A Whisper to the Living by Ruth Hamilton Page A

surreptitiously down the hall and opened the door just a crack.
    ‘Can you come back tomorrow?’ I whispered through the gap, trying not to giggle as Josie’s stifled snorts of laughter reached my ears.
    ‘No, I can’t come back tomorrow. Get out here now.’
    I must have stiffened visibly because Mrs Cullen came forward, negotiating her way carefully around the pile of rubbish.
    ‘’Oo is it, luv?’
    I opened the door to reveal Eddie Higson standing on the step, a Woodbine making his lip curl even further into the snarl that usually occupied his face when he looked at me.
    ‘Get yourself home,’ he snapped. ‘It’s way past your bedtime.’
    I stood my ground. ‘I’m helping Mrs Cullen,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep the fear out of it, trying, most of all, not to lose face in front of Josie – I didn’t want her to know how much I feared this man who was supposed to be my stepfather.
    Eddie Higson swept a contemptuous eye past me towards Mrs Cullen and her brood, bringing his gaze to rest finally on the vast mound of debris at our feet.
    ‘I reckon Mrs Cullen’s got enough helpers of her own. She doesn’t need you. Anyroad, happen she should get the council to shift that lot.’
    Mrs Cullen drew herself up to her full five foot two, arms clasped beneath the pendulous bosom. ‘My ’usband will see to all this when ’e gets in from the ropewalk. You go, Annie luv.’
    ‘Aye,’ Eddie Higson said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and grinding it underfoot on the step. ‘Come on. Get yourself out of this midden before you catch something.’
    Mrs Cullen’s body seemed to swell with anger as she stumbled closer to the door. ‘This is no midden, Eddie Higson.’
    ‘Oh aye?’ he drawled. ‘Well, you could have fooled me, for I’ve seen less on a corporation tip than what you’ve got here.’
    Mrs Cullen was at the door now and she faced him, her complexion reddening as her anger rose. ‘Aye, well, ’appen you spend a lot o’ time up at corporation tips. Most people usually manages ter find their own level, their own place, like. I see you’ve found yours. So get back ter t’ tip where you belong. Only don’t tek Annie wi’ you. She don’t belong on no tip.’
    ‘That’s why I’m taking her home. Out of this bloody tip. You want to watch yourself, Mrs Cullen. You’ll be having the Health round next and getting yourself fumigated.’
    ‘Fumigated? It’s your bloody gob wants fumigatin’. We may not ’ave t’ poshest bathroom up Long Moor, but at least we ’ave an ’appy ’ome, one as your Annie’s glad to run to. Poor little waif can’t get away from ’er own ’ouse quick enough, seems ter me.’
    Eddie Higson was shouting now as he said, ‘You slovenly old bitch, you. She’ll not be coming here no more, I’ll see to that. And her mother will too when I tell her what a state this place is in. Get here now, you,’ he screamed at me.
    ‘No. No, I’m not coming,’ I cried, the tears beginning to flow down my face and into my throat, choking me so that I had to fight for breath.
    ‘Get here now or I’m coming in for you.’
    Mrs Cullen pushed me behind her then stood in the doorway, her legs spread wide. ‘You’ll ’ave ter get past me first. An’ I’m not lettin’ you in my ’ouse wi’out a fight, you bad-mouthed bugger, you. Come on then. Try it. Just you try to get in. Don’t forget, my George’ll be ’ere in a minute. ’E’ll sort you. You’ll be climbin’ no bloody ladders fer a week or two if ’e gets ’is ’ands round that scrawny little neck o’ yours.’
    I could hear Mrs Cullen breathing heavily in the silence that followed and I held my own breath, fighting back the sobs.
    ‘Are you coming or not?’
    ‘No,’ I managed to gasp.
    ‘I’ll beat the bloody living daylights out of you, lady,’ he yelled. ‘You’ll have to come out of that pigsty sooner or later and I’ll be waiting.’
    Mrs Cullen, after