stopped. I wanted to tell him about Rosa, and for a moment, standing in the rain with my leg soaked in muddy water, I almost did.
But she had said not, and although it troubled me, I had to respect it, so I just said ‘Toodle-oo’ back, as usual.
Ma was in a pot-banging mood. You could have put a match to the fury in the air. Why it took her was one of the mysteries, and you could never predict when. It was hard to live at close quarters with, so generally I went straight to Rosa’s. Now, I just got aglass of water and my book, and went to my bunk, trying to be invisible.
When I lay down, Rosa was in my mind at once. I saw her bald head and her body curled and arched like a caterpillar. The worry of it sat heavy and burning like a coal in the middle of my chest, and I needed to halve the burden of it with someone. But a plate had smashed into the sink and as soon as Da came in the row started, as it was bound to do, she screaming at him, on and on in her own furious unburdening. When I did get to sleep Little Midge’s whistle-whisper floated through my dreams.
There are plenty of sentimental stories about people running away to join the circus but I never heard one about the opposite. That night, I came as close as I ever had to going, without warning or preparation, which would have been more than foolish. I knew it had to be planned and done properly. I knew it was not yet.
The other thing that stopped me going was Rosa. I had the responsibility of that.
My neck ached when I woke, I’d been lying so awkwardly, the pillow half over my head. The light was opaque and velvety outside the van windows,which meant a sea mist had rolled up and over the site like a great eiderdown. Da was snoring and the plate was smashed, with the shards all over the sink and the draining board, ready to cut anyone’s finger open.
When I stepped outside it was eerie and deathly still. The sea mist touched my face and hair like cobwebs. I picked my way across the mud, feeling my path between the vans. Everybody’s curtains were drawn. A dog growled once. Nothing else.
Sometimes here on quiet early mornings you could hear the sea breaking on the rocks far below the cliffs, but not today. It might not have been there.
I almost tripped over the steps of Rosa’s van, I could see so little. The mist tasted of rust in my mouth. The steps were sweaty with it, so that I almost slipped.
I knew as soon as I parted the curtains. It was something about the silence. It had a different quality, as though every atom and particle within the van had fallen still and motionless.
I climbed carefully in, not wanting to disturb that stillness. My heart pounded in my ears as fast as castanets.
Only the lamp was still lit on the ledge along thebunk, and that had burned right down. Rosa was lying on her side almost as I had left her, but her knees were no longer drawn up, and her hand was up close to her face, beneath her cheek.
I knelt down beside her. ‘Rosa,’ I said.
My voice sounded too loud, breaking open the stillness.
‘Rosa.’
I was afraid to touch her at first, but then I did. The moth-wing skin of her forehead was cool. I kissed her, a thing I had never done, never would have thought to do, in her life.
I knew I would have to fetch help, but there was no hurry, and I didn’t want people to come crashing into the stillness for good. Once they had, nothing would ever be the same.
It was not the same now.
In the end, I did get up, and felt my way to the door.
‘Hoo-ee-ooo. Hoo-ee-oo. Ssssss . . .’
Something rose up inside me then, but it was not fear. It was anger, a fury which I recognised as my mother’s. It belonged within us both.
‘You stop that and come out here.’
My voice bounced oddly off the billowing sea mist.
‘Do you hear me?’
And suddenly, he was there, a yard or two away from me, his flat old man’s face opened wide in shock.
‘Rosa –’ I said, and stopped. I wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Rosa
But she had said not, and although it troubled me, I had to respect it, so I just said ‘Toodle-oo’ back, as usual.
Ma was in a pot-banging mood. You could have put a match to the fury in the air. Why it took her was one of the mysteries, and you could never predict when. It was hard to live at close quarters with, so generally I went straight to Rosa’s. Now, I just got aglass of water and my book, and went to my bunk, trying to be invisible.
When I lay down, Rosa was in my mind at once. I saw her bald head and her body curled and arched like a caterpillar. The worry of it sat heavy and burning like a coal in the middle of my chest, and I needed to halve the burden of it with someone. But a plate had smashed into the sink and as soon as Da came in the row started, as it was bound to do, she screaming at him, on and on in her own furious unburdening. When I did get to sleep Little Midge’s whistle-whisper floated through my dreams.
There are plenty of sentimental stories about people running away to join the circus but I never heard one about the opposite. That night, I came as close as I ever had to going, without warning or preparation, which would have been more than foolish. I knew it had to be planned and done properly. I knew it was not yet.
The other thing that stopped me going was Rosa. I had the responsibility of that.
My neck ached when I woke, I’d been lying so awkwardly, the pillow half over my head. The light was opaque and velvety outside the van windows,which meant a sea mist had rolled up and over the site like a great eiderdown. Da was snoring and the plate was smashed, with the shards all over the sink and the draining board, ready to cut anyone’s finger open.
When I stepped outside it was eerie and deathly still. The sea mist touched my face and hair like cobwebs. I picked my way across the mud, feeling my path between the vans. Everybody’s curtains were drawn. A dog growled once. Nothing else.
Sometimes here on quiet early mornings you could hear the sea breaking on the rocks far below the cliffs, but not today. It might not have been there.
I almost tripped over the steps of Rosa’s van, I could see so little. The mist tasted of rust in my mouth. The steps were sweaty with it, so that I almost slipped.
I knew as soon as I parted the curtains. It was something about the silence. It had a different quality, as though every atom and particle within the van had fallen still and motionless.
I climbed carefully in, not wanting to disturb that stillness. My heart pounded in my ears as fast as castanets.
Only the lamp was still lit on the ledge along thebunk, and that had burned right down. Rosa was lying on her side almost as I had left her, but her knees were no longer drawn up, and her hand was up close to her face, beneath her cheek.
I knelt down beside her. ‘Rosa,’ I said.
My voice sounded too loud, breaking open the stillness.
‘Rosa.’
I was afraid to touch her at first, but then I did. The moth-wing skin of her forehead was cool. I kissed her, a thing I had never done, never would have thought to do, in her life.
I knew I would have to fetch help, but there was no hurry, and I didn’t want people to come crashing into the stillness for good. Once they had, nothing would ever be the same.
It was not the same now.
In the end, I did get up, and felt my way to the door.
‘Hoo-ee-ooo. Hoo-ee-oo. Ssssss . . .’
Something rose up inside me then, but it was not fear. It was anger, a fury which I recognised as my mother’s. It belonged within us both.
‘You stop that and come out here.’
My voice bounced oddly off the billowing sea mist.
‘Do you hear me?’
And suddenly, he was there, a yard or two away from me, his flat old man’s face opened wide in shock.
‘Rosa –’ I said, and stopped. I wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Rosa
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