In Her Mothers' Shoes Read Online Free

wet schoolbag, took off her soaked jacket, hung it on the back of the kitchen chair, and removed her socks and shoes, which had left a dark rain-stain across the top of her feet.
     
    Just as she was shoving the second sock in the bottom of its shoe, she heard the tap-tap of her mother’s heels in the hall.
     
    ‘Lizzie, is that you?’ her mother called as she rounded the door. ‘Where have you been? You’re soaked. You’ll catch your death.’
     
    Her mother was wearing her usual after-dinner attire – pearls, an elegant, tailored floral dress reaching just below the knee, matching heels and flawless stockings. Her hair, her clothes were always beautiful. Even now, even when Lizzie appeared before her like shipwreck flotsam, dripping all over the kitchen floor, her mother’s demeanour gave the appearance of being unruffled, though Lizzie knew this could be deceptive. For a moment, her mother was poised in the doorway, as if waiting for a camera flash. Photographers loved Helena Hamilton; she was handsome, if not quite beautiful, and had been ever since her coming out party in 1926. These days it was the National Council of Women who gathered at their home for meetings and fund-raising events that captured the photographers’ attentions. Lizzie loved studying the paper the following day, reading out any report that mentioned her mother’s name, cutting out the photos with her in them and pinning them inside her wardrobe door. One day, she hoped, she would be famous like that.
     
    Lizzie took a deep breath to quell the shivering welling up from within. ‘I know.’
     
    Her mother swooped on her, enveloping her in Shalimar perfume. ‘We need to get you out of your wet things, you poor thing. You’re frozen.’
     
    Lizzie’s teeth chattered in agreement.
     
    ‘What happened to the raincoat I gave you this morning?’
     
    Lizzie couldn’t speak for her chattering teeth. And there was no answer to that, anyway.
     
    ‘And look at the time. Where on earth have you been?’ Her mother stood back, studying her. ‘You were supposed to be home at half-past five.’
     
    ‘The tram was late.’
     
    ‘Late? The tram was surely not an hour late!’
     
    ‘No, I suppose not.’ She should have had a story ready. What was her story?
     
    ‘So tell me the truth then, what have you been doing all this time?’
     
    ‘Julia and I went into town after school and then I went home to her place. And then I had to wait ages for the tram.’
     
    ‘I don’t believe you, young lady. You can’t have been at Julia’s. Her mother would have phoned. She always does when you visit her.’
     
    ‘Oh.’
     
    ‘The truth, Elizabeth, please.’
     
    ‘I don’t know. I caught the tram home and it was late. That’s all.’
     
    Her mother pursed her lips. ‘I can see I’mnot going to get any further. Maybe your father will get some sense out of you when he comes home.’
     
    Lizzie knew her father could be strict, but more than likely he wouldn’t care. He involved himself with his children as little as possible, ignoring them most of the time he was home – which wasn’t until late during the week, while at weekends he would be absorbed in the garden, disappearing into his vegetable patch for hours at a time.
     
    The immediate confrontation over, she started to shiver uncontrollably.
     
    Her mother’s stance, annoyed after the dissembling and excuses, softened visibly. ‘Come on upstairs and get those wet clothes off. I’ll run you a hot bath.’
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
    Wellington.  August, 1950
     
    When the vomiting started, Lizzie could no longer block out the fear she’d kept locked away. What if she were pregnant? There’d been a girl at school in the upper sixth who was sick in the corridor and everyone said she was pregnant. That was the last day she’d ever been seen.
     
    She remembered the girl in her class, Marjorie, who’d been so upset last year when she thought she was going to get pregnant