Free Angel of Brooklyn by Janette Jenkins

your things, I will go and run the faucet,’ he said, lips twitching, shrugging off his jacket with the twenty-four gold buttons, two on each collar. ‘It’s nice to feel refreshed, especially after such a long walk as you’ve had. The dust can get everywhere. It can find its way into every crack and cranny.’
    As soon as he’d gone into the other room, Beatrice tried the sitting-room door. Of course it was locked. She could hear him whistling again , running the water and moving around. She tried the handle both ways. She pushed and pulled it. Nothing. Then the water stopped.
    ‘Are you ready?’ he called, in a high-pitched sing-song voice.
    ‘Not quite,’ she managed. ‘Just a few more minutes.’
    ‘All right, slowcoach. Then I will start without you.’
    Quickly, she scanned the table. Ashtrays. Coffee cups. A saucer full of fingernails. There were ketchup bottles. Spent matches. Trails of loose tobacco. And there, beside a leaflet headed ‘Great New Inventions’, were the keys.
    She took them. Fumbling, she pushed the first into the lock, but it was too big. The second key turned, but he’d heard her.
    ‘Where are you going?’ he shouted, half lurching out to her, but by this time, she was out of the door, her legs like jelly, but they could sprint, and the front door was now unlocked, and he was too big, and old, and his trousers were caught around his ankles.
    She ran. The sidewalk bounced beneath her feet. Down the narrow streets, past houses with boys sitting on window frames, churches, closed stores, the cannery. Finally, she slowed, bent at the waist, retching into the gutter. Had he followed her? All she could see was a man with his horse, and a dog sniffing hard at some railings.
    She was in Fennel Street. It was close to home. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. The clock was chiming six. She’d only been gone an hour.
    ‘Where’ve you been?’ said Joanna. ‘I made you some cookies. Your father has gone to see a man about a dead squirrel but Elijah’s been waiting. Are you all right?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Cormac brought you some flowers. I’ve put them in your room.’
    It was only when she saw the flowers, pink and white, standing in the jug that she began to cry. Her whole body ached with it. She’d had a lucky escape. Running away was dangerous. Especially on your birthday. She’d be careful next time. Plan it all out. That night she dreamed about the buttons.
    5. Allergy
    Beatrice Lyle was allergic to goat’s cheese.
    6. Amethyst Rings
    One of Beatrice’s favourite relations was Aunt Jess Simpson, her mother’s younger sister. Aunt Jess lived with her friend Alicia Wellaby in Springfield, Illinois. She had never married. The first time that Beatrice met her, she wanted to ask a whole lot of questions about her mother. She’d written a list and memorised it. Had she liked dancing? Was she a naughty child, or a good one? Had she been a skilled seamstress, or just as bad at sewing as Beatrice? Had she liked children? Would she have liked her? Did she fervently believe in God? How did she find and fall in love with her father? Was she allergic to goat’s cheese? In the end, Beatrice, who had been given coffee to drink for the very first time, was too jumpy with caffeine to mention her mother at all. And Jess didn’t either. So Beatrice spent the afternoon with her aunt, and her friend Alicia Wellaby, playing old maid, wondering how the two women were connected, why they wore identical amethyst rings, and called each other ‘My lovely’.
    7. Scar
    ‘It wasn’t my fault, the knife just slipped.’
    ‘Onto your sister?’ said Joanna.
    ‘She was standing too close. She was nudging into my arm.’
    ‘It was deep. It needed three stitches. Dr Jarman’s coat was covered in her blood.’
    ‘It did look messy.’
    ‘You’ve scarred her for life.’
    ‘The bottom of her thumb? Who will see that?’
    ‘People look at hands all the time.’
    ‘I’ll save up. I’ll buy