Tilly’s lost girls
Eeh, Ma, this Blackpool wind would blow you to kingdom come if you gave it half a chance.”
Tilly looked up from where she sat next to the counter of her basketwear shop, weaving the last strands of the project she was working on. She smiled as she saw Eliza struggle to close the door against the might of a sudden gust.
“I tell you, Ma, it takes your breath away.”
Eliza, Tilly’s 14-year-old youngest daughter, had an old head on her shoulders and a beautiful soul. She made a funny picture with her bonnet clinging to her neck – no longer providing her with warmth, having lost its battle with the wind – and her beautiful red, curly hair, which emulated Tilly’s own, whipped into a mound of bubbles crowning her pretty, freckled face.
Tilly’s smile hadn’t shielded her… the pain stabbed her from seeing Eliza’s likeness to her half-sisters
An unbidden sigh escaped Tilly. Her smile hadn’t shielded her from the pain that had stabbed her from seeing
