Free Secrets by Lesley Pearse Page B

Amen.’
    The chorus of ‘Amen’ came with the scrape of chairs being pulled out again. ‘Pass the bread, Beryl,’ Mrs Makepeace ordered.
    The mountain of bread spread thinly with margarine disappeared at the speed of light. Adele learned that the first two pieces had to be eaten plain, then on the third they could have jam. There was no fourth slice as it had all gone. The tea was watery, without sugar, and the final item was a small slice of cake which looked a little like bread pudding, but had no real flavour and the sultanas were very sparse.
    For Adele it was enough, for Miss Sutch had given her an apple and a chocolate biscuit on the train journey. But she thought the other children were still hungry for they’d polished off their piece of cake even before she began hers, and kept looking at hers as if hoping she’d leave it on her plate.
    They were all very quiet. Every now and then Mrs Makepeace would ask one a question and it was answered, but there was no conversation aside from that.
    Despite its size, the kitchen had a homely quality, heated by the cooking range. A huge dresser took up one wall and it was crammed with china, ornaments and tin boxes. A wooden rack hung from the ceiling festooned with drying or airing clothes. There were pictures of royalty, animals and flowers cut from magazines stuck up on the pale green walls, plants on the window-sill and an enormous tabby cat asleep on an easy chair by the stove.
    Grace was said again after tea, then Freda, Jack and Beryl, the oldest children, were told to remain behind to wash up, while Janice was told to take Adele and the others to the playroom.
    ‘You won’t start your duties till tomorrow,’ Mrs Makepeace said to Adele. ‘Beryl will explain all that to you later when she shows you your bed. So run along and get to know the little ones now.’
    Janice, who was to inform Adele later that she was eight, wiped baby Mary’s face and hands with a dish cloth, then, straddling her on her hip, led the way to the playroom, followed by the others in a crocodile. A small hand reached up for Adele’s and when she looked down she saw it was Susan, the second to youngest, who was about three. She had a squint, and straggly, thin fair hair, and her little hand felt very rough; when Adele looked at it later she found it was scaly and sore.
    The playroom was warm too. There was a coal fire behind a big fire-guard, and like the kitchen it had a well-worn appearance. A vast, dilapidated couch sat by the fire and there were several other equally shabby armchairs, a big table with a half-completed jigsaw on it, and several boxes of comics, books and toys.
    It was nicer than Adele had expected, and through the large French windows was the garden, complete with a swing. The rain made it look dreary, but to Adele who had never had a garden to go into, it was lovely. She was also pleased that most of the other children were little. Susan was still clinging to her hand and it made her feel really welcome.
    ‘Where’ve you come from?’ Janice asked, sitting down by the fire with Mary on her lap.
    ‘London,’ Adele replied, sitting down beside her and drawing Susan close to her. ‘Is it all right here?’
    ‘Frank! Don’t touch that jigsaw or Jack will have your guts,’ Janice shouted at one of the smaller boys. She looked at Adele, and grinned. ‘Jack loves jigsaws and he can’t stand it if anyone breaks them up before he’s finished. Yeah, it’s all right here. But I wish I could go home to Mum.’
    Janice reminded Adele a little of Pamela. She wasn’t pretty like her – her hair was mousy-brown, and her teeth were going black – but she was the same age and she had that same kind of confident look about her.
    ‘You’ve got a mum then?’ Adele asked.
    Janice nodded. ‘Most of us have. Mine’s sick and my aunty could only take the baby, so Willy and I came here. That’s my brother Willy,’ she said, pointing to a small boy with red hair. ‘He’s