Daisy
moved out, vowed never to talk to her Ma again, who was too weak to stand up to a father who cared more about what other people thought than helping his own child
she found a job making artificial flowers for a hat factory, shared lodgings with Ruby, another youngster who had a five-year-old son called Ernest for a sailor who’d come and gone
he came from somewhere called Aden next to the Red Sea
can you imagine, Gracie? a sea that’s red?
Daisy
carried Grace everywhere in a sling because there was nobody to leave her with, nobody she trusted, enough
after her entire family had cut her off
certainly not Ruby, who didn’t clean Ernest very often
I washed you every day, Gracie, in a bowl of water I collected from the standpipe and warmed in the hearth where the iron pot stewed vegetables
I washed you until you were squeaky clean and the lovely little curls on your head shone like dewdrops
poor Ernest’s hair was matted into clumps and Ruby was often out late and I’d have to stop him wandering outside on to the muddy alley strewn with garbage and broken glass
I kept an eye on him but I couldn’t take him on, Gracie, he wasn’t mine
I don’t know what happened to him because we moved into a room with Mary at the factory who was married, had three of her own, and needed the extra cash
Daisy
promised to take Grace to the countryside
what I’d give to see you run freely on the soft, springy grass with the sun shining on to your lovely caramel face, to hear you calling out, you can’t catch me, Ma, you can’t catch me
she promised Grace she’d find a husband who provided for them, a carpenter who’d build furniture for their cottage of three rooms plus a washroom, a proper inside toilet, real flowers on the kitchen table, bread baking in the oven, good-quality air and a clean river to bathe in every day
in summer
Daisy
who didn’t reckon on starting up a wet, hacking cough when Grace was eight, made worse by the coal dust that swirled in the air
she couldn’t afford to be ill, she told her daughter, I can’t afford a doctor, and even so, if I take time off sick I’ll not get paid and might not have a job to go back to
who will feed us, Gracie, who will feed us?
I’ll feed you, Ma, I’ll feed you
Daisy
was diagnosed with tuberculosis after the girls at work went in a group to complain to the manager that she was sick and was going to infect them
a doctor arrived to inspect her and she was taken to be quarantined in the sanatorium
with immediate effect
Mary took Grace under her wing until Daisy (hopefully, miraculously) recovered
only she drowned on the liquid and tissue
sloshing about in her lungs while they ate themselves
from the inside out
Mary, who’d been raised in the Northern Association’s Home for Girls in the countryside
asked Mrs Langley who still ran the place, to take Grace in, it was perfect timing as one girl was going into employment
she delivered Grace to the front door that winter, gave her an affectionate squeeze
bye-bye, Gracie, they’ll look after you here and teach you everything you need to know
Grace watched Mary walk away, black boots split at the sides, ripped dress trailing the mud of the path, brown shawl wrapped against her shoulders, hair like a bird’s nest with a hat on it, an orange rose Grace had made specially for her stuck on its side
bye-bye, Gracie, she called out, her voice choked, not looking back, as she opened the gate and disappeared down the lane
the last person Grace saw who knew her Ma.
2
Grace wandered around the home as if in a daze at first, the girls crowded her, touching her hair, stroking her skin, couldn’t stop staring at her, asked her why her skin was so brown
my Pa’s from Abyssinia, she said proudly, pretending she’d known him
don’t you ever feel ashamed of where he’s from, her Ma had told her, one day we’re going to find him, if he’s alive, that is, he didn’t come back for me so perhaps he died
Grace told the girls Abyssinia was a magical faraway place where the people wore silken gowns and diamond crowns and lived in fairytale palaces and had feasts of roast meat and potatoes and cheese soufflé every day
the girls were impressed
but not when she woke up screaming, and matron rushed in to see what terrible thing was happening to her and when nothing was, told her off for making an exhibition of herself
the other girls told her to be quiet, you’ll get used to it here, Gracie, we all did, it’ll take a while, shut up now we want to sleep
Grace rolled herself up in her blanket, buried herself deep inside it so they couldn’t hear how she felt when she thought of Ma
who’d wrapped her tightly in her arms when they slept
I’m never letting you go, Gracie, you’re mine
yet one minute she’d been at her side at the factory working together, the next minute men with white coats and masks came to take her away
I’ll come back for you, Gracie, I’ll come back, she promised as they hauled her off kicking and struggling to free herself
whenever someone banged the shiny black lion’s head on the front door, Grace hoped it might be Ma standing there, arms wide, smile wider, as if they’d been playing a game all along
hello Gracie, did you miss me? run and fetch your coat, love, we’re going home
it took a long time for Grace to stop hoping her Ma might turn up
even longer before she stopped feeling her as a warmth spreading in her stomach whenever she thought of her
longer still for her features to begin to fade
at night she began to dream of her Pa
who’d come back to rescue her
and take her to paradise
Grace was taught to clean herself and the house, she liked the former because Ma had said it was next to godliness, but not the latter
she was taught to sew her own dresses with buttons, ribbons and pleats, to add lace to the collar of the white dress she made for church
she was taught to knit woollen stockings, a hat and a scarf to wear in winter, to polish her black booties with buttons up the side until they shone, which she wore with pride once she got used to them because at first they gave her sores, never having worn shoes before
she was taught to cook meat, fish and poultry without poisoning anyone, and vegetables from the garden, how to bake bread and cake, under orders to never eat any of it while making it, or she’d get her knuckles rapped
which happened
a lot
she was taught to wash the laundry in a wooden tub filled with hot, soapy water, to stir the sheets with a big wooden spoon, to use a washboard for clothes with ingrained stains, to make sure she hung everything up to dry neatly with wooden pegs on the washing line, not all higgledy-piggledy and half falling off
she loved going to bed when the sheets had just been changed and inhaling the outside wind and sun and rain on them
she liked drinking water from the taps that came from a well that didn’t need to be heated up to be made safe
and the toilets were disinfected every single day
without fail
she was taught to tend the kitchen gardens, to grow cucumbers and lettuce, tomatoes, celery, carrots, parsnips and cabbage, to also not eat anything while doing it, which she disobeyed when no one was looking, especially when it came to the strawberry patches, blackberry brambles, plum trees
eating as much as she could then regretting it because purple lips and red stains down her smock also got her knuckles rapped
Grace was taught mental arithmetic, to read and write in the wooden classroom with the wooden benches and desks, to practise the beautiful patterns of letters that gave meaning to words
she was made to stay behind until she caught up with the others
she learnt to balance books on her head in deportment classes without any of them dropping, she was tall, imagined she was from Abyssinia and walking on air