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patch of lumpy clay, behind the caravan. This was a shame as the caravan was my special place. And I was anxious in case Rinty dug them up. But he was usually chained in the shed, or outside in the yard; he didn’t run loose like a pet. I went and sat in the caravan for a bit; I think it was still the Rosy Arms, that spring. It started raining again, pattering on the roof. I watched Dad come home. He stood at the porch, his jacket hunched round his head, banging first one boot and then the other to knock the mud off. Then he went inside.
    I remained sitting on the pile of sacks. I wanted my Mum to be home. I didn’t know why, but things had changed. In a word: I felt cautious. For instance, I didn’t want to go back indoors now, all wet, because then he might try to dry me. I wanted him to hug me, but I was frightened that he’d get upset. Over the next months I learned never to come in looking wet or shivery. I stopped saying I was cold, because then he might jump to his feet, all affectionate. I learned how to be clever and get myself indoors when he wasn’t there. Or else, whatever the weather, to come in all
insouciante
– a word I heard years later, and whose meaning was then horribly familiar.
    I stayed in the Rosy Arms some time, hoping the rain would stop. I was anxious about him coming out and finding me doing nothing. That would make us both uneasy. On the other hand, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do. This was the sort of thing that happened – or didn’t happen. As I said, it was nothing dramatic.
    What happened next may not seem dramatic either. It was a couple of days later and I’d gone along the main road to see my friend. I didn’t know her name; she was a grown-up. We often had a chat together; she was always kind to me. She sat at a lay-by not far from our gate, selling flowers. She had beautiful flowers, in buckets, and she sold them to the passing motorists. The blooms came from the market garden farther down the road. I suppose people bought the flowers on their way to the airport to greet their nearest and dearest. Then there were the businessmen flying home; perhaps they bought a bouquet for their wives as a peace offering. She was always well buttoned-up, because of the wind and the traffic, and she had a tiny dog, which was her pride and joy; he had a jewelled collar and I used to play with him.
    Anyway, that day I’d told my Dad I was going for a walk. I must have been away about an hour. My friend chatted, as usual, about her boys and how well they were doing. They were both grown-up now. She said she lived for them and for her little Shoo-Shoo or something, I could never understand her dog’s name. In the end I wandered back home. There were bangings from the shed, where my Dad must be busy. I went indoors.
    I stopped at my bedroom door. I’d left it closed, and now it was open. Inside, there was a stale smell. I knew exactly how I’d left it. Now I saw that the eiderdown had been sat on: the sateen had sunk in the middle. My
Girl
annual, which I’d left shut on my pillow, now lay open. And on the floor was a saucer with two cigarette stubs in it.
    I don’t know how long I stood there. Outside, the hens were clucking. I’d always felt reassured by the hens; they seemed like aunties, comfortable and gossipy. But today they didn’t sound like that; they knew what had happened, they were clucking amongst themselves, they were keeping it from me. I kept looking at the stubs. He must have sat there a long time, to smoke two.
    Teddy was born in the middle of the night. Next day we went to see him. I couldn’t believe he belonged to us, with his red face and his froggy legs jerking. He didn’t have a name yet. I didn’t dare touch him.
    Dad laughed at me, but then I could see him hardly daring either. He sat there, pushing his hand through his hair over and over again; he was as silent as when he saw the