The Throwaway Children (33 page)

When Rita remained silent, her face mutinous, Mrs Watson said, ‘You do see that, Rita, I know you do. You’re not stupid. You’re nine years old, and you know how things work. You think it’s not fair? Well maybe it isn’t, but then life isn’t fair and the sooner you learn that lesson the better.’ She waited and Rita gave a reluctant nod.

‘So you know that Rosie has a chance today that she may never get again. These people want a daughter and they’ve chosen Rosie. She’s still your sister, and it doesn’t make her any less so, you know.’

‘You should’ve seen them, miss,’ Rita said. ‘They walked round us all like we was animals at some market. They looked us up and down and then, bang, pointed to Rosie and said “we’ll have that one” like they was buying a dog.’

‘I expect she was just the little girl they were looking for. They’ll be longing to take her to her new home.’

‘But I shan’t see her,’ blurted out Rita. ‘I shan’t know she’s all right. Gran said to look after her.’

‘And you have, haven’t you?’

‘But if she’s took by these people, I won’t see her no more. They ain’t gonna let me near her.’ Rita fought to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘She’s only five!’ she cried, ‘She’s only little… she needs me.’ For a moment she buried her face into the comforting woollen body of Knitty.

Mrs Watson’s life had not been easy, she’d battled her way through her early years, and having escaped from an abusive family, borne and lost a child of her own, she had assumed the title of ‘Mrs’ and applied for the job she now held in the hope of getting her life back together. She did not suffer fools gladly and had no time for tears and regrets, but even she was touched by the depth of pain she heard now in Rita’s voice.

‘I’m sure she’ll be well looked after, Rita,’ she said gently. ‘And who knows, you may be able to visit her in her new home, if she doesn’t live too far away.’

‘They ain’t going to let me anywhere near her,’ Rita said bitterly.

‘Well,’ Mrs Watson said briskly, ‘you’re much more likely to be allowed to visit her if you don’t make a fuss about her going.’

Rita raised her eyes to the house-mother’s face, a look of scorn suffusing her own. ‘You don’t believe that,’ she said, ‘an’ if you do, you’re just plain stupid.’

‘Rita, that’s quite enough.’

‘Yeah, it is,’ Rita agreed and getting to her feet she walked to the door.

‘And where do you think you’re going?’ demanded Mrs Watson.

‘To say goodbye to Rosie,’ replied Rita. ‘I been in here too long.’

With Knitty cuddled against her, she walked round to the main gate. A car was still parked outside, but no one was there. Rita sat down, her back against the wall, to wait.

It was nearly half an hour later when she heard voices and people approaching down the path. She got to her feet and turned to confront the group coming towards her.

Mrs Manton was leading the way, talking to the man. The woman followed with Rosie, holding her firmly by the hand. Rosie was hanging back, dragging her feet, and Rita could see that her face was blotched with tears. As Rita emerged from behind the wall, Mrs Manton stopped in her tracks, her face like thunder. Rosie saw her at the same moment and with a jerk broke free of the woman’s hold and hurtled towards her, screaming, ‘Reet! Reet! I want to stay with you.’

She flung herself against her sister, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Rita held her fiercely in her arms, looking over her head at the three adults who now strode towards her.

‘Rita!’ roared Mrs Manton. ‘What do you think you’re doing here?’ She reached out to pull Rosie away, but Rita’s arms tightened round her sister, and she faced the superintendent, defiance in every line of her body.

‘You said I could say goodbye to Rosie properly,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’m doing.’ She looked down at Rosie, still clinging to her. ‘I’ve brought you Knitty,’ she said, giving her the knitted bear. Rosie hugged Knitty to her, but she didn’t let go of Rita.

‘What a disgusting looking creature!’ The woman was beside them now and she wrinkled her nose. ‘I can smell him from here! We’re not taking
that
with us.’

‘But she loves him,’ Rita spoke matter-of-factly. She could see that they’d brought nothing with them to the car, and she said, ‘It’s all she’s got to remind her of home, that and her dress.’

‘Made from curtains,’ sniffed the woman. ‘She won’t be wearing any more clothes that are made from curtains, I can tell you!’

‘That’s enough from you, Rita Stevens,’ snarled Mrs Manton. ‘You’ve seen your sister, now you can go straight back to your cottage. I’ll deal with you later.’

‘Don’t go, Reet,’ begged Rosie. ‘Don’t go.’

‘Now then, Rose, that’s enough from you too,’ snapped the superintendent. ‘You’re going to go with this nice lady and gentleman.’

‘And have pretty dresses, just like we told you,’ added the woman, reaching down to take her hand again.

‘I don’t want pretty dresses,’ cried Rosie, the tears starting to flow again. ‘I want to stay with Reet.’

‘Come along, now.’ It was the man this time. He’d obviously had enough of female tears. Without warning he scooped the little girl up and carried her to the car. Rosie kicked and screamed all the way, dropping Knitty in the process.

Rita ran forward to pick him up, but by the time she had him safe, Rosie was in the back of the car and the woman was sliding in beside her. The man hurried round to the driver’s side and started the engine. Rita ran to the car, holding out Knitty, but the windows were closed, and she could only peer in for one last glimpse of her sister who was screaming now, held firmly in the woman’s arms as she squirmed to get free. The car began to move, and Rita had to jump clear as the wheels spun in the dust and the car gathered speed. She stood for a long moment, watching the car disappear down the dirt road that led to the town. Rosie had gone and the only thing that connected them now was a tired and grubby-looking knitted teddy, which Rita still clutched in her arms.

A sudden heavy hand fell on her shoulder. ‘As for you, young lady,’ hissed Mrs Manton, ‘you’ve disgraced us all. Your sister was going along quite happily until she saw you here. I will not tolerate such disobedience, and you will be punished. Go back to your cottage, sit on your bed and wait for me there.’ She spun Rita round, her expression icy as she looked into the girl’s mutinous face. ‘And you can take that look off your face,’ she snapped. ‘It’s time you learned to do as you’re told.’ She let go, but when Rita didn’t move she dealt her a stinging slap, saying, her fury barely controlled, ‘Go back to the cottage.’

Rita’s hand flew to her cheek, and then without a word she turned and still clutching Knitty, stumbled back to Oak.

On reaching the cottage, Rita hurried to her dorm, pulled the photo of Daddy out from under her blouse and slid it back into the journal under her mattress. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her, but she was determined to keep her photo hidden.

A pair of grey overalls lay on her bed. Rita stared at them for a moment before opening her locker. Just like Daisy, all she found was a pair of knickers and her nightdress. All the clothes she’d been given on leaving Laurel House had disappeared. They had taken everything she had, including her rose-patterned dress, and she suddenly realized that if they saw Knitty, he would vanish as well. There was nowhere to hide him and she knew with a cold certainty that when Mrs Manton came to her, Knitty would be destroyed. ‘Oh, Knitty!’ she murmured. Nowhere seemed safe. Then she had an idea and hurried to the lavatories. She pulled the chain and as the toilet flushed, she stood on the seat, looking up to the rusty cistern above. It was old and had no top to it, and the water hissed softly as it began to refill. Standing on tip-toe, Rita reached up and tipped Knitty into the cistern.

He’ll be very wet, Rita thought, and he’ll be difficult to get out again, but at least he’s safe for now. She clambered down from the seat and flushed the lavatory again… it still seemed to work… and she went back to the dorm.

Sitting on her bed, awaiting her punishment, made her think of the Hawk and the punishments she’d dished out at Laurel House. Was she going to get the same again from Mrs Manton? she wondered. She hardly cared as she thought, despairingly, of Rosie being carried off, screaming, in the back of the car to… who knew where? Little Rosie, usually so sunny-tempered, who just wanted people to love her, now frightened and alone in a new place with new people… and no one to comfort her, not even her beloved Knitty. Rita knew now that she would never see Rosie again.

‘I did my best, Gran,’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘I did my best.’ And she sat on her bed, awaiting retribution for doing her best.

The retribution was swift and cruel, but it wasn’t Mrs Manton who administered it; that she left to Mrs Garfield. While Rita had been waiting in the dormitory, the superintendent paid a visit to the house-mother. Mrs Manton disliked Mrs Garfield, she thought her a slut, and a toper, but she knew that she stood no nonsense, and could be relied upon to bring mutinous girls to heel.

‘Rita’s a rebellious girl,’ she said, as she sat in Mrs Garfield’s squalid sitting room. ‘I won’t have such disobedience. Please deal with her as you think fit. I leave the punishment up to you, but I will not tolerate a repeat of how she behaved today.’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Manton, I’ll deal with her,’ replied Mrs Garfield. ‘I’d already marked her down as a trouble-maker, but I can assure you she won’t cause any more.’

Rita didn’t have to sit in the dormitory for long. Within a few minutes she heard footsteps in the corridor, and she braced herself for whatever was to come. She was surprised it was Mrs Garfield who appeared, not Mrs Manton.

‘Ah, there you are, you wicked, selfish girl.’ Ma Gar’s eyes gleamed malevolently as she stood over the child sitting on the bed. ‘Trying to come between your sister and a lovely new home. Jealous, I suppose!’

‘No—’ began Rita, but Mrs Garfield cut her off.

‘Keep silence,’ she hissed. ‘You were told to come back here. Did you? No! You were
not
told to lie in wait outside the gates and cause trouble! Did you? Yes! Stand up!’

Rita stood, her eyes downcast.

‘You’re an ungrateful, disobedient girl.’ The house-mother spoke softly and her icy voice slithered round Rita, making her shudder. ‘Mrs Manton has asked me to deal with you. She has no time to waste on disruptive girls like you. You’re going to learn that she will not be disobeyed or defied. And I am going to be the one to teach you.’ She paused, looking Rita up and down and waiting for some reaction. There was none. Rita, determined not to cry, stood rigid, her expression blank.

‘Get changed!’ snapped Mrs Garfield. ‘Put your overalls on.’ She stood, hands on hips, as Rita took off her white blouse and tartan pinafore, and put on the grey, weekend overalls.

‘Take off your shoes. From now on you only wear them for school and church.’

Rita did as she was told, placing both shoes and her socks in her locker. She stood, barefoot, and waited.

‘Now, you can come with me.’ Ma Gar turned on her heel and led the way out of the dormitory and along the passage. When she stopped at the kitchen door, Rita felt a wave of relief flood through her. She was going to be given extra kitchen chores as a punishment. She could cope with that.

Mrs Garfield opened the door and nodded to Rita to go in. There were two girls, whose names Rita didn’t yet know, working at the kitchen table, making sandwiches for the midday meal. They fell silent as Mrs Garfield took hold of Rita’s arm and marched her to the cellar door. Still maintaining a tight grip on Rita’s wrist, she pulled the door open and giving Rita a push, said, ‘Down there.’

Rita had to grab at the door frame to stop herself from falling. ‘What do you want me to fetch?’ she asked, still thinking she was going to be given extra chores.

‘Fetch?’ Mrs Garfield gave a snort. ‘Nothing. You’ll stay down there until
I
say you can come out again.’

Rita looked down the steps to the gloom of the cellar below, remembered the rats and with a rush of panic turned round to face her tormentor. Mrs Garfield took a menacing step towards her, and Rita took an involuntary step backwards onto the top stair. As she did so, the house-mother slammed the door shut in her face, and Rita heard the heavy bolt sliding home. For a moment she was gripped by a silent terror; panic rose inside her at being shut into this dank, dark place, alone with the rats, and then she began to scream, banging her fists on the solid door, but it remained shut.

After a while Rita stopped hammering and sank down on the step, her fist crammed into her mouth. ‘I will not cry!’ she said through her teeth as she fought down the panic. ‘You will not make me cry!’

She sat on the top step, eyes closed, hands balled into fists, rocking back and forth, drawing deep, slow breaths until, gradually, she grew calmer and her heart beat a little more slowly. How long she sat there she didn’t know, but after a while she opened her eyes and, as they grew accustomed to the gloom, she looked around her. She thought back to the previous day; there had been no electric light in the cellar, but there had been a window which allowed a little daylight to filter through.

No point in sitting here, Rita told herself, that cow ain’t going to open the door for ages yet. Calling Mrs Garfield a cow, out loud, seemed to give her courage and she began to shout, ‘Cow! Cow! Cow!’

Holding firmly to the handrail, she made her way down the steps to the cellar below. A blade of sunlight stabbed its way through the dirty window, a pale shaft of yellow, dancing with dust motes, bringing an illusion of warmth into the chilly air. Rita made her way carefully round the cellar. Among the pile of old furniture she found a wooden stool and, dragging it over to the window, she clambered onto it and peered out through the filthy glass. The garden beyond was flooded with sunlight, bathing the rows of vegetables in bright spring light. Because the window was at ground level, Rita could see nothing more of the garden, but she could hear voices, and occasionally she saw the bare feet of the girls working outside. She tapped on the glass, but got no response; either they didn’t hear her, or they knew better than to react.