got to be, ’aven’t you? It’s all very well sayin’ what others think ain’t important, but you’ve got to get along, got to live with people. Them gyppos will be gone in a few weeks, off back to Wimbledon Common or wherever it is they go when there’s no more work down ’ere. But it turns out I know most of the people pickin’ around us after all, grew up with ’em; they come from round our way. And what with this business with George’s boys, and ’im reckonin’ it was really the gypsies—nah, ain’t worth it, puttin’ up with the talk.” He barely paused to take breath. “Andwhat else you’ve got to consider is that them old pikeys might take a funny turn to it, you know, ’er stoppin’ to look at one of their babies. You never know what they might do to Doreen.”
Maisie sighed. “I do wish you wouldn’t call them gyppos and pikeys. They’re people, you know. They might look a bit different, dress a bit different, and sound nothing like you or I, but they’ve got their own codes of behavior, and it may interest you to know that by their standards we do things that are considered beyond the pale.”
“I don’t know about that, Miss.”
They had stopped walking by now and were conducting their conversation in the middle of the hop-garden.
“Well, I do. Take that enamel bowl in your hut. Use it for water to wash the boys in the evening, do you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And then you rinse it out and fill it with water to clean the plates after you’ve eaten?”
“Yes, but—”
“And I bet you fill that bowl again when there’s a bit of laundry to be done.”
“What’re you gettin’ at, Miss?”
“Gypsy folk think that’s disgusting beyond measure. They have a different bowl for each task, and they never mix them up. You’d never see a gypsy filling a bowl to have a shave and then use it later to wash some clothes.”
Billy looked at his feet. “That’s all very well, but there’s more.”
“Yes?”
“Doreen’s ’eard about that woman, the one they call Aunt Beulah. Says she wants to go to ’ave her fortune told, that the woman knows all about what’s going to ’appen—you know, in the future.”
“I see.” Maisie was calm now. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
“It can only end in tears, Miss. I don’t reckon that woman can see any farther than you or me, and I don’t want Doreen goin’there for false hopes, wantin’ to know if we’ll ’ave another little girl, wantin’ to know if we’ll ever leave for Canada, wantin’ to know if we’ll ever . . . get over it.”
“Doreen is grieving, Billy. Your Lizzie hasn’t even been gone a year, and both of you have gone through hell. She’s looking for a light at the end of her tunnel, and the other women’s stories have given her a glimmer of hope, the possibility that there might be good news on the horizon.”
“I know that, Miss, but I don’t want ’er led up the garden path, neither.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a clod of earth. “What makes people think that gypsies can tell the future anyway? What do they know that we don’t?”
Maisie held out her hand to indicate that they should walk on. “I’m not sure they do know more than anyone else, though here’s the difference—they spend a lot of time out here in the country. Their ways are simpler. I know this might sound fey, but they are more inclined to pay attention to the thoughts and feelings that herald an event than we are—even if they don’t know they’re doing it. You could say they use that particular muscle a bit more than we might. That trust in what they perceive to be a mark of what is to come means they are more inclined to intuit events than you or I.”
Billy shrugged. “Well, more than me, anyway. You’re more like them, in that way, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.” He paused. “D’you reckon I should give Doreen me blessing, let ’er go?”
“That’s not for me to say, Billy.” She
Maisie sighed. “I do wish you wouldn’t call them gyppos and pikeys. They’re people, you know. They might look a bit different, dress a bit different, and sound nothing like you or I, but they’ve got their own codes of behavior, and it may interest you to know that by their standards we do things that are considered beyond the pale.”
“I don’t know about that, Miss.”
They had stopped walking by now and were conducting their conversation in the middle of the hop-garden.
“Well, I do. Take that enamel bowl in your hut. Use it for water to wash the boys in the evening, do you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And then you rinse it out and fill it with water to clean the plates after you’ve eaten?”
“Yes, but—”
“And I bet you fill that bowl again when there’s a bit of laundry to be done.”
“What’re you gettin’ at, Miss?”
“Gypsy folk think that’s disgusting beyond measure. They have a different bowl for each task, and they never mix them up. You’d never see a gypsy filling a bowl to have a shave and then use it later to wash some clothes.”
Billy looked at his feet. “That’s all very well, but there’s more.”
“Yes?”
“Doreen’s ’eard about that woman, the one they call Aunt Beulah. Says she wants to go to ’ave her fortune told, that the woman knows all about what’s going to ’appen—you know, in the future.”
“I see.” Maisie was calm now. “Yes, I see what you mean.”
“It can only end in tears, Miss. I don’t reckon that woman can see any farther than you or me, and I don’t want Doreen goin’there for false hopes, wantin’ to know if we’ll ’ave another little girl, wantin’ to know if we’ll ever leave for Canada, wantin’ to know if we’ll ever . . . get over it.”
“Doreen is grieving, Billy. Your Lizzie hasn’t even been gone a year, and both of you have gone through hell. She’s looking for a light at the end of her tunnel, and the other women’s stories have given her a glimmer of hope, the possibility that there might be good news on the horizon.”
“I know that, Miss, but I don’t want ’er led up the garden path, neither.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a clod of earth. “What makes people think that gypsies can tell the future anyway? What do they know that we don’t?”
Maisie held out her hand to indicate that they should walk on. “I’m not sure they do know more than anyone else, though here’s the difference—they spend a lot of time out here in the country. Their ways are simpler. I know this might sound fey, but they are more inclined to pay attention to the thoughts and feelings that herald an event than we are—even if they don’t know they’re doing it. You could say they use that particular muscle a bit more than we might. That trust in what they perceive to be a mark of what is to come means they are more inclined to intuit events than you or I.”
Billy shrugged. “Well, more than me, anyway. You’re more like them, in that way, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.” He paused. “D’you reckon I should give Doreen me blessing, let ’er go?”
“That’s not for me to say, Billy.” She
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