finished, Edith told Father that we’d also volunteered to make everyone breakfast. Father just yawned and smiled, his eyes staring somewhere into the past.
I couldn’t take much more of this. “You know it’s our birthday, don’t you?” I said. “After all, isn’t that why you brought us here?”
There was a cloud over his expression for a moment, and his eyes shut. Our mother, Ida, had died just after we were born. I could almost see her image painted on the back of his eyelids. Our birthday was a painful reminder.
But then his eyes opened again, as if nothing had happened. “Of course I know that, Scarlet. And you’re very kind to offer to make breakfast on your birthday.”
So we made breakfast while Edith just sat in her chair by the now-roaring fire and smirked. When the bacon and eggs were done, she jumped up and pushed us out of the way. “You’ve done enough now,” she said. “Go and sit down.”
Reluctantly, I let go of the frying pan and sat down at the table.
“BOYS!” Edith yelled. “BREAKFAST!”
There was a sound like a stampeding herd as our stepbrothers came pelting down the stairs and into the kitchen. All neatly dressed, I noticed, in clothes that were shiny and new, not covered in ash and cooking grease like ours.
I watched, open-mouthed, as Edith, once again, gave them the biggest helpings. She dished out plates that were nearly as full for herself and Father, and then for us …? Well, we were given the burnt scraps from the bottom of the dish. Father didn’t even seem to notice.
I was hungry, and even scraps of burnt bacon and scrambled egg were better than nothing, so I ate it. But I could still feel the anger burning in my stomach.
“Good boys,” Edith said, as they devoured their food. “You can go out to play now. Your sisters will wash up.”
One of them, Harry – the youngest – just started laughing. And that was when I snapped.
I stood up, my chair scraping the floor loudly. “Really? Do you want us to mop the floors and make the beds, too? Happy birthday to us!”
“Don’t talk to your stepmother that way,” Father said, tracing his fork around his empty plate without even looking at me.
Ivy grabbed my dress and tugged me back down to my seat. I knew how much she hated conflict, but I couldn’t put up with this for a moment longer. It was so unfair!
“You’re making a scene again, Scarlet,” Edith said, swirling the drink in her glass. She seemed to have refilled it.
“Oh, this isn’t a scene,” I muttered. I tied my dress in angry knots round my fingers. “You should see me make a scene.”
Ivy decided to take that moment to make a desperate attempt at limiting the damage. “Father,” she said. “Do we have any presents?”
“Oh, of course,” he replied. He stood up and brushed some invisible dirt from his trousers. “I’ll get them from my study while you wash up.”
I sat and seethed until Ivy dragged me and an armful of plates over to the sink. I just knew that our stepmother was smiling smugly behind our heads.
“Here you go,” Father said as he returned. He laid two small packages wrapped in brown paper on to the table. “Now, I’m afraid I have a lot of work that I need to be getting on with. I’ll see you in a few hours.” And with that, he wandered away again, whistling something that wasn’t even a tune, but that sounded absent-minded and sad. I’d always thought that Father and Aunt Phoebe couldn’t be more different, even though they were brother and sister, but now I was beginning to see the similarities. Neither of them seemed to be on quite the same planet as the rest of us.
“See you later, darling,” Edith called after him. She stood up and went to the doorway. “I’m going for a lie-down,” she said in our direction. “Sort yourselves out.”
I slammed a pile of soapy plates on to the sideboard, making Ivy jump, but Edith had already gone.
“Could they be any more unwelcoming if they tried?” I asked.
Ivy didn’t answer but just stared down into the dirty water. I could see a tiny tear in the corner of her eye, so I put my arm round her shoulder and led her over to the presents …
She quickly cheered up, and together we eagerly ripped off the paper. I reached into the box and … oh.
Socks.
I pulled them out. They were our school regulation ones – dark blue and made of fairly soft wool that was only slightly itchy to the touch. But still. Socks.
Ivy held up her pair in front of her face. “Oh. Rookwood socks,” she said, echoing my thoughts.
I put them back down, curled together like little fluffy rats.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” she said.
A suspicion was starting to build inside me. I went out into the hallway and down towards Father’s office where I knocked on the door.
“Busy!” came the reply.
I ignored him and walked in anyway to find him sitting at his desk, scrawling on forms and doing calculations.
“Father,” I said. “Thank you for the … uh … lovely socks. I don’t suppose Aunt Phoebe gave you any presents for us from her, or from Aunt Sara, did she?” Our aunts were the best family we had, and I couldn’t quite believe that they’d forget our birthday.
Father didn’t look up. He shuffled a piece of paper from one pile to another, and chewed on his pipe. “Phoebe gave me something,” he muttered. “A few packages in shiny paper. But as to where I put them …” He laid down his pipe and stared around the roomas if it would answer his question. “Hmm. I could have sworn they were in here. Perhaps Edith tidied them away.”
My fists clenched. Of course she did.
“Never mind, Scarlet,” he said, standing up and ushering me back out into the hall. “We’ll find them another time. Why don’t you run along and play with your brothers?”
And with that, he shut the door in my face.
“I’d rather eat worms,” I told the door.
I spun round to find Ivy standing behind me. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “She’s taken them, hasn’t she.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ivy said, her eyes trailing to the floor.
The sight of her sad expression only stoked my fire even further. “Right,” I said. I turned on my heels and marched up the stairs. Ivy must have quickly realised what I was up to, and started running after me.
“Scarlet, we can’t …” she said.
But it was too late for that. I went straight across the landing to the master bedroom, and hammered on the door as loudly as I could. Of course, I didn’t wait for an answer. I just wrenched at the handle and pushed it open.
And there was our stepmother, lounging in the four-poster bed, munching on chocolates, and surrounded by shreds of shiny wrapping paper.