The Leaving Of Liverpool Read Free Page A

immigrants.’
    ‘Oh, shurrup, Gertie. You’re keeping me awake.’
    ‘My name is Gertrude Strauss, Miss Gertrude Strauss.’
    ‘Nighty-night, Gertie .’
    From then on, there was silence in the cabin, until Gertie began to snore, by which time Mollie had, at last, fallen asleep.
     
    When she woke, a murky light was visible through the porthole, which was too high to see out of. Annemarie was dead to the world and the yellow-haired girl, already dressed, was sitting on the opposite lower bunk filing her stubby red nails. She smiled when she saw Mollie looking down on her. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said cheerily. ‘You’re awake. I’m Olive Raines from Deptford in London. Who are you and where are you from?’
    ‘Mollie Kenny. I’m from County Kildare in Ireland. That’s my sister, Annemarie, in the bed over yours.’
    ‘Annemarie’s a pretty name - and she looks pretty, too. Such lovely-coloured hair, sort of blue-black. What colour eyes has she got?’
    ‘Violet, and her hair almost reaches her waist. Everyone admires it.’
    ‘Really! Mind you,’ she added, almost as an afterthought, ‘you’re quite pretty, too.’
    ‘Not as much as Annemarie.’ Mollie, with her ordinary brown hair, ordinary brown eyes, and a face that was often described as ‘interesting’, had always known that she didn’t hold a candle to her beautiful sister. She lowered her head over the side of her bunk to introduce herself to Gertie, but the bed underneath was empty.
    ‘Miss Strauss has gone for a walk before breakfast.’ Olive rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Have you met her yet?’
    ‘No, but I heard her come in last night. I heard you, too.’
    ‘Did you hear what she said?’
    ‘Yes.’ Mollie had known what Gertie had meant when she accused Olive of being paid to go with men. There was a woman who lived in a cottage just outside Duneathly who made her living the same way. Her name was Eileen. None of the women would speak to her and she never went to Mass - perhaps she didn’t dare. She’d often wondered why the Doctor hadn’t gone to Eileen, but perhaps he was worried his reputation would suffer and he’d sooner inflict himself on his daughters.
    ‘Oh, well.’ Olive gave her an arch look. ‘A girl has to earn a few bob the best way she can. What way do you earn a few bob, Mollie?’
    ‘I’ve never worked, not properly. My mammy wanted me to stay at school till I was sixteen and train for a career like my brother, Finn, but she died almost two years ago and I left to look after the Doctor and Annemarie and my two little brothers.’ It wasn’t as arduous as it sounded. Fran Kincaid came in daily to do the heavy work and Nanny, who’d looked after all the children from Finn downwards, took care of Thaddy and Aidan. Mollie’s main tasks had been to see to the meals, act as receptionist for the Doctor, and keep his records up to date.
    ‘The Doctor?’ Olive raised her arched black eyebrows, which were about an inch higher than eyebrows normally were. The roots of her blonde hair were dark brown.
    ‘My father,’ Mollie said abruptly.
    ‘That’s a strange way to refer to your pa - the Doctor. Anyway, Mollie,’ she put the nail file in a worn leather handbag, ‘would you mind looking the other way for a mo while I use the lavvy?’
    Mollie disappeared under the clothes until Olive had finished, then requested she do the same for her. Afterwards, she got washed in the little corner sink, put on her clothes, twisted her hair into a thick plait, yanked it over her shoulder, and tied the end with a blue ribbon. ‘What time’s breakfast?’ she asked as she laced up her boots.
    ‘Between eight and ten.’ Olive was in the process of painting her lips vivid scarlet with the aid of a hand mirror. ‘Don’t ask me what time it is now, because I’ve no idea, though there’s plenty of people about so I reckon it must have gone eight.’ As she spoke, there were footsteps in the corridor outside