An Orphan in the Snow Read online

  Copyright

  Published by Avon an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street,

  London, SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

  Copyright © HarperCollins 2017

  Cover photography © Jeff Cottenden 2017

  Cover design © Charlotte Abrams-Simpson 2017

  Molly Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008238940

  Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008238957

  Version: 2017-10-11

  Dedication

  To my dear friend June who was an evacuee in the Second World War, although nothing she experienced has found its way into this novel.

  To all Dr Barnardo’s orphans during the Second World War who were the inspiration for this series.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Before …

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  After …

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading…

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Before …

  Cambridgeshire, 1936

  June raced home from the last class of the day, wanting to make sure the bedroom she shared with her younger sister Clara was free so she could do her homework in peace. Good, she thought as she opened the front door. She could hear Clara downstairs talking to their mother.

  ‘Mum, I’m home,’ June called as she pulled off her coat and hat and hung them on a hook in the narrow hallway. She put her head in the kitchen door.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, June, and a piece of sponge?’ Her mother began to cut a slice from the cake. ‘I’ve just taken it out of the oven.’

  ‘I’ll come down in a bit. I’ve got two lots of homework, and we’ve got an English test tomorrow.’ She hesitated, then asked, ‘Where’s Dad?’

  A shadow crossed her mother’s face. ‘He won’t be here yet. He’s up at the stadium.’

  June blew out her cheeks in relief as she ran up the stairs, two at a time, to her room. She settled at the small table under the window, and had finally worked out how to solve the mathematics problem when she heard her sister flying up the stairs and footsteps thundering behind – her father’s. June’s heart pounded as she threw down her pencil and rushed to the door.

  ‘Don’t, Daddy! Don’t hit me!’ Clara screamed as she tried to kick out to escape their father’s powerful arms. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Leave her alone!’ June used every ounce of her strength to wrench her sister away from her father’s grasp. What little thing had Clara done this time to make her father so angry?

  ‘Stop interfering, you!’

  For a split second June was caught by his maddened eyes. She smelled the beer on his breath as he made to snatch Clara back. He cursed as Clara’s foot caught him on the shin. June rushed towards her father, her hand up ready to hit him. Clara ducked out of his way and turned to run but she slipped on the rug, losing her balance. June tried to grab her but her hand clutched air. She could only stand frozen in horror as Clara slowly fell backwards down the stairs.

  She didn’t know if it was she or her younger sister who screamed.

  Chapter One

  Liverpool, December 1941

  The train to Liverpool was nine hours late pulling out of Euston Station. When it finally departed, at five minutes to ten at night, it was to a cacophony of clanking and shouting, belching steam, and conductors constantly blowing their whistles. June stuck her head out of the nearest grimy window to catch the last glimpse of her aunt running along the platform. She kept up for a few seconds, her handkerchief a small white flag, but as the train gathered speed she fell back and her outline faded into the mist. Dearest Aunt Ada. June was going to miss her.

  June drew back her head and took in a deep breath. She’d done it. Even though the train had been delayed for such an interminable time, causing her to spend hours sitting on the stone floor of Euston Station because there were no available seats, June could not suppress her joy. She’d been pressed up like a bookend against one of a small group of WAAFs who chatted nonstop whilst she waited, though thankfully a soldier had given up his seat for her aunt. And now she was on her way up north. Against all odds.

  She only hoped that Liverpool was far enough away from London that her father wouldn’t come after her. She’d been brave enough not to give him the address; she hadn’t even told him the village. ‘Somewhere near Liverpool,’ she’d said vaguely. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m there.’

  Her heart beat a little faster as her father’s words rang in her ears: ‘All of you have left me now. First Stella, then Clara …’ He’d bowed his head as he uttered Clara’s name and for a second or two she thought there might be some sign of remorse reflected in his eyes. ‘Then your mother,’ he’d carried on, ‘and now you.’ He’d looked up slyly and she saw then that his eyes were as cold and grey as concrete.

  Clara. June bit her lip. No, she mustn’t think of her sister for the moment. She had to concentrate on what lay ahead. Think about her new job at Dr Barnardo’s. But first she needed to find her compartment.

  She struggled to manoeuvre her suitcase through a line of soldiers standing in the corridor, most of them puffing on cigarettes, and caught snatches of their talk as she tried to squeeze past.

  ‘Where are you stationed?’

  ‘The Isle of Tiree.’

  ‘Oh, bad luck,
old chap. That’s the Met station, isn’t it? Pretty desolate, I’m told.’

  ‘Not the best posting but at least I probably won’t get shot at. I’ve got a couple of days’ leave before I go so I’m nipping in to see the parents – they’re near Liverpool and—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ June said, now completely blocked by a tall, broad-shouldered man in an RAF greatcoat – an officer by the two bars on his shoulders – who appeared to be deep in conversation, his back to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. He turned round and even though the peak of his cap partly shaded his face, June found herself looking into eyes the colour of a summer sky. An appreciative smile spread across his even features. ‘I’ll be glad to help with that case.’

  ‘No, I’m all right, thank you. I just need to get by,’ June said, a little unnerved by his directness.

  ‘Are you sure? That case looks heavy to me,’ he said, briefly glancing down, then catching her eye again.

  ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

  The man held her gaze for a few more seconds, then shrugged and stepped aside, leaving a few extra inches of space. June nodded her thanks, conscious that she was forced to brush hard against him as she shouldered her way through.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught a mocking smile. He was doing this deliberately! She was glad he couldn’t see her face grow pink.

  Drawing admiring glances and a few whistles, she pushed her way through the heaving mass of soldiers along the corridor, the smoke from their cigarettes catching in the back of her throat. She was thankful to finally spot her compartment. She slid open the door to find it was already occupied by four uniformed women, chattering away, and a harassed-looking mother, her arms around a sobbing child sitting on her lap, trying to soothe her. A second child, a boy, was tapping his mother’s arm, whining for something to drink.

  Instinctively June smiled at the mother, who sent back an apologetic look and mouthed that she was sorry.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ June said, heaving her case onto the rack. ‘I’m used to children. My sister’s got three boys who are little monkeys. I’ve been looking after them lately.’ She sat down beside the mother, who was trying to hush the little girl’s sobs. ‘They must be tired at this late hour. How old are they?’

  ‘Joe’s six and Millie’s five,’ the woman explained. ‘I’m Doreen, by the way.’

  ‘And I’m June.’ She opened her bag. ‘I have some boiled sweets in here somewhere. Perhaps I could give them one and tell them a story?’

  ‘Would you?’ Doreen’s face softened with relief.

  ‘If you’ve got a cardigan or a shawl or something, we can tuck it around Millie so she’s ready to go to sleep for a few hours. She’ll feel better in the morning.’

  The little girl stopped crying and looked at June with wide tear-filled eyes.

  ‘The nice lady has a sweet for you, love, and she’s going to read you a story.’

  It worked like magic.

  If only Stella’s boys had been that easy, June thought wryly, a twinge of apprehension rolling down her spine. Instead of Stella’s three boys, she’d be faced with ten times that many at the orphanage.

  It was early the following morning when June alighted at Kirkdale railway station. The muscles in her legs and shoulders were stiff from being in the same position for so long. Rubbing the back of her neck and ignoring her rumbling stomach for the time being she opened the piece of paper with the written instructions she’d had from the matron of the Dr Barnardo’s home – and her new home.

  Catch the no 6 bus outside Kirkdale station. Ask the driver to put you off at the Ferndale stop. Turn left and after about five hundred yards turn left again down a lane. Walk for a few minutes and you’ll come to a private drive on the left. It’s uphill. Follow it all the way and you’ll see a large red-brick house in front of you. That’s Bingham Hall.

  June was desperate for a cup of tea and something to eat before she could attempt one more minute of travelling or she was sure she’d faint. Maybe the station would have a café. She folded the piece of paper and tucked it in her coat pocket, then doubled back onto the platform.

  She looked at her watch. Not even six o’clock. Everywhere was quiet except for the last stragglers coming off the train she’d been on. They too looked bleary-eyed, as though they hadn’t slept much. She hadn’t either, squashed between the mother with her two children, the other four women, and a tall uniformed man who’d rushed into the compartment at the last minute. For a moment, she’d thought he was the man in the greatcoat that she’d brushed against earlier; she’d felt an unexpected flicker of disappointment when she saw this man was a lot older. He’d given her an apologetic smile and settled in immediately, closing his eyes and only letting out a grunt and a snore now and then, much to the little boy’s delight when he awoke.

  The man with the blue eyes flashed through her mind again. She wondered where he was stationed; she hadn’t noticed him get off at Kirkdale. There was no way of telling the colour of his hair under the peaked cap … but those eyes. They were such a bright blue they looked as though they’d been painted in by an over-enthusiastic child. She’d been rather abrupt when he’d only offered to help her. She ought to have been better mannered. Her mother would have reprimanded her. Then she remembered the way he’d enjoyed her discomfort and with a flicker of annoyance she marched into the station café. She sat down, ordered some tea and scrambled egg on toast, and opened her book, the one Aunt Ada had slipped into her bag for the journey. June grinned as she turned the page to her bookmark. Mary Poppins couldn’t be more appropriate.

  ‘Sorry it’s powdered,’ the waitress said as she put the plate down in front of her. ‘We haven’t had our usual order of eggs delivered this week.’

  ‘I’m one of those strange people who quite like powdered egg,’ June said with a smile.

  ‘Most of the customers understand, but we’ve got one who grumbles every time. I always remind him there is a war on, and he gives me such an old-fashioned look. He don’t know if I’m being saucy or not.’ The woman chuckled, showing a wide gap in her teeth.

  ‘I’m glad you remind him,’ June said, her smile broadening.

  ‘Where are you off to, if you don’t mind me asking?’ the waitress asked.

  ‘I’m going to be working at Bingham Hall.’

  ‘What used to be Lord and Lady Bingham’s big house.’ The waitress put both hands on her hips, her expression one of genuine interest. ‘It’s now the orphanage, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Dr Barnardo’s. Do you know how far it is?’

  The waitress frowned and pulled one of her earlobes as though it might help her to think.

  ‘It’s quite a way from here. Are you going on the bus?’ June nodded. ‘It’s about eight miles but the bus will stop at every stop so it’ll feel three times as long. Anyway, you enjoy your breakfast and I’ll go and bring you a pot of tea.’

  June shivered as she rubbed her hands together through her gloves. The queue at the bus stop was long, the women chatting in such a strong accent she couldn’t catch all they were saying. Stamping her feet, which were turning numb, she was thankful to see a number 6 bus approaching.

  A large lady squeezed in by the side of her, pinning her against the window. June tried to read her book but the constant jolting made her feel nauseous and she was forced to give up. She turned her head to look out of the window, which was crying out for a good clean, and glimpsed hills and valleys and trees and the occasional small village. But her mind was busy with the thought of Bingham Hall. What would it be like? Could she make a real difference to the children’s lives? June’s thoughts rushed back to Clara. Even though the accident had happened more than five years ago it was still difficult to believe she would never see her sister again. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Somehow she had to make up for Clara’s tragic end.

  I want to do my bit in the war as well as everyone, she thought, as the bus rumbled along. She recalled that on the very
day she’d received the offer from Dr Barnardo’s she’d had a letter from the Auxiliary Territorial Service telling her she was to report for duty. She’d almost forgotten she’d applied in her excitement at Aunt Ada knowing someone at Dr Barnardo’s and putting in a word. Thank goodness the ATS agreed that her position in an orphanage was important, and even essential, and they’d immediately released her. It had been such a relief to make her own decision about her future. Working with children, especially those who had very little, was her hope, her dream. An orphanage such as Dr Barnardo’s just felt right.

  The large woman beside her spread out even further and gave a long grunt of a snore. She smelled as though it had been some time since she’d had a bath. June sighed. She mustn’t judge her. Who knew what her circumstances were? Just get this journey over and you’ll be fine, she told herself.

  But the time dragged. Once the bus turned round in a complete circle.

  ‘We can’t get through,’ called out the conductor. ‘There was a raid last night and our road is completely blocked. We’ll have to do a detour. Probably add another half-hour on to the journey.’

  The half-hour turned into an hour. Every time the driver tried to take a detour, the detour road would come to a full stop and he’d have to turn back and try another route, negotiating his way past recently bombed buildings. Somehow she hadn’t thought she’d see such depressing scenes so far from London, as Pathé News at the cinema always seemed to draw attention to London devastation. She prayed her aunt would keep safe. Dear Aunt Ada. When she’d been undecided about whether she should choose the ATS or the orphanage, her aunt had encouraged her to take up the position with Dr Barnardo’s.