The Rose in Winter by Sarah Harrison

Author:Sarah Harrison [Sarah Harrison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2017-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

1907

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t you mean who? Who’s that?’

Molly didn’t answer. She was busy directing a silent, black bullet of hatred at the intruder.

‘Listen young lady.’ Molly’s mother shot out her free arm and grabbed Molly’s shoulder with a hard, pinching hand. ‘You’ll be civil if you don’t mind and—’ a tighter pinch, this time with a shake, nails digging in ‘—even if you do, all right?’

‘Who is he?’

‘This is your new brother.’

‘What? He never is! I never seen him before!’

‘I’ve. I have never seen him before. Well that’s a nice surprise then, isn’t it?’

‘No!’

‘You want to know something, madam?’ Her mother gave her a shake that jolted her head and made her bite the edge of her tongue. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think or what you want. He’s coming to live here, do you understand?’

Molly could taste blood in her mouth, but swallowed it. She shrugged.

Nothing infuriated her mother more than a show of indifference. She gave Molly a sharp push followed by a poorly-aimed smack that glanced off the side of her head, ruffling her hair, which Molly hated more than the blow itself.

‘Steady on Netta,’ said the man. He’d been standing with his son in front of him, his huge hands on either side of the boy’s neck, but now he moved him aside and came to lean over Molly. A constellation of rusty-brown stains spattered his shirt, just below the collar. She could see the black dots in his skin where the bristles grew, the crimson veins on the inside of his nostrils and hairs curling in the greasy whorls of his big ears. He’d made his eyes wide, round and staring. His breath smelt of spit, old food and tobacco.

‘It’ll all be hunky-dory, won’t it?’ He tweaked her cheek. His fingers had the texture of stale bread. The gesture was meant to seem affectionate, but she wasn’t fooled; he was pinching, just like her mother, holding her face still so she had to pay attention. She shut her eyes.

‘Don’t be like that, now.’

‘What’s she doing?’

‘Nothing. Are you?’ He let go Molly’s cheek but she could still smell him there and hear the small creaks and hisses of his great, gross body. ‘We’ll be right as rain, won’t we, Molly? Eh, Molly Malone – won’t we?’

He cuffed her hair, in the same place. Her eyes flew open.

‘That’s not my name.’

‘It’s a joke. Can’t you take a joke?’

‘She gets a lot of that Malone business,’ said her mother. ‘So maybe not.’

Molly liked her mother for saying that. It wasn’t much, but she was used to making the most of crumbs.

The man – his name was Percy Eldridge but she would never, ever, call him by it, or by anything if she could help it – stood up, enormous in the little kitchen. He turned to the boy, who had been completely silent through all of this, watching through the hank of black hair that hung over his eyes.

‘You going to say hello, son?’

‘Hello,’ said the boy, docilely. He

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