The River Folk by Margaret Dickinson Read Free Book Online

this afternoon, she thought to herself.
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘I’ve just told you, that’s—’
    ‘All right, all right.’ Minnie jumped up again, reached for the kettle and went out into the scullery to fill it. She set it on the fire and then busied herself setting cups on the table and fetching tea, milk and sugar. Then she set the teapot to warm on the hearth.
    Again she sat down. ‘Have you seen Amy, ’cos neither me nor Gladys have seen her for two days?’
    ‘No, Minnie, I ain’t, so let’s have this tea you’re making and then we’ll go across. That’s if I can get me feet back into me shoes,’ she added wryly.
    Half an hour later the two women were banging on the door of Amy Hamilton’s house.
    ‘I didn’t see a light on last night, either, now I come to think of it,’ Minnie whispered, though exactly why she was whispering she could not have explained. It was as if she had a sudden foreboding. She clutched hold of Bessie’s arm. ‘Oh Bess, you don’t think we’re going to find her hanging from the ceiling, d’you?’
    ‘Don’t talk daft, Minnie,’ Bessie snapped, but for a brief moment even Bessie’s usual confidence deserted her.
    Amy had been so depressed, and although all the neighbours had rallied round when the dreadful news had first come through that poor Amy had lost not only her husband but, later, her son too, there was a limit to their goodness. Time had passed and their patience with the grieving woman was exhausted. Only Bessie still waddled across the yard most mornings, to knock on Amy’s door to make sure she was up and about and facing the day.
    Bessie sighed. Even she was beginning to think that it was high time Amy pulled herself together. Nevertheless, as she felt under the loose brick near the door to retrieve the key, Bessie couldn’t help thinking for the second time that day, ‘It’s not happened to you, Bessie Ruddick, so don’t judge others till you know how it feels.’
    As she turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, she found she was holding her breath and praying silently, ‘Please let her be all right. Don’t let her have done anything daft.’

Six
    ‘You there, Amy?’ Bessie called.
    They were creeping through the gloomy house like a couple of criminals.
    ‘What if she’s taken a bottle of pills or summat and she’s lying in bed,’ Minnie, close on Bessie’s heels, whispered. ‘Dead for two days and not one of us knew.’
    Or cared enough to know, Bessie’s conscience smote her, so that once more she snapped back, ‘Give it a rest, Minnie. You should have been a writer with that imagination of yours.’
    Huffily, Minnie said, ‘I’m only trying to warn you, Bessie. That’s all. I don’t want you to walk into her bedroom and get a nasty shock.’
    ‘All right, all right,’ Bessie said testily. In truth, she was beginning to get even more anxious. The grate was cold, the ashes not even cleared out, and on the table stood a jug of milk, turning sour, and a loaf of bread with green mould on it.
    ‘Come on, we’d better look upstairs, Min.’
    ‘You can go first, seeing as you think me so fanciful.’
    Outside the door of the front bedroom, Bessie, her hand on the knob, paused and exchanged a glance with Minnie. ‘Here goes,’ she murmured and pushed open the door. The room was in darkness but, nevertheless, they could see a mound beneath the bedclothes.
    Behind her, Minnie let out a piercing shriek, startling Bessie so that every nerve in her body jumped.
    The mound of bedclothes too seemed to leap in the air, bounce and then sit up with a cry of its own.
    Bessie recovered the quickest and lumbered across the room to drag open the curtains. Then she turned to look at the woman in the bed. ‘Oh, so you are still in the land of the living, Amy Hamilton.’ She eyed her sceptically and then sniffed. ‘But by the look of you, only just! You ill?’
    Amy clutched at her chest and flopped back against the pillows and pulled