The Throwaway Children (53 page)

She led the way into her office and seating herself behind her desk, looked across at Mrs Watson, her least favourite house-mother. Her least favourite, but, as Joe was always reminding her, her most efficient. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve come to give you my notice,’ Delia replied.

‘Your notice?’ Mrs Manton was startled. ‘What do you mean, “your notice”?’

‘Just what I say.’ Delia spoke calmly. ‘I’ve been offered another job, and I intend to accept.’

‘And what is this job?’ demanded Daphne. ‘Who would employ you? You have no qualifications.’

‘I only have to give you a week’s notice,’ Delia said, ignoring the superintendent’s rudeness, ‘and it starts today.’

Daphne Manton was extremely put out by this turn of events. She had already decided Mrs Watson should be the last house-mother to leave Laurel Farm, and now it was clear that Delia Watson had other plans. She glowered at her across the desk.

‘You must suit yourself,’ she said coldly. ‘I only hope you don’t live to regret it.’

‘I understand,’ Delia interposed, ‘there’s a small severance payment.’

‘There would be if we made you redundant,’ agreed Mrs Manton sourly. ‘But,’ her eyes gleamed with malice, ‘as you’re giving notice, that won’t apply.’

Delia was furious. She couldn’t afford to wait to be made redundant, she’d lose the job in Randwick. She had to seize this opportunity; it might be the only one. She had a little money saved out of her pittance as Larch’s house-mother; she’d have to live on that until she received her first pay cheque.

‘In that case,’ she returned, ‘I shall work out my notice and leave at the end of next week,’ and she stalked out of the office without another word.

That evening, as she supervised their tea, Delia looked at the eight girls still living in Larch as they sat round the table and knew a feeling of guilt. She was leaving, escaping from the miserable institution that was Laurel Farm, while these poor children were forced to stay here at the mercy of Daphne Manton. Since Daisy had gone, Rita had lost her spark. She clearly missed Daisy dreadfully. The two girls had been inseparable, each keeping the other afloat in the muddy waters of Laurel Farm. Delia hadn’t seen Rita as quiet as this for months. When Rosie had been taken, when her grandmother had died, each time Rita’d withdrawn into herself, but with Daisy staunchly beside her, her natural courage and determination had reasserted itself and she had gradually re-emerged and settled back into the familiar, if strict routine of Laurel Farm.

Delia had done her job as the ‘Watchdog’, and watched over all her charges, but particularly over Rita. She admired the girl’s courage. She encouraged her to work hard at school. A decent education would be a stepping stone out of the mire of an EVER-Care home to a much happier life.

‘If you go on working as you are now,’ Delia had told Rita, ‘you’ll pass your exams with flying colours and you’ll have lots of opportunities when you leave school.’

How will they all manage without me? Delia wondered as she watched them eating their tea. But in truth Rita was her particular concern.

I could always take her with me.

Where had that thought sprung from? As an idea it seemed to burst, fully formed, into her mind. Could I? Could I really take responsibility for her for the next seven years? Why not? You’ve got a job to go to and a house to live in. The Manton woman doesn’t want her here. The idea of leaving this dreadful place, taking Rita with her, filled Delia with a peculiar sort of exhilaration. What a commitment to take on, the fostering of a child; but not impossible given that she already loved that child. She’d never thought she could love another child since the death of her own son, but now she discovered Rita had crept, almost unnoticed, into her heart. Surely Rita’d want to go anywhere that took her away from Laurel Farm. But, Delia knew that she couldn’t ask her. If she so much as hinted at the possibility and then was unable to carry it through, poor Rita would have to cope with yet more disillusionment, another desertion, another apparent rejection. No, Delia decided, if she was going to do this, she must do it, officially, through Mrs Manton.

That night she lay in bed thinking of the obstacles Mrs Manton would surely put in her way. Children were only to be fostered by couples or families. It would be better for Rita… when had she ever cared about Rita?… to be brought up in an environment she was used to, with other children around her. Delia wouldn’t be able to support her on the wages she was to receive.

Delia found an answer for each difficulty. No couple or family had come forward to give Rita a home. She, Delia Watson, was doing so now. The child needed somewhere to go when Laurel Farm finally closed, and Delia was offering that somewhere. She was offering Rita a proper home and somehow they would manage on her money.

‘And,’ Delia spoke the words out loud, ‘there is no possibility that I shall fail. I will not allow that child to be brought low again.’

Next morning when the girls had gone to school, she marched back into the superintendent’s office.

‘I’d like another word with you, Mrs Manton,’ she said without preamble.

Mrs Manton looked up from the letter she was writing, startled at the intrusion. ‘Second thoughts, I suppose,’ she said tersely. She’d wondered if Mrs Watson might have them when she heard there would be no severance money. She had already decided not to accept a change of heart; she and Joe would keep the severance pay.

‘No,’ snapped Delia, ‘certainly not. I shall be gone by the end of next week, and I shall be taking Rita Stevens with me.’

‘Taking Rita Stevens?’ echoed Daphne Manton, incredulously. ‘Taking Rita Stevens where?’

‘I shall take her to live with me in Sydney.’ Delia had finally decided in the early hours of the morning that the way to handle this was to state her intention rather than ask permission. So, she spoke calmly but firmly. ‘I have a job to go to and a place to live. Rita needs a home and I intend to provide her with one.’

‘You can’t just—’ began the superintendent.

‘I can and I will,’ declared Delia. ‘We shall both leave Laurel Farm at the end of next week, and you need never think of either of us again. EVER-Care will have discharged its responsibility towards the child by ensuring her a loving home to go to, and I will provide that loving home.’

‘The state authorities may have something to say about this,’ said Mrs Manton sourly.

‘If you handle this properly, the state authorities will be delighted to have one less child on their books,’ replied Delia. ‘All I require is for you to sign the requisite forms, entrusting Rita to me as her foster mother. Of course she’ll be a ward of state, but I’ll be her day to day guardian. You’ve already done this for at least four other children. There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t do the same for Rita.’

‘And if it all goes wrong?’

‘It won’t,’ said Delia. ‘I won’t let it.’

The two women regarded each other for a long moment, then Daphne Manton shrugged. ‘If you really want her, take her,’ she said dismissively. ‘Let’s hope you’re not making a big mistake. I will not take her back.’

‘I have no intention of sending her back.’

‘Have you talked to Rita about this?’

‘No, not yet,’ admitted Delia.

‘Supposing she doesn’t want to go with you. Have you thought of that?’

‘Of course I have,’ returned Delia. ‘It’ll be her decision, but let’s face it, Mrs Manton, what child in her right mind wouldn’t want to get out of this hell-hole?’

For a moment Delia thought she’d said too much. Daphne Manton’s pinched face took on a vicious look, the twin spots of colour reappearing on her cheeks. This time, however, Delia did not smile; her own eyes met and held the superintendent’s, challenging and defiant… and the battle had been won.

When Rita came home from school that afternoon, she was on her way out to work in the farm garden with the other girls, but Delia called her aside.

‘Rita,’ she’d said when they were safe from inquisitive ears, ‘can you keep a secret?’

‘Yes, miss,’ Rita answered, round-eyed. ‘What secret?’

‘I’m leaving Laurel Farm next week,’ began Delia and as the colour drained from Rita’s face, she hurried on, ‘and I’m taking you with me.’

Rita stared at her. ‘Me, miss? But where are we going?’

‘Sydney,’ replied Delia. ‘We’re going to live in Sydney.’

‘Live in Sydney?’ repeated the child. ‘For a holiday, miss? When are we coming back?’

‘Never!’ answered Delia firmly. ‘Never, never, never.’

Rita gazed at her in silence, and Delia went on, ‘I’ve got a new job and a little house to live in, and I thought you might like to come and live in it with me.’

‘Just me, miss? What about the others?’

‘I’m afraid there isn’t room for the others,’ explained Delia, ‘so it’ll be just us, you and me. Would you like that, Rita?’

The colour had flooded back into the little girl’s cheeks and her eyes sparkled. ‘You mean it, miss?’ she breathed, not daring to believe. ‘You really mean it?’

‘I really mean it,’ Delia assured her. ‘I’ll be working at a nursery, and you’ll go to a new school.’

‘And never come back here?’

‘Never, I promise you.’

Rita’s reaction had brought tears to Delia’s eyes and she swore then that she would never, never let her new daughter down.

They had left Laurel Farm, as arranged, at the end of the following week, carrying all their worldly possessions in two suitcases. Delia had retrieved the rose-patterned dress from the common clothes cupboard and tucked it into her own suitcase. Apart from Rita’s picture of her father, the letter from her grandmother and an extremely battered-looking Knitty, Delia knew it was the only link Rita had with her life in England.

On the day they were leaving, Delia went to the office to collect the necessary paperwork, checking the forms carefully to ensure that they were correct.

‘Thank you for sorting this out,’ she said, managing to smile at her ex-boss. ‘But there is just one more thing I wanted to ask you before we go.’

Daphne Manton raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘Please will you give me the name and address of the couple who adopted Rosie, Rita’s little sister?’

‘No,’ answered Mrs Manton. ‘I will not.’

‘But surely it can do no harm now?’ pleaded Delia. ‘Just to know the name, so that maybe, one day, Rita can find her.’

‘She is nothing to do with Rita,’ snapped the superintendent. ‘All Rita has now is you, and I wish her joy of you.’

‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself, Daphne Manton,’ exploded Delia. ‘I don’t know how you can face yourself in the mirror. You’re a callous, cruel, mean-minded old woman, and I hope you rot in hell!’ And leaving Daphne Manton spluttering with rage, Delia stalked out of the door.

Daisy Smart jumped off the bus and walked the last two blocks to the hostel where she had a room. She had just spent the day with Rita, who now lived with Mrs Watson in Randwick. Daisy thought Rita extremely lucky to be living in a proper home, but she didn’t begrudge her luck. Somehow, Daisy felt, it was due to her. Rita had always had more courage than Daisy, to stand up for herself and Rosie. Since Rosie had been adopted, Daisy and Rita had become inseparable, until Laurel Farm closed and Daisy was sent to a children’s home outside Sydney. Even then Rita had not abandoned her friend. As soon as she and Mrs Watson moved into the little house in Randwick, she’d insisted that they visit Daisy and take her out for the day.

‘I wish she could come and live with us,’ she said, pleading in her voice.

‘I know you do, darling,’ Delia Watson replied, ‘but not only do we not have enough room for her,’ she raised a hand to cut off Rita’s protest that she and Daisy could share the tiny bedroom that was hers, ‘but I really can’t afford to keep her. You know how careful we have to be with our money.’

Rita did know and sadly, she let her protest lapse. She knew how incredibly lucky she was to have a legal foster mother to live with instead of being moved to yet another children’s home like poor Daisy.

‘I know, Deeley,’ she sighed, ‘but I feel so sorry for poor Dais stuck in that awful place.’

The day they walked out of Laurel Farm, Delia had taken Rita’s hand and said, ‘Since you are now officially my foster daughter, I don’t think you can call me Mrs Watson any more, do you?’

Rita looked at her in surprise. ‘What shall I call you then? We used to call you the Watchdog, Dais and me.’

Delia laughed. ‘I know you did, but I don’t think you can call me that either. My name is Delia. I know you won’t want to call me Mum or Mother, but what about Aunt Delia?’

‘Aunt Deeley,’ repeated Rita, tripping over the unfamiliar name.

‘Deeley,’ cried Delia. ‘I like that. Call me Deeley.’

Rita had been enrolled in the local school as Rita Stevens, but she was proud to be known as Deeley’s daughter.

Once a month on a Saturday, they took the train together and rescued Daisy from the grim institution where she lived. They took a picnic and went to the beach, played in the woods or went to the cinema. When Rita turned thirteen, Deeley let her go by herself and despite their different circumstances the two girls remained firm friends. At fifteen Daisy left school. She had to stay in the home until she was sixteen, but with more freedom and a little cash of her own in her pocket.

Rita stayed on at school until she graduated and was able to go to teacher training college, but they continued to meet on Saturdays.

As soon as she was allowed to, Daisy left the home and moved into Sydney.

‘Where will you live?’ Rita asked when Daisy told her of her plans.

Daisy shrugged. ‘Dunno, I’ll find somewhere. An ’ostel or somefink.’

She found a room in a girls’ hostel in Kings Cross.

‘Not a very salubrious area,’ Deeley remarked doubtfully when she heard.

‘It’s all she can afford,’ Rita pointed out. ‘And at least she can come and go as she likes. She’s got a new job at Woolworths, so she’s got her own money.’ Which is more than I have, she added silently. Rita didn’t envy Daisy her new freedom, it had been long enough coming, but she did envy her the small wages she took home each week. Deeley’s tiny income was stretched to the limit to allow Rita to stay on at school rather than get a job and bring in a regular wage, as Rita suggested she should.