Chapter 31: Her Turn

By the end of March the house on Ashgrove Lane had no dust sheets, a working stove and a green door.

The door opened at a push.

Draconia had scrubbed the kitchen floor herself.

She had done it with her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her hair tied in a scarf.

She had told Harry, when he offered to help, that he would only make it worse.

He had made it worse.

They had laughed until they had to sit on the wet boards.

It was a Sunday, and the light was going.

She stood at the kitchen window, drying a cup, and watched him in the garden below with a spade.

He had been digging for an hour.

The seed-heads had gone from the bed under the wall, and the earth was dark and turned.

He was wearing the green scarf, which he had refused to give back.

Vivienne's father had been confirmed in his post at the village office on Tuesday, with a raise.

Georgina's lease had been renewed on Wednesday, for twenty years, with the Board's apologies.

Her own father had written on Thursday.

It was the first letter in her life that he had signed.

She had read it three times.

It said, in his dry upright hand, that he understood she was happy, and that he did not understand how.

He would be grateful if she would bring the boy to dinner once he had learned to hold a fork.

She had laughed until she cried.

Down in the garden, Harry straightened and rubbed the small of his back, and caught her watching him through the glass.

He lifted a hand.

She put down the cup and went out.

The evening was cool, and the ring of stones was just beginning to light along the ridge, one after another, a slow gold chain.

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