A Sister's War by Molly Green (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

will be the first Christmas I am left here on my own. There is not even the possibility to see P. All I have is your dog who I think misses you as much as I do.

Maman had gone on a bit longer before telling her she hoped she would have a nice Christmas with her new friends. Pierre would have been the perfect solution, Ronnie thought. But at least her mother would have Rusty. She closed her eyes, seeing his tail wagging and hearing his barks of excitement the minute he laid eyes on her. She choked back a sob, feeling the thin mattress harder than usual under her back and neck with the weight of her guilt and homesickness. She was alone in the world.

Should she have joined the others who were probably by now having a jolly time? She pictured the whole pub singing to May’s ukulele and shrugged. No one would want her around when she was in this mood.

What was that noise?

She jolted up, her heart beating hard.

Someone was on the roof! Who was it? Everyone had gone.

Ronnie reached for the poker, waiting, her blood pumping as the hatch slowly slid open.

She didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she breathed out her fear. A familiar face appeared in the hatchway.

‘Miss Dummitt! Thank goodness. I thought it was a burglar!’

‘No burglars out in this weather that’s enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey,’ Dora chuckled as she jumped down the last step. ‘But this in’t no place for a young girl alone on Christmas Eve neither, so I’ve come to take yer with me.’

‘Where?’

‘To have a bit o’ Christmas cheer with a family I know.’

‘I thought you didn’t bother about Christmas.’

‘Well, they do,’ Dora said. ‘There’re five kiddies … or rather six, now, with the new’un. Not forgettin’ Cobber the horse. So what d’ya say?’

‘Where do they live?’

‘On a boat, o’ course,’ Dora said impatiently. Then she grinned, showing the black gaps. ‘And if yer want to know where Cobber lives, he gets stabled at the pub opposite so’s he can enjoy a pint with the locals.’ She threw her head back and roared at Ronnie’s disbelieving expression. ‘We in’t far from them. Their boat’s the Princess Dolly.’ Her laughter faded as the word ‘Dolly’ seemed to tremble on her lips. She sniffed. ‘So no more yakkin’. Are yer comin’ with me, or not?’ Her dark eyes were as stern as ever. ‘If so, bring yer torch – much good as it does.’

Ronnie couldn’t help smiling. She stood and for the second time closed her book.

‘If they wouldn’t mind a stranger, I’d like to. Very much.’

By the weak torchlight Ronnie could make out the boat’s name, Princess Dolly, decorated with bunches of painted roses at either end. Inside, a baby howled and Ronnie could hear shouts and laughter from what sounded like several children. A man’s loud voice rose above the cacophony.

He sounded fierce. Immediately, Ronnie wished she hadn’t come. Whatever had she let herself in for? She’d been perfectly all right on her own, quietly with her book. As though Dora read her thoughts she said, ‘Don’t take no notice of him. He has ter make himself heard with that lot.’

Ronnie nodded and meekly followed Dora onto the deck.

‘Open up!’ Dora roared. ‘I’ve brought a visitor.’

The hatch instantly slid open and Dora pushed Ronnie through the space. A man’s arm steadied her onto the floor and she found herself crushed against him.

‘Thank you.’ She looked up at a broad, strong-featured man, so tall he had to bend his auburn head so as not to hit it on the ceiling, which was draped with coloured festive chains like the ones she and Raine and Suzy used to spend hours gluing together. She extricated herself from his grip and stepped backwards.

‘Ow,’ a small ginger-haired boy shrieked. ‘Yer hurt my foot, you did.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

There didn’t appear to be an inch of space anywhere. How Dora was going to fit in as well, heaven knew.

Dora burst through the hatch, grinning.

‘Leave the child be, Fred. She in’t used to real boat people.’

‘Sooner she be, the better.’ Fred looked at Ronnie. ‘Don’t say yer one of them wenches what takes the cargo up and down the cut without a man. You don’t look more’n a kiddie yerself.’

‘She’s one of ’em, all right,’ Dora said before Ronnie could answer. ‘And seein’ as she in’t fully learned yet, she’s not givin’ a bad hand.’

‘Wot’s yer name, missus?’ A little fair-haired girl, no more than three or four, put her arms round Ronnie’s legs.

‘It’s Ronnie.’

‘Can’t be.’ A boy of about nine muscled into the little group. ‘Ronnie in’t a girl’s name.’

‘I know,’ Ronnie smiled at him. This one had dark hair and eyes to match. ‘But when I was your age, I loved doing all the things boys did like climbing trees, going off on my bike, looking at birds’ nests …’

The boy nodded, regarding her with new respect.

‘Don’t bother the lady, Georgie.’ A plump woman came in through the door from the hold carrying a bucket of coal.

‘Dolly,’ Dora said, ‘this is Ver-ron-eek, one of my wenches. The youngest as yer can tell. She were on ’er own while the others went to the pub so I took pity on her.’

‘Pleased to meet yer.’ Dolly wiped her tanned hand on her snow-white apron, then held it out. ‘That’s a fancy name yer got.’

Even in that brief moment, Ronnie felt Dolly’s callouses. ‘Very pleased to meet you, too,’ she said. ‘And please call me Ronnie.’ The baby’s howl had softened to a whimper. ‘Congratulations, Mrs …’

‘We don’t stand on no cere-mony here,’ Dolly said, her dimpled face wreathed in smiles. ‘Dolly’ll do nicely.’

‘Dolly,’ Ronnie said, ‘congratulations on the new baby. May I see him – or is it a her?’

‘No need for congrattylations, dearie. She in’t mine. Her ma died borning her. Poor little scrap. So we took ’er in. You go ’n’ ’ave a peep while Fred’