Abandoned Babes
By KathyG
Summary: While Jean Watson is in the hospital and Mrs. Templeton is visiting out-of-town relatives, Jean's husband, Hamish, leaves the children alone at the house for days on end. What will Harry and Johnny do? Thank you, Besleybean, for beta-reading and Brit-picking my story!
Note: In this story, Johnny is 4 years old, and Harry is 10. It was sgam76 who gave me the idea for this scenario that I've turned into a story! =)
Harry opened her eyes and yawned. As she stretched her pyjama-clad arms towards the mildew-mottled ceiling, she turned her head to look at Johnny, who was lying sideways on his bed with his legs bent, his sandy-blond hair mussed, and his brown-and-white stuffed dog lying against his chest; he was looking at her. He was awake, too. The early-morning sunlight shone through the bedroom curtains, and the house was noticeably quiet. Well, Daddy had probably already gone to work, and with Mummy in the hospital, that quiet was to be expected. Harry would have to make breakfast for herself and Johnny again.
Grousing, the little girl threw back her bed covers and got out of bed; Johnny tossed his stuffed dog on his pillow and followed suit. The two of them left their shared bedroom and went down the hall towards the untidy lounge, their bare feet making soft foot thuds on the hard, unyielding wooden floor. Their mummy had become very sick a few days before, and an ambulance had rushed her to the hospital. Since their daddy couldn't be bothered to prepare their meals, Harry had had to take over the cooking, and she also had to look after Johnny when Daddy was at work, since Mummy wasn't there to do that, and Mrs. Templeton was out of town. Not fair!
"Is Daddy at work?" Johnny asked plaintively.
"Yeah, probably," Harry said irritably. As Johnny reached over to tug her sleeve, she pushed his hand away. "Don't bug me, Johnny!" She plodded toward the kitchen, leaving her little brother behind, careful to avoid the crumpled empty beer cans lying scattered on the dirty wooden lounge floor.
Upon entering the kitchen, she paused to think. Now that she was 10, she could make some foods by herself, and she had been having to do so ever since her mother had gone to the hospital. Fixing them both bowls of Weetabix wouldn't be hard, and making sandwiches at lunchtime would be easy. Making supper, on the other hand, would be the hard part; fortunately, there was some leftover spaghetti Bolognese that Mummy had made before she'd been rushed to the hospital, and all Harry would have to do was to warm it up. She would have to stick to making dishes that she already knew how to make; at suppertime that day, that would mean warming the spaghetti again. Johnny, on the other hand, was only four years old, so he was too short to reach the upper cabinet doors, and not strong enough to lug a carton of milk to the counter. He could take the spoons out of the drawer and the serviettes out of their holder and put them on the table, though.
At least school's out for the summer, she thought. Since that was the case, she didn't have to worry about homework, thank goodness. School would begin in September, the following month; Harry would be starting her last year of primary school, and Johnny would be entering his first. He would be in the reception class. Out loud, she called out, "Johnny, come help me!"
With a sigh, as she heard her baby brother's soft foot thuds when he entered the kitchen from behind her, Harry padded toward the cabinet where Jean kept the cereal. The little girl opened its door and removed the Weetabix box, setting it on the counter. Then she crossed the kitchen to open the other cabinet and remove a couple of plastic bowls. "Go get the spoons and serviettes, Johnny," she ordered curtly. Her little brother did as he was told, and within minutes, two bowls filled with cereal and milk sat on the square kitchen table, with a steel spoon and a paper serviette lying next to each. He climbed onto a plain wooden chair and sat there bouncing as Harry joined him.
The children ate silently, and then while Harry sullenly and silently washed the dishes, Johnny rinsed them and put them in the drainer. The bowls clinked against each other as Johnny leaned one against the other in the drainer, as his mummy had taught him. Once they were finished, they went to the lounge. "When's Mummy coming back?" Johnny asked plaintively for the umpteenth time.
Harry scowled. "I don't know! She'll have to get well first." It was all she could do to keep herself from snapping any further at Johnny. She knew he'd start crying if she did that, and she didn't want to have to deal with a crying little brother that day. She curled both hands into tight fists and took a deep breath.
Pouting, Johnny approached the sofa and slid down into a sitting position on the bare wooden floor, his legs crossed and his back resting against the sofa's soft cushioned seat. Tears trailed down his cheeks. "I wish Mrs. Templeton was here." He rubbed the tips of his left hand's fingers over the bare wooden floor, back and forth. At four, he had long since become left-handed, whereas Harry was right-handed like their parents.
"Yeah." Leaning against the rough beige wall, Harry pouted. If ever they needed their across-the-street neighbour, they sure did now. But Mrs. Templeton was out of town for the next few weeks, visiting some relatives; she had left for her visit before Mummy had got sick. And their next-door neighbours, the Pitmans, were on holiday and wouldn't be back till next month, in early September. When their daddy was at work, she and Johnny were on their own. She sighed. "Come on, Johnny, we gotta get dressed. We can't hang around in our pyjamas." The two of them returned to their room to put their clothes on.
Even though Harry and Johnny had the house all to themselves, neither of them felt like playing. They felt even less like going outside. With their friends Amy and David Pitman out of town, neither of them had anyone to play with, anyway. Johnny spent the day moping around; he spent most of the time wandering aimlessly from room to room. Harry, for her part, spent much of the time sitting slumped on one of the lounge's armchairs, fidgeting non-stop, running her right index fingertip over the scratches on the side table next to the chair, and staring aimlessly across the room. She couldn't stop brooding. Neither of them talked much. At lunchtime, Harry made peanut butter sandwiches for Johnny and herself and poured two plastic glasses of milk, and then she listlessly washed the lunch dishes while her little brother helped.
This is worse than when Mummy's in the basement, she thought crossly, as she put the last glass in the drainer. So often, their parents' arguments ended with Mummy hiding in the basement for long stretches of time. At least, when she's in the basement, she's here! Now she's not here at all. She pouted. Won't be much better when Daddy gets home from work, either—especially if he's drunk! Either way, he'll be mean, and Johnny and I'll have to hide in the shed till bedtime.
She followed her little brother back into the lounge. By then, the sun had risen into the middle of the sky, and its rays were pouring through the window and forming a rectangle of reflected light on the bare wooden floor. Once again, Harry slouched in the soft cushioned armchair and, for some time, did nothing. At last, with a sigh, she picked up the remote and turned on the telly. Perhaps there would be something good on. As the telly flickered on, "Coronation Street" appeared on the screen. It wasn't as good as a cartoon, but it would do. Leaning back in the armchair as its cushion sagged underneath her weight, Harry watched the soap opera's episode while Johnny listlessly got out a colouring book and his crayons, plopped down on the wooden floor on his stomach with his legs folded upward, and started colouring a picture inside.
As soon as the closing credits of "Coronation Street" had finished running, Harry switched the telly off. She sat in the armchair gazing down at her lap and running the tips of her right hand's fingers over the fingers of her left, thinking about nothing in particular while Johnny continued to colour. Several hours passed that way. At last, the late-afternoon sunlight pouring in through the lounge window and her hunger pangs caught her attention. It was time to fix supper. Daddy would soon be home, and he'd be wanting something to eat.
"What's for supper?" Johnny asked, as Harry slid off the armchair and stood up.
"Spag bol," she said. Entering the kitchen and switching on the overhead light, she removed what was left of the spaghetti Bolognese out of the refrigerator as Johnny opened one of the lower cabinets and grabbed hold of a saucepan's handle. Since, with Mummy in hospital, there were just the three of them, there was just enough of the spag bol to last two suppers. Harry took the saucepan from him, set it on the stove, dumped half of the leftover spaghetti Bolognese into it, and turned on the burner underneath. While it heated up, and while Johnny removed two steel forks out of the drawer and two paper serviettes out of their serviette holder on the counter, she took out two plastic dishes and two plastic glasses. Harry poured some milk into the glasses. The two of them set the dishes, glasses, forks, and serviettes on the kitchen table; the forks gleamed in the overhead light. Daddy could fix his own serving when he got home; at least, that way, Harry and Johnny could go out to the garden shed if they needed to. Harry turned to look at the drainer and shrugged. She would have to empty it of the lunch dishes before she washed the supper dishes.
When supper was ready, the two children ate again in a brooding silence, and then, after Harry had put the lunch dishes away, she dropped the serviettes in the rubbish bin and washed the supper dishes while Johnny rinsed all but the saucepan and put them in the drainer. Harry rinsed the saucepan herself and put it in the drainer with the rest. Daddy still had not come home when she finished.
I'll bet Daddy's out drinking again, she thought bitterly. No telling when he'll come back, and then he'll be mean and awful! Why did Mrs. Templeton have to go visiting now? And Mr. and Mrs. Pitman, too!
In the lounge, Harry slumped down into one of the armchairs, picked up the phone's receiver, and rang Broomfield Hospital's phone number. She knew that Mummy couldn't do anything, but just hearing her comforting voice would make Harry and Johnny feel better. Especially since the children hadn't got to talk to her even once since she'd been rushed to hospital. Unfortunately, the nurse who took her call told her that Mummy was much too sick to receive any phone calls just now. With a sigh, Harry said good-bye and hung up. She and Johnny really were on their own now, especially if Daddy stayed out to drink as he so often did. She picked up the remote and turned on the telly again, watching the movie that appeared on the screen. Johnny sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, motionless, while Harry remained seated in the armchair, her eyes glued to the telly. At first, she couldn't stop fidgeting, but as the movie held her attention, she gradually relaxed.
Johnny took himself off to bed before his regular bedtime arrived; as soon as Harry had finished watching a show on telly, she followed him to bed, where she found him already asleep in his single bed across the bedroom from hers, his stuffed dog lying in the crook of his arm. Neither of them felt like staying up until their usual bedtimes that night, not with both of their parents away. Tears ran down her cheeks as she lay in her own single bed, trying to go to sleep. I want Mummy! she thought, over and over. And Mrs. Templeton! Why'd they both have to be gone?!
The next morning, Hamish still hadn't returned home, so Harry had to fix breakfast just for Johnny and herself again. "Come on, Johnny," she ordered, as Johnny entered the kitchen. "Daddy still hasn't come back yet, so we'll have to make breakfast by ourselves. We're having Weetabix for breakfast, and you gotta help me."
Johnny took the steel spoons out of the drawer and two paper serviettes out of the serviette holder; he set them both on the smooth kitchen table. When breakfast was ready, Harry and Johnny ate their Weetabix silently and washed the breakfast dishes afterwards, and then Harry once again sat brooding and fidgeting in the lounge, her bare feet on the dirty wooden floor. After a while, she tried to focus on a book, and for a short time, while sitting cross-legged on the floor, Johnny looked at one of his picture books before he scrambled to his feet and wandered out of the lounge. For hours, he wandered aimlessly from room to room, and Harry kept fidgeting in the soft armchair. Sometimes she drew a picture on her drawing pad; at other times, she tried to read, and the rest of the time, she just sat there, brooding. She was unable to stop fidgeting at those times. Whenever Johnny started to complain, she'd snap at him, so he finally retreated into silence, misery etched on his face. At lunchtime, they had peanut butter sandwiches, and then until suppertime, Johnny alternated between watching telly, colouring in his colouring book, playing with his tiny toy cars, and looking at the pictures in his storybooks while Harry spent part of her time reading a children's novel that she had taken out of the library the week before, and the rest of it watching telly.
"I want Mummy," Johnny said at one point, his voice miserable.
Harry bit her lower lip. "Yeah. So do I." She sighed as she shifted her position. It wasn't Johnny's fault that they were all alone and so miserable, and it really wasn't fair to take her misery and bitterness out on him. Silently, though, she wondered how long she would be able to refrain from doing so. Unfair though it was, Johnny really did make such an easy target for her irritation. Especially when she was in such a bad mood, as she was now.
At suppertime, Harry and Johnny finished off the spaghetti Bolognese. Since Daddy still hadn't come home even then, she didn't bother leaving a portion for him that time. After the children had finished washing the dishes, Harry checked the refrigerator and the cabinets. The carton of milk, she discovered, was close to being empty, and so was the box of Weetabix. There was just enough of each for tomorrow morning's breakfast. The loaf of bread was down to a quarter of what it had started out with, and the peanut butter was running dangerously low. "Drats!" She slammed the cabinet door, whirled around, and took several deep breaths.
At least we can have cereal for breakfast tomorrow, Harry silently told herself. And peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and supper, until the peanut butter's all gone. Then all we're gonna have is the bread. She bit her lower lip. Till it's gone, too! She took another deep breath. If Daddy comes home tonight, I'll ask him to get some food. I'll have to ask him, even if he's drunk. He won't want to go hungry. Not when he sees how low our food is.
Shaking her head, she left the kitchen. "Would you read me a story?" Johnny asked her, holding up a brightly coloured storybook. Grimacing, Harry fought back the urge to irritably tell him to look at his book himself. At least, if she read to him, it would get her mind off things, and his, too. With a sigh, she leaned against the back of the sofa, and Johnny climbed up next to her. She read the storybook to him as he leaned against her side. After that, she and Johnny stayed in the lounge till bedtime, watching telly. When it got dark outside, Harry got up and, kicking aside the beer cans that she came across as she approached the wall, switched on the overhead light. It flooded the lounge with light.
Their father did not come home that evening. When Johnny went to bed, so did Harry.
The following morning, there was still no Daddy. Don't know whether to be glad or sad, Harry thought morosely, her bare feet making soft thuds on the bare, dirty wooden floor as she trudged into the kitchen. The morning sunlight poured in through the window. He'd probably be mean and drunk if he was home now. But at least if he was, we wouldn't be all alone! She scowled. But would he take care of us?! I'll bet I'd still have to take care of Johnny even if he was home! Till Mummy comes home, anyway.
The two children ate the last of the cereal; after they had eaten, Harry tossed the paper serviettes, the empty milk carton, and the empty Weetabix box into the kitchen rubbish bin, and then she and Johnny washed the breakfast dishes. When they were all in the drainer, Johnny left the kitchen, and Harry opened the refrigerator to see what there was left inside. To her dismay, the fridge was empty. She closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer door at the top; it was empty, too. All that was left to eat was the bread on the counter and the peanut butter in the cabinet.
"Drats!" She slammed the freezer door and clenched her fists. This—is—not—fair! She gritted her teeth. Johnny'd better stay out of here, or I'm liable to yell at him! She stood there for a long moment, her hands tightly clenched, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot over and over again, taking deep breaths.
Fortunately for Johnny, he seemed to sense her mood, for he stayed in the lounge that morning and did not say anything when she joined him there. For lunch and supper that day, there were peanut butter sandwiches.
The day after, the two of them finished off the peanut butter at suppertime, leaving only four slices of bread left in the bag. All that time, Hamish still did not come back home.
Good thing I walked Mrs. Thompson's dog before Mummy got sick, she thought, as she and Johnny washed the supper dishes early that evening. At least, I got some money. I gotta get some food tomorrow. The milk and Weetabix and peanut butter are all gone, and the bread's gonna run out tomorrow. I'll have to take Johnny with me, too.
The next day, the children each ate a half-slice of bread for breakfast and another half for lunch. As soon as they had finished the dishwashing, Harry entered the lounge and rang the hospital, hoping that this time, she could talk to her mummy. "I am so sorry, Harry," the nurse told her over the phone. "Your mummy is still in no shape to talk to anyone over the phone."
Harry bit her lower lip. "OK. Bye." She hung up, and then she went to their bedroom to get the money she'd earned for dog-walking out of the drawer where she kept her pants. Now that the kitchen cabinets were empty, she had to buy some food for herself and Johnny. By then, Johnny was dressed, and he was lying on his stomach on his single bed's crumpled bed covers with his legs folded upward and swinging in the air, as he was looking at a picture book. Perching on the edge of her own bed and placing each foot on her other knee in turn, Harry put on her shoes and socks.
"Come on, Johnny," she said, as soon as she had tied her shoes. "We're going to the corner shop."
Johnny smiled. "Are we gonna see Mrs. Russell again?"
A weak smile spread across his older sister's face. "Yeah. We're gonna see Mrs. Russell again." She frowned at Johnny. "Now come on! We gotta go, so put your shoes on."
Johnny scrambled into a sitting position, dangled his legs off the side of his bed, and put his shoes and socks on. Harry squatted to tie them for him, since he wasn't old enough yet to tie them for himself. He followed his older sister out of their bedroom. They left the house, hurried down the street, and turned right on the junction. Grey clouds covered the sky, and the air felt quite warm and humid. Within minutes, the children had arrived at the corner shop that Mr. and Mrs. Russell owned; it was on the same route that Harry took to go to school, and sometimes, she had to stop there on her way home from school to run an errand for Mummy. Mrs. Russell was Mrs. Templeton's daughter, and she was very pretty and very kind.
"Hi, Mrs. Russell," Harry mumbled, as she entered the corner shop with Johnny at her heels.
"Hi, you two." Mrs. Russell smiled fondly at the two children.
"Mrs. Russell, when is Mrs. Templeton coming back home?" Harry took out of her faded and threadbare jeans pocket the money she'd earned walking a neighbour's dog before her mother's hospitalisation. Perhaps she could make some macaroni and cheese for supper. At least she knew how to make Mac Cheese, and she knew the corner shop had the ingredients she'd need for that. For the umpteenth time, the thought ran through her head: Wish Mummy was home!
"It won't be much longer now." Mrs. Russell looked at the little girl with concern. "Is something the matter?"
Harry grimaced, but did not answer. She didn't dare saying anything about what was happening: she didn't want herself and Johnny to have to go to a foster home. She stuffed her money back into her jeans pocket and then, with her little brother trotting alongside, she got a trolley and approached the section where cheese was sold, where she put a block of Cheddar cheese in the cart. She then pushed the cart toward the aisle where pasta was sold, where she selected a bag of macaroni. Then in a few other aisles, she selected and put in the cart some butter, flour, salt, black pepper, and a 1.75-litre carton of milk.
Now I've got all I need to make Mac Cheese! With Johnny trotting next to her, she pushed the cart to the check-out stand. Since there was a customer ahead of them checking out, Harry restlessly shifted her weight from foot to foot as she waited for that other customer to finish. I sure hope I have enough! She glanced down at the jeans pocket where she had stuffed her money. She'd have to leave some of the ingredients behind if she didn't have enough money to pay for them all.
To her relief, she did have enough. As soon as she had paid for the ingredients, and they'd been bagged, Mrs. Russell smiled at her and Johnny. "You know," she said, "I just might have a sweet for each of you." She handed a chocolate bar to her and another one to Johnny.
"Thank you." Johnny smiled broadly.
"Yeah, thanks." Harry put hers in one of the grocery bags, and the two of them left the shop. Johnny's just a little kid, yet he's better at remembering the manners Mrs. Templeton and Granny've been teaching us than I am, she thought ruefully.
Harry trudged back to the grey-painted one-story house, carrying the grocery bags; Johnny loped alongside her, holding his chocolate bar. Neither of them said anything. As they stepped into their front garden, it started to drizzle; raindrops started to spatter the edge of the sagging wooden porch as they hurried up the steps. Harry pursed her lower lip. Good thing school's out for the summer!
In the kitchen, she and Johnny silently put away the ingredients she'd purchased, and they both ate their scrumptious chocolate bars. A few hours later, Harry started making the macaroni-and-cheese dish, cooking it in the saucepan after she had shredded the Cheddar cheese and mixed up the ingredients. By then, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain, so Harry could hear rain drumming the rooftop as she worked. Fortunately, she had helped her mother make the dish enough times that she knew the steps by heart. Within an hour, the macaroni-and-cheese dish was ready, and she and Johnny ate some of it and drank some milk. The Mac Cheese was delicious.
"You know, Johnny, we're kind of lucky," Harry said, as the two of them took the dishes to the sink. "At least there's enough Mac Cheese to last a few days."
"Yeah." Johnny smiled.
Harry looked at the sink and groaned. "I wish I didn't have to wash the bloody dishes!" Scowling, she ran the dishwater. The two of them put their dirty dishes in the sink and washed them all, including the saucepan.
The two of them plodded back into the lounge afterwards. "I want my mummy," Johnny complained, as he picked up his colouring book and plopped down on the floor, crossing his legs.
Me, too, Harry thought sullenly, pursing her lower lip. She did not say anything in response; she knew she'd snap at her little brother if she did. Johnny opened his colouring book, removed a crayon from his crayon box, and started colouring a picture. The rest of the day passed as the preceding day had. The rain moved on out, leaving behind puddles that glistened in the returning sunlight when Harry looked out the lounge window.
For the next three days, the two of them ate bread and milk for breakfast and lunch and dined on macaroni and cheese with milk, but when they woke up on the fourth day, to their dismay, the bread and the macaroni-and-cheese dish were gone, and so was the milk. Harry had used all of the cheese and the macaroni pasta in the dish when she'd cooked it.
She looked in the refrigerator and then in the cabinets. She and Johnny still had flour, margarine, salt, and pepper left, but none of them were any good by themselves.
We're in real trouble! she thought, as she slammed the cabinet door shut and whirled to lean against the counter. Johnny and I are gonna starve if we can't eat! I used up all my money on the ingredients!
For a moment, she stood there mentally whizzing through her options. I can't tell anyone, 'cause Johnny and I'll go to a foster home if I do! I gotta talk to Mummy! She sighed. But I can't! What if she's still too sick to talk?
Harry plopped into the armchair and slumped against its back. For a long moment, she just sat there, a lump of misery in her gut. Why did Mrs. Templeton have go visiting now? It's not fair! I can't tell Granny Leekey, either! She lives too far away! Or Mr. and Mrs. Pitman, either! They won't be back till next month!
With a sigh, she stood up. Like it or not, it was up to her. She would just have to find some way to earn some money again, so that she and Johnny could buy some more food. Maybe Mrs. Thompson would let Harry walk her dog again. Except for one problem—Johnny! I can't leave him here alone! I'll have to take him with me! She scowled and then shrugged. Johnny would just have to help her walk Mrs. Thompson's dog.
Pursing her lower lip, she entered their shared bedroom, where Johnny was on his bed in his shabby pyjamas, looking at the pictures in one of his storybooks. His stuffed dog lay on his pillow. "Come on, Johnny," she orderly curtly. "I gotta earn some money so we can get some more food, and you'll have to go with me. We gotta get dressed first. Hurry up!" Pouting, Johnny dropped his book on the bed and climbed down off of his bed.
The two of them got dressed and put their shoes on; kneeling in front of her little brother, Harry tied Johnny's shoes. Leaving the house, the two of them walked down the street to Mrs. Thompson's house. Fluffy white clouds drifted in the sky as they approached her house. Harry knocked on the front door. She took a deep breath. If she wanted to have any chance at all of earning some money, she had to be polite.
The door swung open, and Mrs. Thompson stood in the doorway. "Hi, Harry. Johnny," she greeted them.
"Hi, Mrs. Thompson," Harry said. "Can I walk your dog again?" She glanced down at Johnny. "Can Johnny and I walk your dog together, this time?"
Mrs. Thompson cocked her head. "You're needing some money again, Harry?" Harry glanced down at her little brother, then back up at Mrs. Thompson, and nodded, biting her lower lip.
"'Fraid so. We need it now. Today. Please, can we?"
Harry swallowed hard as she awaited their neighbour's answer. What would she and Johnny do if Mrs. Thompson said no?
Mrs. Thompson smiled. "Well, my Lily could use another walk, so yes. You can walk her for me." Harry sagged with relief, and Johnny smiled broadly. Mrs. Thompson stepped back into the house; a moment later, she returned with a golden retriever on the leash.
"Just to the junctions and back. Don't take her any farther than that," she ordered, as she handed the leash's handle to Harry. "Walk her up and down the street twice, both of you."
Harry nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Thompson. Thanks." Smiling broadly, Johnny knelt and rubbed Lily's head; the friendly dog licked his fingers. Mrs. Thompson watched as the two children approached the kerbside and started walking Lily to the junction at the far end on the route that Harry took to go to school. As they did so, Harry saw one of their other neighbours, Mr. Gruner, sitting in a chair on the porch of his house next to the junction, watching them. Since Mr. Gruner always made her feel uneasy for some reason, she did not look at him or say hi, but walked straight past his house with her little brother and looked straight ahead. She could feel his eyes boring into her and Johnny as she did so. Johnny nestled against his older sister until they were safely past Mr. Gruner's house, and then he drew aside once more. A cool breeze brushed against her cheeks.
When the two children had walked Lily back and forth between the junctions twice, they returned to Mrs. Thompson's house, where she was waiting with some pound notes in her hand. Harry handed the leash's handle back to her. "You did a good job, Harry. You, too, Johnny." With an approving smile, she handed the notes to Harry, who stuffed them into her jeans pocket.
"Thanks," Harry said, smiling. With a nod, after Lily had scampered through the front door, Mrs. Thompson stepped back into her house and closed the door.
"Come on, Johnny. We gotta go shopping again," Harry said. Johnny trotted alongside her as they once again passed Mr. Gruner's house. They returned to Mrs. Russell's corner shop, where they purchased some more milk, pasta, and Cheddar cheese to make some more macaroni and cheese for supper. Harry also bought another small loaf of bread. The money she had earned from walking Lily again would not allow her to buy more than that. That time, Mrs. Russell gave them each an apple when they checked out. Back at the house, they ate some bread and their apples for a late breakfast and some more bread for lunch—one slice each, per meal—and at suppertime, they dined on home-made macaroni and cheese once again.
Please, God, let me call Mummy, Harry silently prayed, as she and Johnny washed the supper dishes. She and her little brother couldn't manage like this for much longer, she knew. And yet, she knew that if she rang the hospital again, she would probably get the same answer again: her mother was too sick to take any phone calls. Like it or not, the two of them would have to continue muddling through. At least, for the moment, they had food once more.
As before, the macaroni and cheese lasted a few days; since Harry had only been able to afford a small loaf of bread, it lasted a little longer than the macaroni and cheese did, and then the two of them had bread for breakfast, lunch, and supper until it ran out. The morning after she and Johnny had eaten the last slices of bread for supper the evening before, she wearily got out of bed. It was unusually dark outside, she noticed; a storm must be coming. Still, she and Johnny had to go earn some grocery money, storm or no storm.
"Come on, Johnny. We gotta earn some money again," she said, shaking his shoulder.
"Can't." Johnny's voice sounded weak. "I'm sick."
"What?!" Harry whirled to face her little brother, who lay like a lump underneath his bed covers, his stuffed dog lying in the crook of his arm. Furrowing her brow, she approached him and laid a hand on his forehead. It felt hot. "You sure are. You'll have to stay in bed, Johnny."
Hurrying out of the bedroom in her bare feet and into the unkempt lounge, she kicked an empty beer can out of her way, plopped down on the sofa, and put her head in her hands. Now, they were in real trouble! All they had left in the kitchen was flour, salt, pepper, and margarine, none of which could be eaten by themselves. She was out of money, and because Johnny was sick, she couldn't walk Mrs. Thompson's dog again. And even if I did have money, I can't go back to the shop, not with my little brother sick! A rumble of thunder in the distance startled her. And it really is gonna storm! I can't go out when it's storming!
Harry moaned. What would she do? She couldn't take care of a sick little brother by herself, and she had no way to feed either of them!
As she raised her head and sat back upward, Harry's gaze fell on the phone. For a long moment, she sat there debating with herself. It won't do no good, she thought. If I do call, they'll just tell me she's too sick to talk to me!
But what have I got to lose? she argued with herself. Johnny and I are gonna starve to death if someone doesn't help us! And if I tell anyone else, they'll make us go to a foster home!
Biting her lower lip, she stood up and plodded toward the phone, careful to avoid the crumpled cans in her path. After a long moment fighting another battle within herself, she finally picked up the receiver with a shaking hand and dialled the hospital's number with her other. For a few minutes, she listened to it ring.
"Hello?" a female voice answered the phone.
Harry swallowed. "H—hi. This is Harry Watson." She swallowed again. "Is—is my mummy still too sick to talk to me?"
Please tell me she's not! Please tell me I can talk to her! A lightning bolt lit up the sky outside the lounge window, and a thunderclap followed on its heels.
After what felt like too long of a pause, the nurse answered her. "No. I've got some good news for you, Harry: she's finally begun to get well. She'll be able to talk to you over the phone now. I will transfer you to her room."
Harry's legs started to feel weak, and she sank into the armchair. Another long moment passed while she waited, fidgeting; finally, she heard her mother's voice on the phone. At last!
"Hi, Harry," her mother said. "How are you and Johnny?"
"Oh, Mummy!" Harry choked back a sob. "It's awful, really awful! We're in awful, awful trouble! Daddy's been gone for whole days—days and days! Mrs. Templeton's not home, Mr. and Mrs. Pitman aren't home, we're out of food, and now Johnny's sick, too!" Loud rain began to drum on the roof as she spoke. Her voice shook. "If I tell anyone else, we'll have to go to a foster home! I don't want to go to a foster home, Mummy!"
There was a sudden silence on the other end, punctured by another thunderclap, and then her mother spoke again. "Your daddy's been gone? How long, now?"
"Over a week. Way over! Days and days!" Harry choked back another sob. "Johnny and I are all alone, and Johnny's sick! And all we've got left is flour, salt, pepper, and margarine! I can't earn any more money or go get any more food with Johnny sick! And it's storming!"
"Well, don't panic, sweetie. I'll ring Mrs. Russell at the corner shop and ask her to ring Mrs. Templeton. I know Mrs. Templeton'll come back when she hears what your daddy's done."
"Thanks, Mummy!" Harry couldn't hold back the sob, that time.
"Well, I'd better hang up now, so I can ring the shop. Don't worry, Harry, we'll get this straightened out. Why didn't you call me days ago?"
"I kept trying, but the nurses kept saying you were too sick!"
She heard her mother sigh. "I was pretty sick, and no mistake. But even though I was, I would have still rung Mrs. Russell and told her, if only the nurses had put you through when your daddy first went missing. Well, I'll hang up right now and ring Mrs. Russell. Everything's going to be all right, don't you worry."
The phone switched back to the dial tone, and Harry hung up. She sank back against the back of the armchair. Help was coming! At last!
Time passed while she sat slumped in the armchair. A heavy downpour, punctuated by frequent lightning bolts and thunderclaps, drummed on the roof and the windows. A few of the thunderclaps were so loud, they hurt Harry's ears, making her wince. She supposed she should return to her bedroom and stay with Johnny, but suppose Mrs. Templeton knocked on the door while she was back there with him? Suppose she failed to hear the knock? Then Mrs. Templeton would go away, and she and Johnny would still be all alone, and in danger of starving!
A sudden knock broke into her troubled thoughts. Leaping to her feet, Harry darted toward the front door and swung it open. Mrs. Russell stood there, wearing a dripping-wet yellow mackintosh and carrying an equally wet umbrella. "It's all right, Harry," she said soothingly, as she entered the lounge, frowning when she stepped on a beer can and scanned the untidy lounge. Turning back to Harry, she added, "I've rung my mother, and she's coming home now. I'm going to stay here with you and Johnny until she gets here. Mr. Russell's going to look after the shop till I get back." She folded her umbrella, leaned it against the wall, and scanned the lounge. "Where's Johnny?"
"In his room. He doesn't feel good! Not one bit!" Grabbing Mrs. Russell's hand, Harry tugged her into the hall and then into their room. Johnny lay huddled on his side in his single bed, looking pretty miserable. The bed covers he lay underneath all lay crumpled, and his stuffed dog lay on his pillow against his flushed face.
"Hi, Johnny." Bending over, Mrs. Russell laid her hand on his forehead. "You're not feeling too good, are you? Don't worry, I'm here, and I'm going to stay here until my mother gets back." She tucked him in and turned to Harry. "I've brought some food and medicines from the shop; it's in my car. I'll go out there now and get it. You stay here with your brother, Harry, until I come back in here. As soon as I've put the food away in the kitchen and the medicine in the loo, I'll take Johnny's temperature and give him some medicine, and then I'll make you two something to eat." Harry nodded acquiescence, and Mrs. Russell left their bedroom.
For the next several minutes, Harry stayed in the room that she and Johnny shared, squatting on her bed. Over the loud downpour and the thunderclaps, she could overhear Mrs. Russell bustling about in the lounge and kitchen; once, she overheard the shop owner entering the loo. Finally, Mrs. Russell came into the room with a thermometer and a bottle of medicine. She took the little boy's temperature and gave him a spoonful of medicine. Leaving the room with the medicine, she soon returned with a bowl of what smelled like soup. It had a delicious savoury smell.
"Here, Johnny." After helping Johnny to sit up, she tucked a paper serviette into his pyjama collar. "Something light on your stomach. Some chicken soup." She turned to Harry. "After he's eaten, you'll have something to eat, too, Harry."
Harry smiled wanly. "Thanks."
Mrs. Russell fed Johnny some chicken soup, spoonful by spoonful; while he ate, the heavy rain lessened considerably, and the thunder became fainter. When he had swallowed the last bite, he lay back down, and Mrs. Russell removed the serviette from his neck and tucked him back in, smoothing back his sandy-blond hair. "You go to sleep now, Johnny. Mrs. Templeton'll be here soon."
With a weak smile, Johnny cuddled his stuffed dog against his chest. "Thanks." He closed his eyes.
Harry followed Mrs. Russell into the kitchen, where the latter warmed up the saucepan of chicken soup on the stove that she had cooked earlier. After Mrs. Russell had ladled some of the soup into a couple of plastic bowls for Harry and herself, she set them on the table, where Harry had already laid two spoons and a couple of paper serviettes. Then Mrs. Russell poured Harry a glass of milk and another for herself. The chicken soup tasted good, and so did the milk.
When the two of them had finished eating and had washed the dishes, Mrs. Russell turned to Harry. "Harry, I want you to listen to me, OK? If something like this ever happens again, and Mrs. Templeton is not here, you come to me. All right? Even if you have no money to spend, I want you to do that anyway. I'll make sure you and Johnny won't starve, and I'll look after you two until your mummy or Mrs. Templeton can do so."
Harry leaned against the shop owner's front, pressing her face into Mrs. Russell's chest; Mrs. Russell ran her fingers through Harry's light-blonde hair. "Thanks!" The little girl's voice sounded choked. "It was awful!"
Mrs. Russell hugged her. "I know it was, but it's over now. You and Johnny are not alone now. When my mother gets here, I'll have to return to the shop, but she'll look after you, and I'll bring you some food again, if I need to. And some more medicine for Johnny." She kissed Harry on the scalp. "OK, you go relax now. You've done a good job of taking care of your little brother, and now I'll take care of you both until my mother arrives."
With a smile of thanks, Harry went into the lounge, where she immediately noticed a difference. All of the beer cans had been removed from the floor, the floor had been swept, and the coffee table and side tables had been dusted. It felt as if her heart had been cleaned out, too. Such a huge weight had been lifted off of her, and now she could play once more. She didn't feel as cross and irritable as she had for days now. She picked up her drawing pad and pencil again, leaned back on the sofa, and started to draw, smiling for the first time in days. Soon, even though it was still raining, the sky became lighter.
A few hours later, there was another knock on the door. By then, even though it was still cloudy outside, the storm had moved on out altogether. Mrs. Russell, who was watching the telly with Harry, rose to her feet and answered the door. To Harry's joy, Mrs. Templeton stood on the porch, holding a suitcase.
"Mum! I'm so glad you're here!" With a sigh of relief, Mrs. Russell stood back so that her mother could enter the lounge. Mrs. Templeton crossed the room and set her suitcase on the sofa, and then she gave her daughter a hug. "Would you believe Hamish went off and left his kids alone here days ago? And with their mother in hospital, too!" Mrs. Russell added, anger etched on her face. "And poor Harry's been having to look after Johnny all by herself, all this time! They had to come by my shop twice to get some food! Harry, here, had to earn some money by walking a neighbour's dog just so they wouldn't starve. And Johnny woke up sick this morning; he's still in bed. And you should have seen the kitchen when I arrived, Mum—the fridge and the cabinets were practically empty! And the state of this lounge—!"
Mrs. Templeton shook her head, her eyes looking hard. "If I thought it'd do any good, I'd have a word with that man! Shame on him, going off like he did and leaving his kids all alone, when he knew his wife was in hospital, and I was out of town! And you don't have to tell me about the lounge; I've seen it before." She sighed. "Well, I'm back now, and I'll look after the children until Jean is well enough to come home."
As she turned to Harry, her eyes softened. "I'm here now, sweetheart, and I'll look after you and Johnny while your mummy's in hospital. Come on now, let's go check on your brother, shall we?"
The three of them entered the children's bedroom, where Mrs. Templeton laid a hand on Johnny's forehead and then on his shoulder. "Hi, Johnny. I'm here now. I'll take good care of you and Harry until your mummy comes home."
Johnny snuffled, and then smiled weakly. "Th—thank you, Mrs. Templeton."
Harry nodded, sniffling. "What—what if Daddy comes back? While you're here? What if he's drunk?"
"Then I'll take you and Johnny to my house, and you'll both stay with me until your mummy comes home."
"Even if Johnny's sick?"
Mrs. Templeton laughed. "Even if Johnny's sick. But I don't expect he'll be sick for long, Harry. He'll be over this fever in no time."
Mrs. Russell kissed her mother's cheek. "Well, I've got to go back to the shop now. I brought some over-the-counter medicine with the food; it's in the loo now. Ring me if you need any more food or medical supplies, would you, Mum?"
"I will," Mrs. Templeton assured her daughter. Mrs. Russell left.
Mrs. Templeton turned back to Johnny. "It won't be long until you'll be up and playing once more, Johnny. Right now, you just rest. I'll take good care of you and Harry." She smoothed his hair back.
"Thanks, Mrs. Templeton." Hugging his stuffed dog against his chest, Johnny's eyes slid shut, and his older sister and Mrs. Templeton left the bedroom.
"You run outside and play now, Harry. It's pretty wet outside, so you'll need to watch where you step, but the storm's moved on out," Mrs. Templeton told the little girl. "If I need you to help me with something, I'll call you. Right now, before I do anything else, I'd better ring the hospital and tell your mummy I'm here."
"Thanks, Mrs. Russell." Harry smiled and ran out into the front garden, where she saw sunlight appearing through openings in the now-light grey clouds which were breaking up, and the puddles on the street and pavements glistening in the returning sunlight. In spite of the cloudiness, the misery and the snappish feeling she'd lived with for days was gone now. Everything was all right now! Mrs. Templeton was back, and now Mummy was getting better. When she was well, she would be back, too! Surely, Johnny would be well by then.
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A/N: Sgam76 gave me the idea for the scenario described in this story.
I got the idea for Jean's hiding in the basement when quarreling with her husband in Chapter 3 of sgam76's story, "A Pox on All Your Houses."
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