An Orphan’s Courage

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2018

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Emma Kim/plainpicture (child); Lee Avison/Trevillion Images (street scene); Shutterstock (suitcase)

Cathy Sharp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008211639

Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008211646

Version 2018-02-20

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

A Q&A With Cathy Sharp

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cathy Sharp

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

‘Want some pocket money?’ the drunken voice asked, and a large hand waved a pound note at Jinny Hollis enticingly. He leered at her in a way that sent chills down Jinny’s spine and she shook her head as he rose to his feet and stumbled across her mother’s kitchen towards her. ‘Come on, it isn’t hard to be nice to me, is it?’

Jinny drew back, feeling the vomit rise in her throat as she saw the lascivious gleam in his eyes. She kept her gaze fixed on the face of the latest of her mother’s punters, backing away, moving towards the door and freedom. He was good-looking in a dark, brutish way with black hair slicked back with hair oil and unshaven chin. Jake wasn’t the first to offer her money in order to be allowed to fumble beneath her skirts, and his approach was the same as that of all the others. When her mother was in the room they played the nice uncle, but as soon as Jinny was alone with them, they tried to molest her. Some offered enticements, money, small gifts and food but others just made a grab for her. She’d been forced to endure rough hands up her skirt and under her blouse more times than she cared to remember, and once, one of them had got her down and tried to force himself on her. Her screams had brought Nellie from next door running in at the kitchen door and her irate neighbour had batted the unfortunate uncle with her rolling pin until he swore at her, got to his feet and bolted.

Jinny would have screamed for Nellie now but she knew it would be useless; her friend had gone shopping down the market and wouldn’t be back for ages. Jinny’s back was against the door now. She wrenched at it, pulled it open and tried to escape into the back yard, but Jake lunged at her, pinning her against the doorpost so that she could feel its sharp edges cutting into her flesh.

‘Got you at last,’ he muttered as he pressed his slack wet mouth against hers and the stink of his breath made the gorge rise in her throat. In desperation she brought her knee up and went for his groin with every ounce of her strength. He gave a yell of shock mixed with pain and staggered back, his eyes filled with a vicious rage that terrified her. Yet her action had saved her, because as he drew back, stunned and winded, she made her escape into the yard and ran for her life.

Tears stung Jinny’s eyes as she ran, her chest heaving; she fought for breath and against the storm of emotion overtaking her now that she was – for the moment – out of danger. Forced at last to stop running because her chest hurt and she couldn’t go any further, Jinny leaned against the wall of a derelict factory and closed her eyes, letting the tears flow.

Why did everything have to be so horrible at home?

Jinny’s mother was almost always drunk when she came back from the pub where she worked behind the bar until late at night. There was usually a man in tow, sometimes known to Jinny and, at other times, a complete stranger. Mabel Hollis just didn’t seem to be able to manage without a man about the place, even though several of them had treated her badly. Some of them beat her and she often had black eyes when she finally got up in the morning, others simply sponged off her, expecting her to provide food and lodgings, as well as the other comforts Mabel offered. Quite a few considered that Jinny should be a part of the bargain, and she’d been fighting them off since she was twelve and was always in trouble at school for turning up late, because if she didn’t do a few chores in the house no one did, and the safest time to do them was in the morning before Jake and her mother got out of bed.

Jinny’s mother seemed to have money for drink and for having her hair bleached and set in the deep waves that men seemed to find so sensual, but she seldom remembered to go shopping for food, and often ended up shoving a few pennies in Jinny’s hand and telling her to get some chips. Mabel dressed and behaved like a tart, and Jinny was ashamed of her. Now that she was coming up to her fifteenth birthday and preparing to leave school Jinny thought desperately of getting away somewhere – anywhere she could live by herself or with friends, away from her mother’s sluttish ways and her men. She couldn’t really call them customers, because most of them didn’t pay a penny towards their keep and some lived off Mabel for as long as she was willing to provide them with whatever they needed.

‘What’s up then, Jinny?’

Her eyes flew open as she heard the voice close by. Micky Smith was three years older and had left school at fifteen to work on the Docks. At school he’d never noticed her, except once when she’d been at the centre of a group of vindictive classmates who were jeering at her, pulling her dark hair and calling her mother a whore and a drunken tart. Even though Jinny knew the accusations were true, she’d tried to defend her mother against their insults and given one of her tormentors a black eye. Several of the others had charged at her, knocking her to the ground, and she’d been struggling to throw them off when suddenly she’d found herself free and a grinning Micky Smith had been looking down at her. He’d offered her his hand, pulled her to her feet and then turned to the gang of sullen girls watching.

‘Jinny’s my friend,’ he’d claimed. ‘If any of you harm her again, you’ll answer to me.’

Jinny hadn’t even thanked him, because she’d hardly spoken to him previously and didn’t know what to say. For a moment their eyes met and then he’d walked off, leaving her standing alone.

‘Micky’s pet,’ one of the girls chanted at her mockingly. ‘Giving it ’im, are yer? Yer just a bleedin’ little whore like yer ma …’

‘Whore like yer ma …’ the other girls hissed but none of them tried to touch her as she brushed past them.

Jinny might have gone after Micky and thanked him then, but he was with some other lads and they were laughing and looking her way. She’d had the feeling they were laughing at her, probably saying what they’d like to do to her or naming her a whore like the girls had.

Now she stared at him, wary and half-mistrusting as she noticed that he was no longer dressed in patched trousers and a jacket with holes at the elbows. He had on a pair of black drainpipe trousers, a blue cloth jacket with velvet on the collar and suede shoes with thick crepe soles. His white shirt sported a thin black tie, which was knotted and pinned with what looked like a diamond tiepin. Knowing that Micky’s father hadn’t worked in years, because of an accident on the Docks, and his mother went charring at several offices, Jinny wondered how he’d managed to become prosperous all of a sudden.

‘I haven’t seen you for a while,’ Jinny said. ‘Not since school …’

‘I’ve been busy,’ Micky said and grinned. He had black curly hair, swarthy skin and very dark eyes; his hair was long, nestling into his nape and he had dark sideburns, rather like those worn by Elvis Presley, the American singer. All Jinny’s classmates swooned over Elvis Presley and talked about his records and the Rock ’n’ Roll dances they attended on Saturday nights. Jinny couldn’t afford to go to the dances and she didn’t have many friends – she couldn’t ever take them home so she was never asked to their birthday parties – but Nellie had an old-fashioned radiogram and she liked Rock ’n’ Roll, too. Jinny had heard her playing Elvis over and over again through the thin walls that separated their terraced houses.

‘I seen ’im at the flicks and ’e’s a bit of all right,’ she’d told Jinny when she went next door for a slice of bread and dripping and a rock cake, as she did most days after school. Nellie had a picture cut from a magazine, which she’d stuck up on her kitchen wall, much to her husband’s disgust, but Nellie only laughed and said if she were twenty years younger she’d be off to America to join the girls who flocked about their new heartthrob. Of course she didn’t mean it, because she and her husband got on well and had two grown-up sons with families of their own, but Nellie liked to tease her long-suffering husband. Both of Nellie’s sons were in the Army and no longer lived in London, but she looked forward to their infrequent visits with her grandchildren, of whom she had three. Colin had two young boys and Brian had a girl of a few months. Jinny knew how much she missed them but she was a cheerful woman in her early fifties and never let on to them that she wished they’d come back home.

‘They’ve got good lives where they are. I was worried to death when they had that trouble over the Suez Canal last year, but it seems it’s all over now, and Brian’s in Ireland now …’ Nellie had told Jinny as they looked at photos the elder son Colin had sent from Cyprus where he was currently stationed with his regiment. ‘Why should they want to come back ’ere then? I know Harold Macmillan says we’ve never ’ad it so good, but ’e ain’t living ’ere in this courtyard, is ’e?’

‘What were you cryin’ for?’ Micky asked; a sparkle in his dark eyes that made Jinny aware that lost in her thoughts she’d been staring for too long. ‘Are you in trouble?’

Jinny nodded, hanging her head, tongue-tied and ashamed. ‘It’s just one of Mum’s blokes …’ she said, because he expected an answer. ‘He tried to grab me … so I gave him one where it hurts with my knee – and he’ll half kill me when he gets the chance …’

Micky nodded his understanding. ‘Jake Harding is a nasty piece of work. Your ma should send him packing. He’s a troublemaker down the Docks – if you knew what I know …’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘Best you don’t know, but he’s in with a bad lot and one of these days …’ Micky shook his head.

‘He hits Mum,’ Jinny said and shuffled her feet. ‘He’s one of the worst she’s had – and … I’m frightened of him …’

‘No need to be,’ Micky said. ‘I’ll sort him for you if you want?’

Jinny looked at him and smiled. ‘He’s a big bloke,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely of you to offer, but I don’t want you to get hurt for my sake …’

Micky looked amused and touched his pocket as if it contained a secret only he knew. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Jinny girl. I can take care of myself – and I take care of my own too.’

‘I never thanked you for what you did at school …’

‘You didn’t have to,’ he said. ‘I don’t like bullies.’

‘Jake is a bully,’ she said. ‘He offered me money for a start but when I said no he tried to force me … he’s not the first to try. Those girls were right that day; Mum is a whore – but she doesn’t even get paid half the time …’ She raised her head defiantly. ‘I’m not like her and I don’t want to be.’

‘I know that, Jinny.’

‘How can you? Everyone thinks I’m like my mum and she’s a slut.’

‘Your mother was all right until your father went off and left her. I suppose she got lonely and desperate …’ Micky said and looked grim. ‘He was a bad ’un, your dad, Jinny. I don’t mind a bit of thievin’ if it comes to that, especially if something is just begging to be liberated – but your dad was a mean sort. He stole from his mates and he got punished for it, so in the end he didn’t have much choice but to clear orf – otherwise he might’ve been lynched.’

Jinny felt the tears burn behind her eyes. She could recall only little things from the time when she’d had a father, but he’d been kind to her and her mother had been happier then, too.

‘You’re rotten to say that about my dad,’ she said resentfully. ‘I thought I could trust you, but now I see you’re like all the rest …’

She turned and started to walk away, but Micky came after her and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, but it’s the truth. He stole from his works and he broke into houses, but he took from his friends too – and he took a reward for ratting on someone, letting him carry the can for what he’d been part of – and they don’t forgive that around here.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Jinny said and shook his hand off. ‘I don’t believe you – you tell lies …’

‘I do lots of stuff,’ Micky called after her as she walked swiftly away. ‘But I don’t lie to you and I’m still your friend. I’ll look after you, Jinny, and one day you’ll understand that you can trust me …’

Jinny didn’t bother to look round. She knew that it was likely he was telling the truth about Sam Hollis, but she couldn’t bear to hear it. The only bright memories she had was of her dad giving her a pretty doll one Christmas and tussling her hair whenever he came home from work. He’d bought her sweets and told her she was his princess and she’d thought he loved her. To a girl who hadn’t had much love in her life that was precious and she wouldn’t easily forgive Micky Smith for ruining her memory of her dad.

Jinny set out in search of Nellie. When she told her what Jake had done, her kind neighbour would offer her a chance of a bed with them, and this time she was going to take it. If her mother wanted Jake around she would have to take care of their home herself, because Jinny wasn’t going back while he was staying there.

CHAPTER 2

‘Well, I shall be sorry to lose you, Hannah.’ Sister Beatrice frowned over the top of her glasses at the young woman sitting in the chair at the other side of her desk. She put down the newspaper she’d been reading, an article about the launch of a campaign to stop smoking, because of new research into cancer diseases thought related to the practice. As always she wore the dark grey habit of a nun with a white starched apron and simple headdress, a heavy silver cross and chain about her neck. ‘I must admit I’ve come to rely on you as one of my most trusted staff – and it’s so difficult to find girls who want to work here these days …’

‘I’ve loved working with you at St Saviour’s,’ the carer said and looked genuinely sorry. ‘But this is a wonderful chance for my husband to have his own business. We’ll be moving across the river and he’ll need help in the shop – so what with that and having another baby …’ She placed her hands on her bump and smiled. ‘I just shan’t have the energy or the time …’

‘Oh, I understand perfectly and I wish you well in your new life,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘Your husband and your family come first of course. It’s just that I shall need to find someone to take your place when you leave.’

‘Well, I do know of someone looking for her first job. She’s just left school and her neighbour asked me if she thought Jinny might be taken on here as a kitchen help, but she’s an honest girl and bright. I think you might like her – and Nancy was only fifteen when she started, wasn’t she?’

‘That was rather different,’ Beatrice frowned at her, because Nancy was a special case. ‘This girl is hardly old enough to be given the care of children, but I suppose she could be taken on as a girl of all work. If she is willing to do kitchen work, as well as anything else she’s asked, that might solve a part of our problems. We’ve had a succession of girls coming for a few weeks and then leaving in the kitchens since Muriel retired last Christmas. Unfortunately, Mrs Davies can be a little difficult …’

‘Yes,’ Hannah replied ruefully. ‘I’ve run afoul of her tongue a few times, but she’s just finding her way and Sandra says her bark is worse than her bite.’

Thank goodness for Sandra, who had become a friend as well as a colleague since she joined their staff! Beatrice relaxed mentally as she thought of the young woman who had begun as a part-time secretary and occasional carer after her stint in prison almost two years previously. Sandra had been imprisoned after a farcical trial on trumped-up evidence and only the perseverance of her friends had got her free with her name cleared. In truth she owed her freedom mainly to Ikey, the man who was now her husband; Sandra owed him far more because he’d rescued her children – Archie Miller from an uncertain fate on the streets and June from the clutches of unsuitable foster parents. Beatrice had employed her without a reference and given her a temporary home here at St Saviour’s in the nurses’ home until she’d married, and Sandra had more than repaid her since with her friendship and her hard work.

As Ikey’s wife – or Nathaniel Milvern as he was known in his professional life, as a police officer – Sandra had no need to work but she’d continued to come into St Saviour’s every day. They’d married very quietly in the spring of 1956, because Ikey was still recovering from the brutal attack on him. However, he was now back at work and involved in several projects aimed at helping London’s unfortunates who lived on the streets.

‘Yes, I believe Sandra can manage her,’ Beatrice nodded, and glanced through her diary. ‘Very well, send this young woman to see me … the day after tomorrow in the morning at ten thirty. I shall ask Sandra to join me and we’ll see. If this girl … what was her name again?… If she is suitable we’ll give her a chance.’

‘Jinny Hollis,’ Hannah said and stood up. ‘She’s a pretty girl, sensible and pleasant, but she’s had a terrible home life for years, Sister, but I know you won’t hold that against her. She needs a job and somewhere to live, so her neighbour told me. Had she been brought in when she was younger I know you would’ve taken her in – as you do all the kids in trouble.’

‘I take as many as I can,’ Beatrice said and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, we’re only a halfway house now and many of our children are moved on to the new place after just a few weeks. I regret that we were forced to give up the one wing of St Saviour’s, which means we only have room for sixty orphans at the most, but I suppose it is progress … or so they tell me …’

‘You haven’t thought of taking a position at Halfpenny House in Essex?’ Hannah asked, on her feet now and lingering at the door.

‘No, I think not,’ Sister shook her head emphatically. ‘I’ve spent the last twelve years or more here in Halfpenny Street at St Saviour’s; it’s where I belong and I have no desire to move.’

‘It wouldn’t be the same without you,’ Hannah said, hesitated, and then offered shyly, ‘I shall miss working with you and Wendy and Sister Rose and the others …’

Beatrice inclined her head but said no more as the carer left. She’d said all she had to say and since the parting was inevitable there was nothing to do but accept it. She’d lived too long and suffered too many partings, each of which left a little shadow on her heart, but God gave her strength to carry on with her work. Her fingers clasped the heavy silver cross she wore on a long thick chain and she winced as she felt stiffness and pain; it was arthritis, she imagined, and it was gradually working its way through her body: shoulders, back, neck and now her hands. She flexed her fingers trying to relieve the pain and felt it ease; exercise helped. Beatrice had learned that from watching her father, who had been a butcher and used to working in cold conditions and standing for long hours. He’d developed a severe form of the disease as he’d grown older but he’d been too stubborn to give in and had carried on working until he died … of a heart attack.

Beatrice shook her head, dismissing old memories, which could have no bearing on her life now. She’d taken her vows after tragedy drove her to despair but for years now she’d led a busy, interesting life here at St Saviour’s, looking after the children given into her care. It was a demanding job sometimes, needing all her strength and patience to carry her through, but it was her life. Indeed, she did not know what she would do if the job were no longer hers. A return to the convent would be unfortunate; here in St Saviour’s she’d become used to warmth and the comfort of her office and her room in the nurses’ home, and she ate well – better than her fellow nuns did at the convent, she knew. Beatrice remembered how cold it had been in the small impersonal cell that had been hers when she first became a nun. Over the years her room at St Saviour’s had acquired some small comforts, a few books, a picture or two – mostly of gardens. She did appreciate gardens, though it was years since she’d had one to tend, as well as the little things the children had made for her, all of which she treasured. At the convent such treasures, if not exactly forbidden, would not be understood; she was supposed to have given up all worldly pleasures, but she feared that her years in nursing had somehow made her fonder of her personal comforts than was right.