Eve of the Isle by Carol Rivers

Australia.’
    â€˜It’s good of them to put us up,’ said Eve, genuinely grateful.
    â€˜Yeah, ain’t it?’ Peg made her way to the end of the bed. ‘Come on boys, give me a hand. Let’s dig out this bed and some of them clothes from the wardrobe. Make ourselves comfortable.’
    When the bed was lowered to the floor, the boys bounced on the squeaky round springs. ‘Did someone die on this bed?’ asked Albert.
    â€˜Yeah,’ nodded Samuel, ‘she was Uncle Harold’s mother, so she might be a ghost.’
    Peg laughed. ‘No chance of that, Samuel. The poor old girl wouldn’t haunt here. Bet she was glad to be shot of this place.’
    â€˜At least Mrs Slygo was looked after,’ commented Eve, as she opened the wardrobe door.
    â€˜You can bet me sister would have done it only if she was on a promise from the old girl.’ Peg pulled out a long brown fox fur from a small round box. ‘Blimey, does this bite?’ Dangling it in front of Albert she gave a raucous laugh as he squealed. They were all too busy laughing to notice the door opening. Joan Slygo stood there, with a face as black as thunder.
    That night, Eve lay awake listening to the strange sounds of the tenement building. The pitter-patter of tiny feetwas incessant. She guessed it was the pigeons who took shelter in the roof above the top floor rooms. And perhaps other kinds of furry animals that came out to scavenge at night. Before twelve there had been the usual drunken cussing and cursing from outside the window. Men returning from the pubs and attempting to find their way up the echoing stairs. At least she was warm, if not comfortable. The two boys and Peg had crammed into the bed, the springs well padded by the entire collection of Mrs Slygo senior’s voluminous coats. The fox fur acted as pillow for the twins, whilst Peg’s small body curled at the other end, her head buried in one of two feather pillows that reeked of Sloan’s liniment. The strong substance used as a muscular rub was no stranger to Peg who inhaled it with relish and fell asleep instantly.
    Eve had tried to make herself comfortable in one of the ancient armchairs. An army of moths escaped from the worn fabric but Eve wouldn’t have minded if it was a nest of snakes. She was too tired to care and wrapping her tartan shawl about her, she used an embroidered antimacassar to cover her legs. The cold seemed to penetrate her frozen limbs, despite this.
    She wondered what Harold’s mother had been like. And how had Joan coped with an invalid? She didn’t seem the nursing type. And what was the bone of contention between Peg and Joan? Peg never talked of her sister. What had happened to make them such enemies?
    Just then a small figure crawled into Eve’s lap. ‘I had a bad dream,’ complained Albert sleepily. ‘Old Father Thames was chasing me.’
    Eve hugged him tight. ‘It was just a dream, love. You’re safe here with me.’
    â€˜Why don’t Aunty Joan want us?’
    Eve reflected on the moment when Joan had entered the bedroom and found them playing with the old fur. Peg had laughed at her sister’s infuriated expression. Joan had demanded they keep the noise down and banged the door behind her. Peg had made a face and set the boys off again. Once more, Eve had felt a pang of sympathy for Joan. Her home was not her own any longer. They were strangers to her. And now they were here, Peg seemed determined to settle old scores.
    Eve stroked Albert’s curly head and kissed his brow. ‘Aunty Joan doesn’t really know us.’
    â€˜Will she like us better when she does?’
    Eve hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough to find out. ‘Who couldn’t love two adorable little scamps like you?’
    Albert snuggled closer. ‘Uncle Harold ain’t bad,’ he murmured, yawning loudly. ‘He gave us a nice bit of bread