stuck out, the top of her Aertex vest showing above the collar of the âlittle-girlâ gingham dress.
Liza-Lu â two years younger and destined to stay that way until Tess becomes a non-person, that is, a woman suspected of murder, and then Liza-Lu becomes respectable, the elder of the two â Liza-Lu is humming to herself and making up stories as she goes along. (No one looks at Liza-Lu, not even the man she eventually marries, who was meant for Tess, and she is forced to look at the world instead, and make up stories about it.)
Maudie, also nine years old and with a squint that makes people say sheâs taking after her father, sheâll come to no good: didnât she take a Mars bar from old Mrs Baileyâs shop only last week and the old lady was too kind to report her? But watch out next time! And that pigtail ⦠you could see a birdâs nest in there if you looked closer. But Maudie doesnât care. In her mindâs eye is candyfloss, agreat magic spun ball of sweet heaven, like they eat in the pictures you can see in the one-and-ninepennies at the Bridport Majestic for nothing if the usherette happens to think sheâs seen a mouse scurrying across the foyer floor â¦
Victor. Nearly as tall â and as old â as Alec. That is, about twelve years of age and as swarthy as his sister. Theyâre gypsies, thereâs no harm in them, our mother says when neighbours complain of the Charmouth caravan people and say theyâre missing money from the drawers of Welsh dressers, they canât leave the back door open like they used to. And wasnât one of the Nasebury girls nearly pulled off the road and into a lane by one of the Charmouth campers?
Alec. Walking in the middle of the road just as it curves round at its most dangerous, jumps out of the way when the cars come. (Tess can beat him at playing chicken but she wouldnât dream of it while weâre still in view of the Mill. Our swan-loving father, when it comes to punishing his daughters for some peccadillo, thinks nothing of administering a good beating, or, worst of all for the communicative, gregarious Tess, a whole day of solitary confinement.) So Alec, taller than Victor, blond-haired but with the greasy blond turning already to that sleek Brylcreemed look all the boys hanker after â a satiny quiff, a face like Elvisâs on the record covers â swerves alone in the empty country road, desperate to create a drama of the Midwest or urban wastelands of a longed-for, distant America. (Heâll get there one day. But by then, without knowing it, he truly is a marked man.)
Retty Priddle. Oh, Retty! How can you forgive me? Youâre the only one of us, on that brick road to the West Bay funfair, who actually has some thought for others. Youâre eleven years old and youâre holding my hand on one side and Maudieâs on the other in case a big lorry comes too close and we cry out, frightened. When Maudieâs sandal comes undone â it would; those shoes, as our Nasebury good neighbours would say, are rightly a disgrace â youâre the one who calls for everyone to stop and wait unless she gets left behind.
Retty, who knew how to love, and fell in love with the wrong man, a man who was himself marked out for an extraordinary fate: lover of a murderess, prophet of a new age disgraced. Poor Retty,who drowned for her love. But I will make it up to you, Retty, for all the unhappiness you suffered. I will tell Ella and Tessâs baby granddaughter all there is to know.
I see Ella now as she runs in the fast, end-September dusk between our houses, eager already to get away from the lessons of the past. Ella, who must go to school and yet refuses to. Who asks, why should I learn this history and maths and English, Liza-Lu? Itâs so
boring
. And to whom I must teach the Living History; and the Maths that will make a different equation of the world; and English as it first
Liza-Lu â two years younger and destined to stay that way until Tess becomes a non-person, that is, a woman suspected of murder, and then Liza-Lu becomes respectable, the elder of the two â Liza-Lu is humming to herself and making up stories as she goes along. (No one looks at Liza-Lu, not even the man she eventually marries, who was meant for Tess, and she is forced to look at the world instead, and make up stories about it.)
Maudie, also nine years old and with a squint that makes people say sheâs taking after her father, sheâll come to no good: didnât she take a Mars bar from old Mrs Baileyâs shop only last week and the old lady was too kind to report her? But watch out next time! And that pigtail ⦠you could see a birdâs nest in there if you looked closer. But Maudie doesnât care. In her mindâs eye is candyfloss, agreat magic spun ball of sweet heaven, like they eat in the pictures you can see in the one-and-ninepennies at the Bridport Majestic for nothing if the usherette happens to think sheâs seen a mouse scurrying across the foyer floor â¦
Victor. Nearly as tall â and as old â as Alec. That is, about twelve years of age and as swarthy as his sister. Theyâre gypsies, thereâs no harm in them, our mother says when neighbours complain of the Charmouth caravan people and say theyâre missing money from the drawers of Welsh dressers, they canât leave the back door open like they used to. And wasnât one of the Nasebury girls nearly pulled off the road and into a lane by one of the Charmouth campers?
Alec. Walking in the middle of the road just as it curves round at its most dangerous, jumps out of the way when the cars come. (Tess can beat him at playing chicken but she wouldnât dream of it while weâre still in view of the Mill. Our swan-loving father, when it comes to punishing his daughters for some peccadillo, thinks nothing of administering a good beating, or, worst of all for the communicative, gregarious Tess, a whole day of solitary confinement.) So Alec, taller than Victor, blond-haired but with the greasy blond turning already to that sleek Brylcreemed look all the boys hanker after â a satiny quiff, a face like Elvisâs on the record covers â swerves alone in the empty country road, desperate to create a drama of the Midwest or urban wastelands of a longed-for, distant America. (Heâll get there one day. But by then, without knowing it, he truly is a marked man.)
Retty Priddle. Oh, Retty! How can you forgive me? Youâre the only one of us, on that brick road to the West Bay funfair, who actually has some thought for others. Youâre eleven years old and youâre holding my hand on one side and Maudieâs on the other in case a big lorry comes too close and we cry out, frightened. When Maudieâs sandal comes undone â it would; those shoes, as our Nasebury good neighbours would say, are rightly a disgrace â youâre the one who calls for everyone to stop and wait unless she gets left behind.
Retty, who knew how to love, and fell in love with the wrong man, a man who was himself marked out for an extraordinary fate: lover of a murderess, prophet of a new age disgraced. Poor Retty,who drowned for her love. But I will make it up to you, Retty, for all the unhappiness you suffered. I will tell Ella and Tessâs baby granddaughter all there is to know.
I see Ella now as she runs in the fast, end-September dusk between our houses, eager already to get away from the lessons of the past. Ella, who must go to school and yet refuses to. Who asks, why should I learn this history and maths and English, Liza-Lu? Itâs so
boring
. And to whom I must teach the Living History; and the Maths that will make a different equation of the world; and English as it first
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