A Sister’s Sorrow. Kitty Neale

all good. ‘He’s done this to you before then?’ she asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

      ‘Oh, yeah, this ain’t unusual. When I told Sam about how my dad would hit me, he wanted to go round to give him a good hiding. Oh, Sarah, Samuel must never know the truth about this. Promise me you won’t say anything?’

      ‘Of course I won’t,’ Sarah reassured her new friend.

      ‘Thanks,’ Mo said, and winced as she sipped her tea.

      ‘Can I do anything to help?’ Sarah asked.

      ‘No, I’ve patched myself up as best I could, but I just needed to get out of that room and speak to someone. It felt like the walls were closing in on me, and then I got scared that my dad might come back.’

      ‘Tell you what, why don’t you stay down here with me ’til Samuel gets home? Tommy can get in with me so you can have his bed.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. That’s ever so kind of you, but I don’t want to be a burden or nothing.’

      ‘Don’t be daft. It’ll be nice to have someone my own age to talk to for a change. Don’t get me wrong, I love Tommy to death, but his conversation can be a bit limited.’

      ‘If you’re sure, I’d love to. I’ll nip back upstairs and get a few bits and bobs … will you come up with me?’

      ‘Yes, but let me just look out on Tommy first.’

      Sarah walked over to the sink and glanced out the window. She could see Tommy leaning against a wall watching a small group of boys playing marbles. She hoped he would join in with their game, but for now she was satisfied he was safe, and proceeded upstairs to Mo’s room.

      When Mo opened the door and Sarah followed her in, she stood in awe as she gazed around the room. The walls were adorned with paintings of brightly coloured, exotic flowers. They were so vivid, Sarah almost felt as if she could inhale their fragrant scent.

      ‘Lovely, ain’t they?’ Mo said.

      ‘I’ve never seen nothing like them,’ Sarah replied. ‘They’re beautiful.’

      ‘Samuel painted them. He’s an artist, and was getting quite a name for himself in Jamaica. Trouble was, his younger brother saw one of them ads about the better life in Britain and got sucked in by it. Samuel didn’t want to let him come across alone, so they both got a cheap ticket on the Windrush ship, and now the best he can hope for is a stinking job on the railway.’

      ‘Couldn’t he sell his paintings?’ Sarah asked.

      ‘He tried, but people round here ain’t into this sort of art. It’s a bit too “foreign” for them. He tried over Chelsea way, but none of the galleries were interested in him. It ain’t easy being a black man in a white man’s country.’

      Sarah had never thought about it before. She’d seen signs outside some boarding houses saying, ‘No blacks or Irish’, but she’d never understood why. She stared at one of the paintings as Mo rushed around throwing some clothes into a bag.