Stone Cradle (31 page)

I had just paid for my quarter and tucked the paper into the special pocket in my handbag, when he said, all casual like, ‘I see that new pub’s opening on Friday, they’ve got a notice up. Have you seen it?’

‘Another?’

‘Aye, for all the lads been demobbed, I reckon. Those boys need a pint when they get home.’

‘Another.’

I knew which one he meant. It was on the corner with Star Road. Yet another public house, as if Peterborough wasn’t stuffed full of them already. Well, that will be nice and convenient for my Lijah, I thought to myself. He’ll be able to roll home, if he wants.

‘Your son won the competition, didn’t he?’ said Phipps. ‘They all had to stand up and tell a story, and he won it.’

A boy had barged into the shop and asked for something, rudely, cutting into our conversation. I was a bit confused as I thought he’d asked for a red apple but Phipps was turning and opening a jar that had some sweets on sticks. The boy was looking anxious. He was probably on his way to school and shouldn’t have been in Phipps’ at all.

‘A competition d’you say?’ I said, cocking my head as though I hadn’t heard him right, although in fact my hearing is perfect and always has been. It’s useful to pretend it ain’t, sometimes.

‘Yes, the competition, to give it a name.’ The schoolboy was hopping from one foot to another, holding out his copper to pay, but Phipps was making a point of ignoring him, to teach him some manners. ‘They had a night in there last month. Did he not tell you? I suppose the idea was, get everybody interested. They had to stand up and tell a story and whoever told the best story that gave the landlord the idea for the name for the new public house gets to
drink the first official pint on Friday, and then free for the rest of the night.’

Lijah hadn’t mentioned any of this to me, but that was no surprise. He knew I wouldn’t approve, and I didn’t, but I must admit to feeling a little chuffed at the thought of my Lijah winning something. Well, that’s a first, I thought.

The bell tinkled as I pushed open the door to leave the shop. I was still standing on the step, pulling on my gloves, when the schoolboy came barging out behind me, nearly knocking me off the step.
Chavos
these days have no idea about respect. If he hadn’t been so quick, I’d have given him a clip round the ear.

I thought I’d take a wander up to Star Road and have a look at that new public house, even though my house was in the opposite direction. I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get home, that morning.

So I walked up, taking it slowly as I have to do these days, and stood on the corner of Star Road and Wellington Street.

They’d done the place up nice, I’ll say that for them – new window frames and a brand new door with a shiny brass handle. A man was up a ladder in front of the door. He was a-fixing the sign, which was covered in sackcloth and swinging lightly in the wind.

I stood looking up at him, and he glanced down.

‘All ready, are you?’ I asked, just by way of making conversation.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It’s creaking a bit. But it’ll be all right. It’s new.’

‘So I hear.’ I said. ‘Are you the landlord?’ I thought maybe he might tell me a bit about the competition Lijah had won. I was right interested in the idea of Lijah winning something.

‘Nope,’ he said, ‘I’m just fixing it. The boss is pleased with it, though. Fella over at Walton did the painting. It’s a
gipsy
legend, you know.’

I felt a certain tightening in my chest. ‘What’s that, then?’

The street was mostly empty but for a few children still late to get to school. The men were all off at work and it was a bit early for
the women to be setting out to do their shopping. I was only out and about because I still got up early as ever and liked going to get my ’baccy while it was quiet.

The man up the ladder didn’t reply. He just removed the sackcloth, to show me what he was fixing. He gave the sign a little push, to see if it would still creak.

The picture was of a snow-white pig with black patches and one black ear. It wasn’t a normal pig, though, oh no. It was painted all fuzzy edged, and with light strokes so the background showed through a bit. It was staring out of the picture at me, and its eyes were glowing red. It was the Ghost Pig, sure enough. And it was living on the corner of my street.

I felt my chest tighten a little more, and my hand went to my throat. My blouse was buttoned up to my neck against the cold and I was overwhelmed with a desire to undo it.
Dadus, soskey were creminor kair’d? Chavi, that puvo-baulor might jib by halling lende …
The man looked down at me, his face creased in concern. There was a ringing in my ears.
Dadus, soskey were puvo-baulor kair’d? Chavi, that tute and mandi might jib by lelling lende
.
My sight went a bit blurry.
Dadus, soskey were tu ta mandi kair’d? Chavi, that creminor might jib by halling mende
.
The man looked back at his sign and gave it another little push with his finger. It swung silently, to and fro. I felt myself begin to swing as well, although whether it was up or down, I could not tell.

T
homas Freeman was a slightly built boy, light on his feet he looked. There was an easiness about him. It’s hard to put it into words. He just had an air of knowing what he was about, what lay ahead of him in life. His father owned the bakery in Werrington, and probably his father before him. Thomas was the third child but the eldest son, so he’d take over in his turn. Maybe it was knowing his future was secure made him such a simple, cheerful sort of person. There was nothing to worry about for Thomas Freeman, oh no.

We first got talking one spring afternoon. I knew who he was, of course, as we had been stopped on Werrington Green long enough for us to work out who most of the
gorjers
were. I hadn’t spoken to any of the village boys up ’til then, of course – such a thing would have been unthinkable back in them days. Some of them would throw mud at our
vardos
when they went past, but only if my Dadus or Redeemus Grey weren’t around. I had first seen Thomas Freeman with that group, but he didn’t throw any mud himself,
just carried on walking, with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything to the other boys and he didn’t look at me.

After they had gone past, I thought about the thin, light-haired boy who hadn’t thrown mud. The other boys he was with looked a lot tougher than him, but there seemed something strong about him all the same, perhaps because he hadn’t felt the need to join in. I wondered who he was, and what his name was, but knew there was no way of finding out as the heavens would have opened if I’d asked a question about a
gorjer
boy.

The next I saw him was a few days later, when I was walking down the lane that led to Walton. I was looking for nettles. Dei had said they were thick down that particular lane. Thomas Freeman was on his way back from somewhere, with a bundle tucked under his arm.

I saw the
gorjer
boy with the light hair walking towards me and I did what any girl in my position would have done. I crossed over the lane, as you would if you’d spotted a dog you didn’t like the look of.

As we drew level, he stopped where he was and watched me pass, then called after me, ‘There’s no need to avoid me, miss. I don’t bite, you know.’

I just kept my head down and quickened my pace. Course you bite, I thought dismissively. You all bite.

But as I kept walking, I thought how his voice had sounded friendly and regretful, not harsh like most boys’ voices. He had sounded a little sad that I wouldn’t acknowledge him. And the whole time I was picking nettles, bending low to grasp the bottom of their stems, I thought of the sadness and kindliness in his voice, and resolved that next time I came across him, as long as no one else was around, I would be bold and speak with him.

The opportunity did not come for some weeks, and I had almost forgotten about him by then. I was walking down the same lane,
around the same time of day. Looking back on it, I wonder if I had not done that on purpose a few times, on the chance that he had been on a regular errand before and I might see him again.

I was not yet at the place where we had passed each other before. I was still quite close to the village. But it was a quiet, sunlit afternoon and no one was around, and as I neared a long wooden gate that led into a farmer’s field, I saw that he was sitting on top of it, and I knew at once that he was waiting on the off-chance I might pass, and that for the last few weeks we had both been trying to bump into one another, and both been disappointed, until now.

I glanced behind me, to make sure no one else was around. I thought,
he’d b
e
in
as
much
trouble
as
me
if
we
were
seen
together.
He was from an upright
gorjer
family, after all, with a good trade. The last thing they would want is for their prized eldest son to be seen talking to a
gipsy
girl.

I had never met any of his family, of course, but the thought of how unpleasant they would be to me if they got the chance was what made me bold enough to speak to him. I stopped in front of the gate and looked up at him.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely.

‘It is indeed,’ I said, loving my boldness, loving the newness of it.

‘What is your name?’ he asked. ‘Mine’s Thomas Freeman,’ he added quickly, with the air of someone who was prepared to go first.

‘I know,’ I replied, even though I did not until that moment. ‘You’re the baker’s lad.’

He looked surprised. ‘How do you know that?’

How
do
you
think
? I laughed to myself. Could it be something to do with the way you ride round the village on your dad’s bike after school, selling loaves from the front basket?

‘My name is … Edith,’ I said. Edith sounded good, I thought. Nice and proper.

‘Edith,’ he repeated.

We looked at each other for a bit, then he shuffled along the top bar of the gate, to allow me to climb up and sit on it to but not to be too close to him. I clambered up, and there we sat, like two birds, both of us glancing this way and that down the lane so that, from our vantage point, we could see if anyone approached.

‘Where are you off to, then?’ he asked after a bit.

‘Just walking,’ I said.

‘I am on my way back from visiting my aunt and her family in Gunthorpe. She’s a seamstress there, but she’s not been well recently.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ I replied.

We were in a strange position, for it was clear that neither of us wanted to jump down from the gate and go off while neither of us could think of a decent reason for staying there either. I did not know what was happening between us, if anything – but I knew I was enjoying it, right enough. It made me feel like I wasn’t a little girl, right at that minute, that I was myself, and that that self was somehow and importantly different from the girl I had been a few minutes before. It was a new, clean feeling, like being able to fly – not that I have ever been able to fly, of course.

‘Have you got any brothers and sisters?’ he said.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I did when I was little but they all died.’

‘Oh,’ he said.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘Oh loads of them,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two big sisters, Emily and Jane. I’m the eldest boy but I’ve got three younger brothers, Samuel, William and George, and then there are two little girls as well. There’s always been loads of us. It’s quite good like that when you’ve got a shop. Don’t you get lonely on your own?’

It was a stupid question, so I didn’t bother to answer it. We were quiet for a bit, then he said, ‘I’ve never spoken to a
gipsy
before.’

There wasn’t much I could say to that.

‘Would you mind if I asked you a question?’ he said politely.

I looked at him, the sun on his hair.

Without waiting for me to reply, he said, ‘Is it true you all have your own secret language? I studied Latin at school but I never got the hang of it.’

‘Well you can understand me, right enough,’ I replied warily.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I remember having a secret language with my brother when we were children, only we forgot it after a while, and I just wondered how you remember it, if you’ve never wrote it down.’

I confess this question flummoxed me a bit, so I said. ‘I’ll answer yours if you answer a question of mine after.’

‘All right, Edith.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘the truth of the matter is, we can speak the same language as animals, you know, horses and dogs and foxes all understand each other, and so do we. We don’t need to write it down, it’s just in us, and that’s the way it is. It isn’t something we think about, you know, no more than you do, but we know ourselves to be greater than you for we understand you, but you will never understand us.’

The length of this speech surprised him, for he stared at me the whole while, impressed. ‘So do you …’

‘It’s my turn now, I believe.’

‘All right. Go on, then. Ask me anything.’

I tried to think of all the things I had ever wondered about the way
gorjers
live, all the things I had been curious about, but nothing came to mind, and out of nowhere, the words came, ‘Would you like to kiss me, Thomas Freeman?’

The look on his face was one of such joy and astonishment that I could not stop myself grinning from ear to ear. He smiled and leaned towards me. I leaned forward too, and then gave him a sharp shove in the chest with one hand. He obliged me by tipping backwards, legs going right over, and landing on his side in the field.

I looked down at him over my shoulder and laughed. ‘I didn’t say you
could,
you know, I just asked if you wanted to!’

I jumped off my side of the gate and ran down the path, full of glee at my own wit, and happy as anything because I now knew for certain that a boy wanted to kiss me and I had never known that in my whole life before.

I had got no more than a few yards back towards the village when I looked ahead, then stopped dead on the path. Ahead of me, in the distance, was a dark, solid figure, right in the middle of the lane. He was some way off, but I knew from the size of him and the silhouette of his hat, that it was Redeemus Grey. He was standing stock still, so must have been staring along the path and seen me.

I glanced behind me and saw Thomas clambering over the gate. I looked back and realised that Redeemus Grey must be able to see him as well. What must it look like, me running down the lane, dishevelled and laughing, and a
gorjer
boy clambering the gate after me? My insides felt soft with fear, for I knew what a strict man Redeemus Grey was and how he’d be bound to tell my father what he’d seen and then I’d catch it. Mr Grey was terribly moral that way. He once took one of his own girls to the middle of the green and beat her with a stick in front of everybody because he’d caught her looking at a
gorjer
boy, never mind talking to one. There was no chance one of his girls would ever step out of line. They’d stay as pure as driven snow until he had them safely married off.

I gestured to Thomas, waving him back with my hand. His face creased in concern, and then he understood my gesture, turned and walked the other way. When I looked back toward the village, Redeemus Grey had also turned and gone – probably straight to tell my father.

Now I’m for it, I thought, and the thought quite wiped out my happiness at having pulled a trick on Thomas.

I walked back to the village as slowly as I had ever done, knowing I had to go straight back to the green but wanting to delay the dread moment for as long as possible. As I came up Church Street, the vicar was leaving the churchyard, pulling the gate shut behind him. He glanced at me and I nodded politely, walking on.

But blow me if I hadn’t gone more than a few paces when I realised he was hurrying after me and falling into step beside me. I kept my head down and walked quickly, for although he was a vicar, he was still a man and I thought, dordy, the reputation I’m going to get if I’m seen talking to two of them in one afternoon.

‘Good afternoon, my child,’ said the vicar, as we walked. ‘Are you walking up to the green? Do you mind if I walk a few paces along with you?’

I kept my head down but nodded.

‘Sow your pace a little, my child. I am not quite as young as you, remember.’

There was a little admonishment in his tone, so I unwillingly slowed my pace but still kept looking at the ground.

‘I have seen you, of course, but do not know your name.’

‘Emily, sir,’ I said quietly.

‘Emily,’ he said. We walked a few paces in silence. Then he said, ‘Forgive me for asking, Emily, but how old are you?’

‘I do not know, sir,’ I said.

‘And have you had any schooling?’ he asked next.

‘No, sir,’ I replied.

What was the point of this? We were approaching the green, so I stopped and faced him.

‘Is there anything I can help you with, sir?’ I asked boldly.

He looked down at me, a gaze of concern in his handsome face. He was a tall man with a shock of white hair and deep-set, brown eyes. He was concerned, yes, but also a little amused by me, I thought. I felt like a little rabbit before him. The feeling was not
entirely unpleasurable.
Dordy,
dordy,
what
is
it
with
me
this
after
noon,
I thought,
am
I
giving
off
a
scent
or
something?

‘Child, forgive me but I’ll not keep you long. I just wanted to ask, are you happy with your degraded condition?’

I looked at him straight. Had
he
seen me talking with Thomas Freeman as well? ‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘I mean,’ he lifted a hand towards the green, ‘your road-side habits. Have you never wondered what it might be like to be a Christian girl, to live in a house and sleep in a bed and work and rest as the Lord intended?’

Oh, so that was it. Conversion. We had come across it many times before.

‘I can’t say as I have, sir.’ Sometimes, it was worth encouraging them. You got presents if you baptised a baby, for instance. There were some Travelling families who did quite well going from parish to parish, finding God in each of them, and getting all ten of their children baptised every time.

‘What if you were to take a position in a house, say, as a scullery maid? There are many advantages to such positions. Why, my own housekeeper is always saying she would well reward the right scullery girl if only she could find her.’

Is
it
my
soul
you’re
after
or
my
working
skills
? I thought. At the time, it did not occur to me to think he might be after something else as well. I had met so few men, apart from our immediate group, that I had yet to learn that that is what they are all after, most of the time.

Oh Dei and Dadus, why did you keep me so protected? Why did I not know what happened if you gave a man any sort of encouragement, and that sometimes it could happen whether you encouraged him or not?