When Rosie arrived back in Sunderland, she felt a sharp stab of depression – a stab of depression that might have morphed into something bigger had she not had so much to do.
After catching the tram to Seaburn, she walked the rest of the way back home.
Once there, she didn’t allow herself to sit down, even for a cup of tea.
Instead, she packed her bags.
When it was late, unable to face lying in the bed in which she had been so violently abused – and still fearful that Raymond might return – she slept on the beach. The night was cold, even though it was now summer, but she had the benefit of thick blankets to keep her warm. More than anything, though, she felt safe. If Raymond did come back, he wouldn’t think to look out on the beach to find her. If by chance he did, she’d made her makeshift bed behind some rocks and was shielded from view.
The next day she went to see the landlord and gave up the tenancy on the little cottage that had been her home since birth. Mr Gantry, the owner of the property, was a decent man and gave her a fair amount for the furniture, rugs and other bits and pieces that her mam and dad had bought over the years. Money that would pay for a month’s lodgings in a small bedsit in town. When Mr Gantry asked about Charlotte, Rosie told him she had gone to stay with friends of the family in London. She would tell the same story to anyone else who might ask. She also said that she would be going to join Charlotte. If Mr Gantry or anyone saw her in Sunderland, she would simply say she was staying on for a while longer. If Raymond tried to find either herself or Charlotte, he’d be thrown off the scent. Trying to track anyone down in London would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
As soon as Rosie dumped her bags in her new lodgings, she went straight back out to the GPO and rang the Runcorn School for Girls. She explained to them that as Charlotte’s parents had both been killed in an automobile accident, it had been decided she would be best off at boarding school. ‘And, of course, Runcorn is known to be one of the best. If not the best,’ Rosie buttered up the deputy head. ‘Especially with its impressive list of past alumni.’
Mrs Willoughby-Smith seemed convinced by Rosie’s posh telephone voice, as well as the lie that she was working as a secretary at one of the largest shipyards in Sunderland. Suitably impressed, she’d offered Charlotte a place there and then, providing, of course, she was in receipt of funds within the week.
Rosie had a cheque in the post half an hour after hanging up.
The amount covered the first lot of fees, which Rosie had been overjoyed to hear were not as steep as she had imagined. The school was what was known as a ‘state-funded boarding school’. This meant the government paid the actual teaching fees, and the parents or guardians the fees for board and lodgings. There were extra costs, of course, which ate into the money Rosie thought she was saving, but she didn’t care. Charlotte would have a roof over her head, food in her belly and she’d be getting a proper schooling – which, in turn, would give her the chance to make a decent life for herself. But, most of all, she would be out of harm’s way. No one would know where she was, and the school had the added benefit of being located in a very remote part of North Yorkshire.
Now all Rosie had to do was find herself a job so that she, too, could keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. She’d worry later about how she was going to keep Charlotte at the school, once the ‘rainy-day money’ was gone.
For now, she had to find work.
Her lie about being a secretary in one of the town’s shipyards had got her thinking.