Miss Naylor looks aggrieved at that. And also a little cross. But she fights it down, takes off the collier’s jacket she’s sporting, tears off the whole of the sleeve of the dirty blouse she wears underneath, and hands it over to me.

“It’s French lace. You can resew it. Turn it into a handkerchief, or a baptismal wrap. When you have children, I mean.”

The coal-streaked rag hangs limp from my hand. I suppose she can see what I am thinking, because she grows embarrassed, tugs it out of my grasp.

“Forgive me. I’m sorry.”

And just for a moment she sounds real. Almost a little desperate. Trying in earnest to reach across the chasm between us. God knows who’s dug it.

It makes me feel sorry for her.

“I’ll keep it,” I say. “It’s very nice.”

We share a smile. Then she quickly slips back into her jacket, so the boys cannot see her, in her state of undress. And just like that she is her old self again. Distant. Cold as the dew.

“Mr. Argyle owes you his life,” she closes our transaction. “We are all in your debt.”

I nod, wave the rag in front of her face.

“That you are. But look here, you’ve already paid.”

THE LIBERAL

THE LIBERAL

Dawn breaks and Charlie thinks his heart will break for joy.

They have been walking for several hours already, tottering along in the dark, taking breaks every few minutes when Thomas grows dizzy and can no longer keep pace. Then a ribbon of predawn light appears on the horizon, hazy and pale. But what miracles are revealed by this pallid smear! They are walking on a muddy path: rectangles of fields stretch on both sides, parcelled up by enclosure walls and dotted with barren trees. Above them sits a leaden sky, so overcast that the clouds have no contours. It is a world of browns and greys. But what greys! How many shades of brown!

Charlie cannot believe his eyes; stops in his tracks, blinking tears from his eyes. Then, rising from the knolls of lowly hills, a smear of orange paints itself across the east. Theirs is not a picture-book sunup, a fire-red balloon slowly mounting the world’s edge; sitting on it; then lightly bouncing up, to scale the sky. And yet it is the most beautiful thing Charlie has ever seen. By increments the world gains in contour. And when the cloud cover breaks, momentarily, he feels the light on his face like a physical touch, searching his features. He stares down, at himself, his hands, his legs, and laughs from pure joy, marvelling at how even the sound is different under an open sky.

Only then does he turn to his friends.