A Sister’s Sorrow

KITTY NEALE

A Sister’s Sorrow

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2019

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2019

Cover design © Debbie Clement 2019

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008270889

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008270896

Version: 2018-10-24

Dedication

For my husband

Sweet love of mine and best friend too,

I’m blown away by all you do.

My life is enriched because of you.

One love, one life, a love so true.

Now we’re here, we made it through,

Many would have faltered, but no, not you.

We’re strong, we’re great and we’re together,

Eternally, I’ll be yours forever.

Before this ends, there’s just one more thing …

Because of who you are, I’m so proud to wear

your ring xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Battersea, London, 1948

Sarah Jepson’s legs jigged under her desk as she anxiously waited for the school bell to ring for home time. Her mother Annie had woken up with labour pains that morning, and Sarah was desperately worried about her.

Earlier, when Sarah had shown concern, her mum had told her to bugger off and go to school. She’d called her useless and said she’d be no bloody help. Comments like that weren’t unusual and hadn’t surprised Sarah. She was used to her mother’s contemptuous remarks, and though they hurt, she tried her best to ignore them.

At last, the bell trilled, and Sarah hurriedly placed her books in her desk before dashing out of the classroom and then through the school gates. Dirty rainwater splashed the backs of her skinny legs as she ran through the narrow streets of run-down terraced houses. I wish I could fly, she thought, sprinting as fast as she could, as her thin coat billowed out behind her. It was at least two sizes too small, so she couldn’t button it up. It did little to keep out the chill of the cold October wind, or protect her from the hammering rain. Sarah didn’t care about the stormy weather, she just wanted to get back home and silently prayed that everything would be all right this time.

She finally arrived at the staircase of the tenement block, then paused as she caught her breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her long, dark hair hung like wet rat’s tails. She rapidly tapped her forefinger and thumb together, something she unconsciously did when she was nervous. Apprehensively, she grabbed the handrail and stood still, her emerald-green eyes staring up the uninviting stairwell as she urged her legs to keep going. She’d come this far, but the reality of what she might find at home had stopped her in her tracks. Please don’t let it be like last time, she thought, remembering the dead baby her mother had birthed three years earlier. Mrs Brown, a neighbour upstairs, had taken the baby away, but Sarah could still picture his wrinkled little face, and shivered at the memory of his limp, scrawny body.

Sarah recalled Mrs Brown having a go at her mum, telling her she’d brought it on herself and should have stayed away from the gin. She’d told her scornfully that she didn’t deserve to be a mother and had murdered her own child. Sarah didn’t understand how her mother could have killed the baby, as she’d witnessed his lifeless body being born. As she’d listened to Mrs Brown, Sarah had seen her mother glaring at the woman. She had seen that vicious look in her mum’s eyes before, one that she’d now become accustomed to receiving. It was in sharp contrast to the look of pity in Mrs Brown’s eyes as she had carried away the dead baby and said a solemn farewell to Sarah. She wasn’t sure what she disliked most: the hateful stare from her mother or the look of pity from their neighbour.

A distant scream echoed through the tenement, piercing Sarah’s thoughts. She knew immediately that it was her mother, and flew into action. She took the stairs two at a time, then she heard her cry out again, which drove Sarah even faster up the three flights. Please live, her mind raced, please let the baby be alive.

The front door was wide open. Sarah ran in then pushed it closed behind her. The room was dark, but she could see her mother lying on her filthy mattress on the floor, panting hard. As Sarah got closer, she noticed beads of sweat running down her mum’s face even though the room was cold.

‘Get this bloody thing out of me!’ her mother screamed, and gripped the holey blanket that was covering her legs.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Sarah cried in a blind panic. Though she’d seen her mum give birth before, she’d only been ten years old at the time, and had been overwhelmed with horror through most of it. Now thirteen, she was still unsure.

She knew it would be useless to appeal to any of the neighbours for help. Mrs Brown had passed away and none of the other women in the block would have anything to do with her mum.

‘Shall I get the doctor?’ she said desperately.

‘Don’t be so stupid. I don’t need a doctor, I just need some gin. Pass me that bottle,’ her mother demanded, indicating to a bottle of alcohol in the tiny kitchenette.

‘But … but that ain’t no good for the baby,’ Sarah pleaded, though she was loath to disobey her mother’s orders.

‘Don’t you backchat me, just get it. I need it for the pain,’ her mother ground out through gritted teeth.

Sarah reluctantly handed her the almost empty bottle, which she quickly drained.

‘It’s no good, I need more,’ she cried, groaning again and writhing on the mattress.

‘But we ain’t got no more,’ Sarah answered, recoiling at seeing her mum in such discomfort.

‘You’ll have to get yourself down the offie and get me a bottle on tick,’ her mother said, then closed her eyes and moaned loudly again.

It was obvious to Sarah that another painful contraction was washing over her mother. She waited for it to pass before saying, ‘They ain’t open yet, it’s too early,’ grateful that she wouldn’t have to go out begging again. She found it humiliating, and would much rather scavenge for food to eat or clothes to wear.

‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, gal, use your bleedin’ head for once, will ya! I can’t bloody think straight. Go and have a word with Eddy in the next block, and tell him I’ll see him straight next week. I don’t care where you get it from, just get me some bloody gin!’

Fearing her mother’s violent temper, Sarah rushed from the room and back out into the damp corridor. She didn’t want to leave her mother in pain, but considering the mood she was in, Sarah knew it would be useless to try to reason with her. She ran down the stairs, but couldn’t face going around to Eddy’s flat. She’d tell her mum that he wasn’t in. His place stank, and she wrinkled her nose at the memory of it. She found him a rather odd man, and the way he leered at her gave her the creeps and made her feel uncomfortable. He was one of her mother’s long-term customers, and, for as long as Sarah could remember, Eddy had called in to see her mum once or twice a week.

Sarah began to aimlessly wander around the small estate while racking her brain for a solution. It was impossible. She couldn’t think of anywhere to wangle any alcohol. As it was, she didn’t like going into the side room of the pub to get her mother’s booze, and liked it even less when she was made to go cap in hand.

After half an hour, the sun from behind the clouds was almost set and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Sarah’s teeth began to chatter. She’d have to return home empty-handed and face her mother’s fury, though it was of some consolation that her mum would be sober for once.

Outside her front door, Sarah reached through the letterbox and pulled out a piece of string with the key tied on the end. She opened the door and walked back into their one-roomed flat. All was quiet, so she assumed her mother must have fallen asleep. Then she heard a strange gurgling noise.

Curious, Sarah quietly tiptoed over to the mattress where her mother lay, and gasped in shock. She stared in disbelief at a naked new-born baby, lying on the linoleum and kicking his bony legs out. She reacted instinctively and quickly gathered the child in her arms. He felt cold, but she was thankful that he appeared to be well. She grabbed a towel and gently wrapped the small boy, hardly believing she was holding her new baby brother.

Sarah gazed at the bundle and smiled sweetly. He was so thin, his tiny ribcage was sticking out, which put her in mind of a lame sparrow she’d once found. ‘Hello, little one, I’m your big sister,’ she whispered, and kissed the boy on his bloodied forehead.

Her mother stirred and pushed herself up onto her haunches. ‘Oh, you found him then. Where’s me gin?’

‘Sorry, Eddy was out so I couldn’t get any. Look, Mum, you’ve had a little boy,’ Sarah said, holding out the baby.

‘Yeah, I know, you stupid cow. Who do you think cut the cord, eh, the bleedin’ stork? Now get him out of my sight.’

Sarah frowned. ‘But … but I think he might be hungry … you need to feed him.’

‘I ain’t having that little bastard hanging off my tit. Get rid of him. I don’t want to see him again.’

Sarah blinked, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying. ‘What do you mean? How can I get rid of him?’

‘I don’t know, sling him in the Thames or dump him in the park. Just get rid of it. I can’t afford another mouth to feed, not with you bleeding me dry.’

With that, her mother turned her grubby body to the wall, leaving Sarah bereft. She gently rocked the baby in her arms, and Mrs Brown’s words came into her head again. She’d said her mother had murdered her last child. Maybe it was true, as she now wanted Sarah to do the same to this one.

Chapter 2

Sarah huddled on her mattress in the opposite corner of the room from her mother, and gently cooed at her brother in her arms. She’d wrapped a blanket around him now, but it hadn’t pacified his crying. Now she worried that his screams would wake her mother, who was snoring loudly, and she started tapping her finger and thumb together. ‘You’re hungry, little one. What are we going to do with you, eh?’ she whispered.

Though it was early evening, Sarah hoped her mum would stay asleep, but knew that even if she did it would only be a short reprieve. All hell would break loose when she woke to find that Sarah hadn’t got rid of the baby. Still trying to hush her little brother, she rose to her feet and quietly left their flat, to walk along the corridor to knock on her best friend’s door. Jenny was thirteen, the same age as Sarah, in the same class at school, and Sarah inwardly prayed that as she was appealing for the baby, Jenny’s mother wouldn’t turn her away.

‘Hello, Jenny, I couldn’t ask a big favour, could I?’ Sarah pleaded when her friend opened the door. Jenny was short for her age, and her blonde hair and blue eyes gave her a baby-faced appearance, making her look much younger than Sarah.

‘What have you got there? Your mum had the baby then?’ Jenny asked as she craned her neck to peer into the bundle Sarah was holding.

‘Yeah, a little boy. Thing is, my mum’s worn out and she’s asleep, but I can’t stop this little blighter from crying. Could I cadge a bit of your mum’s formula and a bottle, only ’til the morning? I’ll bring it back, I swear.’

‘Come in, you can ask her yourself,’ Jenny replied and opened the door wider. ‘So what’s he called?’

Sarah looked at her brother and it occurred to her he didn’t have a name. ‘Er … Tommy. His name’s Tommy Jepson.’

‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ Jenny said as they walked into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Mrs Jepson’s had her baby, a little boy called Tommy.’

Jenny’s mum’s expression was stern, and four small faces peered at Sarah from around the kitchen table. The flat had the luxury of four rooms, but as Jenny had five siblings it still felt cramped and overcrowded, yet warm and cosy. If Jenny’s dad was home, Sarah wouldn’t have been invited in, but now, as she stood in the kitchen, she wished her flat was like her friend’s. It always smelled of freshly baked bread, unlike the damp smell that greeted Sarah in her flat.

Sarah’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and she spied the tin bath under the kitchen workbench. She’d have loved to soak herself in hot water, but instead had to make do with a shivering strip wash at her small kitchen sink. Jenny was so lucky to have a dad, she thought, as her stomach grumbled at the sight of bowls of stew in front of the little faces sitting at the table.

‘Stop standing there gawping, girl. I suppose your mother’s sent you down here on the cadge for something?’ Mrs Turner said. She was a plump woman, and short like her daughter, but Sarah knew she ruled over her household and kept her brood in order.

‘Er … sorry, but Mum’s a bit poorly, and the baby needs feeding …’ Sarah nervously answered.

‘Poorly my arse! More like passed out drunk,’ Mrs Turner snapped.

Sarah felt ashamed and lowered her head. Everyone on the estate knew her mother had a drinking problem, and they also knew she’d sell herself for a jug of beer or a bottle of gin.

‘I’m sorry, love, it ain’t your fault,’ Mrs Turner said, her tone softening. ‘I can’t see the poor mite go hungry, but you tell your mother this is the last time I’ll help her out.’

Sarah had found it hard to bring herself to ask for food, without the added degrading comments about her mother, but felt a surge of relief.

‘I don’t suppose your mum’s got anything in for the baby, has she?’

‘Erm … er … no, Mrs Turner, she hasn’t,’ Sarah answered, and could feel her cheeks burning red with discomfiture.

‘The woman’s a disgrace. I don’t know what she’d do without you. Jenny, get a bowl of stew for Sarah. I doubt you’ve had your tea, have you?’

‘I … er—’ Sarah said but was quickly interrupted.

‘No, I thought not. Jenny, take the baby while I sort out a few things for him. Bloody good job I’ve not long had one of my own!’

Sarah took a seat at the large wooden table and ate hungrily, gratefully savouring every mouthful of the warm stew. She didn’t care that Jenny’s brothers and sisters were staring at her as she devoured the contents of the bowl, after all, she didn’t know how long it would be until her next meal.

‘He’s going to be a proper little heartbreaker when he grows up, the handsome little thing. He ain’t got your green eyes though, but you know babies’ eyes change colour. Blimey, though, he’s got a good pair of lungs on him!’ Jenny said, holding Tommy as she swayed from side to side. ‘I ain’t being funny, but is your mum going to be all right looking after him?’

‘Probably not,’ Sarah answered, ‘so I’m going to have to do it.’

‘How are you going to manage that?’

‘I’ll have to leave school, I suppose,’ Sarah said.

‘But you can’t do that. You’re right clever, you are. You could have gone to grammar school if you’d taken your eleven plus.’

‘Maybe, but we’ll never know, will we, ’cos I didn’t have any shoes at the time. Not that it would have done me any good now,’ Sarah answered as she devoured the last of the stew.

Mrs Turner came back into the kitchen with a cloth bag bulging at the seams. ‘’Ere you go, love. This little lot will get you started, but I want the bag back.’

‘Thanks, thank you so much,’ Sarah said, taking the bag. ‘Can you show me how to make up the formula, please?’ She had a good idea of how it was done, but she wanted to quieten Tommy before returning home.

Mrs Turner prepared the bottle, while Jenny showed Sarah how to put a nappy on the baby. ‘We’d better put something warm on him too. Babies feel the cold, ain’t that right, Mum?’ Jenny said, and rummaged through the bag for something suitable.

‘Yes, love, they do, so keep him wrapped up warm. And, Sarah, try to get some sleep when you can, ’cos if your Tommy is anything like mine he’ll have you up most of the night.’

Once Tommy had been fed and drifted off to sleep, Sarah made her way back along the corridor. With her arms full, and Tommy content, she slowly pushed open the door to her flat, and was relieved to hear her mother still snoring. She placed Tommy on her mattress and emptied the contents of the bag. Mrs Turner had been very generous. She found towelling nappies and safety pins, and three little hand-knitted outfits, as well as some mittens and a hat. There was even a small stuffed toy.

She carefully moved Tommy over on the bare mattress, hoping it wouldn’t disturb him. Then she lay down next to him and stared at him in awe before closing her eyes.

She gently pulled him close to her. ‘I’ll protect you,’ she whispered, all the time worried her mother would wake up and snatch the child away.

Chapter 3

Annie had never felt so rough. She was sore down below and ached all over. This was one of the worst hangovers she’d ever had. She squinted against the daylight as she opened her eyes. A stiff drink would sort her out, she thought, then remembered with horror – she’d given birth.

Her head was thumping, but she managed to push herself up and saw Sarah sat at the table. To her disgust, her daughter was holding the baby and looked to be bottle-feeding him.

‘I thought I told you to get rid of him,’ she snapped.

Sarah didn’t answer but, to Annie’s surprise, she saw her daughter throw her a look of disdain.

‘So what’s he still doing here?’ Annie demanded.

‘Mum, I can’t get rid of him. It ain’t that easy.’

‘Of course it bloody is! If you’d gone out last night when it was dark, like I told you to, you could have thrown him over Battersea Bridge and no one would have seen you.’

Annie saw her daughter’s eyes widen in shock. The stupid little goody-two-shoes, she thought.

‘I couldn’t do that! It would be murder! I thought you was kidding last night. Mum, how could you? Tommy’s your child!’

‘Tommy, eh. So you’ve given the bastard a name. Don’t get too attached. I’m telling you, he ain’t staying!’ Annie said, and lay back down on the mattress.

‘Please, Mum, I’ll look after him. You won’t have to do a thing. Look, I’ve got him some clothes and nappies … Please …’

Annie rolled her eyes and heaved a deep breath. She didn’t want to be thinking about it. She could feel dried blood on her legs, so she’d have to get up and wash herself down. Bugger, she thought, as she realised she’d be out of action for at least a week. That would make it difficult to get her hands on any booze, and a bottle of gin took priority over a bastard baby.

‘Do what you want, Sarah, just keep the bloody thing out of my sight, and don’t expect me to feed it,’ she answered dismissively. The sooner her milk dried up, the better, she thought, as she glanced down at her engorged breasts. She’d have to be extra careful in future and avoid any more unwanted pregnancies. After all, a swollen stomach wasn’t good for business and was taking its toll on her body.

Worse still, as Sarah appeared reluctant to dump the child, it looked like she’d be burdened with this one too. She couldn’t force the girl to do it, but that didn’t mean she’d have to look after it. As far as she was concerned, if her daughter wanted the baby, then she’d be the one to take care of it, and woe betide her if she didn’t keep the little bastard out of her way.

Chapter 4

Christmas came and went, and, as expected, Sarah’s festive stocking had been empty. Her mother said she didn’t believe in Christmas, and years before had told Sarah that Santa Claus didn’t exist.