slow circle. âYou may not think they like their ears flattened, but if you do it right they do.â
Ella stared too then, although she didnât want to. It suddenly seemed that there might really have been a large cat that had come in out of the rain. He smiled when he saw them gazing at nothing.
âLetâs find her somewhere more comfortable,â he said.
He looked round the shop.
âThatâll do,â he said, pointing at one of the tip-up chairs.
âItâs from the Ramsgate Winter Garden,â Jo said. âIt closed down.â
A customer came in. A woman. She was wearing full-on waterproofs, like a fisherman. She stood and watched the man pick up the invisible tiger, stagger across the shop with it and place it on the chair. Then she cleared her throat and said she would like to leave some leaflets about a spring flower event. She called it an arrangeathon. She jabbed one of her pieces of paper at the man and said that he looked like someone who could stick a notice in a window. He said heâd do better than that; he would distribute them personally around the streets. He took the whole clutch from her hand. She said, â
Not
under windscreen wipers, please.â He said he wouldnât dream of it. He said people with his sort of problems always liked a bit of community work.
âAre you still annoyed?â he said to Jo.
âNo,â she said.
âGood,â he said.
Then he left.
âWhat an unusual man,â the spring flower woman said after he had shut the door behind him. âPerhaps we could get him involved in the Fun Run.â
The next week he moved in. During the time in between her mum behaved quite normally. She didnât look as if she was planning to fall in love.
7
JO LAY ON the sofa and felt the tilt of it and the crenellations in the upholstery that came up through the sheet. As soon as one cluster of noises ended another started up â cars and beeping, clacketty heels and shouts of laughter. There were extra layers of sound in London. You could never guess from the
A to Z
how many people were crammed in the gaps between the streets. She was glad to hear voices. The series of overlapping goodbyes. The household had been peaceful for hours. Her grandparents hadnât talked for long in the room above her. Alone together at the end of the day, they read library books and imposed wordlessness on each other that Jo admired. But she couldnât sleep. The shadows of the furniture, the china plates and the pictures on the walls wouldnât let her rest. They werenât neutral â having been there from the beginning. She had left but they had stayed.
She was hardly ever out this late, though she and Felpo had absconded a few times. They had done it to be somewhere different, away from home. Not the Sandrock Hotel car park, which was a local venue for seducers, but places less flagrant, starrier. Though this was a distinction which Dilysâs wardens of conscience â the parents and grandfather, the minister of the Congregational chapel â would have seen as spurious. Jo remembered each occasion quite separately, though they had done the same things. Three times theyâd got back in the flat and into her bedroom uninterrupted. On the fourth, the lights had been on indoors. She was afraid that Annie had been crying for her. She had smoothed down her skirt and tucked Felpoâs shirt in. It was Ella who was awake though, not Annie. She had locked the bathroom door and refused to come out. Jo tried to talk to her through the keyhole, asking her, pointlessly, if she was all right. She had emerged in the end, saying they could use the toilet if they were quick, so theyâd gone in, she and Felpo, one after another, like children allowed to go in lesson time, but only with the teacher standing outside. Then Ella barged back and knelt on the floor. Jo had hovered over her, asking her if she felt sick until Ella
Ella stared too then, although she didnât want to. It suddenly seemed that there might really have been a large cat that had come in out of the rain. He smiled when he saw them gazing at nothing.
âLetâs find her somewhere more comfortable,â he said.
He looked round the shop.
âThatâll do,â he said, pointing at one of the tip-up chairs.
âItâs from the Ramsgate Winter Garden,â Jo said. âIt closed down.â
A customer came in. A woman. She was wearing full-on waterproofs, like a fisherman. She stood and watched the man pick up the invisible tiger, stagger across the shop with it and place it on the chair. Then she cleared her throat and said she would like to leave some leaflets about a spring flower event. She called it an arrangeathon. She jabbed one of her pieces of paper at the man and said that he looked like someone who could stick a notice in a window. He said heâd do better than that; he would distribute them personally around the streets. He took the whole clutch from her hand. She said, â
Not
under windscreen wipers, please.â He said he wouldnât dream of it. He said people with his sort of problems always liked a bit of community work.
âAre you still annoyed?â he said to Jo.
âNo,â she said.
âGood,â he said.
Then he left.
âWhat an unusual man,â the spring flower woman said after he had shut the door behind him. âPerhaps we could get him involved in the Fun Run.â
The next week he moved in. During the time in between her mum behaved quite normally. She didnât look as if she was planning to fall in love.
7
JO LAY ON the sofa and felt the tilt of it and the crenellations in the upholstery that came up through the sheet. As soon as one cluster of noises ended another started up â cars and beeping, clacketty heels and shouts of laughter. There were extra layers of sound in London. You could never guess from the
A to Z
how many people were crammed in the gaps between the streets. She was glad to hear voices. The series of overlapping goodbyes. The household had been peaceful for hours. Her grandparents hadnât talked for long in the room above her. Alone together at the end of the day, they read library books and imposed wordlessness on each other that Jo admired. But she couldnât sleep. The shadows of the furniture, the china plates and the pictures on the walls wouldnât let her rest. They werenât neutral â having been there from the beginning. She had left but they had stayed.
She was hardly ever out this late, though she and Felpo had absconded a few times. They had done it to be somewhere different, away from home. Not the Sandrock Hotel car park, which was a local venue for seducers, but places less flagrant, starrier. Though this was a distinction which Dilysâs wardens of conscience â the parents and grandfather, the minister of the Congregational chapel â would have seen as spurious. Jo remembered each occasion quite separately, though they had done the same things. Three times theyâd got back in the flat and into her bedroom uninterrupted. On the fourth, the lights had been on indoors. She was afraid that Annie had been crying for her. She had smoothed down her skirt and tucked Felpoâs shirt in. It was Ella who was awake though, not Annie. She had locked the bathroom door and refused to come out. Jo tried to talk to her through the keyhole, asking her, pointlessly, if she was all right. She had emerged in the end, saying they could use the toilet if they were quick, so theyâd gone in, she and Felpo, one after another, like children allowed to go in lesson time, but only with the teacher standing outside. Then Ella barged back and knelt on the floor. Jo had hovered over her, asking her if she felt sick until Ella
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