Our Lizzie by Anna Jacobs

front where Miss Blake could keep an eye on her. And from now on Lizzie would be sitting with the part-timers at the side, which was even worse in her sister’s opinion.
    For a moment, looking at the sunshine streaming in through the tall, narrow windows, Eva wished she too had been out walking round town, then she looked down at her page and smiled. No, she didn’t. It’d mean she’d have to go part-time and she didn’t want to do that. She dipped the pen nib carefully into the ink and drew another stroke, enjoying the way the line of ink curved down the page.
    â€œVery good, Eva,” Miss Blake’s voice approved from behind her. “You’re developing a fine hand.”
    From behind the teacher’s back, Lizzie beamed across the room and nodded her head vigorously to indicate success—till her deskmate jabbed her in the ribs.
    Not wanting to get into trouble, Eva ignored her sister. Next year, she thought gloomily, she’d probably have to go part-time herself and sit at the side of the class as if she didn’t matter any more. It wasn’t fair. She wanted quite desperately to go to the secondary school. If her father hadn’t been killed, he would have managed the fees and the cost of the uniform somehow, she knew that. It just wasn’t fair!
    *   *   *
    When Meg arrived home from the visit to the school, she made herself a cup of tea and allowed herself a ten-minute sit down, for she felt exhausted already. Just as she had poured the boiling water into her own little teapot, however, someone knocked on the front door. “Oh, bother!” she muttered and put a tea cosy over the pot.
    At the door she found Mr. Beckins, the new manager from the brewery, with two men standing behind him, shuffling their feet and looking embarrassed. She scowled at them all impartially. If Mr. Beckins hadn’t insisted on buying that horse, her Stanley would be alive now.
    He nodded. “Mrs. Kershaw.”
    She nodded back and folded her arms.
    â€œI wonder if we could come in? I—we have something for you.”
    She could guess what it was so she led the way into the parlour, feeling a pang as she went inside it. She was even going to lose this, the room that was her pride and joy, because the lodgers would want somewhere to sit. Manners obliged her to offer the men seats, but she kept Stanley’s big armchair for herself, feeling comforted by the shape of it, as if he were still nearby, somehow, watching over her. “What can I do for you, Mr. Beckins?”
    â€œI…” He cleared his throat. “That is, the owners of the brewery want you to take this.” He got up and walked across to press an envelope into her hand. “It’s something to help you out till you get on your feet again.”
    â€œI’ll never get on my feet properly again without my Stanley,” she said, but took the envelope. Pride kept her from looking inside it, but she hoped they’d been generous.
    Frank Beckins turned to one of the men. “Peter?”
    â€œThe lads took up a collection as well, Mrs. Kershaw,” he said, standing up and twisting his checked cap round in his big callused hands as he spoke. “We thought a lot of your Stanley.” He could not resist a sideways scowl at the new foreman. They none of them thought much of this new fellow and his penny-pinching ways, but he was thick as thieves with the owners. “So we’d like you to accept this, with our sincere sympathy.”
    Meg accepted a second, heavier envelope, full of coins. “Thank you, Peter. I’m grateful to you all. Tell the men thank you for me. It’s going to be a—a bit hard. With the children still so young.”
    â€œBut your Percy is, I believe, working at Pilby’s?” Frank Beckins said, angry that she was not showing more gratitude. “At least you’ll have a man’s wage coming into the house