Free Liverpool Miss by Helen Forrester

table. Brian and Tony stonily munched their toast, their movements nervous and uncoordinated; they did not answer the passionate appeals of Mother and Father to take their side. Avril stood behind Mother’s chair, holding on to it and shaking it, as she shouted hopelessly, ‘Stop, everybody. Why can’t you stop?’
    Neither protagonist would give way.
    I was silent with despair. I hardly heard the words hurled around me or addressed to me. What was I going to do when the church lady arrived? Motherseized a cup and saucer from the table and hurled them into a corner. Through her screams of rage, I heard a knock on the front door.
    The other children had also heard the sharp rat-tat. When they instinctively turned their heads towards the front of the house, Mother stopped in mid-scream.
    ‘What was that?’ asked Father, his lips turned back in a snarl.
    ‘Someone is at the door,’ I said, too much in anguish to move.
    ‘Well, get a move on, girl. Answer it. Say we are not at home.’
    Reluctantly I obeyed, feet dragging. I shut the living-room door behind me.
    As I turned the lock on the front door, I wished, for the first time, that it was only a creditor. The moment I swung back the door, she was in the muddy hall and pulling off her gloves, as the wind gusted behind her.
    ‘It’s quite cold this evening,’ the deaconess said cheerfully. ‘Well, have you asked them, my dear?’
    ‘I haven’t had an opportunity yet,’ I apologised.
    Her smile faded, and she sighed. ‘Never mind. I’ll ask for you.’
    ‘They said they are not at home tonight.’
    From behind the closed door came the sound ofrenewed strife, though the level seemed more subdued. The interruption had broken the continuity of the argument. The lady laughed and looked at me conspiratorially. The living room was suddenly quiet. The feminine chuckle must have penetrated to the family.
    The deaconess tucked her gloves into her handbag and said briskly, ‘I imagine your mother would be at home to me. We know each other well enough to call occasionally without warning, don’t we?’
    I tried to smile at her as I heard the living-room door open behind me. ‘Will you come into the front room?’ I asked hastily. ‘I’ll inquire if they are at home.’ These were phrases I had often heard May, our parlourmaid, use, and they came automatically to mind in such a difficult situation.
    I opened the door to the front room and ushered the blue-clad lady into it, just as Avril stumped out of the other room, her eyes tearful, her mouth surrounded by black toast crumbs. She marched into the sitting room after the visitor, and stood staring at her.
    I heard the deaconess speaking softly to the frightened little girl, as nervously I announced our visitor to Mother and Father. Both parents were standing motionless, like alerted hares, as they tried to judge who the visitor was.
    Mother, her face and neck still red from combat, pushed past me and went into the front room. Father gave a great sigh and flopped into a chair. His hands were trembling as they always did when he was upset.
    Fiona had ceased to weep and gazed up at me with great pansy eyes still dewdropped. Brian and Tony asked Father’s permission to leave the table.
    ‘Yes,’ he said peevishly.
    They scrambled down from their chairs and I heard the back door slam, as they went out to play in the last of the evening light.
    Father turned back to me. He gestured with his head towards the front room. ‘What does she want?’ he asked. I think he was always nervous that his wife had done something outrageous which he did not know about.
    I knelt down on one knee and began to pick up the bits of cup and saucer that Mother had shattered. Through my draggling hair, I hesitantly answered him.
    ‘She has come about me.’
    He sat up straight and looked at me. ‘About you? What have you done?’
    I stood up and faced him. ‘I haven’t done anything. She’s got a job for me. And she’s keen that I