tea, mother said.
i never.
so who did?
i did, i said. i took him tea and bread. i washed him. i changed him. you ain’t been getting him up.
father hit out at me and caught the side of my head. that’s enough, he said. carry on like that and you won’t never be coming back again.
upstairs in my bedroom nothing had changed. the bible was on the floor by beatrice’s side and the blanket was still on the window.
i lay down on the bed and felt my shape still there.
it was like i wasn’t never gone away.
like nothing had happened.
i went round the home field and found the cow tucked out of sight by the hedge. i stroked her and then i got the bucket and stool and sat by her. i leaned hard in to her flanks and smelled her and then i got some milk out. and then violet come up to me.
she pointed at the bucket. she’s already been milked.
i know. and i know it’s gone milking time.
then what you doing?
nothing. i stopped and the cow wandered off.
we didn’t say nothing for a bit then she said, you ever see ralph there? up at the house?
course i do, i said. he lives there so why you ask?
nothing, she said. only wondered.
you want me to give him a message?
why’d i want you to do that? course i don’t. stupid thing to say.
she kicked the bucket and the small bit of milk poured on to the grass and sank down in to the soil.
she walked away.
i stayed there a bit but the sun was moving over the sky and my guts was starting to make a sound so i knew it was time to go back up there. i went in to see grandfather and told him i’d be going.
come back soon as you can, he said.
i will.
make sure they look after you right. tell them if they don’t they’ll have me to reckon with. an old man what can’t walk. he laughed. go on, he said. get on then.
i went on out and said goodbye to mother and to my sisters what’d come in for some food. they was sat eating bread and cheese in the shade on the doorstep of the scullery. and then i walked through the yard. and i walked back up the lane. and i could feel them watching me and then i turned the corner and they could see me no more.
i was polishing the dining room when ralph come and stood in the doorway.
what d’you want? i asked.
you’re the maid and i live here. do i have to explain what i want?
i know you want something. everyone always wants something.
do they? he come in to the room and leaned on the sideboard. your boots are muddy, he said. they’re your new ones.
boots get muddy.
how was the farm?
still there.
and how are they managing without you? have the cows all lain down and died? have the crops wilted and the milk turned sour?
no.
were your family happy to see you?
i stared at him. what is it you want?
you were late back, he said. it was all the talk at luncheon.
i don’t care.
that’s very rebellious of you.
is it?
what did you do down there?
farm stuff.
you’re so informative. so expansive.
i opened the tin of wax. i have a message for you, i said.
for me?
yes for you, i said. from violet. she says hello.
why ever would she do that?
i dunno, i said. maybe you can go away and think about it. i spec you’ll come up with a reason why.
very funny.
he watched me as i put the wax on the wood of the table and rubbed it in.
talk to me, farm girl.
i ain’t sposed to be no farm girl no more, i said.
you’re a house girl.
that what i am now, is it?
yes. look at you.
i ain’t no different, no matter what i wear. no matter how my hair’s pinned. i ain’t changing so don’t think i am.
no airs and graces? are we not rubbing off on you?
no.
i started waxing the side cupboard and pushed him off it where he was leaning on the wood.
look after your mother when i was gone, did you? i asked. she eat anything?
no idea.
don’t you care?
no.
that ain’t nice.
you haven’t lived with it for years, he said. all i’ve heard about all my life is her being ill.
that’s cos she is ill.
she wouldn’t know
i never.
so who did?
i did, i said. i took him tea and bread. i washed him. i changed him. you ain’t been getting him up.
father hit out at me and caught the side of my head. that’s enough, he said. carry on like that and you won’t never be coming back again.
upstairs in my bedroom nothing had changed. the bible was on the floor by beatrice’s side and the blanket was still on the window.
i lay down on the bed and felt my shape still there.
it was like i wasn’t never gone away.
like nothing had happened.
i went round the home field and found the cow tucked out of sight by the hedge. i stroked her and then i got the bucket and stool and sat by her. i leaned hard in to her flanks and smelled her and then i got some milk out. and then violet come up to me.
she pointed at the bucket. she’s already been milked.
i know. and i know it’s gone milking time.
then what you doing?
nothing. i stopped and the cow wandered off.
we didn’t say nothing for a bit then she said, you ever see ralph there? up at the house?
course i do, i said. he lives there so why you ask?
nothing, she said. only wondered.
you want me to give him a message?
why’d i want you to do that? course i don’t. stupid thing to say.
she kicked the bucket and the small bit of milk poured on to the grass and sank down in to the soil.
she walked away.
i stayed there a bit but the sun was moving over the sky and my guts was starting to make a sound so i knew it was time to go back up there. i went in to see grandfather and told him i’d be going.
come back soon as you can, he said.
i will.
make sure they look after you right. tell them if they don’t they’ll have me to reckon with. an old man what can’t walk. he laughed. go on, he said. get on then.
i went on out and said goodbye to mother and to my sisters what’d come in for some food. they was sat eating bread and cheese in the shade on the doorstep of the scullery. and then i walked through the yard. and i walked back up the lane. and i could feel them watching me and then i turned the corner and they could see me no more.
i was polishing the dining room when ralph come and stood in the doorway.
what d’you want? i asked.
you’re the maid and i live here. do i have to explain what i want?
i know you want something. everyone always wants something.
do they? he come in to the room and leaned on the sideboard. your boots are muddy, he said. they’re your new ones.
boots get muddy.
how was the farm?
still there.
and how are they managing without you? have the cows all lain down and died? have the crops wilted and the milk turned sour?
no.
were your family happy to see you?
i stared at him. what is it you want?
you were late back, he said. it was all the talk at luncheon.
i don’t care.
that’s very rebellious of you.
is it?
what did you do down there?
farm stuff.
you’re so informative. so expansive.
i opened the tin of wax. i have a message for you, i said.
for me?
yes for you, i said. from violet. she says hello.
why ever would she do that?
i dunno, i said. maybe you can go away and think about it. i spec you’ll come up with a reason why.
very funny.
he watched me as i put the wax on the wood of the table and rubbed it in.
talk to me, farm girl.
i ain’t sposed to be no farm girl no more, i said.
you’re a house girl.
that what i am now, is it?
yes. look at you.
i ain’t no different, no matter what i wear. no matter how my hair’s pinned. i ain’t changing so don’t think i am.
no airs and graces? are we not rubbing off on you?
no.
i started waxing the side cupboard and pushed him off it where he was leaning on the wood.
look after your mother when i was gone, did you? i asked. she eat anything?
no idea.
don’t you care?
no.
that ain’t nice.
you haven’t lived with it for years, he said. all i’ve heard about all my life is her being ill.
that’s cos she is ill.
she wouldn’t know
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