Her hair was no longer confined in plaits, but hung down her back to the base of her spine. It was thick and almost crudely black, with a shine on it like molasses. No hat any more, or gloves, the white long-fingered pianist’s hands playing with the buttons of her dark-blue coat. The satchel still there, incongruous. Despite this school bag of deceit, the white knee socks and little-girl shoes, Ruth was like a tiny woman on the street: a midget, quick rather than graceful, and with that strange white face of an elf.

When the flat door opened, Rachaela was sitting at the table.

‘Hallo, Ruth.’

‘Hallo, Mummy.’

‘Put your bag down, take off your coat, and come and sit here.’

‘What’s for tea?’

‘I haven’t thought about it.’

‘Can I have chips?’

‘You had chips yesterday.’

Ruth came to the table in her charcoal skirt, blue jumper and scarlet blouse. Rachaela allowed her to choose her own colours. She had, certainly, better dress-sense than Miss Barrett.

‘You haven’t been to school,’ said Rachaela.

Ruth looked at her, assessingly. She did not attempt to lie.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Did you like it before?’

‘It was all right.’

‘And now it isn’t.’

Ruth said nothing.

‘Are the other children,’ said Rachaela, ‘bothering you?’

‘No.’

‘A woman came here today from the school. A Miss Barrett.’

‘Batty Barrett,’ said Ruth.

‘You were seen in Woolworth’s.’

‘Oh,’ said Ruth, ‘Why Woolworth’s?’

‘It was raining.’

‘What do you do when it doesn’t rain?’

‘I walk about,’ said Ruth. She paused, then said, ‘I go in the big graveyard and look at the stones.’ She added, ‘Sometimes I take a bus. I get lost. I always make sure I get back in time for tea.’

‘Yes I know.’

‘Are you going to say I have to go?’ said Ruth. She looked blank. She did not suspect Rachaela of complicity with the authorities, recognizing her as a fellow, though alien, outsider.

‘It depends what you want,’ said Rachaela.

‘I don’t want anything,’ said Ruth.

‘You’ll never get a smart job,’ said Rachaela. ‘I expect they’ve already told you about those.’

‘They said what did we want to be.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said a library lady.’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘If you really don’t care,’ said Rachaela, ‘I’m not going to force you.’ She recollected her mother’s furious wobbling face: ‘You’ve got to pull yourself together. You’ll end up in the gutter. You go to school, do you hear me? I won’t be disgraced like that again, you bloody little beast.’

‘But we have to work something out,’ Rachaela said. ‘You’ll have to go in some of the time. When you want a day off tell me, I’ll write you a note.’

Ruth considered. Her privacy had been penetrated, but she seemed to accept the inevitability of this.