Living a Lie

by Josephine Cox

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Sunday Times bestselling author Josephine Cox has been 'hailed quite rightly as a gifted writer in the tradition of Catherine Cookson' Manchester Evening Post. Her classic novels are 'impossible to resist' Woman's Realm, perfect for fans of Rosie Goodwin and Lesley Pearse.

In 1975 Lucinda Marsh throws herself in front of a speeding train leaving her twelve-year-old daughter Kitty alone, confused and abandoned - save for a selfish aunt, a violent father and her childhood sweetheart Harry Jenkins.

When Kitty is sent to an orphanage after the death of her father, she meets Georgie, a lively cockney girl who, through the following difficult years, becomes her loyal friend. Convinced that her feelings for Harry will ruin the brilliant future that lies ahead of him, Kitty turns her back on his love. Together with Georgie, she strives to find fulfilment in other places and other relationships, but when fate throws her back together with Harry she begins to wonder if true love can ever die . . .

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 400

Sample

Beneath her calm and elegant manner seethed a terrible secret, a dark and dangerous intent that no one there could have foreseen, least of all the dark-haired girl hurrying along beside her.



It was 1975. To the sober-suited commuters waiting for the train to London, Lucinda Marsh was a ray of sunshine, a vision of loveliness in high heels and a red tight-fitting two-piece. With her trim figure, mass of wavy golden hair and smiling blue eyes, she was a welcome distraction.



The platform was crowded. Only a short while ago there had been the usual daily chatter about the state of the government and Margaret Thatcher’s emergence as new Tory leader, the awful February weather and the train being late yet again. The meaningless chatter subsided with the arrival of the young woman and the girl.



At first there were admiring glances, then admiration gave way to curiosity, then almost to a sense of expectancy.



Pausing by the edge of the platform, Lucinda glanced nervously at the middle-aged man standing nearby. He was holding a newspaper in front of his face, but his eyes peeped over the top and he smiled at the girl with Lucinda – a delightful creature with coal-black hair and earth-coloured eyes. When, embarrassed, she looked away, he bent his head to read, but like the others was captivated by Lucinda, strangely moved by her beauty and her manner. There was something secretive about her, something oddly bewitching.



Gripping the girl’s hand, the young woman made her way to the far end of the platform, the tips of her heels echoing against the cold hard ground, her outer composure belying the turmoil inside and the questions, always the same, only this time more urgent. Was she right? Was she wrong? This was not the first time she had made a decision to escape, but then she had always changed her mind, deciding she should give it another try, for Kitty’s sake if not for her own.



This time, nothing on God’s earth could make her change her mind. Today was her day. This time she was in control. For too long she had endured agonies in the name of love. Soon the agony would be over. Not his though. To hell with him!



Dressed for the occasion, she was ready for the long journey. As she mentally prepared herself, she could feel Kitty’s hand in hers and her heart warmed with love.



Pausing to look down on that trusting young face, she was shaken by the dark eyes that returned her glance: dark brooding eyes, incredibly beautiful. Her father’s eyes. Yet where Bob’s intense gaze instilled fear in her, Kitty’s inquisitive glance created only a sense of terrible guilt.



Stooping closer she asked tenderly, ‘Are you all right?’ While she talked, her long manicured fingers toyed with the girl’s rich black tresses.



Kitty was twelve years old. She loved adventure, and she adored her mother. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked for the umpteenth time. Last night her parents had quarrelled again. As she had so many times before, Kitty had sat on the stairs listening, afraid to go in, yet wanting to stop them. But how
could she stop them? She was only a girl, and they were adults.



Lucinda too was reliving the memory of last night. ‘You shouldn’t ask where we’re going,’ she gently chided.



‘Are we going to London?’ Delightful visions of parks and palaces filled her mind.



Her mother laughed softly. ‘We’ll see.’



‘Sarah wanted me to call for her this morning.’ Kitty and Sarah Jenkins had known each other for ever. ‘We’re playing clarinet in the school concert.’



‘You’re very fond of her, aren’t you? And her brother Harry.’ Lucinda smiled knowingly. ‘Has he taken up music lessons yet?’



‘No.’ Kitty was only a little disappointed. ‘He’d rather play football and swim in the school team.’ Her young heart bubbled with joy. ‘But he’s coming to listen to me and Sarah play in the concert.’ A terrible thought struck her. ‘We will
be back in time for the concert tonight, won’t we?’



Yet again Lucinda questioned what she was about to do. This morning she had been so sure. Now she could hardly suppress the niggling doubts that crept up on her. ‘There are more important things than school,’ she said finally. ‘Do you know what happened last night? Did you hear your father?’



Kitty lowered her gaze. ‘You were fighting.’



‘You don’t ever want that to happen again, do you?’



‘No.’



‘Kitty?’ The voice was softer now. ‘Look at me.’



Kitty didn’t want to look up. Whatever her mother said, it would
happen again. It always did.



‘Kitty?’ There were tears in the voice, and something else, something that intrigued the child. ‘Please . . . look at me.’



Kitty raised her dark eyes and what she saw made her ashamed. Her mother was crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. It wasn’t her fault, but she felt responsible somehow.



‘Do you love me, Kitty?’



‘Yes.’



‘And you want to come with me?’



‘Yes.’



‘Kitty?’



‘Yes, Mother?’



‘I don’t want you to hate your father. Especially not today.’



There were times when Kitty did
hate him, but mostly she tried not to think about it. ‘I wish you wouldn’t fight.’



‘Do you think it’s my fault?’



‘Not all the time.’



‘Your father won’t let us live in peace. You do understand that, don’t you?’



‘Yes.’ Kitty recalled the many times when she and her mother would come home from shopping and there would be a furious row. Her father would say cruel things, accusing her mother of meeting some man or other, then he would shout and scream. The last time he hit out with his belt, cutting her mother’s face and making it bleed.



‘Some men are bad, Kitty.’



‘Why?’



‘They like to hurt.’ Gently fingering the bruise on her temple, Lucinda confessed, ‘Your father hit me again last night . . . see?’ Gingerly lifting a strand of hair, she revealed an angry red weal that stretched from brow to temple.



When she realised that the man standing nearby was watching, she quickly covered up the mark and looked away. ‘I wish the train would come!’ she snapped. If it didn’t come now, she might lose her courage.



‘Does Daddy know where we’re going?’



Lucinda began to think more clearly. She mustn’t upset the girl. Maybe she should have left Kitty behind, but then what? Too soon she would be a woman. Then she could meet a man like Robert Marsh, a man who would rob her of her dignity and make her feel inferior, a man who might beat her until she was black and blue . . . a man who would think nothing of taking what he wanted, then treating her like so much dirt beneath his feet. She could never
let that happen to Kitty. ‘No, sweetheart,’ she answered kindly, ‘Daddy doesn’t know where we’re going.’ When Bob came home there would be a note waiting for him, a note that told him everything. He would not understand. He never did. But it would be done and, rightly or wrongly, he must share the blame.



Suddenly she was nervous. Suppose Bob came home early? Suppose he found out where she’d gone and came looking for her? The idea made her tremble inside.



When the destination of the approaching train was announced over the Tannoy, Lucinda Marsh quietly addressed her child. ‘Stay close, sweetheart.’ Her voice was soft and caressing as she ran her fingers over the black wavy hair, brushing it back from the girl’s forehead and smiling lovingly into those dark trusting eyes. ‘When the train comes in, you must keep hold of my hand.’ Fearing that Bob might find them before she could carry out her intent, desperation betrayed itself in her voice.



When Kitty looked up inquisitively, she bent to kiss the girl on the forehead. ‘Trust me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You mustn’t run away.’



Suddenly, and for no reason she could think of, Kitty was afraid. She asked again, ‘Where are we going?’



‘Where we can never be hurt again,’ her mother answered. ‘Where we can always be together.’ She didn’t look at Kitty. She too was afraid. Afraid those dark eyes might make her change her mind. ‘Remember now, stay close.’



The girl’s reply was lost as the train came into sight. People began surging towards the platform’s edge. In that moment Lucinda glanced over to where the man had been standing. He was nearer now; his newspaper neatly folded and tucked into his jacket pocket. If he stretched out his arm he could touch her.



Suddenly, gripping Kitty’s hand so hard she made her wince, Lucinda started walking down the platform, towards the train. With some way still to go before it entered the station, it was approaching fast. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she murmured, ‘I’m not afraid.’ But she was. And yet, at the same time, she felt exhilarated.



With the train speeding towards them, she waited for the inevitable. ‘Keep hold of Mummy’s hand, sweetheart,’ she urged. She could feel Kitty pulling away, as though she sensed something terrible. Lucinda’s grip tightened. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she promised. For the briefest moment she closed her eyes and softly prayed.



Most people remained at the centre of the platform. As the train came speeding into the station, Lucinda prepared herself. Only another minute and she would be free. The words of an Abba song sped through her mind; she actually began singing them . . .



A last smile at the daughter she adored, the sign of the cross to keep the devil away, and with one almighty leap she threw herself on to the track.



Kitty’s screams echoed along the platform. With her mother’s hand wrapped tightly about her own, she felt herself being propelled forward. Her feet left the platform. All she could recall later was the train driver’s eyes, wide with horror, and a searing pain across her neck. Then it was dark, and all feeling was gone.



The man who had been closest watched the first ambulance leave. It went at a steady pace. There was no emergency now. It was too late for that. ‘How could she want to take an innocent child with her?’ he cried, groaning with pain when the ambulance man strapped his injured wrist. His shirt was torn and there was a kind of madness in his own eyes as he told how he had watched mother and child fall beneath the train. ‘All along I had an idea she meant to do something crazy.’



The police officer thanked him for his statement. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, there would have been two dead people,’ he reminded him. ‘It took courage to do what you did.’



When his wrist was made comfortable and the police officer had gone to speak to other witnesses, the man walked over to where a second ambulanceman was tending the survivor. She was sitting bolt upright on the ground, wrapped in a rug, her wide eyes filled with terror. Droplets of blood dripped from the gash on her neck, falling on to her bare arm where they made a crimson trail. He
had done that. It sickened him.



Looking at his finger, he saw the ring that had sliced into her neck. The gold sovereign had been one of his most valued possessions. Now it was contaminated, the rim thick with gouged skin. Filled with disgust, he ripped it off and threw it down. Addressing the ambulanceman, he asked, ‘Will she be all right?’



‘She’ll be fine,’ came the answer. ‘Thanks to you.’



That was all he needed to know. He left then. Like all true heroes, he wanted no reward. It was enough to know he had saved a life.



Kitty watched intently. ‘Please! Where’s my mother?’ she pleaded. First her mother had been beside her, then it was dark; now it was light again and her mother was gone.



‘All in good time, young lady.’ They settled her into the ambulance. ‘First we’ll get you to hospital . . . let the doctors look at this gash, eh?’



In the ambulanceman’s opinion she had had a miraculous escape, with no bones broken and no serious injury, apart from the shock which would take its course. He had cleaned the deep neck wound and, though he was sure it would scar, it posed no threat. He smiled at her. ‘You’ll have to be brave,’ he warned, though he didn’t tell her the worst. He didn’t say her mother was never coming back.



‘For God’s sake, woman, don’t you think I’ve tried!’ Bob Marsh paced the room, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as he contemplated the future. ‘I thought you of all people would help.’



‘Well, you can think again, because I’ve enough kids of my own to take care of.’ Glancing towards the door, Mildred lowered her voice. ‘Where is she, anyway?’



‘Who knows? Since she came home from the hospital, she hides herself away.’ Straightening his shoulders, Bob looked at her in appeal. ‘These past weeks have been a nightmare . . . finding that note . . . realising what Lucinda meant to do . . . all the questions afterwards . . . the inquest and then the funeral.’ He paused, sighing aloud, filled with self-pity. ‘The girl is no help either.’ He made a sour expression. ‘She blames me, you know? The little cow has the gall to blame me!’



‘And you want her to believe it was all Lucinda’s fault? Is that what you’re saying?’



Enraged he slammed his fist against the wall. ‘Damn it all, Mildred, anybody would think I threw
her under that bloody train!’



There was a short silence, until she answered in a hard voice, ‘You might as well have.’



His violent reaction took her by surprise. Swinging around, he slapped her hard on the face. ‘You bitch! You’re no better than she was.’



‘And you’re the worst kind of coward.’ Wiping the blood from her mouth she taunted him, ‘You enjoyed hitting Lucinda too, didn’t you? Time and again you hit her, put her in hospital, took pleasure in making her life a misery.’



‘I gave her everything!’



‘Oh, you gave her money, I’ll not deny that. Clothes and jewels and this fine big house.’ With a wave of her hand Mildred encompassed the handsome rosewood furniture, the tall display cabinet filled with silver and crystal; above the inglenook fireplace hung a splendid oil painting, and the carpets were the plushest money could buy. ‘But it meant nothing, don’t you see that? She wanted your trust . . . a love that was as deep and loyal as hers. She needed tenderness. She needed a man who could take her in his arms and love her for what she was, not for what he wanted her to be.’



‘She was a bloody tart!’



Mildred gave a short laugh. ‘Lucinda Marsh was never a tart. She was too attractive for her own good, yes, and she was like a kid at heart. She hated arguments and fighting. She wanted nothing more than to be a good mother and wife, and you made her suffer for it. She was the minnow and you were the shark. You took advantage of her soft nature . . . used her as though she was your personal property. You showed her off to your cronies, then slapped her good and hard if they dared to look at her in a certain way.’



‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’



‘Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong. Lucinda came to me time and again after you’d beaten her up. She was desperately unhappy, yet still she adored you . . . begged me not to confront you.’ She spat out her next words. ‘If any man treated me like you treated her, I’d cut his balls off while he slept!’



Laughing in her face, he replied, ‘It’s just as well we’re brother and sister and not man and wife, then.’



‘You really are a swine.’ Picking up her coat from a chair she told him, ‘You’ll never find a woman to love you like she did. How could you do it, Bob? How could you torment her . . . accusing her of being unfaithful when she wasn’t . . . saying Kitty wasn’t yours, when you know damned well she is. God Almighty! You’ve only to look at the girl to see she’s your flesh and blood. Lucinda didn’t want other men. She loved you . . .
and you knew that. Yet you never let up on her, did you?’ She crossed the room to stand before him. ‘If the girl blames you, then so do I.’



‘I think you’ve said enough.’ His eyes brimmed with tears, yet he was not sorry. If anything, he was angry, feeling neglected and unloved, as always.



Mildred stared at him for a moment. He was her brother, and she wanted no part of him. No part of him, and no part of his daughter. He alone had created this tragedy and he alone would have to deal with it. In slow deliberate tones she told him, ‘When Lucinda threw herself under that train, it was because you
made her life unbearable!’



‘GET OUT!’



‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m going. I may be your sister, but so help me, I can’t stand being under the same roof as you.’



‘Get out before I throw you out.’ His voice was low, trembling with hatred.



Kitty sat tightly huddled on the stairs, head bent and her heart breaking. The row brought back too many memories. Now her mother was gone and nobody wanted her. Not for the first time since that awful day she wished she had died with her mother.



When the sitting room door was flung open and the small fair-haired woman emerged, Kitty raised her head. She didn’t speak but her sad eyes told their own story.



Her aunt was not surprised to see her there. ‘I’m sorry you heard all that,’ she apologised. ‘But it had to be said.’



Still Kitty gave no response. There were so many questions in her head, and she could find no answers to any of them.



Aunt Mildred came to sit beside her. ‘I can’t take you home with me,’ she explained. ‘I’ve got four demanding kids of my own, and Len’s just lost his job. As it is, I don’t know how we’ll manage.’



‘I thought I told you to get out?’ Bob’s voice called up the stairs.



‘I’ll go when I’m ready.’



The sitting-room door slammed, and he could be heard swearing and complaining. ‘He knows better than to cut up rough with me,’ Mildred told the girl.



Still Kitty said nothing. Instead she gazed at her aunt and wished she could go with her. ‘Like I say, Kitty, money’s in short supply and I’ve too many mouths to feed.’ Grimacing at the sound of something breaking downstairs, Mildred said, ‘I expect he
would pay me to have you, but it would be like blood money.’



Kitty wondered what ‘blood money’ was. But she didn’t ask. There were other, more important, things here she did not understand.



Putting her arms round Kitty, Mildred murmured kindly, ‘If I can’t do anything else, I can at least give you some advice.’ When Kitty didn’t respond she went on, ‘There will come a day when you’re old enough to marry. When that happens, think hard about the man you choose. Some men are born bullies. Like your father, they only feel good when they’re hitting a woman . . . it gives them a sense of power. But they’re not real men, they’re just cowards – not worth the time of day.’



Looking at the girl with renewed interest, she realised with a little shock that Kitty had a special kind of grace: blessed with dark and sensuous looks that would attract men like moths to a flame. ‘With your beauty you should be able to pick and choose,’ Mildred remarked thoughtfully. ‘But, for pity’s sake, child . . . don’t make the mistake your mother made. Find a man who is gentle . . . a man who will share your love and treat you like a woman. They’re few and far between, so if you do find such a man, stick with him through thick and thin. Oh, he’ll probably have his little faults, we all do. But I promise you, Kitty, you can face anything in life if you have a partner who truly loves you.’



Silently she marked her aunt’s words, but all she could think about was now. In a desolate voice she pleaded, ‘I don’t want to stay here, Aunt Mildred.’ She recalled the screaming arguments, that had always ended in her mother crying and her father storming out of the house. In her mind she could see the angry mark her mother had shown her just before she jumped.



Feeling only the smallest flush of guilt, and adamant that she would not make life easier for the man who had caused all this, Mildred told her firmly, ‘Now you listen to me, Kitty Marsh! Your place is here with your father. This is your home and you’ve had enough upheaval with all that’s happened. Besides, I’ve already explained why I can’t take you.’ Realising how disturbed the girl was, she had to reassure her, ‘You have my word, he won’t lay a finger on you. He knows I’m on to him, and he’ll be wary of that.’



‘Please, can’t I come home with you?’ Kitty had tried so hard not to blame her father, but she couldn’t love him. Not any more.



‘You can’t come with me, and that’s an end to it.’ Fearing she might get dragged in over her head, Mildred gathered her belongings and hurried down the stairs. At the bottom she looked up, thinking herself as much a coward as her brother. ‘I’ve got to go now. Be a good girl, Kitty. Remember what I’ve told you, and everything will be all right.’



‘Aren’t you coming back?’ With her mother gone and her father thinking only of himself, Kitty was feeling very lonely.



At the door her aunt paused to look once again at that small dejected figure. ‘No, I won’t be coming back,’ she answered truthfully. She didn’t feel responsible, nor was she prepared to make her own life more complicated by taking on other people’s problems.



However, there was one more thing she could do to put Kitty’s mind at ease. Retracing her steps to the sitting room, she flung open the door. ‘You’d better know this before I leave,’ she said. ‘If I find out you’ve raised a hand to that girl I’ll have the authorities down on you so fast your feet won’t touch the ground.’



Sprawled on the settee, Bob Marsh stared her out. ‘Don’t tell me what to do in my own house . . . with my own kid.’



‘I mean
it, Bob.’



‘Piss off out of it.’



‘One bad word from me and they’ll take the girl from you.’



‘They’re welcome to her.’



‘You’re a hard bugger!’



‘And you’re asking to be thrown through that door.’ His angry eyes were like black slits. ‘I’ve told you . . . piss off out of it, before I forget myself.’



As she went from the house, he chuckled softly. Hearing Kitty move on the stairs, he called out in a harsh voice, ‘I KNOW YOU’RE THERE, DAMN YOU! GET YOURSELF IN HERE!’



Her first instinct was to run after her aunt. But it was suppressed as she dutifully delivered herself to the sitting room, where she stood at the door, a solemn little figure, her dark eyes sparkling with unshed tears.



‘Get in here.’



Reluctantly she took a step forward.



‘Here, damn it! In front of me.’ With one vicious kick he sent the coffee table flying; the shattered glass top flew in all directions. ‘Are you bloody stupid or what?’



She was standing before him now, visibly trembling, her dark eyes upturned to his.



Her fear seemed to please him. ‘Are you frightened of me?’



‘You hit her.’



Leaning towards her, he clenched his fist and held it in front of her face. ‘Oh? And you think I’m going to hit you, is that it?’



‘Aunt Mildred said you wouldn’t dare.’ Her dark gaze was unflinching. All she could think of was her mother and what he had done to her.



He laughed out loud at her boldness. ‘Oh? Did she now?’



When Kitty continued to look at him with accusing eyes, the laughter died and his face crumpled. For a while there was an awkward silence while he studied that small perfectly shaped face with its full mouth and those dark magnificent eyes; they were sad now, but he knew the sadness could not last. He knew there would come a day when those same eyes would turn any man inside out.



Confused and humbled by her silence, he told her in a small voice, ‘One day, you’re going to be a real beauty.’



‘I want to go now.’ She didn’t like the way he was looking at her.



‘Go where, eh?’ Enraged, he roared like a man demented, ‘ I’ll
say when you can go!’ Reaching out, he grabbed her to him, pressing her to his body until she could hardly breathe. ‘Your mother was a beauty too . . . oh, not dark like you and me . . . a china doll she was, with eyes blue as the sky and hair like a summer’s day.’



Terrified, Kitty fought to free herself, but she was held too close. She couldn’t cry out because her face was squashed to his breast and his arms were like steel bands round her shoulders. He rocked her backwards and forwards, his tears rolling on to her face. ‘I loved her, you know,’ he was saying. ‘Whatever else I did, she knew I loved her.’



Suddenly he thrust her away. Gasping, Kitty struggled to break his grip on her shoulders but he held her fast, his face twisted with loathing as he shook her hard. ‘You were there when she went under that train. Why couldn’t it have been you instead of her, eh?’ Tears were flowing down his face and his sobs were terrible to hear. ‘You could have stopped her! Why didn’t you?’



Kitty was sobbing, too. ‘I didn’t know!’ she called. ‘Please, Daddy, I didn’t know.’



With a fierce blow, he sent her crashing across the room. ‘IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!’ Stumbling across to the drinks’ cabinet, he took out a bottle of whisky and turned to her again. But she was gone, and all he could hear was the front door closing behind her. ‘Good riddance,’ he snarled, then took the top off the bottle and drank until he almost choked. ‘Doesn’t matter to me if you never come back,’ he muttered to himself, and settled down to drain the bottle dry.



A large woman with wild red hair and small brown eyes, she prided herself on being able to handle every little crisis. But this was different. A man had lost his wife and a child had seen her own mother leap to her death; had nearly gone with her too by all accounts. ‘You’re not to worry,’ she reassured Kitty.



It took only a few minutes to brew a pot of tea and pour it out. When that was drunk and Kitty was more composed, Linda urged tactfully, ‘Sarah’s gone to the shop. I forgot to tell her I needed an uncut loaf . . . if you go now, you can catch her on the way back. Go on.’ Ushering Kitty to the door she told her, ‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’ But she couldn’t be certain. Bob Marsh was known for his bad temper. He wouldn’t take kindly to others poking their noses into his business, and that was a fact.



Once she had seen Kitty safely down the road, Linda returned to her chores. There was the evening meal to get and a pile of washing to fetch in. ‘Rain forecast,’ she muttered, rushing about and falling over the dog as she fled outside. ‘Bloody weather.’



The Jenkinses lived only a few hundred yards from Kitty’s home. Ron Jenkins earned his living as a mechanic at one of Bob Marsh’s two garages. The Marshes’ house took pride of place in Woburn Sands High Street, while the Jenkinses lived across the road in a terrace of older, more modest dwellings.



Linda Jenkins ran a happy household. There was herself and her husband Ron, fifteen-year-old Harry, twelve-year-old Sarah, two cats named Bill and Ben, a budgie with one leg, and a spaniel named Jasper – a mad creature who spent his days chasing cats and his nights howling to get out so he could cock his leg up the clothes’ line.



‘Over the years, me and mine have had more than our share of troubles,’ Linda muttered as she folded the dry washing. ‘There have been times when I wished things could have been easier. But I know this much . . . I would never have swapped places with Lucinda Marsh, not in a million years I wouldn’t!’ Like everyone at the top end of the street she had heard the shocking row between Kitty’s parents on that last night. ‘Bob Marsh is a bad bugger deep down, and she were always too good for him, that was the pity of it.’ Growing angry, she absent-mindedly flung the washing in a heap. The dog ran off with a shirt and she gave chase, swearing like a trooper when she went flying over the clothes basket.



As Kitty turned the corner of the High Street she caught sight of Sarah going into the Co-op. The same age as Kitty, Sarah was slightly built, with carrot-red hair, droopy hazel eyes and a face peppered with freckles. She also had what her mother called ‘a wicked temper’. Her moods blew hot and cold, so you never really knew where you stood with her.



Cheered by the sight of her friend, Kitty went at a run along the street, screeching to a halt when a miserable old man confronted her at the doorway. ‘Get out of my way, you little sod!’ he bawled, poking at her chest with his cane. The impact made her gasp. Opening the door for him, she apologised, but his answer was to push her aside. He went out, muttering all the time, ‘Bloody kids! Nearly knocked me arse over tip, she did.’



Sarah had seen it all. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said. ‘Anyway, how d