Down Daisy Street Read Online Free

work with a pocket full of fades for his youngsters, who fell on the bruised and unsaleable fruit with squeals of glee, and since he assumed that his wife disciplined the children and she assumed that he did, the O’Brien young, by and large, went uncorrected. Which is why they hit out at one another and brawl and never worry about consequences, Kathy thought now, as she and Jane headed for the door. Their teachers did not have a high opinion of any of the O’Brien family, tarring them all with the same brush, but Kathy thought that Jane was remarkable and considerably undervalued. She looked after the younger children, frequently cooked meals, did the washing and even cleaned the house, though this was a hated chore and came last on Jane’s list of priorities. In such a busy life, naturally, schoolwork was nothing more than a nuisance and Jane had always leaned rather heavily on Kathy, who was happy to help her friend whenever she could. Fortunately, Jane had an extremely retentive memory, so that a poem recited to her half a dozen times could be memorised as the girls went the rounds of the shops getting their mothers’ messages, and rules of arithmetic could be learned by the same method.
    Just now, however, Kathy had more important things on her mind than either housework or lessons. Billy was not a heavy burden, but Kathy was worried by the continued whiteness of his face and by a very odd little purring sound which he kept making. It was not a snore, precisely, and she was pretty sure Billy was not asleep, but she had a vague, uncomfortable feeling that such a sound issuing from a person who had been concussed was not a good sign. She and Jane had joined a first aid class almost a year ago. Their training had come in useful several times, particularly as Mrs O’Brien ‘came over all queer’ at the sight of blood, so any cut, graze or abrasion was now always dealt with by Jane, or by Kathy if she was there. Kathy winced over the bits of rag, never properly clean, with which Jane bandaged a wounded O’Brien child, comparing them unfavourably with proper lint and bandages. The Kellings had a neat biscuit tin, clearly labelled with a large red cross. It contained, amongst other things, an array of bandages, sticking plaster, lint and iodine, and was kept in the middle of the dresser, at eye level, where it was immediately obvious.
    Kathy had once mentioned the pile of rags kept in the cupboard under the sink at the O’Briens’ house to her mother, who had given her a very chilly look. ‘Comparisons are odious,’ she had said severely. ‘It is a great deal easier to be neat and clean when you have only two children. When you have eight, you have all you can do to feed them, let alone to provide such things as bandages. You always hope you won’t need them anyhow.’
    At the time, Mr Kelling had been home, though he had not seemed to be taking much notice of the conversation, but he had lowered his newspaper and looked at his daughter over the top of it. ‘A bandage is only a piece of rag when all’s said and done,’ he had commented mildly. ‘And I reckon them O’Brien kids are pretty tough; their cuts mend all right, don’t they?’
    Kathy, laughing, had had to agree that this was so. ‘In fact, our mam’s only opened our tin twice so long as I can remember,’ she said. ‘Once when I skinned me knees and the palms of me hands, falling off a swing in the playground, and once when you scalded yourself, Dad, taking the kettle off the fire too quick so it splashed over.’ She had grinned wickedly from one parent to the other. ‘So why don’t we just hand our first aid box to the O’Briens and have done with it? Isn’t there a thing in the Bible which says, Your need is greater than mine ?’
    Mr Kelling had chuckled and disappeared behind his paper once more, but Mrs Kelling tutted disapprovingly. ‘And how long do you think our first aid box would last?’ she asked. ‘Why, Reggie would be wearing