Private Sorrow, A Read Online Free

looked the same, they were at least clean.
    ‘I help you fold old ones up,’ said Mrs Jankowski.
    When this was done, Maisie was instructed to put them in the brown paper and tie them up with the string. ‘Take to Stevenson’s dry cleaners on Hilltown.’
    Maisie struggled down the stairs with her burden and she had to stand in a queue when she reached the dry cleaners. When it was her turn, the woman behind the counter smiled. ‘Ah, Mrs Jankowski’s famous curtains. Tell her they will be back in a week’s time.’ Maisie almost said it didn’t matter since they were to lie in the cupboard for the next two years.
    When she got back, she had to clean up all the dust. As she was cleaning the windowsill, she thought what a great view there was of the Empire picture house. She said this to Mrs Jankowski. ‘Yes, I like to sit and watch people queuing and waiting for picture house to open. It helps me forget about my arthuritis. Now, Maisie, we have some tea and sandwiches and there will be some work in afternoon. I have my bridge club but when they come, you go.’
    Maisie was getting used to her employer’s way of speaking. She had almost corrected the woman when she mispronounced arthritis but stopped in time. She was here to clean, not to teach Mrs Jankowski the English language. In the afternoon, when her bridge partners arrived, Maisie’s first stint in this new job would be successfully over. They sat in the kitchen with a large brown earthenware teapot and a plate of thick-cut sandwiches. Maisie took a bite from hers and almost choked on the pungent filling.
    ‘Polish sausage,’ said Mrs Jankowski. ‘I buy it from the shop on Victoria Road. Reminds me of home.’
    Maisie nodded as she caught her breath. ‘Quite strong but tasty.’ This seemed to please her employer.
    Maisie had almost finished cleaning the kitchen when the doorbell shrilled its strident note. Mrs Jankowski made her way to the door. ‘Ah come, come Vera, you are the first to be here.’
    Five minutes later, two other women arrived. By this time, Maisie was carrying the plate of sandwiches through to the living room. The women obviously stopped for refreshments during their game.
    Mrs Jankowski was perplexed by the newcomers. ‘Maria, good to see you.’ She glanced at the stranger who stood beside Maria.
    Maria explained, ‘Teresa couldn’t come today so I brought my friend Anita.’
    Mrs Jankowski ushered them into the room. ‘Thank you for coming, Anita. I am Gina and here is Vera.’ Vera was sitting by the fire but stood up when the women entered.
    Anita smiled when she saw Vera. ‘It’s Mrs Barton, isn’t it?’
    Vera looked cautiously at the stranger. ‘Yes, I’m Vera Barton.’
    ‘I don’t expect you remember me. I was living at 96 Hilltown many years ago and you were one of my neighbours.’
    Vera said, ‘Ah, yes, I remember you. You were the young married woman who lived in the building in front of us. I can’t remember your married name.’
    ‘It’s Armstrong. My father-in-law owned a large hardware shop in Dundee but he branched out with another business in Glasgow. My husband went to manage it and we stayed there for years. We’ve come back to live here now and my new neighbour is Maria. I love playing bridge so she persuaded me to come along in place of Teresa.’
    Mrs Jankowski was anxious to stop all these recollections and get on with the game. ‘All sit here,’ she said, leading them to the card table at the window.
    But Anita wasn’t finished. ‘How is your husband Dave? And your daughter Etta will be grown-up and married. Perhaps you’re a grandmother?’
    Vera went quiet and pale. ‘I …’ Suddenly she burst into tears, loud sobs that left her gasping for breath.
    ‘Maria, get Maisie from kitchen. Tell her to bring glass of water and make some hot sweet tea,’ said Mrs Jankowski. Anita stood dumbfounded, wishing she hadn’t mentioned Vera’s family. She had never learned to hold her tongue and