Ironmonger's Daughter by Harry Bowling Read Free Book Online Page A

d’you know?’ Harold piped in, amid roars of laughter.
     
    As the ’twenties drew to a close the young cousins became settled into their lessons at the local Webb Street School. Every morning they walked to school together, and every afternoon they strolled home, lazily laughing at the peculiar teacher who took them for lessons. It was already apparent that Connie would develop into a very pretty adult: her deep-set blue eyes were very striking, their colour vividly shaded. Her long blond hair reached down almost to her waist, and was usually tied carelessly at the back of her neck with a black lace, revealing her rounded forehead. She moved with childlike grace and her posture was straight and proud. By contrast Molly did not appear to be growing very fast, her pathetic young body looked thick and squat with her back becoming more and more rounded. She managed to walk at a steady pace, although she tended to sway from side to side when she tried to hurry, and her breathing was quick and shallow. Her flat face was constantly changing in expression; it was as though all her suffering, all her struggles to accomplish the day-to-day tasks were written in her round face and reflected in her large dark-brown eyes. The constant awareness of her condition had made her look older than her tender years. She already seemed to have lost the carelessness of childhood and behind her simple appearance there was a maturing mind that was fast outstripping the growth of her tragic body. Already, as a nine-year-old, Molly was beginning to interpret the looks and the remarks of people on the streets. Their attitudes were often well meant and sympathetic, but their careless and unthinking pity pierced the child’s heart.
    One day Connie and Molly were later than usual coming home from school. Helen Bartlett put on her coat and scarf and went to look for the youngsters. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she found Connie with her arm around Molly’s shoulders. Her daughter seemed to be crying.
    ‘Molly, what’s wrong?’ she called out, rushing up to them. She leant down and gently touched the side of Molly’s face, but her daughter would not look up. She stared at the ground, tears running down her cheeks and falling from her chin.
    ‘Connie, what’s the matter?’ Helen asked, looking over at her niece. Connie looked away, and Helen could see that she did not want to tell her. ‘Come on luv, what’s bin ’appenin’?’ she asked her quietly.
    Connie frowned. ‘It’s those Flynn kids,’ she said. ‘They kept on sayin’ “umptybacked” and callin’ Molly names. So I bashed ’em.’
    ‘Oh, Molly darlin’, come ’ere,’ Helen said as she went to cuddle her daughter. But Molly burst out sobbing and pushed past her to hurry away up the stairs.
     
    Although Helen and Matthew were devoted and adoring towards their only child, whose disabilities made them pander to her every need, they sensed that Molly found it very difficult to believe she could be loved. Connie, however, received no such lavish affection from her mother, although she was kept clean and well clothed. For the most part Kate never seemed to be around. Her job as a barmaid took her out every evening, and at weekends there always seemed to be parties and appointments which left Connie either alone in the flat or in Helen’s care. More and more Connie turned to Helen for her needs, and the gap between Kate and her daughter widened. There were also times when, for reasons that the young child did not understand, she was suddenly taken from her own flat and foisted upon Helen, even though it was clear that Kate remained at home. This usually took place at the weekends, and the two children became quite used to sharing the same bedroom. Over the years it became more and more difficult for Connie to approach her mother. Conversations between them were very rare, and whenever Connie asked about her father she was told quite coldly that her father was dead and