‘Here, Maggie, what do you think?’
Maggie lifted her head, her lips breaking into a wide grin at the sight of Charlie posing in a pair of white knickerbockers, his hand resting coyly on his hip.
‘Very nice, they suit you. Tell you what, I’ll buy you a pair for school, how would you like that?’
Charlie’s smile faltered for a moment, then seeing the glint of laughter in his sister’s eyes he chuckled loudly.
‘Eh, you frightened me for a minute, Maggie. If I went out in these, I wouldn’t get as far as the corner before getting knocked black and blue.’ Carefully stepping out of the frilly garment, he put it back on the table and picked up another pair that Maggie had laid to one side. Pulling his chair nearer to the lamp he began the process of tidying up the loose threads and checking to see that the seams were straight and the tiny stitches unbroken. This was termed ‘finishing’ and for this Maggie received an extra penny per pair, making their total earnings 12 and sixpence a week.
The sight of her brother hunched over the table, his eyes screwed up in concentration, his tongue protruding slightly between pursed lips, brought a feeling of warmth and well-being to Maggie’s body. It was good to see him so content and happy, and the knowledge that he was earning a wage had instilled a sense of pride in him and finally dispelled his fear of being sent to the workhouse.
Her fingers moving rapidly, Maggie once again blessed the day Mrs Casey had knocked on the door, for without her intervention and the ensuing work that had followed the timely visit, Maggie doubted if the three of them would still be together today. In spite of what Liz had said about not leaving them, the constant strain and worry of providing for a family would eventually have proven too much for her. Thank God that worry had now passed.
Humming a tuneless song under her breath Maggie let her mind wander back over the past six months, her facial expressions changing from solemnity to happiness as her thoughts leapt back and forth. As she had feared, the work hadn’t been as constant as the foreman had promised. Sometimes she had gone days without any work at all, and even when it was available she lost two hours a day going to fetch it and bring it home. She also had to provide her own cotton and needles, and although these items weren’t expensive, it was still money she could have used for other things. Then there were the days she’d had to stand for three hours or more waiting in line with a crowd of other girls and women to get her bundle of cloth, not knowing if she would be sent away empty handed. Those times had been the hardest to bear. But now at long last their luck was beginning to change. Hugging herself in silent glee she thought back to the events of that morning. She had stood in the line as usual, but when she’d handed over her completed work, instead of the foreman allotting her another bundle, he’d told her to stand to one side until he’d seen to the remainder of the queue. Her heart thumping wildly, she had complied.
When the last of the women had left and the foreman had asked her if she’d be interested in working full-time in the factory, the relief had been so great her legs had nearly given way under her. His complimentary remarks on the neatness of her work had washed over her, and when he’d asked if she knew of anyone who could sew as well as she did her excitement had known no bounds. Jabbering like an idiot just released from Bedlam, she had put Liz’s name forward and watched in a fever of agitation while the man wrote both their names down in a large, black ledger. It didn’t matter that she would be losing Charlie’s money – the wage for a factory worker was two shillings more than an out-worker. What was more important was the peace of mind, knowing that starting from next week she would be earning a regular wage. That was worth more to her than the few extra bob that Charlie had been earning.
It seemed ironic that the hand-sewing skills that had brought the foreman’s attention upon her would no longer be required, as the factory workers all used sewing machines, but what odds? Her dexterity with a needle had served its purpose, and she’d soon get used to the machines as she was a quick learner. More important was that once she was safely installed at the factory she would be able to keep her ears open for any vacancy that was going. For no matter how many times Liz told her she was all right where she was, Maggie would never rest easy until her sister was out of the matchbox workshop, and the dangers it entailed.
During the time she had spent working at home, she’d managed to save nearly £6. There hadn’t been a week gone by that Liz and Charlie hadn’t begged her to use the money to get them out of the dark, cramped, smelly flat they refused to call home, but she had remained firm. She’d come back empty handed too many times to risk spending her precious savings, but now that worry had been lifted, hopefully for good.
Now she was waiting for the front door to open, to see Liz’s face when she told her the good news. With Christmas only six weeks away, it couldn’t have happened at a better time; and if their luck held, they might be able to find another place to live before then. Laying down her needle she stared over Charlie’s bent head, her eyes focusing on the blazing fire. Oh, if only they could, it would put the seal of happiness on the events of the day. Picking up her needle once more she resumed work, her mind spinning with plans. If she worked late tonight, she would be able to start looking for a place tomorrow. It would have to be somewhere nearby as she didn’t want to take Charlie out of his school. There were plenty of big houses divided into flats in this area; the problem would be in finding one that was both clean and reasonably cheap.
For a moment doubts began to creep into her mind – maybe it wouldn’t be that easy finding somewhere else? The flat they had once occupied on the top floor had been taken over the same day they’d moved down here, the new occupants expressing relief at having found two clean rooms that suited their pockets. A niggle of fear crept up her spine and impatiently she shrugged it off. She’d find somewhere, if she had to knock on every door in the neighbourhood. She wasn’t about to be knocked back now. The first thing she would do once they were installed in their new home would be to buy a Christmas tree and decorate it with the coloured balls and baubles she’d kept stored in a cardboard box under the dresser. She’d also make sure it was placed so that it was the first sight they saw when they came through the door, just like her mum had always done.
So wrapped up in her thoughts was she that she didn’t hear the front door opening until Charlie, lifting his head from the piece of white material, his fist rubbing at his red eyes said tiredly, ‘Hello, Liz.’
Maggie sat still for a moment, her face wreathed in smiles, silently hugging herself with glee as she anticipated Liz’s reaction when she heard the news. Turning slightly she made to rise from her chair, only to freeze in shock at the sight of her sister leaning against the door, her face ashen, her eyes screwed up tightly as if in pain.
The smile slipping from her face Maggie ran to the distraught figure, crying in alarm, ‘What’s the matter, Liz? You look awful, come on, put your arm round my shoulder, that’s it.’
Taking the weight of the limp body against her own she looked to where Charlie still sat at the table, his eyes wide with surprise and shouted crossly, ‘Don’t just sit there, help me get her on the sofa.’
Startled into action he came to his sister’s aid, and taking hold of Liz’s other arm he helped Maggie lead the trembling figure the short distance to the sofa. With a soft moan Liz slid down onto the worn cushions, her head lolling to one side. Dropping to her knees Maggie took hold of the ice-cold hands and began to rub them vigorously, her eyes never leaving the white face.
‘Say something, Liz,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
Immediately she cursed herself for her stupidity, and placing her hand gently on the pale forehead she said, ‘That was a silly question, wasn’t it? Look, you lie quiet while I fix you a hot drink, I won’t be a minute.’
Leaving the prostrate figure, she picked up the ladle from beside the grate and poured two generous scoops of soup from the pot hanging over the fire into a tin mug. Holding Liz’s head gently she placed the steaming liquid to the blue lips.
‘Here you are, love, try and drink this. It’ll make you feel better.’
Propping herself up on one elbow Liz tried to do as Maggie said, but after only one small sip she weakly pushed Maggie’s hand away crying piteously, ‘I can’t, it’s too hot, and I feel sick.’
Maggie sat back on her heels, not knowing what to do next. She’d never known Liz to be ill. Oh, God, no; her head jerked on her shoulders – not the diphtheria, it couldn’t be, there hadn’t been a case since the epidemic. No, of course it wasn’t, she chided herself, you’re panicking over nothing. Just calm down for a minute, it’s probably only a cold. But her silent protestations did nothing to ease her mind.
When Liz started to shiver, she raced over to the far side of the room, quickly returning with two blankets. Wrapping them tightly round the trembling body she said earnestly, ‘You’ll be all right, Liz. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. Look, you rest, you’ll feel better after a few hours sleep, wait and see.’
Liz heard the voice, but it seemed to be coming from a long way away. She wanted to answer, to hear her own voice, but the effort was too much. It was so much easier to lie here, not talking, not doing anything. She’d known for days she was coming down with something, colds and flu were common at this time of the year. But she’d never had a cold like this before. Every bone in her body ached, her throat was sore and her chest felt tight. Every time she breathed deeply, she experienced a sharp pain below her ribs as if someone was stabbing at her with a knife. A sudden fit of coughing brought her body doubled over, a harsh, racking sound that tore at her chest.
‘Oh, Liz, Liz, shall I fetch Mrs Simms, she might know what to do.’
With all the effort she could muster Liz opened her eyes and stared bleakly into the frightened face leaning over her.
‘Just leave me alone for a while, Maggie. Please, just leave me alone.’ Her head dropped back on the arm of the sofa, her breathing laboured as she sank into an uneasy sleep.
Maggie and Charlie stood side by side, their faces as pale as the one lying restlessly before them. Swallowing hard, Maggie squeezed Charlie’s hand, muttering thickly, ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be all right, it’s just a cold, that’s all; just a cold.’ The words hung heavily in the air, bringing no comfort to herself or the young boy by her side. Giving his hand another squeeze she left him and began to clear the table in preparation for their dinner.
By the following morning Liz was in a high fever, her body thrashing from side to side, her hands trying to throw off the blankets that covered her. Maggie had dragged the sofa nearer the fire, her own body drenched with sweat from the searing heat as she bathed Liz’s face and hands in an effort to keep the agitated figure comfortable. Laying a wet cloth on Liz’s forehead she slumped to the floor, her head resting wearily on the edge of the sofa. She’d been up all night, afraid to leave her sister alone even for a moment, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Her eyelids felt like stone, and within seconds of laying her head down she was asleep.
‘No, no, stop it, go away, stop it, no, no, no!’
Maggie’s head jerked back painfully on her neck, her eyes springing open at the hoarse sound of Liz’s voice.
‘It’s all right, love, I’m here, I’m here. I won’t leave you, Liz, don’t worry,’ she said soothingly, gripping the trembling hands, but Liz seemed unaware of her sister’s presence.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her blue eyes sweeping sightlessly over Maggie as she moaned. ‘I’m scared, don’t let me die, I don’t want to die.’
‘You’re not going to die, Liz, I promise. Do you think you could manage a drink? It’ll ease your throat.’
But the eyes had already closed again, leaving Maggie staring fearfully down on the sister she’d spent her whole life fighting with. She could feel her throat swelling with tears, but before she could give vent to her feelings the door opened and Charlie came into the room, his footsteps dragging as he walked over to the table and sat down heavily on the wooden chair. Maggie had sent him down to the factory early this morning with the bundle of work she’d finished during the night, along with a scrawled note explaining her absence. Her eyes flickered nervously. Why had he come back empty handed? She’d asked in the note for more work, so where was it?
Her voice shaking with apprehension, she asked quietly, ‘What did the foreman say?’
Charlie lifted his eyes reluctantly – he’d been dreading this moment since he’d left the factory gates.
‘He wasn’t best pleased, Maggie,’ he stuttered. ‘He said if you want the work, you’ll have to go and get it yourself. And, Maggie, he… said that if you didn’t go today, then not to bother going back. He gave me your money, look.’ Eagerly Charlie plunged his hand into his pocket, bringing out a small handful of silver and coppers, a tremulous smile hovering on his lips. Maggie looked down at the outstretched palm for a moment, then taking the money she counted it carefully. Four and threepence. God, that wouldn’t even pay the rent. For a second she thought she was going to fall, and quickly took hold of herself.
‘Didn’t you explain what had happened, Charlie? Did you remember to give him the note?’ Her voice crackled with alarm, while her stomach tightened painfully.
‘Of course I did, Maggie, what do you take me for? But he said it wasn’t his worry. And if you don’t want the work, there’s plenty more that do.’
A sudden bout of coughing bought Maggie’s attention back to Liz.
Turning quickly on her heel she called over her shoulder.
‘Go and get Mrs Simms. She might know what’s the matter with Liz. Hurry, Charlie.’ The boy needed no second bidding to leave the room, and within seconds the door banged behind him.
Taking the cloth from Liz’s forehead she soaked it thoroughly in the pitcher, then returned to the sofa. While she waited for Mrs Simms to appear she thought about what had happened. How could the foreman be so unfeeling? It wasn’t her fault Liz was ill, and she couldn’t leave her, not like this. Another thought suddenly struck her; what if Liz lost her job as well? Oh, God, no, that prospect didn’t bear thinking about. Thank heavens she had held onto her savings – if the worst did happen at least they’d have some money to live on. Shaking her head in despair she clenched her fists tightly.
She’d see what Mrs Simms had to say. Maybe her neighbour could sit with Liz while she went to the factory and collected more work. And Liz wouldn’t lose her job because of a few days off sick. No, she was worrying over nothing. What she needed was a good night’s sleep, she couldn’t think straight at the moment. Nodding to herself she watched the door, her ears listening out for the footsteps on the stairs.