Free On Mother Brown's Doorstep by Mary Jane Staples

one of me scrap yards, you can call me Sammy in or out of business hours. Right, good on yer, Jim. Don’t forget the weddin’, you’re givin’ Susie away.’
    ‘It’ll be me special pleasure,’ said Mr Brown.
    Will Brown had been mentally toughened by his years of hard soldiering, but he still had a soft spot for his family, particularly his parents. His mother was just about the most easy-going woman alive. They’d known desperate poverty when the family lived in Peabody Buildings in Brandon Street, but his mum had never had a cross word for any of them, especially not for his dad, who had come out of the trenches with a gammy leg and no job until Sammy Adams had taken him on. Dad with his optimism and Mum with her ability to always make the best of things, had kept the family going even when hunger stalked and clothes were things of darns and patches.
    So, being the son of his warm-hearted parents, Will arrived on the doorstep of Annie’s home at half-past four on the day after she’d suffered what she obviously felt was multiplied misfortune. Will knew he’d laughed, that he’d made her want to spit. So he was carrying a bunch of daffodils, wrapped all over. It would be asking for catcalls from street kids for a grown-up bloke, especially a soldier, to be seen carrying a bunch of flowers. He was still wearing his uniform. None of his old clothes fitted him, since he’d only been fifteen when he joined up as a drummer boy, and he hadn’t yet bothered to shop for new stuff. But he had ordered a grey suit for Susie’s wedding.
    Nellie answered his knock. With Cassie and Charlie, she was home from their school in Trafalgar Street.
    ‘Oh, ’ello,’ she said, ‘it’s you.’
    ‘I see it’s you too, Nellie,’ said Will, ‘I thought I’d come and see how the patient is.’
    ‘Our Annie? Oh, she went to work this mornin’, at Urcott’s the grocers, but Mr Urcott let ’er come ’ome at two o’clock. She was limpin’ a bit. She’s in the kitchen, she’s just been chuckin’ things at Charlie because ’e said she wasn’t as bossy as when she was lyin’ down. And she chucked the tea cosy at me because I said one of the street kids asked if she was goin’ to ’ave another ride in a pushcart. Would yer please come in?’
    ‘She’s not goin’ to chuck something at me, is she?’ said Will, stepping in.
    ‘Oh, it won’t actu’lly ’urt,’ said Nellie, closing the door. ‘We’re ’aving some bread an’ marge an’ cups of tea—’
    ‘Nellie, who’s that?’ The voice of the young mistress of the house rang out loud and clear from the kitchen.
    ‘It’s yer soldier friend,’ called Nellie.
    ‘It’s what?’
    ‘It’s ’im, Annie, ’e’s come to see how you are.’
    There was a short silence, then Annie called, ‘Has he got that pushcart with him?’
    ‘No, course ’e ’asn’t, have yer, Will?’ said Nellie.
    ‘Well, is he laughin’, then?’ demanded Annie.
    Nellie looked at Will. He tucked his grin away.
    ‘No, ’e’s not laughin’, Annie.’
    ‘He’d better not be. He can come in, then.’
    Nellie led the way to the kitchen. Cassie and Charlie were sitting at the table, eating bread and marge and drinking tea. Annie was standing with her back to the range. On one leg. Her hand was on the back of a chair, supporting herself. She looked attractively slender in a jumper dress of dark green. The style was a bit out of fashion, particularly as it was waisted, but Annie had bought it half-price at a sale and it suited her. She’d shortened it to knee-length, and that was fashionable at least. Well, these days it was death to a girl not to look a bit fashionable.
    ‘Good afternoon,’ she said.
    ‘Same to you,’ said Will, inspecting her one standing leg.
    ‘D’you mind tellin’ me what you’re lookin’ at?’ asked Annie, with Cassie and Charlie keeping the peace for the moment. She’d told them to.
    ‘I’m lookin’ for your other leg,’ said Will.
    ‘I’m