give her a little private tuition, that’s all.’
Mum softened, her big heart always roomy enough for the despised and humiliated of this Earth. ‘Well, that’s generous of you, Madeleine. Perhaps you really will become a pupil teacher.’
I eased past her and began to ascend the stairs. After a few steps, I halted, and looked over my shoulder. ‘What’s wrong with Shulamites, anyway?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with them,’ she said, still looking towards the front door, as if she half expected my troublesome friend to make a reappearance. And then she turned and gazed up at me. ‘Is she from Spitalfields?’ I nodded. ‘Is she fast?’ I said nothing. ‘I don’t want you to go there. Not to Spitalfields, Madeleine. I don’t want you going anywhere after dark. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I said, as complaisantly as I could. ‘Of course.’ I resumed my ascent. Behind me, mother gave a long, weary sigh.
‘Madeleine,’ she said. Sighing myself, and insolently, too, I again looked over my shoulder and fixed her in my sights.
‘ Yes , mother?’
Her eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘Are you tight-laced?’ I froze. Mum thought tight-lacing a depraved practice second only to that most evil of habits: the unmentionable sin of sins itself.
‘Of course not, mother,’ I said, attempting to hide my guilt behind a sardonic grin. But my hauteur, by virtue of its self- consciousness, exposed me. I flushed. It was as if Mum had crept into my bedroom in the middle of the night, flung back the sheets and left me with no other option but to play the Stoic and hold my breath until death covered up my shame. I spun about, raced down the stairs, past mother, past hope, past shame, past care, and, throwing open the front door, sped outside.
With Mum’s cries ringing in my ears, I ran down Wilmot Street towards the dwindling figure of my friend, Cliticia.
We sat in Victoria Park.
‘It’s cold,’ said Cliticia, turning up the collar of her topcoat. She took an old crust of bread out of her pocket, broke off a piece and threw it to a duck. ‘But I often come ’ere,’ she added, ‘despite the weather. It’s peaceful, y’know? Even when it’s crowded, like today.’ Holidaymakers passed by in straw boaters and plumed bonnets, laughing and eating fish and chips as they promenaded along the pathway that skirted the ornamental lake. ‘It’s nice to ’ave a bit of peace sometimes, innit?’ She broke off another piece of bread. The duck waddled nearer. ‘Seriously, though, you really should go ’ome and tell your Mum you’re sorry.’
‘She knows,’ I said.
‘Rubbish. She don’t know nuffink. None of ’em do.’ She shivered, threw the duck her offering and then edged along the wooden bench. ‘Brrr. Put your arm round me, Maddy.’ I did so, and she snuggled up, her head against my shoulder. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘I like being with you.’ She took off a glove and placed her hand on my lap. ‘Black and white,’ she continued, softly, comparing her hand with my own. Then she gave a little laugh. ‘I never ’ad a white girl for a friend before.’
I ran my fingers lightly across her knuckles, first one way, and then the other.
‘Is that what I am, then? A friend?’
She shrugged. ‘I told you before, didn’t I?’ she whispered.
I hugged her more tightly and squeezed her hand.
‘Promise?’ I said, knowing at last I would no longer be alone.
‘Course,’ she said, and giggled. ‘But you promise you make it up to your Mum, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I said. A shiver went through me to match her own.
‘I love your hair,’ she said. ‘It’s... sun-kissed.’
Again, I squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve been kissed by the moon. The Babylonian moon.’ Another duck emerged from the bulrushes that grew at the edge of the lake and waddled towards us. Cliticia ignored it.
‘Is that why I’m black?’
‘Nigra sum sedformosa.’
‘Wot?’
‘I am black, but comely,’ I
Mum softened, her big heart always roomy enough for the despised and humiliated of this Earth. ‘Well, that’s generous of you, Madeleine. Perhaps you really will become a pupil teacher.’
I eased past her and began to ascend the stairs. After a few steps, I halted, and looked over my shoulder. ‘What’s wrong with Shulamites, anyway?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with them,’ she said, still looking towards the front door, as if she half expected my troublesome friend to make a reappearance. And then she turned and gazed up at me. ‘Is she from Spitalfields?’ I nodded. ‘Is she fast?’ I said nothing. ‘I don’t want you to go there. Not to Spitalfields, Madeleine. I don’t want you going anywhere after dark. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I said, as complaisantly as I could. ‘Of course.’ I resumed my ascent. Behind me, mother gave a long, weary sigh.
‘Madeleine,’ she said. Sighing myself, and insolently, too, I again looked over my shoulder and fixed her in my sights.
‘ Yes , mother?’
Her eyes were wide with disbelief. ‘Are you tight-laced?’ I froze. Mum thought tight-lacing a depraved practice second only to that most evil of habits: the unmentionable sin of sins itself.
‘Of course not, mother,’ I said, attempting to hide my guilt behind a sardonic grin. But my hauteur, by virtue of its self- consciousness, exposed me. I flushed. It was as if Mum had crept into my bedroom in the middle of the night, flung back the sheets and left me with no other option but to play the Stoic and hold my breath until death covered up my shame. I spun about, raced down the stairs, past mother, past hope, past shame, past care, and, throwing open the front door, sped outside.
With Mum’s cries ringing in my ears, I ran down Wilmot Street towards the dwindling figure of my friend, Cliticia.
We sat in Victoria Park.
‘It’s cold,’ said Cliticia, turning up the collar of her topcoat. She took an old crust of bread out of her pocket, broke off a piece and threw it to a duck. ‘But I often come ’ere,’ she added, ‘despite the weather. It’s peaceful, y’know? Even when it’s crowded, like today.’ Holidaymakers passed by in straw boaters and plumed bonnets, laughing and eating fish and chips as they promenaded along the pathway that skirted the ornamental lake. ‘It’s nice to ’ave a bit of peace sometimes, innit?’ She broke off another piece of bread. The duck waddled nearer. ‘Seriously, though, you really should go ’ome and tell your Mum you’re sorry.’
‘She knows,’ I said.
‘Rubbish. She don’t know nuffink. None of ’em do.’ She shivered, threw the duck her offering and then edged along the wooden bench. ‘Brrr. Put your arm round me, Maddy.’ I did so, and she snuggled up, her head against my shoulder. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘I like being with you.’ She took off a glove and placed her hand on my lap. ‘Black and white,’ she continued, softly, comparing her hand with my own. Then she gave a little laugh. ‘I never ’ad a white girl for a friend before.’
I ran my fingers lightly across her knuckles, first one way, and then the other.
‘Is that what I am, then? A friend?’
She shrugged. ‘I told you before, didn’t I?’ she whispered.
I hugged her more tightly and squeezed her hand.
‘Promise?’ I said, knowing at last I would no longer be alone.
‘Course,’ she said, and giggled. ‘But you promise you make it up to your Mum, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I said. A shiver went through me to match her own.
‘I love your hair,’ she said. ‘It’s... sun-kissed.’
Again, I squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve been kissed by the moon. The Babylonian moon.’ Another duck emerged from the bulrushes that grew at the edge of the lake and waddled towards us. Cliticia ignored it.
‘Is that why I’m black?’
‘Nigra sum sedformosa.’
‘Wot?’
‘I am black, but comely,’ I
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