Birmingham Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

herself, was, ‘Well, I suppose if you want to do anything else with your life it doesn’t really do to have children.’ Then she smiled and looked at Rose. ‘Cheer up. You don’t need to worry about it yet, do you? And you never know what might happen.’
    She stood up and said, ‘Come along, your mother will be getting worried. Shall I walk a little of the way with you?’
    Delighted, Rose felt her dark little hand being taken by Miss Whiteley’s soft pink one. The woman strolled along beside her, pointing out things on the way – a police car, a magpie, white clouds all piled up to one side of the sky – until they reached Catherine Street. Miss Whiteley leaned down and, to Rose’s astonishment, kissed her cheek before she said goodbye. Rose couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her a kiss. The walk had made the afternoon feel very warm and special.
    But when she got home her mother was tense and furious and snapping at everyone in sight. She’d hung her sheets across the yard as usual and the younger Pye and Donaghue children had been running muddy hands all through them and flicking water up from the puddles. She’d had to rinse and mangle the lot again, and as a result was behindhand with everything else.
    ‘Don’t tread on the floor!’ she shouted unreasonably as Rose stepped into the house. ‘Where the hell have you been? No – don’t tell me. Just get scraping these.’ She pointed to a pile of carrots. Grace, confined to a sheet of newspaper on the damp floor, had already started on the potatoes.
    Dora bustled about rearranging washing on the backs of chairs and over the frames of the mirror and their two pictures: one of Sid’s mom and dad and one of the king and queen.
    ‘I’ll make sure those little bleeders don’t get at it this time,’ she said. ‘Come on, set to it, Rose, and stop dreaming.’
    Rose picked up the peeling knife in silence and mulled over what Miss Whiteley had said. All I can do, she thought, is try as hard as I can. Try and try and try.

    That night, when she and Grace and the boys were in bed, Rose heard sounds coming from down in her mom and dad’s room. It wasn’t the strange, rhythmic noise she sometimes heard, with her mother gasping, and at the end of it a cry from her father as if he’d stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed. This time she knew it would end differently, because he’d been down the Catherine after raising a few coppers selling kindling.
    Sid turned to look at his wife as he undressed in their room on the middle floor. She was lying on her back, her face grey with fatigue. He could see clearly the lines that had appeared and deepened between her brows and round her mouth and he felt a moment of tenderness watching her there. Now she was able to rest she looked a little more like the lovely girl he’d courted and married, with her sheet of chestnut brown hair, thicker then and glossy, which he’d smoothed over his face during their lovemaking like a silk scarf.
    Remembering this, he wanted her. She’d be out working the next four nights and he’d have to sleep alone. He always felt sorry for himself when she was away at night. It seemed to reinforce his sense of helplessness.
    ‘Dora?’ He pulled himself over to her on the bed and leaned on his good arm. Suddenly he felt nervous, and then angry because of it. She was his wife, wasn’t she? He shouldn’t have to beg any favours.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. He put his mouth to hers, feeling how rough and dry her lips were. He felt himself harden gradually. In the old days he had only to look at her. This was the one thing he had left – that he could make her produce children.
    When she felt him moving against her, a wave of despair came over Dora. How could he do this when he knew she’d be up all the next night? But she always felt guilty when she refused him. It was the only thing which made him happy for a short time.
    ‘I need some sleep,’ she said without opening her