Stone Cradle (18 page)

She came over to me, and grasped my upper arm. She was bent quite double with age and scarcely taller than I was seated. She had no teeth at all. She gestured some way distant.

I could not understand her, but rose anyway and looked pleadingly at Elijah, who suddenly became interested in the interior of his tin mug. I understood that he had completely deserted me, and I was to be left to sink or swim with these people on my own.

The old woman led me round the back of the caravan and across the grass to where a large group was gathered. As we neared, I saw it was all women and children, including Morselina Smith, who stood in the centre while several young girls were busy around the fire. She stared at me in an unfriendly manner as we approached and spoke to the other women, two of whom laughed openly.

‘Where I come from,’ I said firmly, my voice high, ‘it is considered unkind to laugh at guests.’ It was a stupid thing to say, but I could think of no better, and it certainly quietened them for a minute. Morselina Smith spoke to one of the young girls, who turned and came towards me with the largest tin mug I have ever
seen, enamelled bright red and painted with a flower design. In it steamed hot, dark and, as I discovered to my bliss, heavily sweetened tea. I took the cup from the girl, carefully as the mug was so hot it was necessary to hold it precariously by both handle and rim. I looked down at her. She had a round, sweet face, and heavy black eyebrows. She smiled at me, warmly, and I was so grateful for her kindness that had I not been holding the tea I think I would have fallen on my knees and hugged and kissed her in front of everybody.

I sometimes wonder, did we get it the wrong way round? When Elijah and I first ran off together, it never occurred to me but to go to Paradise Street, to get back to where I had been happy before and where, I assumed, Elijah would be happy too. I’ve sometimes wondered, every now and then, whether we got it all wrong. Perhaps I should have just joined the Travellers at River Farm and gone off with them somewhere and let Mrs Boswell help me find my feet. I was still young and in love with Elijah then, and maybe I would have thrown myself into it a bit more. As it was, by the time we became Travellers, I had three children to look after, and I was worn out and my heart was heavy with the humiliation of our debts back in our settled lives.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, anyway.

I didn’t let Elijah near me the whole time we were Travellers. I told him I wasn’t having any babies born beneath a hedge.

Morselina Smith never liked me. I had made a grave mistake in sitting and expecting her to serve me tea, that first morning. I realised that pretty quick.

Clementina said to me, when I saw her a couple of days later, ‘I hear you’ve still got your la-di-da ways, then?’ She had a grim but gratified smile on her face.

Somehow, I felt able to stand up to her then. ‘Yes and I’m sure it gave you no end of pleasure to hear about that, didn’t it, Mother?’

She looked at me, surprised I had spoken back at her. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. ‘You’re learning,
rawnie
,’ she said, nodding approvingly. ‘You’re learning.’

I was indeed. It was time to stand up for myself more often, from now on. Facts is facts, as my mother would have said. Like it or not, for the time being, I was a Traveller.

W
e were on Stourbridge Common for the whole of the winter, waiting for springtime when the weather would be good enough for us to take to the highway on our own. It wasn’t a bad winter, as winters go, but still not exactly the best time to be getting used to life on a Traveller camp.

It was hard on the children, and harder still on Rose. Morselina Smith took against Rose so bad that I found myself obliged to stick up for her and put the word around that anyone who had a problem with the
rawnie
had better come and see me. Well, she was mother to my grandchildren, after all. There was one incident I couldn’t prevent, however, as I was off the site at the time. One of Morselina’s gang, a thin woman, a Cooper, had a go at Rose one morning, over Mehitable tripping up a pail of milk or something – I never got the details. Anyhow, it ended with this Cooper woman squaring up to Rose and Rose, to her credit, squaring up back – and although she got a black eye for it, she got the respect for standing up to her and was quite thick with the Coopers after that.

Morselina Smith was another matter, mind. Morselina Smith always called Rose a stinking
gorjer
and a
grasni
and one hundred other names behind our backs – and my grandchildren were naught but filthy half ’n’ halfs. Now, where have I heard that before, I thought? I had to tread a bit careful with that lot myself as although I was an Old One and due some respect I had been living in bricks that five year past and there was some who weren’t shy of reminding me of it. Five years. Had I really been away from my old life, on and off, for five whole years? I’d never been good at the marking of time. If it wasn’t for my grandchildren being born, I’m not sure I’d have noticed that the years were moving at all. To me, it seemed like last week or the one before when I had packed my old carpet-bag after Adolphus passed away, and set off for Cambridge.

It weren’t easy to find Paradise Street, that first day. Manibel Heron’s son had taken me down to Cambridge on his cart, letting me off in what he said was the area. He wanted to stay until I found the right house but I sent him off sharpish. I weren’t sure what sort of state my Lijah would be in when I found him and I didn’t want the Heron boy talking when he got back to the camp.

I asked around a good deal before it was pointed out to me: a long, narrow street, full of little houses all packed together. Children were running up and down playing with balls and skittles but it was a bit parky for the women to be standing around so I had a chance to take a good look. It was a poor neighbourhood. Boxes, those houses were, squat little things all tight against each other with no air in between. Just looking down that street made me come over all poorly.

I had been told a certain house, so stood across the street from it for a few minutes, looking to see if anyone came in or out. Nobody did, and I couldn’t stand there all day as the children were staring at me something funny when they ran past. Probably aren’t used to finery like I’ve got on, I thought to myself, glaring back at them.

After a while, I caught a glimpse of a woman passing an upstairs window. She glanced out briefly and I could see she was wearing a nightie and had bright orange hair – some old trollop still a-bed of an afternoon. That can’t possibly be where my Lijah is living, I thought. I went into the tobacconists at the far end of the road and he told me which house and I knocked on the door and who should open it but my Lijah.

Well, we’ve never been the kind to fall into each other’s arms. I’m not one for all that sentiment-type nonsense and so Elijah hasn’t never been neither.

He looked down at me. ‘Hello, Dei,’ he said, nodding, and stepped back to let me in.

The door opened straight onto a little parlour. There was a settee and an armchair that didn’t match. Above the fireplace was a large mirror with a wooden frame that had been painted golden, quite badly. It was not hanging completely straight and there was the brown speckling of mirror spoiling in one bottom corner. Such poor workmanship made me wince. I wondered what had become of my Lijah that he could put up with such an object in his home. He left our fine
vardo
for this? I thought to myself.

Perhaps a little of what I thought showed on my face, for when I looked at Lijah I can’t say he seemed particularly overjoyed to see me.

‘So, this is what you’ve been up to then,’ I said, glancing round.

He was never one to beat about the bush, my Lijah. ‘I’m wed now, Dei,’ he said.

‘Aye, so I heard …’ I replied. No matter how old a man gets, he is still a boy when he faces his mother. I was quite gentle as I added, ‘… and I’m a widow now, son.’

He stared at me, then fell to scratching his ear, which was always his gesture when he felt bad about something. ‘I’m right sorry to hear that,’ he said eventually.

Then the door opened, and in it swept.

I took in right away that she was expecting. It shouldn’t have shocked me but for some reason it still did.

We stood there for a moment, all three of us. Lijah had a slightly panic-stricken look in his eyes. I knew if there was any awkwardness about to happen, he would bolt. Maybe I had best leave them to it, I thought, so he could explain to her how things were. I picked up the skirts of my dress and headed up the stairs. At the top, there was a small wooden landing and a door left and right. I pushed at the door on the left and saw a bed with a green eider. So that was where they slept. In the other room, there was a wooden rail with things on and some crates. So, this is where I’ll be stopping, I said to myself.

I had left my carpet-bag downstairs for Lijah to bring up. There was nothing for me to do but sit on one of the crates and wonder if they were laid end to end whether they would take a straw mattress. And I decided they would, right enough.

There was a little square window with no shutter, so I went and looked out of it. It looked out over the back – their tiny garden with a small shed for the doing of private things and, beyond, a narrow dirt alleyway. It was all so small out there it was like the houses that backed onto theirs were pushing in and I thought I shall never be able to breathe with others living so close. How do they stand it?

Below me must’ve been the sitting room, for I could hear raised voices coming up through the floorboards. I say raised but I mean lowered, for though it was clear they were having fierce words about something, they were whispering to each other. I would have been able to hear every word otherwise.

I tried not to hear but waited for Lijah to bring up my things.

His voice grew into a murmur, sometimes a growl. Hers stayed steady, and then rose.

Then, all at once, there was the slam of the back door.

I went to the window. Lijah had come out into the garden in a
hurry, his jacket unbuttoned and his hat askew. He didn’t even open the back gate but placed one hand atop the wall and jumped over it, then strode off down the back alley.
Now
why
has
she
made
him
go
and
do
that?
I thought vexedly. He hasn’t even brought my things up. I sat back down on the crate.

Downstairs, all was silent.

Well, I couldn’t stay there all day and I was feeling I would like nothing more than a cup of tea and a bit of something to go with it after my journey. I was thinking maybe I should go and help her put the supper on, just to show how I wasn’t there to take advantage or anything. Most women in her condition would be glad of a bit of help around the house, I thought, and I may be a small body but I’ve worked from dawn ’til dusk with my bony little fingers ever since I could walk and I’m not here to be waited on.

So there was nothing for it but to go downstairs and straighten things out with her.

I stood, and brushed down my skirt, and I thought how I was prepared to put my best foot forward here, to get off on the right footing like, and she’d be a right fool if she didn’t realise it. Plain speaking was the thing. I came down the stairs slowly, clutching on to the rail, as I weren’t used to them. And I was also feeling how I didn’t want to startle her as I wasn’t right sure what sort of state she would be in and when someone’s going to have a baby you have to not-shock them, after all.

She was sank down on the settee but raised her head as I came down the stairs. Dordy, you’ve never seen such a sight. Her face was all red and puffy and tear streaked. She was clutching the edge of her petticoat in her hands. She let it fall but I do believe she had been wiping her eyes with it. Her hair was all hanging loose from where she had pinned it with fluffy feathers of it sticking up here and there and a strand across her face. She looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Daft hayputh, I thought, feeling right sorry for her. She’ll never keep him if she lets herself go.

She looked so fat and soft with her great big belly. She was not so much a-sitting on the settee as spread all over it.

She looked at me, all miserable like. ‘He’s gone down the pub, if you want to know,’ she said, and I thought I saw something defiant in the set of her mouth.

Oh, of course he’s gone down the pub, I thought to myself. What else is a man to do when his wife cries all over him? She’s been married this year – has she not yet realised that much? And she married my Lijah to boot, who has always been trouble and always will be. What did she think she saw when he looked up at her from the step of our
vardo
? A halo floating over his head? A choir of winged angels a-singing in the background?

My husband, my Adolphus, was dead and I had nothing. And here she was with her husband and a baby coming and her little house – and me to help her out into the bargain. And she was crying because he was off down the pub? She had better get to grips with how things are, I thought. It won’t do any good if she fools herself longer. I know my Lijah and I know he’s only going to get worse in that way, not better, and his drinking is something she’s going to have to live with. She’ll have me and her babies for company, and when Lijah chooses to come and shine on us that’s all well and good, but any girl who thinks her man will be the whole of her has got a nasty shock coming. She had better know now, so’s she can get used to the idea and make the best of what she’s got.

‘You’ve married my son,’ I said, as gentle as I could, ‘He’s not a bad type, but there are things about him you won’t change, ever, and you’d better get used to it, or you’ll sup sorrow by the spoonful ’til the day you die.’

She stared at me.

I spied my carpet-bag in the corner, so I went and picked it up. She did not move to help me. I turned and climbed the difficult stairs. I saw I would be sorting out the little box room all by myself.

I hated that house. How I stayed there as long as I did I will never know. I felt it was my duty, really, what with the babies coming thick and fast and Lijah’s wife having no one to help her out but me. If she’d had her own mother around it wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose.

It took a bit of getting used to, her high-handed ways, and I kept saying to myself how’s you can’t expect a woman who’s carrying to be in any way normal and I must make allowances. But nothing I did was good enough for her. If I washed dishes and put them away I would catch her moving them around from cupboard to cupboard afterwards. If I folded clothes, she refolded them. And I never had a word of thanks.

Where I come from, a woman of my age got looked after by her daughter-in-law, not the other way around.

And I knew she talked about me to the orange-haired trollop. I was horrified to discover they were friends, for it made me wonder what sort of background our young Miss Rose had come from, before she moved out to the farm. She’d enough airs and graces then, all right. I began to wonder if maybe her mother had been a woman of loose morals or some such and thought, I’d better keep a close eye on what goes on in this house.

When my first grandchild was born, my Adolphus Daniel, the midwife-woman who had helped him out gave him firstly to my daughter-in-law, as was right and proper. Then a few minutes later, Rose needed to sit up. And what did she do with her new babby? She handed him over, not to me or the midwife-woman, but to the orange-haired trollop, who was waiting in a chair by the bed. All I could do was stand in the corner of the room and watch. I was his flesh and blood, that little boy – and she gives him to some lazy tart who lives up the road. That was how she thanked me for everything I’d done.

I got acquainted with the boy in my own good time. He was as good as gold, that
bobum
. I couldn’t believe how good he was when
I remembered what a perisher my Lijah had been as a boy. She didn’t know she was born.

I blessed him, that boy, as soon as I got the chance. I waited ’til one night, when they were sound asleep and I heard him stir and I crept into their room and lifted him up. And I took him down to the garden, and I showed him the stars. It should have been done by his mother when he was but a few days old – but I was his Romany mother, I suppose, mother to the Traveller bit of him, and I held him up to the stars and I asked for breath and long life and good fortune for him and an unusual breeze blew and I knew he would be blessed all right. I lowered him, and sat, and put him on my knee. Lovely thick eyebrows, Daniel had, even when he was a baby.

The boy, the warm breeze, all asleep around me – it was as good as when I had my Lijah. Better, in fact. You can love them straight and simple when they’re yours but not yours. I sang to him softly and my heart was so joyful it was like bells ringing. Oh, it was the greatest feeling I’d had in years.

There was much I didn’t care for in daughter-in-law, as you may have gathered by now, but if there was one thing she was good at it was producing grandchildren. Aye, the babbies came thick and fast, those early years. They fair popped out of her.

Daniel may have been an easy little thing – but the next one was a different matter. Mehitable, dordy, she was a madam.