The Telling

purpose of it all, and at the same time set apart, observing and appraising like a queen. The skirts were soft and rustling around my ankles; only now and then did the point of a pin snag my stocking or prick my skin. Everything was beautiful and strange and familiar, and none of it mattered at all.
    The road was almost blocked with gigs and traps and wagons; horses were cropping the grass banks. The green swarmed with people like ants in a broken anthill. From the elevation of a wagon’s tail, the musicians gave out a vigorous rendition of ‘Grimstock’, and on the ground in front of them the dance was in full swing. Children raced about in packs or sat in conference over a posy or a ribbon. Older folk were ranged on benches and clusters of stools, rehearsing ancient gossip. It was the same as last year, the same as the year before and the year before that. The same people, bar a few losses and additions; the same decorations , the same tunes, the same dances. The same smell of horses, sweat, ferns, flowers and smoke. It was the same as every year that I could remember since I was a little girl, except that now I was changed and was no longer part of it.
    I walked out on to the green. I caught Mrs Forster’s eye quite by chance; she was standing with her husband, who was in conversation with Mr Aitken; seeing me, she turned uneasily, and I saw that Sally was with her, on her other side. It was unexpected to see them there, after everything. Perhaps, I thought as I went over to them, things were not quite as bad as I had feared. I greeted them, and ducked in to kiss Sally, and she straightened her bonnet. I hadn’t seen it or her dress before. They were both remarkably pretty.
    ‘You’re looking well, Lizzy,’ she said. I thanked her. ‘It was considered important that we be here.’
    I nodded; I didn’t register then the significance of her words, or her look, which was much older than her years. I was thinking that this might be the last time I ever saw her, and that I loved her, and that she was a perfect little madam but I’d miss her.
    ‘Sally?’
    She was scanning the dancers, her sharp face at once aloof and curious.
    ‘Yes?’
    I chose the words carefully so as to fit with her new way of speaking.
    ‘Have you seen our mother?’
    ‘She was helping with the dinner, but I think she’s watching the dancers now.’
    I wanted to hug her, shake her, remind her of the times she’d wet the bed on us. ‘Thank you.’
    I took her hand; she gave me a sharp little glance. I went to find my mam.
    *
     
    She was perched on the end of a bench, watching the dance. She glanced up as I approached, got up straight away, and took my arm, and walked with me away from the dance, to where there was space to stand comfortably and talk.
    ‘Did you bring the damsons?’
    I nodded. ‘They’re eaten already.’
    ‘That tree’s a good fruiter.’ She kept hold of my arm, and glanced down at my hem. ‘And you got that done.’
    She looked up at me and raised her fingertips towards the ribbon in my hair, and the ghost of Mr Moore’s touch grazed my skin again. I blushed, and seeing the blush, and misunderstanding it, she smiled, and said, ‘You look lovely, Lizzy; Thomas is over there.’
    I didn’t mean to; I glanced over. He was standing with David Airey, and they were both staring at me, and Thomas had a faint smile on his face that I didn’t like. I looked away, asked Mam if she’d seen my dad. She shook her head. There was something odd about her manner; I couldn’t place it for a moment, and then I realized. She was peaceful. She was content. She wasn’t worried.
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘All is well.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    She smiled and tugged my bodice straight.
    ‘What about Dad? Mr Moore said there would be troops; that the Riot Act would be read and there would be troops. And now the Aitkens and the Forsters are here as if nothing’s happened, and there’s no sign of Dad.’
    ‘The Riot Act’s been read. We are quiet now. You’re father is in the public house if he is anywhere; and he’d better enjoy it because it’s his last chance: after this I’m cracking down.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘The troops are on their way.’
    ‘But then –’ Panic seized me. I turned from her. She took my arm again, speaking calmly, as if delivering a dull but necessary lesson.
    ‘Mr Aitken read the Riot Act this afternoon, and then the Reverend spoke to the men; you’ll have missed