Too Close to the Sun (62 page)

A gypsy has called at Birchwood House, selling paper flowers, clothes pegs and little sprays of heather for good luck. She has come to the rear door, and by chance has caught the master of the house as he goes towards the garden, a tray in his hands. He looks at the basket holding the caller’s goods and shakes his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t be any help to you at all,’ he says. ‘You’ll need to speak to my wife.’ And Grace comes immediately behind him, and he says, ‘Please, ma’am, talk to my wife,’ and, freed of responsibility, murmurs a ‘Good day,’ and moves on towards the garden.

On the grass of the green lawn Billy and Sophie are lounging on rugs, taking in the sun of a glorious September. They are dressed in their oldest clothes, clothes suitable for lounging in the garden without having to heed the risk of grass stains. There is a tray nearby, bearing glasses and a pitcher that has recently held lemonade. And there are tea plates too, now holding only crumbs. In a few days the two children will be starting back to school.

Kester appears, sets down the tray of tea things and takes his seat in a garden chair.

‘Where’s Mama?’ Sophie says.

Kester replies: ‘She’s talking to a visitor, a caller.’

‘Who?’ asks Billy.

Kester lowers his voice to answer, ‘A gypsy lady – selling things.’

‘What is she selling?’

‘Oh, all kinds of things. She has a basket full. Clothes pegs and paper flowers and things. I’m a coward, so I left your sister to deal with her.’

After a couple of minutes Grace comes from the house and takes the vacant chair facing Kester’s.

‘Did you buy anything, Mama?’ Sophie asks.

Grace nods. ‘A few pegs, that’s all. Mrs Lovegrove said we could do with them.’ She looks at Kester and says, lowering her voice, ‘She said we’re going to have a boy.’ As she speaks she lays her right hand on the swell of her belly. ‘She said she can tell.’

Kester chuckles. ‘And did that bit of information cost you?’

‘No, no.’

‘Was she talking about the baby, Grace?’ Billy says.

‘Of course. What else.’

‘I hope it
is
a boy,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ says Sophie, ‘so do I.’

As Grace pours tea for herself and Kester, Sophie says, ‘Was it the same gypsy woman who had the birds?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Grace says.

‘What birds?’ asks Billy.

With contributions from Sophie, Grace tells of buying the birds, the golden oriole, the thrush and the skylark, and letting them go. ‘You remember,’ Grace says. ‘I told you about it.’

‘Yes,’ Billy says. ‘I wish I’d been there.’

A minute passes, and Sophie says, ‘I can’t wait for the baby. Oh, it’ll be so exciting.’ She looks over at her father. ‘Won’t that be exciting, Papa?’

‘It will indeed,’ he says.

‘What will he be when he grows up?’ Sophie asks. ‘Will he be an architect like you, Papa?’

Kester laughs. ‘Oh, not necessarily. He can be anything he wants to be.’

‘Anything?’ says Billy.

‘Anything,’ says Kester. He pauses, then adds, ‘As with you two. If I had my way you would be whatever you want to be in life.’

‘I could be a nurse like Miss Nightingale,’ Sophie says.

And from Billy: ‘Could I be a painter?’

‘If you want to be,’ Kester says. He leans across and takes Grace’s free hand in his. ‘You’re free in this world. Like the skylark, the oriole and the thrush, you’re absolutely free.’