War Babies by Annie Murray Page B

‘Right, you two,’ she said, taking them.
‘Get lost for a bit.’
    They walked out of the market. The street was full of carts, some parked by the kerb, their horses munching out of nosebags, the warm animal smells steaming out into the cold. Others were
cramming in and out of Jamaica Row and crowds of people were weaving in between them and jostling along the mucky pavements. Rachel and Danny, without consulting each other, moved out away from Rag
Alley and the main market bustle, along towards the bottom of Bradford Street. The slaughterhouse was near the bottom of the hill, close to the meat markets. The air was rank with the stenches of
blood and fat and offal, and the bawling of animals carried out into the street. Rachel felt her stomach turn. It was horrible to hear.
    ‘Not here.’ Danny nodded that they should go further. They turned into a side street, stopping by the wall of a factory. Other metallic screeching sounds replaced the agonies of
beasts. The smell of the chestnuts crept out into the chill, smoky air. Danny shelled one and ate it eagerly.
    ‘Nice,’ he said through a mouthful.
    Rachel was encouraged by this sudden outburst of communication. She was enjoying the sweet taste of her chestnuts as well, but she was more eager to talk than eat.
    ‘That your auntie then?’ she said, although she knew perfectly well that Gladys was his mother’s sister.
    ‘Yep,’ Danny nodded, digging into another chestnut.
    Where have you been? she wanted to ask. Where did you go all this time? She watched him while his head was down. There was a light sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Feeling her gaze on him,
Danny raised his head and looked hard into her eyes. Rachel did not look away, though she was intimidated by his gaze. The blood rose in her cheeks. Danny did not smile. He stared as if he was
looking for something.
    ‘Why’d you bring me a comic?’ he asked eventually. His voice sounded wary again, almost hostile.
    Rachel’s pulse thudded. It felt as if he might run away if she gave the wrong answer. Looking into his eyes, she said, ‘When you went away – before – it was never the
same. I just thought you’d like it.’ A truck came past at the end of the street, labouring up the hill, sending out clouds of black fumes. When its noise had passed far enough away, she
asked quietly, ‘Where did you go? Did you run away?’
    ‘No!’ Danny replied sharply, as if startled by the question. He shifted so that he was leaning his back against the wall. He bent his right leg and rested his foot on the sooty
bricks. His oversized jacket hung limply on his thin body. Once more he fingered something in his right-hand pocket. ‘Run away? No.’ Looking beyond her, back along the street, he said
in a flat voice, ‘He put me in the home. My old man. After our mom passed on. Me and my sisters – only they were put somewhere else. I dunno where they are. Auntie’s trying to
find out.’ He looked her in the eye then. ‘I’ve got three sisters – somewhere. Jess, Rose and Amy.’
    ‘The home?’ Rachel said, not quite understanding.
    ‘Orphanage.’ Danny lowered his head as if washed in shame. ‘You know, for kids. It was a long way from here, over the other side of town. Our mom passed on to the angels
– she were an angel, our mom . . .’ Rachel felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘And our dad dain’t want us so he got rid of us, once she’d gone.’
    He said all this in a flat tone, almost as if it was about someone else. It was Rachel who had tears in her eyes.
    ‘Sent you away? How
could
he send you away?’ She thought of her own mother. Whatever else, Mom had never done that.
    Danny shrugged. He looked at her, then again more closely, frowning. ‘You blarting?’
    ‘No.’ She looked down. A tear slipped from her cheek and onto the ground.
    ‘You are,’ Danny insisted. ‘Why’re you blarting?’
    ‘Because it’s sad.’ She looked up at him, wet-eyed. ‘That your mom