get on. In case Philip came.
The other thing she noticed was how busy the path to the sea had become. All kinds of folk, but mainly the elderly, strolling in leisurely fashion, carrying such a strange variety of objects; shopping bags and spades, fishing tackle and a large red cabbage. At first she thought the sunshine must have brought them out. But since they returned in the other direction after a very short time, still bearing the same burdens, she formed the suspicion that the burdens were merely excuses, and that they had really come to inspect her and her family. Each, as they passed, had a word with Mr. Gotobed, hard at work in the garden.
‘Now then, Nathan! How are you gittin on?’
‘I’m all right, Tom.’
‘These’ll be the children, then?’
‘That’s right, these be the childer.’
What empty lives they must lead, she thought, shaking her duster out of the window, to make us into a great show! It also piqued her that no one noticed her. No eye was raised, even when she shook out the duster. No hand was waved in greeting. She would have liked to have waved back, given them a smile.
Having told her the previous night what good fun she was to be with, the children spent all the morning with Mr. Goto-bed.
‘Mr. Gotobed brought a great barrow-load of ashes,’ said Jane over lunch.
‘Aye, she be right sweet now, she be!’ said Timothy.
They both giggled.
‘But he wouldn’t go in that wash-house next door,’ said Timothy. ‘We tried to show him that yuck stuff in the boiler, but he wouldn’t go near it. He was scared to go in. He was sweating. He told us we must never go in there, little master and missus!’
‘Don’t be silly!’ said Rose uncomfortably.
‘All right. You try him. Try offering him five pounds to empty that stuff from the boiler!’
‘You mustn’t pester him, or make fun of him. It’s cruel!’ said Rose. ‘Besides, what if he didn’t come back? We’d be in a right mess then, wouldn’t we? D’you want to walk up to Miss Yaxley’s every time you want the toilet?’
That made them thoughtful; for a moment. Then Timothy said, ‘He’s dead scared of cats, too!’
‘How’d’you know that?’ Rose almost snapped. After a hard morning’s housework, it was too much that they were trying to scare her. She felt mildly betrayed.
‘A cat came. It sat on the wall. He threw clods of earth at it. Said that cats were nasty dirty creatures that laid on newborn babes and stole their breath away. Said folks would never prosper, that kept a cat.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Rose. Then ‘What sort of cat was it?’ Rose, all of them, were very fond of cats.
‘Just an old black-and-white thing. It’s all right, he didn’t hit it. It dodged. We never saw it again.’
Three
After lunch, Rose decided to tackle the sitting-room. It wasn’t an attractive room like the kitchen. It was north-facing, full of stiff cold Victorian furniture with the blue bloom of damp on it. A room, she thought, only fit for the minister to sit in, or funerals. But Philip would want to go in there . . .
She had just started with the ancient wooden carpet-sweeper when Jane came in, saying Mr. Gotobed wanted permission to lay the hedge. Rose looked out of the window at the jungly mass of hawthorn, and said he could, and the best of British luck. As she carried on with the squeaking carpet-sweeper, she heard the thuds of heavy hacking start outside. It sounded like a massacre, and for some reason she shuddered. Maybe it was just the cold and damp in the sitting-room . . . He was certainly putting his back into it.
As she was herself. A thick cold cloud of dust arose, seeping nastily into her throat, half-blinding her. Seven years’ dust . . .
It was while she was pushing furniture around that she found the book under the big armchair by the fireplace. It was quite unlike Sepp Yaxley’s other books. An old thin book bound in dull grey wrinkled leather that looked, she thought absurdly, a bit like dirty human skin. It seemed to have been sewn together by hand, with thin black twine. She opened it reluctantly. The pages were dirty and yellow, but firm and uncrumbling. They were covered with tiny hooked handwriting, not decipherable in this dim light. She had far too much to do . . . She left it on the arm of the chair, meaning to put