Free Secrets of the Singer Girls by Kate Thompson Page A

brown stain of water was creeping down the peeling walls, and a deep stench of decay emanated from the
rotting floorboards. Tatty, torn grey net curtains hung forlornly from the window, and a small gas stove sat in the corner.
    ‘Make yerself at home,’ gestured Mrs Brown, handing her the key.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ smiled Poppy weakly.
    ‘It’s a disgrace,’ snapped Vera from behind. ‘Fetch me a pan of boiling water and a scrubbing brush immediately.’
    Mrs Brown was clearly affronted. “Ow dare you,’ she shrieked, raising a hand to her stained housecoat. Despite her dressing-down, she sloped off along the hallway to fetch some
water.
    ‘I’m sure she’s very nice really,’ remarked Poppy generously, once her new landlady was out of earshot.
    ‘She’s the most slovenly woman I’ve ever come across. An affront to decent East End women,’ snapped Vera. And then, more brightly, ‘But don’t worry, love.
We’ll get this place spick and span in no time.’
    After the hot water had been delivered, Poppy and Vera set to work. They cleared what furniture the room contained to one side and set about sweeping the place clean before scrubbing it with
steaming-hot water. Before long their faces were coloured with heat and grime. They worked with quiet determination, feeding off one another’s energy.
    ‘By, scrubbing like this makes me feel like I’m a scullery maid again,’ chuckled Poppy, sitting back on her haunches and wiping a tendril from her pretty face. ‘I’m
sopping.’
    ‘Me and all,’ laughed Vera. ‘But there’s no work quite like hard work, is there? Nourishes the soul, I say.’
    Poppy didn’t know about that, but the effort of all the physical work felt good, and for an hour at least, her troubles ceased to haunt her. They dissolved and melted to nothing in the
soapy suds.
    When at last the floor was swabbed, Vera popped down to the corner shop and came back brandishing a mop, a brown paper bag of borax soap flakes, some dusters and a tub of Mansion Polish.
    ‘We’ll have this place looking like home soon,’ she smiled, setting down her purchases on the bed.
    ‘Oh, Mrs Shadwell, you shouldn’t have. I thought you were saving your coupons for a special tea?’
    ‘Don’t worry, love,’ she soothed. ‘It’s nice to help someone who I know appreciates my efforts.’
    ‘And I do.’ The gesture put fire in Poppy’s belly and she set about the place with fresh determination. As she polished the glass with newspaper and vinegar, Vera ripped the
old nets from the window and scrubbed down the walls.
    After three hours of polishing, scrubbing and mopping, Poppy was exhausted, but she had to admit their hard work had made a difference. The old place gleamed like a new penny. Poppy noticed Vera
had even managed to polish away the grime on the old iron bedstead to reveal pretty ceramic knobs atop each post.
    ‘See, there’s always something good to be found in the grimmest of places,’ Poppy said thoughtfully, gazing at her new friend.
    When they were finally finished, Vera swept out the hearth and lit a small fire, and the two women sat down to rest in front of it with a steaming mug of Bournvita each.
    ‘A job well done,’ Vera grinned, bumping her mug against Poppy’s.
    ‘Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me,’ Poppy said in a soft voice. ‘I’m so lucky to have found you, and the other girls too, of course.’ She watched
as a weary but satisfied smile chased over Vera’s face as she stared into the crackling flames.
    ‘I don’t know about that, Poppy,’ she said. ‘But us girls have got to stick together.’
    The warmth of the fire seeped deep into Poppy’s bones and for the first time since her arrival she felt a glimmer of hope for her future. What serendipity to have found Sal, Daisy and
especially Vera. Vera, for whom life was so full of troubles, but who still found the time to help her and show concern. Taking a sip of her milky drink, Poppy