must break through to. Never forget it.’
Sometimes her mother would talk like this without any warning – not of clean clothes and homework books, but of adult life and death.
‘You should see all there is to be seen.’
She might as well have said, fly to the moon.
‘It would be a disappointment to me, Elizabeth, were you not to, and a sad waste.’
Such talk made her uncomfortable, as if she itchedinside her skin. She could not imagine her own future in this place called ‘the world’; she only ever went down inside herself – her whole life looked inwards.
‘Would I have to?’ She picked anxiously at the skin around her bare toes, imagining some ceremony of being cast out, and a terrible solitude among strangers.
‘There will be as little for you here as there has been for me. Besides, you will want it.’
No, she would have said. But did not, being unable to explain, even to herself.
The sky was damson-stained by the time the truck clattered in. Hearing it, she remembered Minchy Fagin.
The cocoa was frothing out of the pan. She was to remember it, marrying the image of it to his sudden, extravagant words for ever.
‘I’m taking us to the sea. Throw everything up, school and all. We’re going.’
Her mother’s hand only just hesitated as she was pouring, but Elizabeth saw her eyes flicker anxiously to his face. He was expansive like this, full of schemesand plans, when he’d been with Nolan and Glinty and the rest, drinking.
‘A week in this weather would about set us all up.’
Tiny bubbles prickled over the surface of the cocoa.
They were hustled upstairs, so that she knew he had not said anything about it before now, and that Ma was waiting until they were out of the way, to get at the truth of it.
‘Will it be fishing? Will it be sea, to swim in? Will we sleep out on the sand all night?’
‘Hush, you.’
She set her hand in the small of her brother’s back, going behind him up the stairs. She did not want to talk about it, not until all possibility of disappointment was past. She thought of the sea, curling over her bare feet.
‘He said a whole week, Elizabeth. You heard, didn’t you? He said it was to be a week. Elizabeth, why won’t you say anything?’
‘It might not happen. There might not be the money.’
‘It will. It will . . . and Minchy Fagin won’t begoing to the sea. Minchy Fagin doesn’t know anything at all.’ His face was lit with hope.
They went the next morning, all of them in a line along the front seat of the truck.
‘It’s education in itself,’ Da had said, answering their mother’s disapproval of the missing school time.
‘And where’s the use of the half they do? Tell me that. We’ll stop off for a fish supper as well.’ And he had lifted his hands from the wheel, while they were going along, smacked and rubbed them together, and all the time casting a sideways glance at Ma, who had firmed her lips, but kept the words back, knowing him in this mood, and too proud to nag.
But there was no fish supper. She had packed sandwiches and buns, and they ate them going along. Da dropping egg and tomatoes down his shirt front, anyhow and deliberately, Elizabeth knew, because Ma had defied him with her sense, and taken the extravagant pleasure out of the fish supper.
And then, they were there. The truck turned without any warning off the road, through a gap in the hedge, and bumped over grass, and stopped, and a cow loomed its great, square head at the truck window. But they were used enough to cows.
Later, she thought of her mother’s feelings at arriving in a field full of cowpats, and thistles like spears, to a caravan that smelled of rustiness and mice. Years later, when it was all over, she understood how it had been, with a senseless man who had no notion of your real needs, but who was given to such fits of craziness, taking you five miles from the nearest house, and a half-mile to a tap, when you had already been threatened with losing
Sometimes her mother would talk like this without any warning – not of clean clothes and homework books, but of adult life and death.
‘You should see all there is to be seen.’
She might as well have said, fly to the moon.
‘It would be a disappointment to me, Elizabeth, were you not to, and a sad waste.’
Such talk made her uncomfortable, as if she itchedinside her skin. She could not imagine her own future in this place called ‘the world’; she only ever went down inside herself – her whole life looked inwards.
‘Would I have to?’ She picked anxiously at the skin around her bare toes, imagining some ceremony of being cast out, and a terrible solitude among strangers.
‘There will be as little for you here as there has been for me. Besides, you will want it.’
No, she would have said. But did not, being unable to explain, even to herself.
The sky was damson-stained by the time the truck clattered in. Hearing it, she remembered Minchy Fagin.
The cocoa was frothing out of the pan. She was to remember it, marrying the image of it to his sudden, extravagant words for ever.
‘I’m taking us to the sea. Throw everything up, school and all. We’re going.’
Her mother’s hand only just hesitated as she was pouring, but Elizabeth saw her eyes flicker anxiously to his face. He was expansive like this, full of schemesand plans, when he’d been with Nolan and Glinty and the rest, drinking.
‘A week in this weather would about set us all up.’
Tiny bubbles prickled over the surface of the cocoa.
They were hustled upstairs, so that she knew he had not said anything about it before now, and that Ma was waiting until they were out of the way, to get at the truth of it.
‘Will it be fishing? Will it be sea, to swim in? Will we sleep out on the sand all night?’
‘Hush, you.’
She set her hand in the small of her brother’s back, going behind him up the stairs. She did not want to talk about it, not until all possibility of disappointment was past. She thought of the sea, curling over her bare feet.
‘He said a whole week, Elizabeth. You heard, didn’t you? He said it was to be a week. Elizabeth, why won’t you say anything?’
‘It might not happen. There might not be the money.’
‘It will. It will . . . and Minchy Fagin won’t begoing to the sea. Minchy Fagin doesn’t know anything at all.’ His face was lit with hope.
They went the next morning, all of them in a line along the front seat of the truck.
‘It’s education in itself,’ Da had said, answering their mother’s disapproval of the missing school time.
‘And where’s the use of the half they do? Tell me that. We’ll stop off for a fish supper as well.’ And he had lifted his hands from the wheel, while they were going along, smacked and rubbed them together, and all the time casting a sideways glance at Ma, who had firmed her lips, but kept the words back, knowing him in this mood, and too proud to nag.
But there was no fish supper. She had packed sandwiches and buns, and they ate them going along. Da dropping egg and tomatoes down his shirt front, anyhow and deliberately, Elizabeth knew, because Ma had defied him with her sense, and taken the extravagant pleasure out of the fish supper.
And then, they were there. The truck turned without any warning off the road, through a gap in the hedge, and bumped over grass, and stopped, and a cow loomed its great, square head at the truck window. But they were used enough to cows.
Later, she thought of her mother’s feelings at arriving in a field full of cowpats, and thistles like spears, to a caravan that smelled of rustiness and mice. Years later, when it was all over, she understood how it had been, with a senseless man who had no notion of your real needs, but who was given to such fits of craziness, taking you five miles from the nearest house, and a half-mile to a tap, when you had already been threatened with losing
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