Safe Harbour by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page B

Sophie, shaking her head regretfully.
    ‘Pity!’ said her aunt. ‘Music is such a gift.’
    Sophie hesitated. ‘But I sing … I mean, I like singing.’
    The other two were listening now too.
    ‘What kind of singing?’ asked her aunt.
    ‘Oh anything – folk, popular, hymns. In London I was in the church choir, and the school choir too.’ Sophie blushed. It sounded like she was boasting.
    ‘I hope to have the opportunity of hearing you sing some day. Perhaps you will come over to our house – and I will play the piano for you,’ said Aunt Dolly.
    Sophie smiled. ‘That would be nice! Thank you.’
    They were interrupted by the noisy arrival of Hugh. His hands and face were muddy and Sophie was conscious of how worn his clothes looked.
    ‘I’ve been searching for a hedgehog,’ he announced. ‘I think we’ve got one in the garden.’
    ‘So this is the boy?’ Aunt Maud said.
    Hugh stopped still, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
    Both women nodded at each other.
    ‘Hugh, go wash your hands!’ ordered Sophie crossly.
    He was about to argue with her, but Grandfather nodded in the direction of the hall, so he cleared off.
    ‘Ragamuffin!’ murmured Aunt Dolly. ‘The poor little mite!’
    ‘Something has got to be done!’ announced Aunt Maud, draining the last sip of her tea and replacing the delicate cup on the small polished tea table. Sophie knew that the ‘something’ included her.
    Sophie thought it was strange that neither of the aunts mentioned Mum and Dad, or even enquired about them.
    An hour later the two aunts began to gather their bags and daintily sweep the cake crumbs off their skirts.
    ‘Sophie, you will come to visit me, won’t you?’ Aunt Dolly reminded her. Her face was small and pale and kind, with gentle green eyes that peeped out from ginger eyelashes.
    ‘Now, Jerome, you won’t forget what I told you. You know, Wicklow is a small place, and people do talk!’ chided Aunt Maud. ‘You will get those children fixed up, or would you prefer the two of us to sort it out?’
     
    It was obvious that Grandfather was happy to leave the sorting out to his sisters, as the very next morning the two of them arrived to take the children to the local draper’s shop.
    Sophie reeled off quickly the brief list of clothes which Hugh and she possessed. Both aunts shook their heads and tut-tutted.
    Don’t you know there’s a war on? Sophie felt like shouting at them. 
    The shopkeeper welcomed the women who were obviously good customers. Given that it was wartime, Sophie was amazed how well stocked the shop was. In London there would have been queues outside it.
    Hugh hated clothes-shopping, and was already getting edgy and gazing longingly out at the sun floating in through the open door, where a boy about his own age was crouched playing marbles on the tiled floor.
    ‘Hugh, dear! Do pay attention!’ pleaded Aunt Dolly. She had four or five jumpers dangling from her hand. ‘Be a good boy and run and try these on.’
    Hugh reluctantly took off his jumper and let the old lady slip the soft wool v-neck over his head. Sophie thought it was a bit pale, but the aunts liked it and kind of clapped and made Hugh walk around a bit and muttered to each other about the merits of pure wool and a good well-knitted rib. In the space of about half-an-hour they had got several shirts, three jumpers and short pants for him and five pairs of socks.
    Hugh wanted long trousers but both aunts shook their heads in agreement: ‘He’s too young yet.’ Hugh kicked at the corner of the glass display case in annoyance, but luckily they didn’t notice.
    The aunts also treated him to a pair of swimming trunks and light beach shoes and then, satisfied with Hugh’s wardrobe, they turned their attention to Sophie.
    Sophie was so embarrassed. She stood in front of the rail of ‘little girl’ dresses – the first three she had to try on were just awful. One was too short and pinched the top of herarms, one