Free The Dressmaker by Rosalie Ham Page B

Teddy.
    ‘I hate romance,’ Tilly said. Billie Holiday began to sing a song about broken hearts and painful love. Later over the chicken-and-wine pot roast Tilly played some sort of jazz, the likes of which Teddy had never heard and was too afraid to ask about so he said, ‘George Bernard Shaw died.’
    ‘Is that so?’ asked Tilly. ‘JD Salinger’s still alive though, could you ask your friend to get me a copy of
The Catcher In The Rye
? It hasn’t been published yet.’ Her sarcasm hung in the air.
    Molly looked at her, then picked up her steaming bowl of chicken stew and tipped it onto her thighs. The terylene frock Tilly had finished for her that day melted onto her crepe thighs. Tilly froze.
    ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ laughed Molly then started to shake, shock whistling softly through her thin elastic lips.
    Teddy whipped the skirt away from her thighs before it stuck. He looked at Tilly, still frozen at the table. ‘Butter,’ he snapped. Tilly jumped. He pulled his hip flask from his pocket and poured whisky into the old woman. Then she passed out. He carried her to her bed then left, but was soon back to sit with Tilly. She said nothing, just sat at her mother’s bedside looking grim. Barney arrived with a bottle of cream from Mr Almanac and handed it to Teddy. ‘I did what you said, I said it wasn’t for Mad Molly.’
    ‘Did you say her name?’ snapped Teddy.
    ‘You told me not to.’
    ‘So you didn’t say her name?’
    ‘No. I said your name, and he said, you gotta put it on tomorra.’ Tilly looked at Barney standing in her doorway. ‘Tomorra,’ he said again. ‘He told me to tell you, tomorra.’
    Teddy rubbed his brother’s shoulders gently. ‘All right Barney.’ He turned to Tilly, ‘You remember my brother?’
    ‘Thank you for bringing the cream,’ she said. Barney blushed and looked at the wall beside him.
    When they had gone she sniffed Mr Almanac’s cream and threw it away, then gathered some herbs and creams from a trunk under her bed and made a paste to apply.
    Molly lay in bed naked from the waist down, while two palm-sized red blotches ballooned on her thighs and filled with clear liquid. Tilly emptied her mother’s bed-pan several times a day, dressed her wounds and did as the old woman bid. The blisters subsided to leave two smarting marks.

II
Shantung
    A fabric woven plainly with irregular wild silk yarn, having a textured effect. Its natural cream colour is often dyed in strong colours, producing a vibrant effect. Slightly crisp to handle and with a soft lustre. Suitable for dresses, blouses and trims.

9
    O ut at Windswept Crest, Elsbeth sat rigidly at the bay window, fists clenched, eyes brimming. Mona slunk about the corners of the kitchen wiping shiny surfaces, peeping into the oven and checking container lids while casting sideways glances at her mother.
    William was at the pub leaning on the bar, thinking about his mother and the fact that it was tea time. The youths about him drained their beers and zigzagged towards the door, heading for the hall. Scotty Pullit slapped his back. ‘Come on twinkle toes, let’s go give the girls a thrill,’ and he walked away, bent and coughing.
    William stopped outside the post office, jangling some coins in his pocket, looking at the public telephone. He had still not recovered from his meeting with Mr Pratt and the thick file labelled ‘Windswept Crest’. Scotty Pullit appeared beside him again and handed him his bottle of clear, boiling watermelon firewater. William took a swig, coughed and gasped then followed Scotty and the other footballers, farmers’ sons and daughters into the hall. Inside, balloons and streamers were slung from bearer to bearer. He wandered to the refreshment table, where he and the boys drank punch and smoked. Local girls in twos and threes fluttered to corner tables, twittering and chatting.
    The O’Brien Brothers tuned their instruments. Hamish rumbled around his drum kit while his