Clover Moon Read online

  I sat down on the step, wondering where I could go. I longed to take refuge with Mr Dolly, but Mildred and Pa would guess I’d gone there. They’d come after me and drag me home – and hurl abuse at poor Mr Dolly too. I couldn’t do that to him.

  I could try and get a job on one of the market stalls, but they’d find me there too. I’d have to go further, where no one knew me. How would I earn enough for my keep? I knew that thousands of children younger than me managed to scrape a few pennies together each day by selling flowers or matches. If they didn’t have proper beds to go to at night they curled up in doorways, with sacking for blankets. I’d seen them myself and pitied them.

  I’d also heard lurid tales of what could happen to these children. Whenever I particularly annoyed her Mildred said I’d go to the bad. I didn’t want to be bad. I wanted to be good. I simply wanted a different life. But if I ran away from home I’d be destitute.

  Miss Sarah Smith’s Home for Destitute Girls!

  Mr Rivers’s words suddenly echoed in my head. I sat there, hugging my knees. I could walk there right this minute. My heart beat hard beneath the black cotton of my dress.

  ‘Clover? What you pulling that funny face for?’ Richie called.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Aren’t you playing? You’re tops at hopscotch,’ he said, sitting beside me.

  ‘I can’t, not in these boots. I don’t want to spoil them,’ I said.

  ‘Take ’em off then. And all that other stiff black stuff. You don’t look like you any more,’ said Richie.

  ‘If I do then Mildred will snatch the lot and take it up to Monmouth Street where all the second-hand clothes shops are. I’m keeping everything on, thanks very much! Here, give us that chalk and I’ll draw you a picture on the paving stones.’

  If I really was going to make a run for it I wanted to play with the children first and leave them with a happy memory of me.

  First I drew a big animal with a wolfish grin and a wagging tail because I knew that Richie was desperate for a dog of his own.

  ‘Oh, I love him! He’s mine, isn’t he, Clover?’ he said.

  ‘No, he’s my dog and I’m calling him Tiger,’ said Pete.

  ‘You can’t call a dog Tiger, daftie! He’s mine and he’s called Savage, and he’ll bite all the other dogs but he’ll lick me,’ said Richie.

  ‘I don’t like dogs,’ said Mary. ‘They bark and they hurt you.’

  ‘I know what you like,’ I said. I drew a big plate of buns – cream buns and cherry buns and iced buns.

  ‘Oh, buns!’ said Mary, laughing as she recognized them. She reached out and pretended to pick one off the plate. ‘Yum yum, all mine!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mary – you can’t eat chalk buns,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Shall I draw something for you, Jenny?’ I asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I’m busy with Bert,’ she said, holding him up so that just the tips of his toes touched the ground. ‘Come on, Bertie, walk for Jenny!’

  Bertie kicked his legs in the air but let his knees buckle whenever Jenny lowered him.

  I drew a girl with long curly hair a little like Jenny’s, wearing a fancy dress and a hat with flowers.

  ‘Yes, I want a dress and a hat just like that,’ said Jenny, smiling in spite of herself.

  ‘I want one too,’ said Mary, still munching pretend buns. ‘But I want it all pretty colours, not black like yours, Clover.’

  ‘Yes, but mine’s black for Megs’s funeral,’ I said.

  ‘Was it very sad?’ said Jenny.

  ‘Yes, dreadfully,’ I said.

  ‘Did you see her go up to Heaven?’ asked Mary.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Did you see her dead in her coffin? What did she look like? Did she turn into a skellyton?’ asked Pete.

  ‘Stop it. No!’

  ‘But she’s in the ground now, isn’t she? That’s what buried means, isn’t it?’ said Richie.

  ‘I’m not being buried ever,’ said Mary. ‘I wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just like being tucked up in bed at night,’ I said. ‘Let’s think about Megs like that.’

  ‘I don’t want to think about her at all, not if she’s a skellyton – she’ll frighten me,’ said Pete.

  ‘I keep telling you, she’s not a skeleton,’ I said. ‘Think of her in a nice clean nightgown, her hair brushed, her eyes closed, a little smile on her face because she’s having a happy dream.’

  I tried desperately hard to conjure up this picture of Megs too. I imagined kissing her. Then I gave each of my siblings a real kiss.

  The boys grimaced and rubbed their cheeks but I knew they didn’t really mind. Mary smiled and gave me a rather wet kiss back.

  Jenny kissed me warmly. ‘Do you want to hold Bert now?’ she offered.

  ‘Just for a minute.’

  ‘Here, Bert, go to Clover.’

  I took him, and this time he didn’t wail. He grinned at me too, dribbling down his chin. ‘Co-va,’ he said. ‘Co-va! Co-va!’

  ‘Oh, Clover, he’s saying your name!’ said Jenny.

  ‘Yes, he is! Oh, Bert, bless you! Clever boy! I’m your Clover. Don’t forget me, will you? Clover!’

  ‘Co-va!’ Bert repeated.

  I gave him one last kiss and squeeze and then set him back on Jenny’s lap. ‘Bye then,’ I said softly.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Oh, just for a walk,’ I said.

  ‘You’d better not go back to Mr Dolly’s. Ma will beat you if you do,’ she warned.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going there,’ I said. I gave them a little wave.

  ‘You won’t be long, will you?’ Mary asked, helping herself to another pretend bun.

  ‘I might be quite a while,’ I said, and then I started walking quickly away.

  I heard them calling after me but I didn’t look back, or I knew I’d weaken. I hurried down the alley.

  Old Ma Robinson was sitting on an upturned orange crate, smoking her pipe. She waved to me. ‘Well, don’t you look a little Miss Fancy Pants,’ she said, chuckling.

  I ignored her – but then Peg-leg Jack caught hold of me. He was only just out of bed, smelling strongly of sleep and last night’s beer, his hair tousled and his eyes barely focusing – but they filled with tears at the sight of me.

  ‘My Lord, it was your little sister’s funeral today,’ he said, looking me up and down. ‘I meant to go and pay my respects. Dear little kiddie, though she would never say boo to a goose. You’ll be feeling bereft without her.’

  ‘I am, oh, I am,’ I said, wondering that the only person who seemed to understand and show true sympathy was this drunken old sot.

  ‘Bless you, dear. Well, may the little one rest in peace. I shall drink to her today. Little . . . what was she called now – Peg?’

  ‘Megs. Her name was Margaret Anna, but we all called her Megs, Mr Jack,’ I said. ‘Thank you for asking after her.’

  I detached myself gently from his grasp and got to the end of the alley. I heard the high thin voice of Jimmy Wheels behind me and the grind of his wheels on the cobbles, but I didn’t hang around to speak to him in case Mildred was up again and looking for me.

  I was halfway along Winding Lane, walking quickly, when I heard Jimmy’s voice again, and a rush of wheels. There he was, bowling along like the wind, a small parcel balanced on his board.

  ‘Lord’s sake, Clover, are you deaf?’ he yelled.

  I stood still so he could catch me up.

  ‘Where are you off to in all your black finery?’ he asked breathlessly, rearing up as far as he could to see the expression on my face. ‘Are you going to see Mr Dolly?’

  ‘I daren’t. Mildred’s threatened me,’ I said.

  ‘She’s a right one, your stepma. So, where are you going then?’ he demanded, his face pink from hurrying, though his hands were black from bowling himself along the grimy streets.

  ‘I – I just thought I’d take a walk. Get a bit of fres