The Bobbin Girls Read Online Free Page B

answering more probing questions about her pallor.
    ‘Got to rush, Mam. Been on the last minute a bit lately and the foreman is watching us like a hawk.’ She stood up and, taking a quick sip of tea, held the half-eaten slice of toast in her mouth as she shrugged on her coat. It was only as she went out of the back door that it occurred to her that such an admission would affect what was produced for her evening meal and every meal thereafter. Dolly groaned. If there was one thing she hated it was lettuce leaves, and that would be what she’d get from now on. The thought added to her depression, which worsened as she ran her gaze up and down the row.
    There’d once been one long communal garden behind Applethorn Cottages, though any sign of the apple trees that might have served to christen it, had long since vanished. Instead there were patches of rough grass, small vegetable plots and the occasional lilac tree, interspersed with ramshackle outhouses and hen huts that leaned into the wind; even the odd pig-sty with its grunting occupant. The saving grace of all this muddle was the view. The cottages faced open countryside: thick woodlands and undulating fields criss-crossed with lichen-covered drystone walls, all lit on this particular morning with bright autumn sunshine.
    But something was wrong. Frowning, Dolly tried to work out what it was. By every back door stood a dustbin, and each one had been up-ended. ‘Ah,’ she said, to no one in particular. ‘So that’s what all the row was about. Hallowe’en.’
    At that moment Betty Thorns from next door came out, waving a shovel at Dolly. ‘I’ll knock your block off if I get my hands on you,’ she shouted, false teeth clicking with fury.
    ‘What? You don’t think I did this?’
    ‘Funny yours weren’t touched, don’t you think?’ The old woman nodded meaningfully at the Suttons’ dustbin, lid still firmly in place and not a scrap of litter around it. ‘Young hooligan! That’s what comes of having no father.’ It was her favourite method of attack when something had displeased her, and always set Dolly’s hackles rising. This morning it unleashed every ounce of pent-up emotion so that, for once, she hit back.
    ‘What’s that got to do with aught? Anyroad, they would’ve married, only me dad died fighting for his country before they could. Not that it’s any of your business.’ Instantly she regretted parting with this piece of private information.
    ‘That’s what she told you, is it? That he died a bloody hero? Run off, more like. She always did have a romantic imagination, did Maggie. Ask her what she gets up to on a Friday night, and see what she has to say about that. Pieces of muck, you Suttons! But then if you’re born wrong, you live wrong. Bastards, every one of you.’
    White-faced and trembling, Dolly faced her with stubborn defiance. ‘Mam’s right. You are a bad-mouthed old witch. I hope you go to hell.’
    This is all your fault, Alena Townsen, Dolly thought, as she marched stiff-backed down the lane. I’ll get my own back on you for this, madam, see if I don’t.
     
    Are you going to tell me what you’re up to then?’
    Alena, coming out on to the landing in pyjamas and plaid dressing gown paused as she heard these words; filled suddenly with a childlike curiosity to hear what it was adults talked about when they were alone, she slid into the shadows and listened.
    ‘I thought I’d make a few enquiries, that’s all.’  
    ‘What sort of enquiries?’
    She peeped between the rails of the banister. The kitchen door was flung wide open, and through it she could see the lower half of her father’s back and legs. Ray Townsen was leaning over the table, waving a paper, a letter perhaps, in Ma’s face. Well?’ he barked, in a tone of voice she knew well.
    Lizzie folded the breakfast cloth with painstaking precision and put it in the drawer. ‘We haven’t time to talk about it now.’
    ‘When will we talk about it then? I