idea that she was sharing it with the others in the shop, behind Rose’s back. Rose’s mind shot from pleading to rage. She was being put down with drunken teenagers, and children who shoplifted.
‘How am I a trouble-maker?’ The moment she said, it, she knew it was a mistake.
The woman looked at her even more gloatingly, as if assessing which words would cause most pain. She really took her time; Rose felt inwardly frozen by such exultant cruelty.
‘You come here, with your big car, and all your money that you haven’t lifted a finger to earn, and you stay where you’re not wanted, and poke and pry into what doesn’t concern you and you plague decent law-abiding people. What respectable woman dresses up like a teenage kid? Mutton dressed as lamb? Well it might do for your grand friends up London, but it doesn’t wash with folks down here. Get back to where you belong.’
There was a sort of low growl of approval from the customers. Rose didn’t even dare look round. She was surrounded by a massive wall of monumental ignorance and stupidity. It drove her mad; and at the same time to the verge of tears. The trouble was, she was used to always being loved, or at least liked, or at the very worst ignored.
‘Oh, go to hell the lot of you!’ she shouted, before she could stop herself. ‘I hope you all roast in hell.’ It was a thing she had once heard her father shout, many many years ago. It was the one thing that came into her mind; she had never felt the need for rude words since then.
There was a long profound silence in the shop. As if the people were digesting carefully what she had said, and waiting nastily for her to go on. They were so much together, so hard and unrelenting. Rose hated such people so much; she thought them the cause of all the trouble in the world.
She turned and walked out, her head held high. But she could not bear to leave them to their triumphant gossip afterwards. She turned a last time to their impervious faces, wanting to hurt as she had been hurt, and said, ‘You’re nothing but a bunch of ignorant pigs, ignorant Norfolk pigs. You’ll be sorry for this!’
And with that meaningless, pointless threat, she left.
Nine
She walked into the cottage with a face like thunder. The children were not in the kitchen; but she heard voices from the sitting-room. What the hell were they up to now?
When she opened the door, an appalling sight greeted her. The door of the cupboard was wide open, and the shelves were nearly empty. Every chair, table and flat surface was decked out with the contents of the cupboard. On the centre table, the awful embryo in the glass jar took up pride of place, surrounded by the jars of newts and toads. There were pots and bags of odd stuff scattered everywhere.
Timothy was holding one bag; he took his nose out of it as she glared at him.
‘Smell this powder, Mum! It smells ever so weird.’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that stuff back instantly!’
‘We were only having a nosy,’ said Jane. ‘The cat wanted to have another nosy, so we thought we’d have one.’ The cat was contentedly clutched in her arms.
‘Put it all back this instant,’ Rose screamed.
‘Careful, little Mumsy,’ said Timothy, mock-threateningly. ‘Or we’ll turn you into a frog!’ Holding the bag in one hand he moved glowering towards her. ‘Or a slug. And then feed you on slug-pellets.’ He began to gesture in the air, and then made a sign with two fingers that he’d learnt on a trip to Italy, which was either a sign for warding off the evil eye, or the sign for putting it on somebody; she couldn’t quite remember.
She grabbed the bag off him and said, ‘Stop it, you little devil . . .’
And at that moment, she sensed the light from the open window darken. Heard an elderly voice begin. ‘I’ve seen to the . . . missus. That’s all right now – ’
She turned and saw Mr. Gotobed standing there. Mr. Gotobed stopped in mid-sentence. His tombstone mouth fell open. She watched his eyes widen and swivel. From the open cupboard to the embryo on the table, amidst its circle of the dead. From the gesture that Timothy was making to the bag in her own hand. And on to the striped cat