Free Strawberry Fields by Katie Flynn Page B

she put a match to the fire and then brought in some ginger biscuits and a cup of hot milk.
    Explanations had taken up the next twenty minutes, and Nanny had said she was sorry to hear about Jane’s mother and would visit her at the Stanley, which was only just up the road. Then they had talked of all they could do over the next few days, and then they had examined Nanny’s bowl of bulbs, which Sara had given her for Christmas and which they had examined only a couple of days before. There were four snub green noses showing above the soil; Sara was anxious about the fifth, for she had planted the bowl herself, with the assistance of Rogers, her father’s gardener, and did not like to think that one of the bulbs might have been bad.
    But now, unpacking in the chilly little front bedroom, for Nanny would not have dreamed of lighting a fire upstairs unless someone was sick, Nanny was showing some dismay over Sara’s choice of clothing.
    Sara looked at the garments spread out over the single bed. ‘What’s wrong, Nanny? I put in some knickers, didn’t I? And some stockings. Only I wanted to bring my tartan kilt and my nice green cardigan . . . and then there were boots, and extra socks, and my pom-pom slippers – oh dear, and if I go back Mother will probably change her mind and make me stay.’
    ‘Well, we won’t risk that, but you need more than one spare pair of knickers, love,’ Nanny said. ‘And I can’t find a single pair of stockings, they’re all odd.’
    ‘How can they be odd? They’re all black, and woolly, aren’t they all alike?’ Sara asked. ‘I can’t see any difference. Besides, it doesn’t matter, does it? Stockings are stockings.’
    ‘And pairs are pairs. But I suppose we can manage with the stockings. And I’ll take you on the tram to Paddy’s market and we’ll buy some knickers.’ Mrs Prescott smiled grimly. ‘That’ll teach your mother to send you to me without the proper clothes!’
    ‘Why? What’s wrong with Paddy’s market?’ Sara asked, ferreting through the clothes in her bag. ‘I’ve got my coral beads in here somewhere . . . oh yes, they’re in my black strap shoes, I knew I’d put them somewhere safe.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with it, but your mother don’t like it because Paddy’s market sells secondhand clothing. Do you mind secondhand clothing, queen?’
    ‘No, not at all,’ Sara said unhesitatingly. ‘So long as it’s fairly clean, of course.’
    Mrs Prescott laughed. ‘Only fairly clean? You’re a one and a half, young Sara! Come on then, I’ve done up here, we’ll get ourselves a bite to eat and then we’ll walk down the road, do some shopping. What do you fancy for your tea tonight?’
    They were in Samples, choosing a cake, when a woman standing at the counter, a woman who Sara half-recognised as living in Snowdrop Street, spotted them. She was talking to the baker and jabbing a finger at a big yellow bowl covered with a washed-out piece of linen but as soon as she saw Sara’s companion she turned to greet her.
    ‘Afternoon, Annie. What’re you givin’ for the wake, tomorrer? I’m tekin’ fruit buns – that’s the mix, there. Mr S is goin’ to cook it up for me. Our Ruth’s gorra nice piece o’ boilin’ bacon an’ Mrs Lamb’s givin’ a couple o’ dozen eggs. You can’t expect the Carbs to mek a contribution, with ’im bein’ out o’ work an’ ’er ’avin’ the young ’uns to see to.’
    ‘Afternoon, Hannah. I’m doing sandwiches,’ Mrs Prescott said. ‘I saw your Ruth, so I’m doin’ fish paste and cheese. It’s a terrible thing . . . the poor feller who was drivin’ the engine must be half out of his mind!’
    ‘You’re right there,’ the other woman agreed. ‘Eh, I’ve allus worried about the rails bein’ so near, but who’d ha’ thought it could come to this?’
    Sara pricked up her ears. What had happened? Had there been a train crash? She loved to look across at the big engines getting up steam,