The Hills and the Valley by Janet Tanner

through to Marie.
    Now she turned from washing dishes in the bowl at the sink and passed a wiping up cloth to the little girl.
    â€˜How would you like to dry some things for me? Be careful not to drop the plates – and the knives and forks go in this drawer here …’
    Marie took a plate, her tongue creeping out of the corner of her mouth with intense concentration as she dried it and Margaret smiled to herself. Oh yes, Marie was quite sweet once away from her sister’s influence. It wasn’t her fault that she had been brought up in a deprived environment and Margaret thought how rewarding h would be to teach her to enjoy some of the good things of life.
    The moment was short-lived, however. Elaine, returning from the lavatory, stopped in the doorway glaring at the domestic scene.
    â€˜What d’you fink you’re doing, our Marie?’ she demanded.
    Marie immediately looked guilty. ‘Helpin’wiv the dishes, Lainey.’
    â€˜Well don’t – see!’ Elaine’s face had gone weaselly and her voice shrill. ‘You’re not her skivvy.’
    Marie, still holding the cloth, looked from one to the other of them uncertainly.
    â€˜Nobody here is a skivvy, Elaine,’ Margaret said briskly. ‘Not Marie and not me either. I’ve just cooked your breakfast and Marie is helping me to clear it up again.’
    â€˜But you’re paid to do it,’ Elaine said defiantly. ‘Our Mam said to watch out for people like you.’
    Margaret began to feel angry, not so much because of what Elaine had said as because the hostile look was back on Marie’s face once more.
    â€˜I assure you I am not making money out of you being here, Elaine,’ she said forcefully. ‘In fact I very much doubt if what I shall get will cover the bacon and eggs you have just enjoyed, and it certainly won’t coyer the cost of kitting you out with new clothes. So let’s not fight about it, shall we?’
    Eventually they were ready to leave for the shops and set out, the girls lagging behind so that Margaret found it impossible to carry on a conversation with them.
    Saturday was market day, and though the market was not the great social occasion it had been when Margaret was a child, with all manner of fascinating tradesmen plying their wares until late into the evening and the band playing for the entertainment of shoppers, it was still a hive of activity during the daytime. Stalls spilled out of the great domed market hall into the yard outside and the big, brightly coloured van selling Gallipoli’s homemade ice-cream was parked on the opposite side of the road, on the forecourt of the Miners Arms.
    â€˜We’ll get an ice-cream when we’ve finished our shopping if you like,’ Margaret offered and the girls’faces brightened. Ice-cream to them was a rare treat indeed – they could remember having it only once in their lives, when the Salvation Army had taken a group of them on a day trip to Brighton, but they knew they had enjoyed every last melting lick of it.
    Margaret led them past the stalls and under the subway that passed beneath the first set of railway lines which bisected the main street. Then, they walked along the pleasant tree-lined road which followed the curve of both the lines and the river to the large square stone building which housed both the Co-operative confectionary shop and the drapers. As they passed the confectionary shop windows Margaret saw the girls’eyes go round again at the sight of the newly baked bread and jam tarts in the window and smiled to herself. Difficult they might be but there was one sure way to their hearts – through their somewhat deprived stomachs!
    The drapery shop was busy. Margaret joined the queue and the girls wandered around the shop looking at the goods that were displayed and the card stands advertising Sylko and Cash’s name tapes. Once again, they seemed totally awe-struck as if