A Brand New Year

By Elaine Roberts

What?” At her father’s voice, Grace Fairchild turned away from the cold draught that was whistling through the wooden sash window, and the view of the tall, smoking chimneys that prevented her from seeing the River Thames. The rain was slowly washing away the snow that had given them a white Christmas.

None of that mattered now. She wondered what had gone wrong and longed for the happy family days, before her mother died and her brother, Sam, went off to fight. Perhaps the Prime Minister, Lloyd George, could bring an end to this war, as everyone said.

Grace’s aches and pains confirmed for her that working at the munitions factory before coming home to cook and clean was taking its toll. Her once-cherished dreams of having her own family had been quickly dismissed by worries of an empty larder and dinner to prepare.

She stared incredulously at her father. Her mouth fell open, but no words came. If only she could talk to Sam.

Norman Fairchild drew hard on his cigarette, coughing as smoke filled his lungs. “It’ll do her good, and not before time.” He wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. “You’d been in domestic service long before you were twelve.” His brown crooked teeth were visible as he placed the cigarette between his lips. “Your ma, God rest her soul, did a good job getting you in where she worked.” “So she could keep an eye on me.” Grace held her breath as smoke and stale ale fumes filled the air. She gripped the coarse material of her calf-length skirt, stopping herself brushing it away. She wanted to scream at her father, but stood silently.

Norman moved the cigarette, sticking out his tongue, his fingers deftly removing a piece of tobacco.

Grace wanted to stand up to her father, protect her sister, but knew he’d have no qualms in raising his hand to her. She took several breaths. “But Pa, we’re managing –” “Managing.” Norman spat. “We’re not managing, and we certainly won’t in the future.”

Colour drained from Grace’s face. “Why, what’s happened? Is it Sam?”

Norman stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette on the saucer holding his cold cup of tea. “No.” He sighed. “It looks like I’ve lost my job on the docks.” His heavy frame slumped into an armchair as he ran a hand over his bloated face.

Stunned, Grace watched the life drain out of him. His fight had gone.

She wanted to give him comfort, but fear stopped her. Memories of the strict but loving man he used to be flooded her mind as she whispered, “I thought they were short of men.”

Norman lowered his hands, keeping his eyes fixed on the wooden floor.

“I got caught stealing cigarettes.” He pulled a packet of Player’s Navy Cut from his pocket, taking one out.

“Stealing.” Grace shook her head, watching him light the cigarette. “But you and Ma always taught us that was wrong, no matter how poor we were.”

Her father pushed himself out of the chair, his nostrils flaring and colour rushing to his face.

“Well, your ma ain’t ’ere, is she? She left me on my own with you three, and us men aren’t cut out for this.” He waved his arm around the room. “And if I ’adn’t promised her when she was dying, then well, who knows.”

“Ma’s spirit lives on in us, Pa.” Grace hit her chest with the palm of her hand. “It’s in here. You and Ma taught us about hope and faith, and no matter what, we’ve to hold on to that.” She paused, staring at her father. She wasn’t

“I bet yer get all these FANCY IDEAS WORKING in the MUNITIONS factory”

the only one looking older than her years. “I know she’d say it’s important Susan finishes school.”

“Hah. Schooling? That’s wasted on girls. Let’s face it, yer only going to get married and ’ave kids.” He took a deep breath. “And as for your ma, she ain’t ’ere so she don’t ’ave to manage. It’s about time your sister stopped being a burden and got ’erself a job.” Grace took a deep breath. “Yer know Ma hated fetching and cleaning for others, and so did I. Susan could get an office job. Wouldn’t that make you proud?”

“Proud? Your brother makes me proud, off fighting for King and country.”

Norman stubbed out his cigarette.

A lump formed in Grace’s throat, panic beginning to rise inside her. She needed to change the subject quickly.

“Pa.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve ’eard said that cos women have shown they can work as ’ard as the men, they may get the vote, after this war.” A belly laugh escaped from Norman. “That’ll be the day.” He frowned at his eldest child, his cheeks flushed with colour. “I don’t know where yer get all these fancy ideas from. I bet it’s working at that munitions factory.” “It’s well paid, Pa.” Norman stared hard at Grace. “Then maybe yer should be getting yer little sister a job there.”

Grace didn’t know how to deal with her father when he was in one of his moods, and they were becoming a daily occurrence. If only Sam could come home. She moved to straighten the clock on the mantelpiece, next to a photograph of her mother. Thoughts of her friend Sissy’s death came to mind. The munitions factory would be the last place her sister would work.

The front door slammed and Susan rushed in, running her fingers through her long brown hair. Her fringe stuck to her forehead, as drips ran down her face.

“It’s miserable out there. I don’t think it can make its mind up whether to snow or rain, but either way, it’s freezing.” Susan passed a brown paper bag to Grace. “Mrs Williams gave me these for you.” Grace unrolled the top. “Ooh lovely – sausages. She must have queued for hours to get these.”

Susan smiled. “That’s what she said – that and God only knows what’s in them, and how the butcher is ripping people off because of the time of year.”

Norman pulled himself up to his full height. “Susan, I’ve ’eard there’s a chance of a live-in cleaning job up in the city so I think –”

“Live-in?” Grace stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her sister. “You never mentioned living in.”

Norman glared at Grace. “You forget yourself, Grace. You ’ave no say in this.” Tears rolled down Susan’s face. “But Pa, I haven’t finished school yet and I don’t want to live somewhere else.” She gulped as the sobbing took hold. “I’d never see any of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl.” Norman took a small step forward, but

didn’t move any closer. “You’ll ’ave days off, so you can come ’ome then.”

Grace held her sister close. She had to stop this, but didn’t know if she could.

Susan suddenly pulled away. Her face contorted with rage.

“I won’t go, and you can’t make me. If you don’t want me living here, I’ll live on the streets.” She spun round and headed for the front door. Norman bellowed after her. “Susan! I’m your father and you’ll do as you’re told.” Grace followed her. “Susan, wait.” The house shook as Susan slammed the door on her way out.

Grace ran back into their tiny sitting-room. “How could you, Pa?” Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked, knowing he would see it as a weakness. “Is that what you want? Susan living on the streets, just so you can drink ale and smoke yourself to death?”

Norman swung round. His eyes blazed with anger. “Watch your mouth, Grace, or I’ll –” “You’ll what? Hit me? That seems to be your answer to everything these days. I’m not a child any more Pa, and you’re going to end up a lonely old man. Ma will be turning in her grave. What’s happened to the love and the laughter this house used to be filled with?”

Grace left the room, ran up the stairs, walked into the bedroom she shared with Susan and sat on her sister’s bed.

“Oh Ma, what’s happened to us?” She picked up the single pillow and hugged it. “I don’t know what to do.”

Grace didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when the heavy footsteps on the stairs startled her. She quickly replaced the pillow, guessing her father was about to complain there was no dinner ready.

A deep voice came from the bedroom doorway. “Hello, sis.”

Grace jumped up. Did she imagine that? Her brother was grinning at her.

“Sam! Are you really here? Please tell me my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.”

Sam chuckled. “No, I’m really here. I’ve a week before I have to go back.”

Grace ran forward and threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you.” She pulled back slightly. “Let me look at you.”

His face was weathered and etched with worry. He looked older than his eighteen years and smelled of dust and tobacco, but none of that mattered. He was here. Her tears broke through and ran down her face.

“Hark at you, all GROWN UP. I can’t BELIEVE you’re actually HERE”

Sam held her close. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you, Grace.” “Nothing. I’m so pleased to see you.” Sam eyed her suspiciously. “Looks like Pa’s asleep downstairs and stinks of ale, so come on, tell me.”

Grace wiped her fingers across her face. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“I expect you would, but that’s not going to happen until we’ve talked about the important family stuff.”

Grace smiled at him. “Hark at you, all grown up.” A giggle escaped. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Sam lowered his eyes for a second. “I’ve seen and heard things no one should witness, but as I said, we’ll talk about that later.”

Grace sighed and sat back down. “Pa thinks Susan’s a burden with her schooling and wants her to be a live-in domestic. She’s run off and I don’t know how to stop him. Since Ma died, he’s just got worse with every passing day.”

“One thing this war has taught me, Grace is that we ’ave to all ’elp each other. That includes Pa. The responsibility weighs ’eavy on ’im.” Sam shook his head. “Try and talk to him again, while I enjoy a lie down on a proper bed.”

Grace stood up and kissed her brother’s cheek, before leaving the room and running downstairs. Her father was pacing around the room, her mother’s photograph in his hand. “Pa?” Norman looked up. “You certainly gave me something to think about.” He shook his head. “I’ve let you all down and I don’t know what to do.”

“Pa, we’re in this together. We all ’ave a part to play in this family, but you’ve got to let us do it. We can be strong, if we hold on to each other.”

Norman nodded. “Maybe I could let them know I’m sorry, and offer to pay for the cigarettes. I’ll stop going to the Tavern every day, that’ll save a few bob.”

Grace nodded. “I got paid yesterday, so that might help.” “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.” Susan came rushing in, soaked to the skin. “I’m sorry, Pa, but I don’t want to leave home.”

Norman stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his youngest. “You won’t have to. Your Pa has messed up, but we’ll sort something out.”

Grace smiled. “It’s a new year. Let’s start 1917 with hope and faith that things will get better, the war will end, and our menfolk will come home safe.” Her eyes lit up. “Talking of which, Sam’s upstairs.”

Father and daughter screamed out in delight and both rushed towards the hallway.