Free Poppy Day by Annie Murray

outside pubs when ice shone like crystals on the cobbles with her babbies clinging round her skirts, so bad with fever she barely knew what she was doing. If it hadn’t been for the charity of the church missions they’d have starved. These memories and many others forced themselves into her mind whenever she handled money.
    But the things she most wanted to forget, to block right out of her mind, went further back. God knows she’d tried to force the memories away, but suddenly it wasn’t working any more. It all seemed to be bearing down on her like a goods train, with her tied to the track, like those pretty wenches in the films, the hot breath of the train on her face.
    ‘Today’s the day,’ she said to Ronny. ‘I gotta do summat about meself. ’Ow can I go on like this? I can’t even get to the shops!’
    Polly or Jess were doing all the shopping. She could tell Jess was puzzled by this. After all, Olive was the one who was at home all day. She had the time. That morning as they set off to work Polly had said,
    ‘What d’yer need bringing in tonight, Mom?’
    ‘Don’t bother. We’ll get by on what we’ve got,’ she said. Polly looked surprised but was in too much of a rush to argue.
    It was no good – she’d have to go. They were out of milk and tea, and there wasn’t a heel of bread in the house.
    She pulled her coat on like a suit of armour, although it was June now and warm, took her hessian bag from the hook where the coat had hung and picked Ronny up.
    ‘Come on, son—’ She was aflutter with nerves. ‘You’re going to Agatha’s for a bit.’ She forced herself to the front door and carried Ronny round into the yard and went to her neighbour’s house.
    Agatha’s pinched face appeared at the door. She looked taken aback at the sight of Olive Beeston in her hat and coat. Word had got round that she’d ‘turned a bit funny’ and wouldn’t go out of the house.
    ‘Could yer take Ronny for me for an hour?’ Olive said brusquely, trying not to turn her nose up at the dank, sweaty air that gusted out through the open door.
    ‘You going out?’ A nosey smile had begun at the corners of her mouth.
    ‘Ar – I’m going out. That awright with you?’
    ‘No trouble,’ Agatha said, holding her arms out. Ronny’s face screwed up and he started roaring. ‘Oh come on, bab, don’t start that. You go – ’e’ll be awright wi’ me.’
    Olive left a beetroot-faced Ronny trying to hurl himself out of Agatha’s arms. She made it out of the yard, but down the entry stopped and leaned against the wall, all the old fear flooding through her. She bowed her head, closing her eyes, sweating inside her thick coat. Her hands felt clammy, and for a few moments she was panting in panic.
    Oh pull yerself together! she gasped to herself, scared stiff someone’d see her. She straightened herself up and walked on weak legs towards the street.
    It had only got this bad since Jess arrived. She knew that was what it was. Seeing her that evening, that copper beside her. Gave her the shock of her life. All these years she’d kept it at bay. And borne so much alone. No old man to tek care of ’em. No Charlie. He kept her steady when he was alive, those years they had together.
    Taking deep breaths she turned down Allison Street. Immediately she spotted Bertha Hyde at her window across the street, like a ghost between her twitching net curtains. Olive’s fury at her restored her a little and she gave a mocking wave.
    There’s nowt to be afraid of. Nowt. Just keep walking. Down to the main road – morning, Mrs Eldon, awright? A smile, that’s it. No, I don’t see you out often either . . . that’s it, round the corner.
    Digbeth and the Bull Ring were packed with shoppers. Her fear began to subside a little in the anonymous bustle. She enjoyed the smells of the market, music from someone playing a French horn, felt the early summer sun on her face.
    Ain’t good to be cooped up inside all day long, she