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shut the lantern as soon as I’d finished feeding His Lordship. There was nothing for it but to bed down and wait until the morning. Dei took down the curtain and hung up our wet things so that the warmth of us would help to dry them in the night. I went to sleep on the floor of the vardo, with Lijah next to me, hearing the clatter of the rain on the roof, which is a sound that has always helped me go to sleep. But there was also the not-so-nice tap-tapping of the drips from our wet clothes that smacked and busted against the polished floorboards, right close to my head. And these two sounds didn’t get along, for all they were both water, and they argued in my head until I went to sleep.
    *
    Lijah woke me at first light, and I fed him. I could tell from the movement of him that he’d dirtied his swaddling things and I had better change him. Dadus and Dei were still unmoving on the bed-box, so I levered myself up gently, with Lijah in the crook of my arm. The box where I kept his clean cloths was in the cabinet beneath where they slept, and it was hard to lift it out one-handed without disturbing them. When I opened the door to go outside, the cold, white light flooded the vardo ’s shuttered darkness and I stepped out as quickly and carefully as I could, pulling it to behind me.
    The rain had stopped during the night and, although it was chilly, the air was light, and there was that nice feeling you get when a horrible night has ended – like, whatever’s going to happen today’ll be better than yesterday, for certain. The grass was soaking, so I sat on the step and laid Lijah across my knees and unwrappedhis swaddling and cleaned him as best and quickly as I could. His little barrel body went blue with the cold and his arms and legs were flung wide and flailing against it. Then I wrapped him up again, hoisted him and tied him to me with my shawl.
    I stood holding his dirty things, wondering what to do. I could just go back inside and stow them, but I didn’t know when Dei and me would next have the opportunity to boil some water and wash them out. There are some parts of Travelling with a babby that are not right easy. So’s I thought to myself, I’ll take a walk down the lane and see if there’s a stream nearby.
    I had my heavy shawl on, but even so I went quickly. Lijah was awake, and looked up at me with those black eyes of his, as if he was wondering what I had just put him through and what I would do to him next. I talked to him as I walked. ‘You’ve nobbut yourself to blame,
amaro chavo. Akai, adoi, atchin tan or duva in the biti drom in a brishenesky cheerus,
you’ve to be wiped …’ He gave a squirm, and screwed up his face, as if he wanted to cry but couldn’t quite decide if it was worth the effort. ‘
Kushti
tikner mush
…’ I soothed him.
    We’d been down this way before and I had a memory of a ditch with a stream beyond the crossroads. The Fens is like that. You get water almost anywhere. I found it right enough, no more than a trickle, but enough to unfold the swaddlings and lay them flat on the stones beneath the water, weighted down. Dei said how she’d seen babies die of not having their swaddlings changed enough, of how the skin got reddened until it swelled and cracked and the babies got a fever. She thought it dreadful some mothers didn’t realise that – although I have to say my Dei was hard on other mothers as only a woman who has lost three children can be.
    I can still remember squatting by that stream, Lijah strapped to my chest, looking up at me with his eyes wide, while I watched the clear water run over the yellow staining of the swaddling clothes. I can remember thinking how it was good to have a mother whotold you what was what. How would I have managed Lijah without her there to tell me?
    It was the last time I was happy and ignorant like that. Happy, despite the cold. Clear water running. My baby on my chest, dark eyed and knowing everything.
    As I was walking back to