The Barefoot Child. Cathy Sharp

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СКАЧАТЬ to her ear, looking at Mary indignantly. ‘What was that for, Ma?’

      ‘You’re lyin’ to me or you’ve been doin’ somethin’ you shouldn’t,’ her mother said harshly. Her thin face was pale and her mouth was pursed in a bitter line. ‘I’ve told you not to ask for charity.’

      ‘I didn’t!’ Lucy protested, though she knew the butcher had been generous, partly because of her father and partly because Eric had told him she was his friend. ‘The butcher couldn’t sell these bits and he was packin’ up; they wouldn’t keep until Monday.’

      ‘I’m ill, not a fool,’ her mother said. ‘There’s plenty would buy these leg joints from him – but if he was packin’ up mebbe …’ She frowned. ‘That still doesn’t explain all these veg – and them oranges! It must have cost a shillin’ at least.’

      Lucy knew Eric had been too generous, but he liked her and he’d wanted to show it; however, she couldn’t tell her mother that, because she would immediately think that Lucy had let him touch her. Lucy knew it happened. She’d seen it often enough, a giggling girl and her chap in the shadows, and her mother was bound to think the worst, because she’d lectured Lucy about the dangers of letting men touch her, from the day she was ten.

      ‘I swear I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t like.’ Lucy crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I swear it on Pa’s memory.’

      Her mother’s eyes snapped at her angrily but she said nothing, just turned to take the bread she’d baked from the cupboard in the corner. It was a handsome mahogany piece and Lucy had noticed their neighbour look covetously at it when he’d first seen it. Lucy’s father had brought it home from one of his voyages abroad and she thought it must be worth a few pounds, but Ma would never sell it. They managed to pay the rent for their cottage and live on the money that she and Josh earned, though it was little enough, and none of them had had new clothes or shoes since Pa was lost.

      ‘You can start on the casserole,’ Mary Soames said, intimating that the discussion was over. ‘We’ll all have a piece of bread toasted with cheese when Josh gets back. It’s a treat and I haven’t tasted cheese in months!’

      Lucy turned away with a sigh. She’d hoped to make Josh cheese and pickles in bread for three days out of that cheese, and now it would be gone in one go. It wasn’t fair, because Josh had to work so hard and he brought every penny home. He didn’t like the penny dripping that Lucy bought from the butcher in Commercial Road, so often took just bread for his midday meal. Most men and boys spent at least half their wages on themselves, often on drink. Josh wasn’t old enough to go drinking after work and that cheese was meant to be his treat, but Lucy couldn’t defy her mother. Tears stung her eyes; she understood her mother was ill, but she longed for a warm smile or a loving touch.

      ‘I won’t wear them anymore,’ Kitty cried throwing the offending shoes at her sister later that evening. ‘They make blisters on my heels and they let water in!’

      Lucy saw the shoes were beyond repair. ‘I can’t afford to buy you a pair this week, Kitty,’ she said. ‘Will you not wear them until I have saved enough?’

      ‘Why should I?’ Kitty demanded, her mouth wobbling. ‘Pa would never have let me wear them knowing they hurt my feet.’

      Lucy knew her father would have sold something of his own to buy new shoes for his daughter. Lucy wracked her brain, but there was nothing she owned of any value. There was nothing she could do but sell her Sunday shoes to buy her sister a decent pair of boots. It would leave Lucy with just her working boots, which were stout and well-protected, with iron studs in the soles and heels, but she had saved her pennies for months to buy her Sunday shoes – yet she had no alternative for her mother said it was up to her as the wage earner to provide shoes for Kitty.

      Lucy took her shoes to the market in the fifteen minutes she was given for her lunch break the next day. She looked at the shoes on offer and saw a pair in red leather that were just Kitty’s size and red was Kitty’s favourite colour.

      ‘How much for those?’ she asked, pointing to the red shoes.

      ‘They’re fine shoes for a young lass,’ the man said eyeing her eagerly. ‘Hardly worn, they be, miss – and cheap at seven shillings the pair.’

      Lucy held her breath because it was so much money and she wasn’t sure he would give her as much for her own shoes. Yet perhaps he would hold them for her and Lucy could pay a few pennies a week until she had enough.

      Taking her own Sunday shoes from under her shawl, she showed them to the stallholder. ‘What will you give me for these?’ she asked. She had bought them six months earlier for five shillings from another stall and had had them repaired once.

      ‘Three and sixpence,’ the man said. ‘It’s a fair price. I doubt you’ll get more.’

      ‘I wanted to exchange them for the red ones – for my sister …’

      He laughed mockingly. ‘Think I’m a fool do yer – clear orf and don’t bother me until you can pay!’

      Lucy turned away, feeling the despair wash over her. Why did life have to be so hard?

      ‘Wait up!’ the man called after her and Lucy hesitated, turning back in dread for she feared what he might say. ‘I’ll take them shoes and the boots on yer feet – and you can have the shoes for another sixpence …’

      About to shake her head, Lucy remembered that there was a spare pair of her father’s working boots in the cupboard under the stairs. They would be miles too big for her, but she could stuff the toes with newspaper and they would do. She would not be the only girl at the factory to wear her father’s old boots.

      She bent down and unlaced her boots, handed them, her best shoes and the last sixpence from her purse, and took the red shoes, wrapping them in her shawl as she walked away. The cobbles were hard beneath her feet and small stones pricked at her, making her wince. She began to run home, knowing that she must find her father’s boots before she could return to work, because it would be too dangerous on the floor of the nail factory with bare feet.

      ‘Oh Lucy!’ Kitty swooped on her and kissed her when Lucy returned from work that night. ‘My shoes are lovely. They fit me perfectly, with a little room to grow in the toes.’

      ‘Good, I’m glad.’ Lucy sat down wearily. Her own feet hurt, because her toes had pressed against the newspaper all day and it was harder to work in the heavy boots that had once been her father’s. They were stout and protected Lucy’s feet from the discarded and broken metal on the floor of the nail factory, but the paper chaffed and her big toe was bloody under the nail. She would need to wear a pair of Pa’s old socks over her own in future to protect her feet.

      ‘Lucy, what’s for supper?’ her brother asked. ‘I’m hungry.’

      ‘It’s on the stove,’ Lucy’s mother said and looked at Lucy’s feet, shaking her head. ‘Where did you get those, Lucy?’

      ‘They were under the stairs,’ Lucy told her and wriggled her toes as she took them off. She would rather be barefooted than wear them except when she had to and as soon as she could she would buy some boots that fit her properly, but it would take her months to save for them.

      ‘Lucy – did you sell your boots to buy my shoes?’ Kitty’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked a little ashamed.

      ‘And СКАЧАТЬ