not mustard like this one.
‘Your name’s Magda, innit?’
Magda nodded. ‘It’s short for Magdalena. Magdalena Brodie.’
‘Mine’s Emily. Emily Crocker. I’ll walk back with you if you like. That sack looks a bit heavy. Wanna hand?’
Magda shook her head and cradled the sack in her arms.
‘Looks a nice lot you’ve got there. Bet you got everything you wanted.’
Magda chewed her lip. ‘Everything except a pencil. I really do need a pencil. And some new crayons if I could get some, but I can manage with my old ones though they are a bit worn down.’
She didn’t add that even if she had located a pencil, she hadn’t any money to pay for it.
‘Is that all? I think I could find you one. You live over in the house opposite with that old …’
‘Connemara mare.’
‘Oh. So you already know what we all call her. Old cow if what I heard about her is right. Been carrying on with the landlord of the Red Cow, and ’im with a sick wife upstairs and likely put away before long.’
‘What does that mean? Carrying on?’
‘Well,’ said Emily taking a deep breath. ‘It’s like skipping with somebody else’s skipping rope when you don’t have their permission to use it.’
Magda eyed her, open mouthed. ‘Shouldn’t she be confessing all that to the priest?’
Emily burst out laughing. ‘Well, I should think it wouldgive the old priest something to entertain his quiet moments.’
Magda laughed with her. It just seemed the right thing to do.
‘I’ve seen you looking out of the window,’ said Emily. ‘Don’t go out much do you?’
Despite her threadbare appearance, Magda held her head high. ‘My aunt wouldn’t let me but I will do from now on. I pretended to faint from hunger so she told me to go out and find some food for myself. She told me my father hadn’t left enough to feed me on. Mind you, she makes sure she don’t go hungry.’
‘Yeah, and she gets that for free, down at the Red Cow, food and drink for services rendered,’ Emily said with a laugh. ‘So. What do you want the pencil for? Writing to somebody are you?’
It all came flooding out. Magda told her about her family and how they’d last been together at Christmas last year. She also told her about the letters she wrote regularly on sausage paper and her plan to make her own Christmas cards to send to her siblings.
‘I can’t really send them because I don’t know where they are without their addresses. But I thought I could keep them for when we do eventually meet up.’
Emily smiled down at her. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea. I’m surprised that old …’ She checked herself. ‘Your aunt …’
‘It’s all right. You can call her an old cow or the Connemara mare. She calls you tarts. Sluts and whores who sell their bodies to men that they might fornicate with them in unholy nakedness.’
Emily’s jaw dropped. ‘Bloody hell. Sounds like a sermon from the pulpit don’t it. And like the pot calling the kettle black. Reckon it don’t matter if I call ’er names then does it?’
Magda shook her head. ‘What does fornicate mean?’
Emily burst out laughing.
‘It’s something men think they’re good at.’
‘But they’re not?’
Emily was still grinning. ‘No, they just like to think they are.’
‘I’m glad to have somebody to converse with.’
‘Converse? Well, that’s a long word.’
‘I like words. I’m glad I’ve spoken to you. Because I haven’t been out of the house, I haven’t spoken to anyone else in ages. I thought I might never be able to speak again, but I have and that’s good.’
Emily cocked her head to one side and her face was all smiles.
‘Don’t ever lose your voice, girl. You’ve got a pretty voice. Different than what I ’ear round ’ere. I thought you’d speak a bit Irish like yer aunt, but you don’t.’
‘My mother was Italian. She was careful how she spoke English because she wasn’t born to it.’
Emily nodded carefully as though she were
‘Your name’s Magda, innit?’
Magda nodded. ‘It’s short for Magdalena. Magdalena Brodie.’
‘Mine’s Emily. Emily Crocker. I’ll walk back with you if you like. That sack looks a bit heavy. Wanna hand?’
Magda shook her head and cradled the sack in her arms.
‘Looks a nice lot you’ve got there. Bet you got everything you wanted.’
Magda chewed her lip. ‘Everything except a pencil. I really do need a pencil. And some new crayons if I could get some, but I can manage with my old ones though they are a bit worn down.’
She didn’t add that even if she had located a pencil, she hadn’t any money to pay for it.
‘Is that all? I think I could find you one. You live over in the house opposite with that old …’
‘Connemara mare.’
‘Oh. So you already know what we all call her. Old cow if what I heard about her is right. Been carrying on with the landlord of the Red Cow, and ’im with a sick wife upstairs and likely put away before long.’
‘What does that mean? Carrying on?’
‘Well,’ said Emily taking a deep breath. ‘It’s like skipping with somebody else’s skipping rope when you don’t have their permission to use it.’
Magda eyed her, open mouthed. ‘Shouldn’t she be confessing all that to the priest?’
Emily burst out laughing. ‘Well, I should think it wouldgive the old priest something to entertain his quiet moments.’
Magda laughed with her. It just seemed the right thing to do.
‘I’ve seen you looking out of the window,’ said Emily. ‘Don’t go out much do you?’
Despite her threadbare appearance, Magda held her head high. ‘My aunt wouldn’t let me but I will do from now on. I pretended to faint from hunger so she told me to go out and find some food for myself. She told me my father hadn’t left enough to feed me on. Mind you, she makes sure she don’t go hungry.’
‘Yeah, and she gets that for free, down at the Red Cow, food and drink for services rendered,’ Emily said with a laugh. ‘So. What do you want the pencil for? Writing to somebody are you?’
It all came flooding out. Magda told her about her family and how they’d last been together at Christmas last year. She also told her about the letters she wrote regularly on sausage paper and her plan to make her own Christmas cards to send to her siblings.
‘I can’t really send them because I don’t know where they are without their addresses. But I thought I could keep them for when we do eventually meet up.’
Emily smiled down at her. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea. I’m surprised that old …’ She checked herself. ‘Your aunt …’
‘It’s all right. You can call her an old cow or the Connemara mare. She calls you tarts. Sluts and whores who sell their bodies to men that they might fornicate with them in unholy nakedness.’
Emily’s jaw dropped. ‘Bloody hell. Sounds like a sermon from the pulpit don’t it. And like the pot calling the kettle black. Reckon it don’t matter if I call ’er names then does it?’
Magda shook her head. ‘What does fornicate mean?’
Emily burst out laughing.
‘It’s something men think they’re good at.’
‘But they’re not?’
Emily was still grinning. ‘No, they just like to think they are.’
‘I’m glad to have somebody to converse with.’
‘Converse? Well, that’s a long word.’
‘I like words. I’m glad I’ve spoken to you. Because I haven’t been out of the house, I haven’t spoken to anyone else in ages. I thought I might never be able to speak again, but I have and that’s good.’
Emily cocked her head to one side and her face was all smiles.
‘Don’t ever lose your voice, girl. You’ve got a pretty voice. Different than what I ’ear round ’ere. I thought you’d speak a bit Irish like yer aunt, but you don’t.’
‘My mother was Italian. She was careful how she spoke English because she wasn’t born to it.’
Emily nodded carefully as though she were
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