Free Ragamuffin Angel by Rita Bradshaw Page A

She wished she could talk to her mam or her grandma about it but somehow she knew she mustn’t. It would only make their quiet fighting worse if she said anything; her grandma knew she was still upset about it, and her mam had been different since that night. She couldn’t say anything to her mam. But once she was back at school she’d go to confession and tell Father Hedley. Aye, that’s what she’d do.  
    ‘Connie?’ Her mam’s arm across her small chest brought her to a halt. They were standing on the pavement in front of one of the neat thin gardens now, and unlike most of its neighbours – which were quite devoid of snow – this one still had a remnant left here and there. ‘I want you to stand here with Larry – put him down now, that’s it – an’ say nothin’, you understand me? Not a word, mind.’  
    ‘All right, Mam.’ Connie felt a little hurt. Her mam had talked as though she was telling her off about something, she thought a mite resentfully, as she watched Sadie pick her way carefully down the path to the front door and knock twice with the brass knocker.  
    After what seemed like a long time to Connie, her mother knocked again, and then, after another wait, a third time.  
    ‘Who is it you’re wanting?’  
    Connie saw the next door neighbour’s head emerge from the bedroom window but Sadie didn’t answer at first. And then Connie saw her mother straighten and answer, very evenly, ‘Mr an’ Mrs Jacob Owen. I understand they live at this address?’  
    ‘Not any more, lass.’ The woman peered down at Sadie, her gaze moving to the children at the gate and then back again before she said, ‘Who is it that’s enquiring?’  
    With a touch of asperity Sadie replied, ‘A friend of the family. I understand Mr Owen was involved in some kind of accident recently.’  
    ‘Aye, that’s right. Nasty it was. The poor devil’ll never be any use again, that’s what my Cecil says.’  
    ‘Really.’  
    Connie wriggled a little. She didn’t like it when her mother spoke in that cool thin tone, and she could tell the neighbour didn’t like it either when she said, ‘I’m surprised, if you’re a friend of the family, that you expected to find them here anyway. Mrs Owen’s been staying with her mam since the accident and when he come out of hospital that’s where he went. Didn’t no one tell you?’ The woman’s tone was tart.  
    There was a longer pause this time and then Sadie said, ‘No, no one told me.’  
    ‘Aye, well that’s where you’ll find them. Ryhope Road, you know it? The Stewarts have got a right canny house just down from Backhouse Park. Big stone place it is, with pillars either side of the front door. It’s nowt but ten minutes or so.’  
    ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’  
    Her mother’s back was very straight when she turned and walked up to the pavement, and she bent and lifted Larry into the crook of one arm before taking Connie’s hand in a firm grip. They didn’t pause in their brisk walk, not even when they entered Mowbray Road, and it wasn’t until they had reached Ryhope Road that Sadie suddenly leant against the high stone wall that bordered this very pleasant, affluent street and set Larry on his feet. There were huge trees bordering all the gardens; in some places they reached over the road on both sides forming an arch, and Connie was just thinking this must be a very nice road to live in when she noticed her mother’s face. ‘You all right, Mam?’  
    Sadie had her hand pressed to her chest and her face was white, and it was a moment or two before she said, ‘Aye, I’m all right, hinny, but hold Larry a while, would you, lass.’  
    They passed the gatehouse to Backhouse Park and within a few minutes were looking through substantial wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall at the house the neighbour had described. The house was not the largest in Ryhope Road, nor did it possess a great deal of land, but it stood aloof