Second Chance by Sian James Read Free Book Online

already been living off the huge sums of money she was expecting to make from some paintings and drawings this ‘almost famous’ artist was letting her have at sacrificial prices, and since the poet she was living with was penniless – though undoubtedly a genius – it meant that she’d no longer be able to hang on to the house her father had given her in Holland Park when she’d got married, so that she and the children would be homeless.
    In those early days I was trying hard to be sympathetic, so I didn’t like to suggest that she sell the large Holland Park house and buy a smaller house or even a flat in some less desirable area. No, I agreed with Paul that he could do nothing else but pay off her debts, even though it meant that he could contribute little or nothing – it turned out to be nothing – to the full-scale alterations we were having done in our very modest house.
    That was the first time I was thwarted by Francesca. Eventually I got used to it and didn’t feel so bruised.
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4
    Auntie Jane had come to see us every week as long as I could remember. Then, one week, she failed to come. I arrived home from school to find my mother terribly agitated. It was Thursday, the paraffin van had been as usual, but there’d been no sign of Auntie Jane. And we had practically no food left, only a scrape of margarine, a few slices of bread and a small tin of beans. And no money because Auntie Jane drew her pension, bought our food and paid our bills. We’d starve, for sure, and our electric would be turned off.
    â€˜She’ll come tomorrow,’ I said.
    It was only as my mother was crying that I realised she no longer cried as she used to; she was getting better. I looked at her with pride. ‘I’ll go down the village and get some more bread and some cheese. I’ll tell them Auntie Jane will pay tomorrow.’
    Auntie Jane didn’t arrive the next day either, but in the evening Uncle Ted arrived with our groceries. Usually we only saw him on Christmas Day when he came to fetch us for our annual visit to the farm, I hardly recognised him in his working clothes. He brought bad news: Auntie Jane was in hospital and having an operation the next day. ‘A hysterectomy,’ he said, in such grave tones that I’ve never been able to hear the word since without quailing. She would be three weeks in hospital and wouldn’t be able to do any work on the farm for three months.
    â€˜Poor Jane,’ my mother said, ‘and oh Ted, whatever shall we do up here on our own?’
    He studied her for a long time. ‘I’ll have to take Jane’s place, I suppose,’ he said at last. ‘Though God knows how I’m going to find the time.’
    I unpacked the cardboard box of groceries he’d brought. Auntie Jane, in hospital and awaiting her operation, had remembered to make Uncle Ted a list; four large sliced loaves, margarine, tea, sugar, cheese, baked beans, eggs and bananas, all as usual except for the large home-made fruit cake. She must have been too ill for baking, I thought, tears filling my eyes; both for her and for the loss of the cake. I made a pot of tea.
    Uncle Ted sat down and watched me setting out three cups and saucers. ‘You’re looking very well, Miriam,’ he told my mother. ‘My dear, you don’t look a day over twenty-one. You should start going around a bit to get yourself another husband. A farmer this time, somebody solid.’
    â€˜Oh Ted,’ my mother said, smiling weakly. ‘My heart is broken, you know that.’
    â€˜They mend,’ he said. ‘Hearts do mend. “A time to mourn and a time to give up mourning.” That’s from the Bible, Katie, and a good piece of advice for your mother.’
    He looked at her again. ‘Time now to find a little job, Miriam. Time now to try to do without poor Jane’s help.’ He drank his tea noisily and got to