Queen of the Mersey by Maureen Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

stacked in front of public buildings, and a dazzling silver barrage balloon floated in the blue sky over Bootle Hospital. Lots of houses already had their windows covered with crisscross tape to stop the glass from shattering in an explosion. She must do her own soon, and put up the blackout curtains she’d made.
    It was a relief to get back to Glover Street. She intended knitting Roddy a pair of socks before he left on Monday. Despite everything, she didn’t want him to have cold feet. She got out the bag of needles, selected a set of four size twelves and cast on the rib. She’d made so many socks, she could now do them from memory, even turn the heel.
    The rib quickly grew and she imagined it fitting snugly around Roddy’s lean ankle. Oh, Lord! She loved him so much. Laura sniffed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, putting all her pent-up frustration and resentment into knitting an innocent sock.
    She felt a sense of achievement when four inches of rib were done and she could change to size ten needles and ordinary stocking stitch. At this rate, she might manage two pairs.
    There was a knock on the living room door and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
    It could only be someone from upstairs. Please don’t let it be that dreadful Mrs Tate, she prayed when she went to open the door.
    Mrs Tate’s daughter was outside, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
    The first thing Laura noticed was that her right arm wasn’t withered as she’d thought, but twisted almost back to front.
    ‘Me mam’s gone on holiday,’ the girl whispered, ‘and she hasn’t come back. I don’t know what to do. The rent man’s called twice, but I didn’t let him in. I haven’t got the money to pay him.’
    ‘Oh, dear!’ Laura said sympathetically. ‘Why don’t you come in and tell me all about it?’
    The girl shuffled into the room. She wore a threadbare frock that was much too short and ragged plimsolls that had once been white. ‘I don’t know what to do,’
    she repeated.
    ‘I’m sure you don’t. Sit down, dear. When did your mother go?’ She quickly removed her knitting when the girl looked about to sit on it, giving it a regretful glance.
    ‘About two weeks ago.’
    That accounted for the silence upstairs. ‘Did she say how long she’d be away?’
    ‘She said she’d only be a few days. I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered for the third time. ‘I’ve got no pennies left for the meter.’
    ‘What about food? Did your mother leave food?’
    ‘It’s all gone.’
    ‘When did it go?’ Laura asked angrily.
    The girl cringed and looked fearful. ‘The other day.’
    ‘Please don’t be frightened. I’m angry with your mother, not you. What’s your name, dear?’
    ‘Queenie,’ the girl whispered.
    ‘Well, I think the first thing to do, Queenie, is get you something to eat.’
    Laura considered the contents of her meagre larder. There were two eggs and a two slices of streaky bacon for Roddy’s breakfast next day, mincemeat and vegetables for a casserole tonight that she’d not yet started, and half a pound of broken biscuits. ‘Would you like to come into the kitchen while I make it?’
    ‘Ta.’ Queenie crept out after her, making hardly any noise at all on the linoleum floor.
    Laura gave her a glass of milk and she drank it thirstily, able to hold the glass quite safely in her twisted hand, and watching her all the time with a pair of huge grey eyes, almost silver, surrounded by a frame of thick, pale lashes.
    The eggs and bacon were quickly fried, along with a thick slice of bread. She put the food in front of the girl, then began to prepare the vegetables for the casserole. In no time at all, she could hear the plate being scraped.
    ‘Ta,’ Queenie muttered. The plate was clean, every trace of egg having been wiped up with the bread. The poor child must have been starving.
    ‘Did your mother say where she was going?’ she asked, when she sat down at the table with two cups of tea.
    ‘No, just on holiday.’
    ‘Where did she work?’
    ‘In a pub,