs Hawkins,’ began Rita, and then paused as her courage failed her.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘Please, Mrs Hawkins, can’t I sleep in the same room as Rosie? She’ll be scared without me.’

‘No, you can’t,’ replied Mrs Hawkins calmly. ‘Green Dormitory is the baby dormitory, Purple is the under elevens. That’s you.’

‘What about our other things?’ asked Rita. She had seen their new dresses in the case, and some pants and vests and socks. They were wearing their school uniforms, but there should be another skirt each and a blouse and a jersey.

‘They’ll be put away in the general wardrobe,’ replied Mrs Hawkins. ‘You’ll be given what you need to wear.’

‘But we’ve got new dresses—’ began Rita.

‘Everything is shared here,’ replied Mrs Hawkins briskly. ‘Some of the girls here have never had a new dress. You’ll wear it when it’s your turn and not before. Now put your satchel into your locker and come along.’

Rita had been at Laurel House for less than an hour, but she had already learned there was nothing to be gained from arguing, and guessed that there was plenty to be lost. She quickly put her satchel into the locker, her picture of Daddy still safely inside it.

They collected Rosie who was still sitting on her stool, pink and tearful, and Rita hurriedly put her sister’s satchel into her locker. Knitty was inside it and she was determined that Mrs Hawkins wasn’t going to make Rosie share Knitty with everyone else.

Mrs Hawkins showed them the bathroom and then led them back downstairs to a large room at the back of the house overlooking the garden. Several girls were sitting in a circle, sewing; others sat round a large table, doing school work. They were all dressed in faded, blue-checked cotton frocks, all wore black plimsolls, all had their hair in plaits or held back with a hair band. They all stood up when Mrs Hawkins came in.

‘This is the playroom,’ Mrs Hawkins said. ‘This is where you do your homework after school when you’ve finished your chores. Sheila Nevin!’

A large girl wearing wire-rimmed spectacles who had been darning a sock put down her work and stood up. ‘Yes, Mrs Hawkins?’

‘We have two new girls come to join us. Rita and Rose Stevens. I have shown them their dormitories, you’re to make sure they are in the right place for the rest of today. Their names are already on the rota board.’ She waved a hand towards a cork noticeboard on the wall, ‘so you can explain what they have to do. Rita, Rose, listen to what Sheila tells you.’

The minute the door closed behind her there was a buzz of conversation. Rita and Rosie stood by the door, Rosie still clutching Rita’s hand. They looked round at the sea of faces staring at them. The girl, Sheila, glared across at them. She was older than either of them, about thirteen, with a big round face and dark hair. She peered short-sightedly at her charges, and scowled.

‘Why do I always have to do the nannying?’ she moaned. ‘Come here, you two, and let’s have a look at you.’

When neither child moved Sheila got to her feet and gripped Rosie by the wrist, jerking her forward and making her cry out. ‘I said, come here.’

‘Let her go,’ cried Rita, ‘you’re hurting her.’

‘And I’ll hurt her some more if she don’t do what I tell her,’ snapped Sheila. Rosie was wailing now and the older girl turned on her. ‘Shut up!’ she hissed. ‘Shut up, you snivelling kid.’

‘Let her go!’ Rita shouted, but Sheila simply laughed, tightening her grip.

‘Make me!’ she jeered and then gave a screech of pain. Without warning, Rita had bent down and sank her teeth into the bigger girl’s arm. She bit hard and Sheila released Rosie, jerking her arm free. Rita grabbed Rosie and pulled her away. There was a burst of laughter from the girls who were sitting in the mending circle, and Sheila rounded on them, her face flaming with humiliation.

‘And you lot can shut up an’ all!’

‘Leave the poor kids alone,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Don’t you remember what your first day was like?’

Rita spun round to see another girl had come into the room. She was older than anyone else in the room, almost grown up. She stood surveying the scene, Rita and Rosie cowering together, Sheila on her feet nursing her arm where the marks of Rita’s teeth stood out, a dark red on her pale skin.

‘Yes, I remember,’ growled Sheila. ‘It was tough. Life is tough here and the sooner these kids learn that the better.’

The newcomer walked over to Rita and said, ‘Hallo, I’m Frances. If you want to know anything you can ask me.’ She bent down to Rosie and taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, wiped the little girl’s eyes and helped her blow her nose. ‘Stop crying,’ she said gently, ‘it’s all right. Now, tell me your names.’

‘I’m Rita, and this is my sister Rosie, and she’s only five. I have to look after her.’

‘Of course you do,’ agreed Frances, ‘but you don’t have to bite people. I think you should say sorry to Sheila.’

‘No,’ Rita said fiercely. ‘She should say sorry to Rosie.’