i f6c06dd9cf3fe221 by Unknown (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

things' coming into her mind ... Oh, she wished her gran da was dead ... or missing!

Annie was recalled to Rosie's entertainment by a shake of the basket.

"I don't believe you've been listening to a thing."

"Oh yes I have."

"Well, I've a new one," said Rosie.

"Now listen."

She performed her next number in two voices; one as near Father O'Malley's as she could contrive, and the other a squeaky treble:

"Pray, Father, I've killed the cat.

Ah, my child, you'll suffer for that!

But, pray. Father, it was a Protestant cat.

Oh! Then, my child, doesn't matter about that.

"Isn't it funny?" Rosie looked at Annie, hoping for a laugh, at least a broad grin. But when she was confronted with a weak smile, she said to herself, "Oh, ta pot!"

When they returned to the fifteen streets Rosie left Annie with the empty basket, in disgust. No ha' penny no piece of cake! Annie hadn't even got the money for the washing; the woman was out and it had to be left next door. Annie had been worse company coming back than going.

Annie put the basket in the wash house and went reluctantly into the house.

"What! you didn't get the money?" said Kate, when Annie had told her the woman wasn't in. She sat down heavily on a chair and slowly tapped her fingers on the table; Annie sat on the carpet and looked into the tire.

I won't ask him, Kate thought. I'll do anything, anything rather than ask him. She knew she was afraid, and she did not seem to have the strength to fight against her fear.

Whatever money Tim had contributed to the household he had been in the habit of throwing on the bed to Sarah, but these past two weeks he had stopped this procedure and when Sarah had asked him for the money he had replied, "What'j a want it for? ... Who's keeping house?" and had gone and stood near Kate, handing her the money without a word, but with his eyes playing over her.

She had taken it in amazement, and, seeing his look, a new fear of him had come into being, making her sick with shame and terror.

Then, last week, he had waited for her to ask for the money, and when she hadn't he had gone out and drunk it. He was waiting again, and she hadn't a penny in the house 1 She went upstairs to her room and, opening the bottom drawer of the chest, she took out a small box. The wristlet watch was all she had of Rodney beside his letters. She had hung on to it these months past, pawning everything belonging to herself except what she stood up in and now it would have to go.

She touched it tenderly with her fingers. Rodney, Rodney, you're not dead, are you? You can't be dead. You mustn't die.

Abruptly, she turned and took her coat and hat from the back of the door and went out of the room. If she began to think again she would be unable to go on, something would snap. And there was her mother and Annie to see to.

She put the box resolutely into the pocket of her coat, and went into Sarah's room.

"I'm. going down to Shields, ma. I won't be long. Annie's downstairs, I'll send her up."

Sarah nodded, speaking no word. Speech seemed to have dried up in her;

the thing that was in the house now, stalking her Kate, had paralysed every emotion but fear. It stared out of her eyes continually; it was ever in her twitching tongue and plucking fingers.

When Kate had gone Annie went upstairs and sat near the window. Her grandma was asleep. She looked at the houses opposite with the grubby lace curtains and the rail of a brass bedstead showing between them.

She looked up into the sky and down into the backyard with its sheet of grey ice strewn with cinders. Everything was grey and dull; there seemed nothing to smile or laugh about any more; nothing made you feel nice inside; there was a deadness in her and all around. Why had things changed so suddenly? Her grandma had been ill a long time, her gran da had always been a bad man, Kate had always had to work, the houses opposite had never been different from what they were now. All these things had been happening when the doctor was alive, and she hadn't noticed them very much. But now he was dead they all seemed to matter.

She un plaited and're plaited her hair. He used to like her hair, saying it was "Fairy Queen's hair'. She examined it. The silver had turned to a pale gold. Sometimes she thought it was funny hair, no one else seemed to have hair this colour. She looked at the bracelet he had sent her last Christmas. She was twirling it round her wrist when the door opened, startling her. Dome Clarke, in a bonnet and bead cape, her face red and bloated, tiptoed ponderously in.

i? "Couldn't make anyone hear," she whispered, 'so I popped up. How is she? " She went and stood near the bed, looking down on Sarah.

"She's asleep," said Annie.

"Ah, so she is! I'll sit me self here for a while till she wakes."

Dorrie Clarke seated herself on a chair by the bed. Annie stood looking at her, stiff with apprehension.

"Growin', aren't you?" said Dorrie.

"Yes," Annie said.

"Kate out?"

"Yes." Annie thought, she knows Kate's out, or she wouldn't be here.

I'll not be able to do much with that young bitch watching me, Dorrie told herself. And I'll never have as good a chance as this again.

"Would you run a message, hinny?" she asked. The leg's bothering me.

Yer granny