her choice of words, even though she kept her voice level.
‘Just a matter of weeks, really,’ Reverend Farrimond had said, mistakenly encouraged by her response. ‘The young widow wishes to travel back to her homeland, and there’s every chance that the church distress fund might be able to help her do this. She’s willing to work in the meantime. She could be a great help to you, Eve. Eve?’
Eve forced herself to look up. She had stopped listening after the minister said ‘homeland’ and she gazed at him blankly. Arthur spoke up.
‘Where’s she from then?’ he said.
‘Russia,’ said the minister, quite cheerfully, as though there was nothing at all unusual being discussed and he was simply responding to Arthur’s polite interest.
‘Leo and Anna Rabinovich,’ he went on. ‘Just Anna now, of course. Not sure what the baby’s called. Fascinating, really, how they ended up in our little corner of Yorkshire. We have two other foreign families in Grangely, you know. Polish, though.’ He chuckled. ‘Oh yes, we’re quite international.’
He looked at Eve then back to Arthur. Seth, forgotten byeveryone, said, ‘Then they should go to them. They should go to the foreign people, not come ’ere. We’re not foreign.’ He spoke quickly, out of panic, and his voice cracked. He felt maddening tears pool in his eyes.
The three adults looked at him and the boy waited to be sent out of the room, but the stranger said, ‘We are to them, Seth,’ then they all simply looked away again, and their behaviour made him feel more afraid. He wanted his mother to banish him in the normal way instead of staring at the table. More than that, he wanted this man to get up and leave. He had walked in on their perfect Saturday and ruined it completely. The boy glared at the minister with hatred, but nobody was watching him any more.
‘You wouldn’t ask this of us if you weren’t desperate?’
It was Arthur who spoke, not Eve. She looked at him, aghast. He seemed to be speaking her line, asking the question she should ask, but her compassion for the needy of Grangely and her desire to help them had been a poor, stunted impulse in the end, she thought.
‘That’s right, Arthur,’ said Reverend Farrimond. ‘I truly wouldn’t.’
‘Then they can come,’ Arthur said.
‘No!’ said Seth. ‘They can’t!’
Now his mother did turn on him.
‘Seth Williams, get up them stairs now and stay there till you’re told otherwise.’
He hesitated a fraction too long and she gave him the look she reserved for such moments, the look that conveyed the seriousness of her intent, the firmness of her resolve. He fled through the doorway at the foot of the stairs, pulling it shut behind him so that his mother couldn’t see he was still there, his face pressed into his father’s coat. It still smelled of beer fumes and tobacco from the Hare and Hounds, and Seth breathed it in, wishing they were still there.
The door swung open, and there was Eve, alerted to his attempt at defiance by the absence of footsteps up the stairs. ‘Up,’ she said. ‘Now.’
So he went, but he surreptitiously slid his father’s woollen scarf from the peg and took it with him. It was bitterly cold in the little bedroom and he was glad; shivering on the bed helped him feel as wretched as he believed the situation demanded. He wondered how long he’d be made to stay here. He rolled the scarf into a pillow and, curling on the bed, shoved it under his cheek and lay listening to the voices in the kitchen below. They were muffled, but he could still tell it was his mother speaking, and Seth wondered what she was saying. She didn’t want those people to come any more than he did, thought Seth, and that’s why she was angry at him. He was only a boy, but he understood that well enough.
Chapter 13
L ew Sylvester’s brother Warren had picked up a copy of the Sheffield
Telegraph
at the dog track on Saturday, and had seen an advertisement in it for
‘Just a matter of weeks, really,’ Reverend Farrimond had said, mistakenly encouraged by her response. ‘The young widow wishes to travel back to her homeland, and there’s every chance that the church distress fund might be able to help her do this. She’s willing to work in the meantime. She could be a great help to you, Eve. Eve?’
Eve forced herself to look up. She had stopped listening after the minister said ‘homeland’ and she gazed at him blankly. Arthur spoke up.
‘Where’s she from then?’ he said.
‘Russia,’ said the minister, quite cheerfully, as though there was nothing at all unusual being discussed and he was simply responding to Arthur’s polite interest.
‘Leo and Anna Rabinovich,’ he went on. ‘Just Anna now, of course. Not sure what the baby’s called. Fascinating, really, how they ended up in our little corner of Yorkshire. We have two other foreign families in Grangely, you know. Polish, though.’ He chuckled. ‘Oh yes, we’re quite international.’
He looked at Eve then back to Arthur. Seth, forgotten byeveryone, said, ‘Then they should go to them. They should go to the foreign people, not come ’ere. We’re not foreign.’ He spoke quickly, out of panic, and his voice cracked. He felt maddening tears pool in his eyes.
The three adults looked at him and the boy waited to be sent out of the room, but the stranger said, ‘We are to them, Seth,’ then they all simply looked away again, and their behaviour made him feel more afraid. He wanted his mother to banish him in the normal way instead of staring at the table. More than that, he wanted this man to get up and leave. He had walked in on their perfect Saturday and ruined it completely. The boy glared at the minister with hatred, but nobody was watching him any more.
‘You wouldn’t ask this of us if you weren’t desperate?’
It was Arthur who spoke, not Eve. She looked at him, aghast. He seemed to be speaking her line, asking the question she should ask, but her compassion for the needy of Grangely and her desire to help them had been a poor, stunted impulse in the end, she thought.
‘That’s right, Arthur,’ said Reverend Farrimond. ‘I truly wouldn’t.’
‘Then they can come,’ Arthur said.
‘No!’ said Seth. ‘They can’t!’
Now his mother did turn on him.
‘Seth Williams, get up them stairs now and stay there till you’re told otherwise.’
He hesitated a fraction too long and she gave him the look she reserved for such moments, the look that conveyed the seriousness of her intent, the firmness of her resolve. He fled through the doorway at the foot of the stairs, pulling it shut behind him so that his mother couldn’t see he was still there, his face pressed into his father’s coat. It still smelled of beer fumes and tobacco from the Hare and Hounds, and Seth breathed it in, wishing they were still there.
The door swung open, and there was Eve, alerted to his attempt at defiance by the absence of footsteps up the stairs. ‘Up,’ she said. ‘Now.’
So he went, but he surreptitiously slid his father’s woollen scarf from the peg and took it with him. It was bitterly cold in the little bedroom and he was glad; shivering on the bed helped him feel as wretched as he believed the situation demanded. He wondered how long he’d be made to stay here. He rolled the scarf into a pillow and, curling on the bed, shoved it under his cheek and lay listening to the voices in the kitchen below. They were muffled, but he could still tell it was his mother speaking, and Seth wondered what she was saying. She didn’t want those people to come any more than he did, thought Seth, and that’s why she was angry at him. He was only a boy, but he understood that well enough.
Chapter 13
L ew Sylvester’s brother Warren had picked up a copy of the Sheffield
Telegraph
at the dog track on Saturday, and had seen an advertisement in it for
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