Brightling by Rebecca Lisle

daughter’s hair off her forehead and gave her a fond, indulgent look. ‘Little pet,’ she crooned. ‘You can have whatever makes you happy.’
    Sparrow could not take her eyes off them. That could have been me, she was thinking. That could have been me with a mother and a cake and  … 
    Now the little girl was biting into the bun, smearing chocolate icing round her mouth. She was laughing. Her mother was laughing. It was extraordinary.
    Maybe, Sparrow thought, maybe that woman there was
her
mother and if Sparrow spoke to her now, she’d immediately recognise her and explain what had gone wrong. But as Sparrow looked longingly at the woman and girl, she realised that they were staring back at her, and not in a friendly way, either.
    The child was eyeing Sparrow’s clothes and a look of distaste spoiled her pretty face.
    â€˜Why’s that girl so dirty?’ she asked her mother.
    â€˜Hush dear. You, there, orphanage beggar – don’t stare at us!’ she snapped at Sparrow. ‘I’ll call the guards if you keep staring!’ She held her bag protectively against her chest as if Sparrow was going to snatch it from her.
    â€˜
Sorree!
’ Sparrow said, as rudely as she could. The woman’s words had cut her to the core. ‘There’s no law to say I can’t stare at you – a cat can look at a king!’
    She forced herself to grin as she picked Scaramouch up and rubbed her face against his. ‘Can’t we, Scaramouch, dear? We can look at anyone and anything, can’t we?’
    She stalked off, letting Scaramouch settle into her arms with a contented sigh.
    â€˜You poor thing, you’re tired,’ Sparrow said. ‘All that walking, you poor dear,’ and she rubbed his swollen pads. ‘Your feet must hurt. You have a rest, don’t mind me,’ she added as he closed his eyes.
    A young lady with a happy face smiled at them. ‘Are you lost, dear? Looking for somewhere particular?’
    Sparrow shook her head; but of course she
was
looking for somewhere particular –
Sampson’s
. At the same time she dreaded finding it; dreaded finding out something that she didn’t want to discover at all.
    She wandered round and round the market square. She’d never seen so much stuff: there were stalls selling clothes, books, food and pots, pans and knives. She wished Mary were with her, she’d love it – she loved
things
.
    Sparrow was getting very hungry. She stopped beside Bert’s Pie Counter, where a pyramid of hot, golden-crusted pies and pastries steamed. A warm, oven smell oozed from the freshly-baked crusts, making her mouth water. She stood there for so long that the man behind the counter finally shooed her away. A notice on the wall behind him said BEGGING IS FORBIDDEN.
    Sparrow leaned against the wall and watched the pies from there.
    After a while she got a tickling, prickling feeling in her neck and, looking about, saw that another girl, older than her, was staring at her fixedly. She had a mass of long, scraggly hair and wore a short blue jacket. When Sparrow stared back she immediately looked away and pretended to be preoccupied, pulling at her sleeves and digging in her pockets as if looking for money. Sparrow didn’t like being watched. She tossed her hair and moved on, searching for any scraps of food that might have fallen, but there was nothing apart from cabbage leaves, rotten fruit and a sleeping dog. She went back to the pie counter and walked round it three times, breathing in the delicious aromas. Next time she looked up, the same girl in the blue jacket was still watching her intently. Now what? Sparrow stared back. The other girl was just as untidy as she was, so it wasn’t her clothes she was staring at. She wouldn’t let this girl bully her.
    The girl came over. ‘All right, love?’ she said.
    She was taller than Sparrow. Her dark hair fell in tight rolls