‘They’ll put you to work in the heaps at the slightest thing,’ she said.

‘Well, they can go to hell, can’t they.’

‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘go to hell with them.’ When she smiled, which was rare, she looked so much more pleasant, even a bit pretty.

‘We shall find your name, I promise it,’ I said.

‘It’s all I can think of, even when I’m out there.’

‘What’s it like in the heaps so far out?’

‘It’s hell, that’s what it is, hell.’

‘Tell me.’

‘You never know if you’ll come back or not. You have to be so careful, suddenly the ground gives under you and you start sinking down. I don’t know what I’ll find tomorrow. P’rhaps I’ll find my own death. You stick to your firegrates, you hold onto them firm for all your life. But be careful up there and do exactly as they say and don’t run into any of the upstairs Iremongers, any of the family, or you’ll find yourself out in the heaps with me. When are you going up?’

‘As soon as Mr Briggs rings the bell.’

8

A LACE DOILY

Clod Iremonger’s narrative continued

The Last Breakfast

I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep. Pinalippy was in my head, and when, next morning came at last, with its thin light, I was already up and moving mournfully towards breakfasting.

It was my habit to head to the mess hall as early as I could before too many of my fellow corduroy shorts arrived because if I left it too late then the din of their birth objects was too much for me, and my head should be pounding. I usually was the first to appear, the first to leave. That morning Tummis was there already, we shook hands.

‘Given all the business with Rosamud,’ I said, ‘maybe I shan’t have my Sitting today, maybe it shall be cancelled.’

‘And the pair of us remain behind in shorts? That should not be so bad.’

‘One day, Tummis, your trousers are certain to come.’

‘I dreamt of Ormily last night. May I tell you of it?’

We were interrupted then by a plain woman’s voice announcing, ‘Cecily Grant.’