A Sister's Sorrow

  KITTY NEALE

  A Sister’s Sorrow

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Copyright

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2019

  Copyright © Kitty Neale 2019

  Cover design © Debbie Clement 2019

  Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008270889

  Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008270896

  Version: 2018-10-24

  Dedication

  For my husband

  Sweet love of mine and best friend too,

  I’m blown away by all you do.

  My life is enriched because of you.

  One love, one life, a love so true.

  Now we’re here, we made it through,

  Many would have faltered, but no, not you.

  We’re strong, we’re great and we’re together,

  Eternally, I’ll be yours forever.

  Before this ends, there’s just one more thing …

  Because of who you are, I’m so proud to wear

  your ring xxx

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Battersea, London, 1948

  Sarah Jepson’s legs jigged under her desk as she anxiously waited for the school bell to ring for home time. Her mother Annie had woken up with labour pains that morning, and Sarah was desperately worried about her.

  Earlier, when Sarah had shown concern, her mum had told her to bugger off and go to school. She’d called her useless and said she’d be no bloody help. Comments like that weren’t unusual and hadn’t surprised Sarah. She was used to her mother’s contemptuous remarks, and though they hurt, she tried her best to ignore them.

  At last, the bell trilled, and Sarah hurriedly placed her books in her desk before dashing out of the classroom and then through the school gates. Dirty rainwater splashed the backs of her skinny legs as she ran through the narrow streets of run-down terraced houses. I wish I could fly, she thought, sprinting as fast as she could, as her thin coat billowed out behind her. It was at least two sizes too small, so she couldn’t button it up. It did little to keep out the chill of the cold October wind, or protect her from the hammering rain. Sarah didn’t care about the stormy weather, she just wanted to get back home and silently prayed that everything would be all right this time.

  She finally arrived at the staircase of the tenement block, then paused as she caught her breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her long, dark hair hung like wet rat’s tails. She rapidly tapped her forefinger and thumb together, something she unconsciously did when she was nervous. Apprehensively, she grabbed the handrail and stood still, her emerald-green eyes staring up the uninviting stairwell as she urged her legs to keep going. She’d come this far, but the reality of what she might find at home had stopped her in her tracks. Please don’t let it be like last time, she thought, remembering the dead baby her mother had birthed three years earlier. Mrs Brown, a neighbour upstairs, had taken the baby away, but Sarah could still picture his wrinkled little face, and shivered at the memory of his limp, scrawny body.

  Sarah recalled Mrs Brown having a go at her mum, telling her she’d brought it on herself and should have stayed away from the gin. She’d told her scornfully that she didn’t deserve to be a mother and had murdered her own child. Sarah didn’t understand how her mother could have killed the baby, as she’d witnessed his lifeless body being born. As she’d listened to Mrs Brown, Sarah had seen her mother glaring at the woman. She had seen that vicious look in her mum’s eyes before, one that she’d now become accustomed to receiving. It was in sharp contrast to the look of pity in Mrs Brown’s eyes as she had carried away the dead baby and said a solemn farewell to Sarah. She wasn’t sure what she disliked most: the hateful stare from her mother or the look of pity from their neighbour.

  A distant scream echoed through the tenement, piercing Sarah’s thoughts. She knew immediately that it was her mother, and flew into action. She took the stairs two at a time, then she heard her cry out again, which drove Sarah even faster up the three flights. Please live, her mind raced, please let the baby be alive.

  The front door was wide open. Sarah ran in then pushed it closed behind her. The room was dark, but she could see her mother lying on her filthy mattress on the floor, panting hard. As Sarah got closer, she noticed beads of sweat running down her mum’s face even though the room was cold.

  ‘Get this bloody thing out of me!’ her mother screamed, and gripped the holey blanket that was covering her legs.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Sarah cried in a blind panic. Though she’d seen her mum give birth before, she’d only been ten years old at the time, and had been overwhelmed with horror through most of it. Now thirteen, she was still unsure.

  She knew it would be useless to appeal to any of the neighbours for help. Mrs Brown had passed away and none of the other women in the block would have anything to do with her mum.

  ‘Shall I get the doctor?’ she said desperately.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid. I don’t need a doc
tor, I just need some gin. Pass me that bottle,’ her mother demanded, indicating to a bottle of alcohol in the tiny kitchenette.

  ‘But … but that ain’t no good for the baby,’ Sarah pleaded, though she was loath to disobey her mother’s orders.

  ‘Don’t you backchat me, just get it. I need it for the pain,’ her mother ground out through gritted teeth.

  Sarah reluctantly handed her the almost empty bottle, which she quickly drained.

  ‘It’s no good, I need more,’ she cried, groaning again and writhing on the mattress.

  ‘But we ain’t got no more,’ Sarah answered, recoiling at seeing her mum in such discomfort.

  ‘You’ll have to get yourself down the offie and get me a bottle on tick,’ her mother said, then closed her eyes and moaned loudly again.

  It was obvious to Sarah that another painful contraction was washing over her mother. She waited for it to pass before saying, ‘They ain’t open yet, it’s too early,’ grateful that she wouldn’t have to go out begging again. She found it humiliating, and would much rather scavenge for food to eat or clothes to wear.

  ‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake, gal, use your bleedin’ head for once, will ya! I can’t bloody think straight. Go and have a word with Eddy in the next block, and tell him I’ll see him straight next week. I don’t care where you get it from, just get me some bloody gin!’

  Fearing her mother’s violent temper, Sarah rushed from the room and back out into the damp corridor. She didn’t want to leave her mother in pain, but considering the mood she was in, Sarah knew it would be useless to try to reason with her. She ran down the stairs, but couldn’t face going around to Eddy’s flat. She’d tell her mum that he wasn’t in. His place stank, and she wrinkled her nose at the memory of it. She found him a rather odd man, and the way he leered at her gave her the creeps and made her feel uncomfortable. He was one of her mother’s long-term customers, and, for as long as Sarah could remember, Eddy had called in to see her mum once or twice a week.

  Sarah began to aimlessly wander around the small estate while racking her brain for a solution. It was impossible. She couldn’t think of anywhere to wangle any alcohol. As it was, she didn’t like going into the side room of the pub to get her mother’s booze, and liked it even less when she was made to go cap in hand.

  After half an hour, the sun from behind the clouds was almost set and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Sarah’s teeth began to chatter. She’d have to return home empty-handed and face her mother’s fury, though it was of some consolation that her mum would be sober for once.

  Outside her front door, Sarah reached through the letterbox and pulled out a piece of string with the key tied on the end. She opened the door and walked back into their one-roomed flat. All was quiet, so she assumed her mother must have fallen asleep. Then she heard a strange gurgling noise.

  Curious, Sarah quietly tiptoed over to the mattress where her mother lay, and gasped in shock. She stared in disbelief at a naked new-born baby, lying on the linoleum and kicking his bony legs out. She reacted instinctively and quickly gathered the child in her arms. He felt cold, but she was thankful that he appeared to be well. She grabbed a towel and gently wrapped the small boy, hardly believing she was holding her new baby brother.

  Sarah gazed at the bundle and smiled sweetly. He was so thin, his tiny ribcage was sticking out, which put her in mind of a lame sparrow she’d once found. ‘Hello, little one, I’m your big sister,’ she whispered, and kissed the boy on his bloodied forehead.

  Her mother stirred and pushed herself up onto her haunches. ‘Oh, you found him then. Where’s me gin?’

  ‘Sorry, Eddy was out so I couldn’t get any. Look, Mum, you’ve had a little boy,’ Sarah said, holding out the baby.

  ‘Yeah, I know, you stupid cow. Who do you think cut the cord, eh, the bleedin’ stork? Now get him out of my sight.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘But … but I think he might be hungry … you need to feed him.’

  ‘I ain’t having that little bastard hanging off my tit. Get rid of him. I don’t want to see him again.’

  Sarah blinked, hardly able to take in what her mother was saying. ‘What do you mean? How can I get rid of him?’

  ‘I don’t know, sling him in the Thames or dump him in the park. Just get rid of it. I can’t afford another mouth to feed, not with you bleeding me dry.’

  With that, her mother turned her grubby body to the wall, leaving Sarah bereft. She gently rocked the baby in her arms, and Mrs Brown’s words came into her head again. She’d said her mother had murdered her last child. Maybe it was true, as she now wanted Sarah to do the same to this one.

  Chapter 2

  Sarah huddled on her mattress in the opposite corner of the room from her mother, and gently cooed at her brother in her arms. She’d wrapped a blanket around him now, but it hadn’t pacified his crying. Now she worried that his screams would wake her mother, who was snoring loudly, and she started tapping her finger and thumb together. ‘You’re hungry, little one. What are we going to do with you, eh?’ she whispered.

  Though it was early evening, Sarah hoped her mum would stay asleep, but knew that even if she did it would only be a short reprieve. All hell would break loose when she woke to find that Sarah hadn’t got rid of the baby. Still trying to hush her little brother, she rose to her feet and quietly left their flat, to walk along the corridor to knock on her best friend’s door. Jenny was thirteen, the same age as Sarah, in the same class at school, and Sarah inwardly prayed that as she was appealing for the baby, Jenny’s mother wouldn’t turn her away.

  ‘Hello, Jenny, I couldn’t ask a big favour, could I?’ Sarah pleaded when her friend opened the door. Jenny was short for her age, and her blonde hair and blue eyes gave her a baby-faced appearance, making her look much younger than Sarah.

  ‘What have you got there? Your mum had the baby then?’ Jenny asked as she craned her neck to peer into the bundle Sarah was holding.

  ‘Yeah, a little boy. Thing is, my mum’s worn out and she’s asleep, but I can’t stop this little blighter from crying. Could I cadge a bit of your mum’s formula and a bottle, only ’til the morning? I’ll bring it back, I swear.’

  ‘Come in, you can ask her yourself,’ Jenny replied and opened the door wider. ‘So what’s he called?’

  Sarah looked at her brother and it occurred to her he didn’t have a name. ‘Er … Tommy. His name’s Tommy Jepson.’

  ‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ Jenny said as they walked into the kitchen. ‘Mum, Mrs Jepson’s had her baby, a little boy called Tommy.’

  Jenny’s mum’s expression was stern, and four small faces peered at Sarah from around the kitchen table. The flat had the luxury of four rooms, but as Jenny had five siblings it still felt cramped and overcrowded, yet warm and cosy. If Jenny’s dad was home, Sarah wouldn’t have been invited in, but now, as she stood in the kitchen, she wished her flat was like her friend’s. It always smelled of freshly baked bread, unlike the damp smell that greeted Sarah in her flat.

  Sarah’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and she spied the tin bath under the kitchen workbench. She’d have loved to soak herself in hot water, but instead had to make do with a shivering strip wash at her small kitchen sink. Jenny was so lucky to have a dad, she thought, as her stomach grumbled at the sight of bowls of stew in front of the little faces sitting at the table.

  ‘Stop standing there gawping, girl. I suppose your mother’s sent you down here on the cadge for something?’ Mrs Turner said. She was a plump woman, and short like her daughter, but Sarah knew she ruled over her household and kept her brood in order.

  ‘Er … sorry, but Mum’s a bit poorly, and the baby needs feeding …’ Sarah nervously answered.

  ‘Poorly my arse! More like passed out drunk,’ Mrs Turner snapped.

  Sarah felt ashamed and lowered her head. Everyone on the estate knew her mother had a drinking problem, and they also knew she’d sell herself for a jug of beer or a bottle of gin.

  ‘I’m
sorry, love, it ain’t your fault,’ Mrs Turner said, her tone softening. ‘I can’t see the poor mite go hungry, but you tell your mother this is the last time I’ll help her out.’

  Sarah had found it hard to bring herself to ask for food, without the added degrading comments about her mother, but felt a surge of relief.

  ‘I don’t suppose your mum’s got anything in for the baby, has she?’

  ‘Erm … er … no, Mrs Turner, she hasn’t,’ Sarah answered, and could feel her cheeks burning red with discomfiture.

  ‘The woman’s a disgrace. I don’t know what she’d do without you. Jenny, get a bowl of stew for Sarah. I doubt you’ve had your tea, have you?’

  ‘I … er—’ Sarah said but was quickly interrupted.

  ‘No, I thought not. Jenny, take the baby while I sort out a few things for him. Bloody good job I’ve not long had one of my own!’

  Sarah took a seat at the large wooden table and ate hungrily, gratefully savouring every mouthful of the warm stew. She didn’t care that Jenny’s brothers and sisters were staring at her as she devoured the contents of the bowl, after all, she didn’t know how long it would be until her next meal.

  ‘He’s going to be a proper little heartbreaker when he grows up, the handsome little thing. He ain’t got your green eyes though, but you know babies’ eyes change colour. Blimey, though, he’s got a good pair of lungs on him!’ Jenny said, holding Tommy as she swayed from side to side. ‘I ain’t being funny, but is your mum going to be all right looking after him?’