Ivy stirred, came out of the depth of sleep slowly and stretched. She was still doped and muttered, “’As it gone?” and then shrugged, as if at last becoming aware of herself, breaking the warm contact of the embrace with unknowing callousness. Flo shrank back, rebuffed, and felt her sister lift herself and shake her head as a dog does. Ivy swung half of the curtain back and the inflow of pale light set going the clockwork of Mrs. Royer’s day habits; her snores abruptly stopped as if she had been clutched at the throat, she moaned and almost at once rolled on her right side and out from under the clothes. landing on the floor with a clumsy squirming action. Then she picked up the first of her things that she saw: an odd stocking, her grey woollen petticoat, her black working apron, and rolled them into a bundle and lurched off down the narrow stairs. Almost invariably she went without something and had to come back. Flo had tried to get her to be more tidy so that she might save this extra journey, but this morning it should give them a last moment together. Ivy went down with a, “Well, so long, Flo; an’ look out for yourself”, and Flo waited. But her mother did not come. Ivy banged the door and went running as usual towards the tram. Flo heard the pots as her mother pushed them from her. She slid from bed and went down as she was. Mrs. Royer was pinning on the black hat with the mangy ostrich feather which Mrs. Howell had passed on. She slewed a little leftwards from the glass.
“When shall I see you again, mother?”
“I got to go; you know what cook’ll say,” broke in Mrs. Royer, flustered and uncomfortable. “It’ll all be for the bes t; you ’member what Missis said . . .”
“What about . . . praying or paying?”
Only her mother was in the doorway, and suddenly poked her mouth towards her. On the elder woman’s lips was the warm sweetness of tea from the last hurried sup, and this was the taste left with Flo. For several seconds she watched her mother’s hobbling rush and the swing of her black American cloth bag on its worn string. Then the grin of the paper boy interrupted. Slamming the door, Flo clutched her pink flannel nightdress and stumbled upstairs.
After that sorrow was forgotten in hurry. The train left at 8.10. At first the journey was an excitement; Flo had been as far as Lancaster once before with her mother on another Women’s Meeting trip and had enjoyed it, and was prepared to try to enjoy the ride again. The sun shone and there was a thrill to be had from the occasional glimpses southward of the beautiful calm on the bay. Also she was proud. She felt like a lady, the equal of anyone; in fact, superior to a girl in the opposite corner who had on a stained grey tweed coat and whose left stocking had a nine-inch ladder from the knee. This girl continually twisted a dark green handkerchief, and at the first stop asked anxiously if it was Carnforth.
“No,” said Flo. “We’re a long way yet.”
“Are you goin’ there?” asked the girl, appealing with sandy-brown eyes.
“Yes, and a lot farther . . . to Derbyshire. I have to change at Carnforth.”
“Oo, then I’ll be all right.”
“Have you got friends there?” asked Flo, feeling polite.
“No; I’m going to service. I wish they were friends. I don’t know ’em.”
Flo should have said, “Oh, you’ll be all right”, only she couldn’t. She stared out of the window, superiority forgotten, and wondered why she couldn’t have been given a place at Carnforth. She was tempted to tell that she was going into service, too, but she mastered that.
“D’you like travellin’? I don’t,” said the girl
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Flo, and felt better.
At Carnforth the girl got out first and waited and seemed to expect Flo to show her how to get off the station and how to get to the address which she had on a smudged envelope. Flo pointed hurriedly in the general direction of the exit, which she only vaguely remembered, and told her she could do no more because of the next train that she had to catch. The girl all at once seemed to shrink into herself, as an affectionate puppy does when unexpectedly scolded. Flo felt contrite and said, “Come on”, and bustled along with the crowd. The girl followed obediently as close as she could.
There was a policeman just past the barrier. “Ask him, then you’ll be all right,” said Flo.
The girl said, “Shall I?”
“Show your ticket,” said Flo.
The girl went fumbling through, too worried to thank her. After that there was twenty minutes to wait. Flo got a seat by a fat woman in brown who had her feet under a big bundle done up in a grey blanket.
“I wish I had one o’ them,” said the woman at once, looking at Flo’s bass.
“I’ve a job to carry it,” said Flo, who also had an umbrella, which was really her mother’s, and a handbag which had come from the Vicarage and had been her mother’s. “Is this where the Manchester train comes?”