hadn’t sawn off anything and our lives hadn’t improved.
‘Go on, then, Eddy Bear: tell her what a curse is.’
‘I don’t know any curses,’ I said.
Gregory went behind the sofa and placed his hands on the top as if it were a lectern. Pleased that I had thrown the question back to him, but unwilling to show his pleasure, he used the sofa as a stage prop. He stood behind it legless, like Punch or Judy. ‘A curse, dear sister, is like a spell cast in ye olde days of witches and wizards and boiling pots of bats’ blood, pee, bulls’ bones and human hair all mixed together.’
‘But what does it do?’
‘It …’ His search for a word ruined the performance; it also gave me an injection of joy, and I hoped all the words he wanted to find to define a curse were lost. ‘A curse made by, say, Father, on, say, you, means that if you do something in the future … Never mind. Look; your particular curse is this: if you leave the Manse something bad will happen to you.’
‘I already know that.’
‘Then what more do you want from me, child?’ He raised his arms in a shrug and dropped his head to one side. While holding that pose, he looked like a boy Jesus on a cross, apart from the polo-neck pullover, which I doubt they wore in Jesus’s day, especially when they went to get crucified. ‘The bad thing shall be something very, very, veryvery unpleasant.’
‘What like?’
‘All the people in the cemetery breaking into the house to eat you?’ He did scary monster shapes with his arms and face.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’
He monster-lurched towards her. ‘We’re coming all smelly and horrible from our graves to get you, strangle you, tie you up, boil you in a pot and pick your bones clean.’
‘Stop it.’ She ran away from him behind the chair Mother normally sat on. ‘Dead people are in Heaven and Hell.’
‘You’re frightening her,’ I said.
‘Shut up, you wimp, or I’ll frighten you in a minute.’
‘Why don’t you tell her the truth? What kind of thing?’
‘How should I know? She’ll turn into a frog or something.’
Sophia screwed up her face like when she had to take a spoon of castor oil. ‘I think I’d rather sleep for a thousand years.’
‘Right! I’m bored with this,’ said Gregory. ‘You won’t have to worry about either frogs or princes, if you ask me. Just forget about the whole thing. I’m sure Father will too.’
Instead of simply heeding his advice, we told Gregory that we needed some kind of boundary and the old, fallen tree on Hollow Heath seemed like a good distance.
‘Sounds good to me. That’s your radius,’ he said.
‘What’s a radius?’ Sophia said, while I searched my brain.
‘A radius is a line going from … It’s half a diameter. It’s the distance, in a straight line, from the centre of a circle to its rim, and the rim is called its circumference.’ Gregory accompanied his definition with finger-drawing in the air. ‘If you draw a straight line from circumference to circumference through the centre of a circle, that straight line’s the diameter.’
In one voice, Sophia and I – neither of us had been introduced to mathematics beyond adding and subtracting – said, ‘You what?’
‘Imagine Edgar standing at the gate with a ball of string.’
There was a ball of string in the kitchen drawer which seemed just the thing for Edgar. ‘Got it,’ I said.
‘Right. Sophia, imagine yourself walking away from Edgar with the string’s tail end in your hand. You keep walking in more or less of a straight line. When you get to the tree, you stop.’
‘Does Edgar follow me?’
‘Don’t be stupid. Edgar holds the string tight so no more unravels, just the amount that stretches from him to the tree. What you want is a length of string from Edgar to the tree.
‘The length of string that stretches from the Manse to the tree is called the radius. Right? That’s because the Manse marks the centre of a circle. You walk in a circle around
‘Go on, then, Eddy Bear: tell her what a curse is.’
‘I don’t know any curses,’ I said.
Gregory went behind the sofa and placed his hands on the top as if it were a lectern. Pleased that I had thrown the question back to him, but unwilling to show his pleasure, he used the sofa as a stage prop. He stood behind it legless, like Punch or Judy. ‘A curse, dear sister, is like a spell cast in ye olde days of witches and wizards and boiling pots of bats’ blood, pee, bulls’ bones and human hair all mixed together.’
‘But what does it do?’
‘It …’ His search for a word ruined the performance; it also gave me an injection of joy, and I hoped all the words he wanted to find to define a curse were lost. ‘A curse made by, say, Father, on, say, you, means that if you do something in the future … Never mind. Look; your particular curse is this: if you leave the Manse something bad will happen to you.’
‘I already know that.’
‘Then what more do you want from me, child?’ He raised his arms in a shrug and dropped his head to one side. While holding that pose, he looked like a boy Jesus on a cross, apart from the polo-neck pullover, which I doubt they wore in Jesus’s day, especially when they went to get crucified. ‘The bad thing shall be something very, very, veryvery unpleasant.’
‘What like?’
‘All the people in the cemetery breaking into the house to eat you?’ He did scary monster shapes with his arms and face.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’
He monster-lurched towards her. ‘We’re coming all smelly and horrible from our graves to get you, strangle you, tie you up, boil you in a pot and pick your bones clean.’
‘Stop it.’ She ran away from him behind the chair Mother normally sat on. ‘Dead people are in Heaven and Hell.’
‘You’re frightening her,’ I said.
‘Shut up, you wimp, or I’ll frighten you in a minute.’
‘Why don’t you tell her the truth? What kind of thing?’
‘How should I know? She’ll turn into a frog or something.’
Sophia screwed up her face like when she had to take a spoon of castor oil. ‘I think I’d rather sleep for a thousand years.’
‘Right! I’m bored with this,’ said Gregory. ‘You won’t have to worry about either frogs or princes, if you ask me. Just forget about the whole thing. I’m sure Father will too.’
Instead of simply heeding his advice, we told Gregory that we needed some kind of boundary and the old, fallen tree on Hollow Heath seemed like a good distance.
‘Sounds good to me. That’s your radius,’ he said.
‘What’s a radius?’ Sophia said, while I searched my brain.
‘A radius is a line going from … It’s half a diameter. It’s the distance, in a straight line, from the centre of a circle to its rim, and the rim is called its circumference.’ Gregory accompanied his definition with finger-drawing in the air. ‘If you draw a straight line from circumference to circumference through the centre of a circle, that straight line’s the diameter.’
In one voice, Sophia and I – neither of us had been introduced to mathematics beyond adding and subtracting – said, ‘You what?’
‘Imagine Edgar standing at the gate with a ball of string.’
There was a ball of string in the kitchen drawer which seemed just the thing for Edgar. ‘Got it,’ I said.
‘Right. Sophia, imagine yourself walking away from Edgar with the string’s tail end in your hand. You keep walking in more or less of a straight line. When you get to the tree, you stop.’
‘Does Edgar follow me?’
‘Don’t be stupid. Edgar holds the string tight so no more unravels, just the amount that stretches from him to the tree. What you want is a length of string from Edgar to the tree.
‘The length of string that stretches from the Manse to the tree is called the radius. Right? That’s because the Manse marks the centre of a circle. You walk in a circle around
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