Their mother left them at the orphanage right after New Years Day The girls cried. They had been home-raised, cosseted things. Whenever their mother was sorting out her love lifeand she was always sorting it outthe sisters, Tilly and Milly, lived with their grandmother. But when Grandmother passed away on Boxing Day, their mother handed them over to the childrens home. No, she wasnt some loose woman; she didnt drink, didnt even smoke. Still, wasnt it unfair? Her ex-husband got to live as he pleased, while she had to struggle alone with two millstones round her neck?
Their mother undid Millys little coat buttons, muttering, Stop wailing, its just how things worked outdyou think I wanted this? Youll be fine here, mark my words, youll thank me later! Milly was hiccuping from her tears, barely three years old, too young to understand. But the look in their mothers cold eyes and the frightened, tear-streaked face of her older sister, seven-year-old Tilly, told her everything was wrong. Their mother hissed, Dont shame meIm not abandoning you. Once Im settled, Ill fetch you. Ill come at Easter, I promise! The girls quieted, sniffling but believingMum had said shed return!
Adjusting to the childrens home was hard, though the matrons doted on them for their meekness, their quick wits, and the touching affection they showed each other. Tilly won everyone over with her solemn dark eyes, while Milly was a plump little cherub, sweet as a sugarplum. Milly tugged at Tillys sleeve. Whens Eastr comin? Will it come an take us back to Mum? Tilly patiently explained, again, Easters a holiday in spring, remember how Granny dyed eggs? Milly nodded very seriouslyoh yes, she rememberedbut then, thinking of Granny, tiny tears pearled on her lashes. Tilly wished she knew when Easter would come too. She asked Matron, who blinked in surprisemost children counted down to Christmas or birthdays. Still, she gave Tilly a tiny calendar. See this circled date? Thats Easter. Each numbers a day. When I was in school, Id cross them off till summer holidays. So Tilly did the same, and the tail of numbers grew shorter, closer to Mums return.
On Easter morning, Milly scampered to Tilly, clutching a red-painted egg. Tilly! Tilly! Mums comin today, Im so happy, so happy! Are you happy too? Tilly could hardly wait either. At first, the waiting was giddy. But after nap time, she felt like crying. Millys constant whining didnt help. By evening, when it was clear Mum had lied, Tilly soothed her sister. Probly the bus got stuckroadsre awful now, honest! The matrons say so. Dont cry, Milly-love, theyll dig it out, Mumll come tomorrow. Shes just havin to stay the night somewhere! Milly nodded, swallowing her sobs. But Mum never came, though the girls waited daily, inventing new excuses. One morning, Tilly couldnt find Milly. The matrons said her sister had been collectedby their mother. Much later, Tilly learned Mum had signed away her rights to Tilly alone. But luck found her: two years on, her fathers sister tracked her down. Auntie Vera was kind, and before she knew it, Tilly was calling her Mum. Her aunts warmth stitched up the wounds in her heart. She tried not to think of her motheror Milly. Though she knew Milly had been too young to understand, still Without her, Tilly would never have left
Years passed. Tilly trained as a nurse, married, had a son. They werent rich, but they were happy. Then, a letter arrived. From Milly!
Dear sister! Bet you dont remember me? I only recall your plaits and your checkered slippers. Id so love to see you! Weve moved backlive in Briarwood now. If its alright, may I visit? Tilly shrugged. Odd, inviting herself over Still, she agreed.
Milly, in a sky-blue jacket, limped toward her at the coach station, waving eagerly. Spotting Tilly in the crowd, she flung her arms round her, weeping. Sister! I knew you straight offmy Tilly! Tilly huffed, Still a crybaby, eh? though her own eyes pricked.
After supper, Milly chattered. Dont blame MumUncle Steve said hed take her with kids when they met. But she feared takin two at once. Then they had a boy, then a girlVicky, such a doll! Oh, dont be cross! Uncle Steves a fine carpenter, always busy. We even holiday down south sometimes. Then, in Year Seven, a bull gored methank God no one else was hurt. But now I limp Tilly, this pies lovelyrecipe, please?
Tilly asked, Dyou work? Study? Got a sweetheart? Youre so pretty!
Milly flushed. After the accident, treatment cost loads I help at home or Uncle Steves workshop. Mums an accountant now. As for friends well, the limp
Tilly made Milly stay the night, promising to see her off at dawn. Milly fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Tillys gaze slid to her clothes, neatly folded on the chair. Clean, but threadbare, mended countless times. Even hospital orderlies wouldnt wear such thingslet alone to visit!
At 3 a.m., Tilly woke her husband, demanding a drive to Briarwood. He grumbled but went. En route, she explained. At first he scowled, then nodded.
Finding her mothers house was easy. Her heart hammered as she knocked. Mum opened the doorolder but still elegantand didnt recognise her. Tilly said, Mornin, Mum. Fancy meetin you here. Mum greeted her like a bothersome neighbour, not a daughter unseen for years. Wheres Milly? In the yard? Tell her to come inthe kids need breakfast, place is a sty. Well, come in if youre here Tilly kept her voice steady. Millys stayin with me. Pack her things. Money too, if youve any. Ill get her a job, sort her leg. Hear me, Mum? Mum jutted her chinher old stubborn look. Get lost, you busybody! Well fetch Milly ourselves! Tilly shook her head slowly, eyes locked on hers. First, its not Millyits Millicent. Call your cow Millyyoull be milkin her yourself now, madam. Want me to gather the whole village? Let em hear how the upstandin council accountant dumped her kids? Think the local gossipsll forget? Try takin her backIll shout it nationwide. Mum sneered, slammed inside. Half an hour later, a stooped man emerged with a rucksack. Steve. Millicents things. Tell her well send money. Shes been Cinderella long enough. Dont blame your mum too harshlifes not simple
Tilly walked back, rucksack in hand, thinking: No, lifes not simple. Or is simple the hard part? For men not to drink or stray, women not to trade kids for new husbands, siblings not to forget
Just to be human.
