‘I’m both,’ I said, because I was Megs’s sister and her best friend.
‘Well, sit either side,’ said the vicar, giving me a little pat on the shoulder.
I walked into the church apprehensively. I’d had a peep inside several churches but I’d never visited one properly. I was in awe of the huge room, the wooden pews, the big gold cross at the end and the stained-glass windows reflecting pools of red and yellow and blue on the stone floor. It smelled of damp and candles and the heady scent of flowers.
I saw two great vases of white lilies beside the altar and wondered who could have provided them. I knew that Pa and Mildred had had a conversation about flowers. Pa had wanted to have flowers for Megs’s coffin – maybe just a small posy of roses – but Mildred had talked him out of it, saying it was a waste of money because you couldn’t even take them home with you to get the benefit.
I sat right at the side where the coloured light from the windows couldn’t fall on me. There were two old ladies in dusty black whispering together a few rows back. They had big old-fashioned bonnets on, misshapen from years of wind and rain. I peered round at them, trying to see their faces. Did they live in the alley? They didn’t look familiar. They weren’t Megs’s friends, I was pretty sure of that. Could they perhaps be distant family, invited by Pa? Could they be unknown aunts? They looked too elderly.
My heart suddenly started beating wildly. Could one of these ladies be my mother’s mother – my grandmother? Pa had told me he’d lost touch with her and thought she was dead. Had he made enquiries and found her and given her the sad news that her little granddaughter had passed away?
I couldn’t stop myself edging along the pew towards them. ‘Oh please, ma’am, ma’am, would you mind telling me why you’re here?’ I asked, looking from one to the other, wondering if I could detect a faint family likeness.
They peered at me from under their ragged bonnet fringes.
‘We’re here for the funeral, of course,’ said one.
‘So did you know our Megs?’ I asked.
‘Who’s that, child?’ said the other.
‘My sister Megs. Margaret Anna Moon,’ I said urgently.
They still looked blank.
‘It’s her funeral!’
‘Oh dear, we’re so sorry. Please accept our condolences,’ said the first.
‘Was she a slip of a thing like you? Tragic!’ said the other.
‘But why are you here if you didn’t even know her?’ I demanded.
‘We love a good funeral, dear. We always come here. The vicar always conducts such a dignified ceremony.’
‘He’ll do your sister proud, my dear.’
I backed away from these two crows, sitting there so placidly, treating Megs’s funeral as if it were entertainment. I went back to the shadows of my side pew. Then I heard a horse whinny and the sound of carriage wheels on the stony path outside. They were here.
An unseen organist started playing a melancholy dirge. I waited for what seemed like an age. Then at last I heard footsteps. I held my hand up to my face and peered through my fingers. Six tall gentlemen in black were proceeding very slowly up the aisle, carrying Megs on their shoulders. It was a heart-stoppingly small coffin. Any one of the men could have carried it unaided, but they plodded along as if they were supporting at least twenty girls.
Pa and Mildred walked behind, heads bowed so they didn’t even glance in my direction. Mildred matched her steps to those of the men bearing the coffin, but Pa tried to walk with his usual gait and she had to keep restraining him. An usher showed them to their pew, right at the front of the church. The coffin was laid down slowly. The vicar stood to one side, waiting to start the proceedings. He waited. We waited.
I realized he was waiting for further mourners. But this was all there were – Pa, Mildred and me, and two ghoulish old women here to pass the time of day. I wished I’d been bolder and brought all my brothers and sisters with me, whether or not they were wearing the right clothes. I should have brought all the children in our alley – I could have filled several pews. They might look ragged and behave restlessly, yawning and fidgeting and kicking their heels, but each one of them would have known Megs, and perhaps they’d have cried genuine tears when they said goodbye to her.
The funeral started. There were two Bible readings and a couple of hymns, although Pa and Mildred didn’t know them and the old women were only prepared to be spectators, so the vicar sang solo, loudly and not very tunefully. Then he went up the steps into his pulpit and started talking about Megs.
He spoke of little Margaret Anna, a happy, obedient little maid who had laughed and skipped throughout her brief life. We mustn’t be sad that she was taken from us at such a young age. We must picture her laughing and skipping in Heaven.
I glared at him from my shadowy pew. It was clear that he didn’t know a thing about my sister. She rarely laughed – only when I tickled her. She never skipped. She simply wasn’t that sort of a child. She sat on a step and sucked her thumb, waiting for me.
Next there was another hymn and prayers, and then the service ended with more organ playing. The six coffin-bearers returned and took Megs back down the aisle. After hesitating uncertainly, Pa and Mildred shuffled after them. The old women dabbed at their noses, seemingly overcome. I stood and marched past them, hating them, hating Pa and Mildred, hating the undertakers, hating the vicar, hating this whole bizarre, expensive ceremony that had nothing to do with my own dear Megs.
I was so angry that I forgot to skulk in the background. Mildred turned and saw me. For a split second she didn’t recognize me in my new black finery and gave me a sickly smile. Then it froze on her face. She nudged Pa and he turned too. Mildred muttered something, her face flushed. She started towards me, her arm lifted, ready to give me a clout, but Pa grabbed hold of her. He looked at the vicar, at the coffin-bearers, and whispered urgently. He was clearly telling Mildred she couldn’t give me a hiding at my own sister’s funeral, not in front of everyone.
She beckoned me instead. ‘Clover dear,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘Good Lord, look at you! My, what a surprise!’
‘Don’t she look fine, Mildred?’ said Pa.
‘Oh yes, she does indeed. Do tell us where you got your outfit from, Clover.’
‘Oh, I – I got it off a clothes stall in the market,’ I said.
‘Of course you did,’ said Mildred.
‘Well, they were a lucky find,’ said Pa, not realizing she was being sarcastic.
The vicar turned, clearly wondering why we were chatting at such a solemn stage in the proceedings. Pa and Mildred walked on together and I followed in their wake. There was a newly dug hole in the shade at the side of the church and I bit my knuckles, terrified that this might be intended for Megs’s grave. Perhaps Pa hadn’t really bothered give instructions about Mother’s grave.
I wondered what I could do. Megs would be so scared and lonely by herself in the shadows. The coffin-bearers marched on, slowly but steadily, and I cleared my throat, ready to cry out – but to my intense relief they went past the hole and walked on round the church.
‘Where are they going?’ Mildred hissed. ‘There’s the hole! They’ve gone straight past it.’
‘I’ve asked for Megs to be buried with her mother,’ Pa murmured.
‘So she’s buried here?’ said Mildred. ‘You never said! Do you come and visit her?’ She flushed, actually seeming jealous of someone long dead.
‘Just occasionally,’ said Pa.
My heart soared. I had never realized Pa made these secret visits to Mother. Perhaps he would let me go with him next time. Pa and me, and Mother and Megs, a little family again.
The vicar was frowning at us, so we walked the rest of the way in silence. There was Mother’s grave, with a fresh hole right beside it, as requested. We stood by the mound of earth while Megs’s coffin was lowered in very slowly and respectfully. Then the vicar indicated that Pa should shovel a spadeful of earth on top of the coffin. P
a did so, his hands shaking. As the earth pattered down he burst out sobbing.
Mildred put her arm round him, shielding him. I looked down at the grass and saw a patch of clover. I seized a fistful and scattered it on top of the coffin.
‘There you are, Megs. It’s clover. A little bit of me is down there with you,’ I whispered. I looked at the modest little headstone beside her. ‘Look after her, Mother.’
I stayed whispering to her until the vicar at last took hold of my arm.
‘Come away, child. Your sister is at peace now.’ He led me over to Pa and Mildred. ‘Take your comfort from each other,’ he commanded.
Pa wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and thanked the vicar.
Mildred joined in too. ‘Thank you kindly, my dear sir,’ she said, trying to speak like gentlefolk.
‘My heart goes out to you in your time of grief,’ he said. ‘But don’t forget, you still have your other daughter.’ He patted me on the shoulder.
Mildred smiled tightly. ‘Oh, I won’t forget,’ she said. She let go of Pa and seized hold of me instead. She bent close, as if about to kiss me. ‘Just wait till I get you home,’ she hissed.
10
SHE HUNG ON to me as we walked away from the church. Pa had only been able to scrape together enough money for the carriage to the church, so we had to go home on foot.
‘How dare you disobey me, Clover!’ said Mildred. ‘I told you to stay at home and look after the others. What sort of a sister are you? How can you leave a helpless little baby?’
‘Bert’s not a baby any more. And Jenny’s good with him. He’s just as happy with her now,’ I said.
‘Don’t be cross with the little lass, Mildred, not now. Let’s do what that nice vicar gent said and try to comfort each other,’ said Pa, still sniffing. ‘You didn’t mean any harm, did you, Clover?’
‘You’re too soft with her. She can’t go on like this, doing whatever she damn well pleases. Look at her, flaunting herself in that get-up!’ said Mildred, pulling at my black velvet beret.
‘She just wanted to pay her respects. What a clever girl you are, Clover, finding such fine duds down the market,’ said Pa.
‘Oh, very clever,’ said Mildred. ‘She never got them clothes from a market stall! You might fool your father, Clover Moon, but you don’t fool me. They were specially made for you, weren’t they?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mildred. How on earth would our Clover get enough cash to go to a dressmaker?’ said Pa, bewildered.
‘She didn’t go to no dressmaker. No, she went to a doll-maker!’ Mildred gave me another shake. ‘You went whining to that creepy little crookback, didn’t you, even though we expressly forbade you to go near him ever again.’
‘Don’t call him that! He’s a fine, lovely gentleman and he truly cares for me!’ I retorted.
‘Oh yes, I dare say he does. A crippled old man and a little girl. It’s disgusting,’ said Mildred vehemently.
‘It’s not, it’s not! He made these clothes for me because he knew how badly I wanted to go to Megs’s funeral. Mr Dolly’s just like a father to me,’ I blurted out.
‘Just like a father?’ said Pa, going red in the face. It had been an unfortunate phrase for me to use. ‘You’ve got a father already!’
‘Yes, I know, of course I have, and you’re a lovely father, Pa. I just meant that Mr Dolly cares about me in a fatherly way,’ I stammered.
‘Mr Dolly! Don’t you go giving that old man silly nicknames. You’re to do as your mother says and keep well away. There’s all sorts of talk about that one,’ said Pa.
‘Ignorant, hateful talk!’ I insisted, so angry I lost all caution. ‘By people who think nothing of mocking a poor man for his misfortune. I shall still see him whenever I like, and when I’m old enough I shall go to be his apprentice, so there!’
‘You’ll do no such thing! You’ll get a job in the factory, same as us,’ said Pa. ‘Now stop the nonsense, Clover. It’s a difficult day for all of us and I know you’re sorely troubled, but you’re to put any idea of working with that doll man out of your head. He might have meant it kindly when he made you these clothes, but we don’t want charity from the likes of him, thank you very much.’
‘It gives me the shivers to think of him stitching away at all this stuff,’ said Mildred. ‘You’re not keeping them. You don’t need a fancy black outfit. You’ll probably never wear it again, and those silly soft boots will be worn out in a couple of weeks. I’m going to take the lot up Monmouth Street. I reckon I’ll get ten shillings – it’s quality stuff and fancy stitching.’
‘You’re not laying a finger on them! They’re mine!’ I protested, trying to wrench myself free of her.
‘I’m your mother and what’s yours is mine,’ said Mildred.
‘You’re not my blooming mother!’ I shouted, so loudly that people in the street turned and stared at us.
‘Hold your tongue!’ Mildred hissed. ‘How dare you make a spectacle of us when we’re all dressed in mourning!’ She turned to Pa. ‘Do you see what I mean? She’s completely out of control. She’s needs to be disciplined. If you’re too weak to do it, then I’ll take over. I’ll give her what for if she goes gallivanting off to that crookback again! I’m not having her neglecting the kiddies no more. Poor little mites, left on their own. No wonder poor little Megs got sick.’
‘How dare you say that!’ I couldn’t stop my tears now. ‘You know that’s not true. I always looked after Megs.’
‘I’m going to make sure you stay home and look after the children now. I’m getting a little cane tomorrow. We’re going to start learning you proper.’
‘You don’t say “learn”, it’s bad grammar. It’s “teach”!’ I retorted.
‘Then I’m going to teach you good and proper, you snobby little brat,’ said Mildred. ‘You’re due a right hiding! Just you wait!’
‘Pa, you won’t let her cane me, will you?’ I said, taking his arm.
‘I don’t know, Clover. I don’t know what’s got into you. It’s not right, you turning your nose up at Mildred and me. You won’t be told! Mildred’s right, it’s all down to you hanging round that freak.’
‘He’s not a freak!’ I cried.
‘There now! Here you go again, with all the argy-bargy. I won’t have it. I dare say he can’t help the way he was born but he could certainly do something more manly than making dollies. He’s been a bad influence on you all along, teaching you this reading lark and filling you with fancy ideas. You need to have some sense knocked into you. You’ve got to be taken down a peg or two. Maybe a caning’s the answer.’
He really meant it. As I looked at him he stopped being Pa. He turned into a stooped, balding man with bloodshot eyes and a red circle round his thick neck where his collar was rubbing. He reeked of last night’s drink and his usual stale smell – he never washed properly, simply doused his head under the tap to wake himself up in the morning. He just wanted a quiet life. He didn’t really care about me.
Mildred certainly didn’t care about me either. The day Pa brought her home and told Megs and me she was our new mother she was all false smiles. She gave Megs and me penny buns to get us to like her, but it didn’t work. We knew she didn’t like us, and we didn’t like her. And now I hated her, especially as she was looking at me triumphantly, feeling she’d got the better of me at last.
There was no point arguing any more. I pressed my lips together and trudged down the road in silence.
‘There now,’ said Pa uncomfortably. ‘We’re not meaning to be hard on you, Clover. You just need to see reason. Now, let’s all get home and check on the little ones and have a nice cup of tea,’ he said. ‘I’m parched with all this grieving.’
Mildred patted his arm. ‘It’s a dreadful thing when a parent has to bury a child. Thank goodness we have a new little one on the way.’
As if Mildred’s new baby could ever replace Megs! I was anxious about the other children, knowing that Jenny might not keep her eye on Bert all
the time. He’d often crawl into a corner and try to catch a shiny beetle and eat it. Pete and Richie needed careful handling to stop their tussles developing into real fisticuffs, and little Mary was forever trying to turn a cartwheel and was likely to tumble down and hit her head. But when we got home the children were playing a game of hopscotch, little Bert clutching a stick of chalk in his fist and giving it little licks as if it were sugar candy.
‘Watch Bert, Jenny. He shouldn’t eat chalk,’ I said, snatching it away from him.
Bert protested bitterly, and arched away from me when I tried to pick him up to comfort him.
‘There now, you’ve upset him,’ said Jenny. She gave him a hug and Bert snuggled up to her. ‘Here, darling, come to Jenny. He’s been such a happy boy all the time you’ve been gone.’
I stood staring at them. Jenny didn’t really mean it unkindly. I knew Bert was just playing one of us off against the other in his baby way. I was currently out of favour but he still needed me, didn’t he?
I’d carried each and every one of my brothers and sisters round with me and tried to be a little mother to them. They all loved me for it, and whenever they were in trouble they ran to me, not Mildred. They all still needed me. Or did they?
Perhaps they’d all get along perfectly without me. Pa didn’t care about me any more – he’d said he thought a caning would teach me a lesson. He’d gone indoors to change out of his good suit, and Mildred said she was exhausted after the walk and thought she’d have a little lie down. Pa said he might join her.
‘That’s it, dear. Make the most of your day off,’ she murmured.
My stomach turned over at the thought of them together. They didn’t even seem to be grieving for Megs any more. I had a dread of going into the house now – even with everyone crowded round it would seem so empty without her. It wasn’t home any more.
What was the point of staying here now, when no one really loved or needed me, not even little Bert? All I had to look forward to was a caning – probably many of them.
So why didn’t I run away?