can you come quickly?’ the harassed teacher begged. ‘A serious fight has broken out in the playground and I can’t break it up.’
Pricilla tutted with impatience. ‘I can’t deal with it now.’
‘But, Miss Unsworth, it’s the older girls and I can’t get through them to the poor child they’re picking on. She’s on the ground and looks to be in a dreadful state.’
Pricilla rose hastily to her feet. ‘I’ll have to sort this out,’ she told Miss Rosen.
The woman nodded, saying quietly, ‘Very well.’
Pricilla hurried from her office, but had she looked back, she would have seen the art teacher surveying the file she’d mistakenly left on her desk. Emily Rosen reached to pick it up, flicking it open. As she scanned the contents, a gasp escaped her lips. Her face lit up with joy and for a moment she hugged the file to her chest. Then, carefully replacing it in the exact position she had found it, Emily Rosen scurried out.
In Battersea, Pearl was looking at her sketches. Of all of them, the drawing of Derek stood out as best. His kind eyes looked incongruous against his craggy features, but Pearl thought she had captured the essence of the man. She picked up the sketch of Nora and frowned. She didn’t see much of the cleaner, and the sketch was one she wasn’t happy with. Nora had a round face that was somehow featureless, making it difficult to capture on paper. There was something missing, and as she tried to picture the woman in her mind, she realised it was Nora’s childlike innocence. Placing Nora’s picture to one side, Pearl lifted one of her favourites, a sketch of Frank Hanwell’s son.
She had seen the lad a couple of times hanging around his dad’s stall and was taken by the eight-year-old’s features. He had dark, unruly hair, a tiny nose sprinkled with freckles, but it was his cheeky, gap-toothed smile that Pearl had wanted to capture. She gazed critically at the sketch. It wasn’t perfect, and without paint she had been unable to capture the boy’s wonderful emerald-green eyes.
Placing the drawing back inside the folder, her thoughts returned to Derek Lewis. He’d looked disappointed when she told him they could only be friends, but had still invited her to meet his gran. Thinking of that, her eyes widened. He’d be here soon and she wasn’t ready!
As she dashed around, Pearl knew why she had agreed to go to Derek’s house. She was curious – curious to see what a normal home looked like. All she had known was the orphanage and then the hostel, family life a mystery to her. She’d heard talk, of course. When girls came back to the orphanage after being fostered for a while, they spoke of the families they had stayed with and she had listened to their stories with avid interest. Of course, not all of the tales were good ones, and some were horrible. One girl of thirteen had been used as a servant, forced to do housework from early morning to night, and had slept in a small, cold room under the eaves of the house.
When she heard a knock on the street door, Pearl shook her thoughts away as she hurried downstairs. The orphanage held mostly bad memories, ones she wanted to forget.
‘Hello, love,’ Derek said. ‘I’ve told Gran I’m bringing you round and she’s looking forward to it.’
‘Is she?’ Pearl found she was suddenly nervous and as they walked along the High Street she clung to Derek’s arm. He looked down at her, smiling with pleasure and she managed a small smile back. Oh, he was a nice man. Would his gran be the same?
It didn’t take them long to reach Derek’s house. As they walked in Connie Lewis stepped forward.
‘Hello, ducks, nice to meet you,’ she said, leading them into a small room at the front.
‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ Pearl said, smiling shyly. Derek’s gran was a surprise. She was a tiny, thin woman with sharp features, but like Derek, her eyes were kind.
‘Take a seat, love,’ she invited.
‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, doing so.
‘Derek tells me you’re an orphan.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘How old were you when you were put in the orphanage?’
‘From what I’ve been told, I was a new-born baby and left on the steps.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. Your mother must have been desperate to do that.’
Pearl looked down at the threadbare rug under her feet. Yes, her mother must have been desperate, perhaps unmarried, but Pearl would never know the answers. Over the years she had thought about her. Did they look alike? She had read a novel once in which a servant had been taken by the master and then thrown on to the streets. Was that what had happened to her mother? Scenario after scenario filled her mind. Had her mother been ill – too ill to look after her – and, as she had never come back to claim her, had she died?
‘I’m sorry, love. Me and my big mouth, and now I’ve upset you,’ Connie cried.
‘No, please, I’m all right.’
‘I’ll go and make us all a cup of tea,’ she said, bustling from the room.
‘Sorry about that, Pearl. My gran does have a tendency to put her foot in it, but she doesn’t mean any harm.’
‘It’s all right. There’s no need to apologise.’
Pearl gazed around the room with interest. There was a three-piece suite, and she was sitting on one of the rather lumpy chairs. Under the window she saw a highly polished sideboard, with a lace runner across the top on which sat a few china ornaments. The fireplace was small, and covering the grate there was a little painted paper screen in the shape of a fan. There was a carved fender, and in one alcove a small table on which sat a rather ugly plant. Even with so little furniture the room was crowded, and there was the faint scent of lavender in the air. Pearl found it cosy and wondered what the rest of the house was like.
‘Here we are,’ Connie said as she came back into the room.
Derek took the rather laden tray from her, admonishing, ‘You should have called me, Gran. This weighs a ton.’
Pearl saw pretty china cups and saucers, a teapot, and a plate piled with slices of cherry cake. Connie moved the plant from the small table, and as Derek laid the tray down she bustled out again, calling, ‘I’ll just get the milk and sugar.’
Derek grinned. ‘To tell you the truth, Pearl, we hardly use this room. We live and eat in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have minded the kitchen.’
‘Well, tell Gran that.’
‘Tell me what?’ Connie asked as she came back into the room.
‘That Pearl would’ve been happy to sit in the kitchen.’
‘Blimey, and there’s me trying to make an impression. Well, we’re in here now, and here we’ll stay. Do you take milk and sugar, love?’
‘Yes, please.’
Connie handed her a cup of tea, followed by a plate with a slice of cake on it. Pearl floundered; with both hands full she couldn’t drink her tea or eat the cake. Maybe she could balance one on her lap?
