Jubilee Read Free

them. I’ll freshen up this bowl first.’ Philippa tipped out the soapy water onto the grass, where the suds gleamed
like small crystal balls before popping.
    ‘I’ll fetch you some hot water from the urn.’ Both women jumped at the voice. Martha Stourton stood at the hedge, unsmiling, watchful, her pale eyes huge in her face.
    ‘Thanks!’ Philippa answered.
    Evie retreated behind the hedge. First Fiona Fernham and now Martha: this was going to be a day of avoiding women who didn’t approve of her. The grass was nearly dry here now and she could
risk her new frock for a minute’s peace and quiet. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t brood today, she’d let the past go, fold back the memories and pretend
they’d never been taken out again. She removed her pinafore and laid it on the grass to protect the full poplin skirt. ‘There’s enough material in that frock to clothe all the
women in the village,’ Matthew had joked when she’d put it on. Then his eyes had softened and he’d put his arms around her. ‘It shows off your neat little waist.
You’re fit for a queen yourself.’
    It might have been her imagination but the dress already felt slightly tight around the bust and stomach. Could she still be pregnant after yesterday? She felt the muscles around the tops of her
legs and in her pelvis tighten, as though they were trying to hold on to the foetus.
    The grass was soft and springy from all the rain. It made a comfortable resting place. Nobody would see her here. From her pocket she retrieved her Woodbines and lighter. Mrs W didn’t like
smoking in the house. She could barely talk but her hands would flutter in her lap at the sight of a cigarette packet.
    From here Evie was looking up towards the White Horse. Its front legs were hidden by the curve of the hill and it looked more like a kangaroo. Small black figures walked around beside it; not
everyone was marking the Coronation, some had travelled out here to look at the horse, now restored again after its ignominious wartime camouflaging. Above the horse, hidden by the slope, the
Ridgeway cut its way like an east-west scar across the Downs. Sometimes, when she walked up there, Evie could almost imagine a call blown on the breeze, or the treading of hooves behind her. She
never turned round in case she saw the ghosts of the men and beasts who’d tramped the footway all those centuries ago. And she only ever walked on the eastern section of the path, never to
the west of the White Horse.
    Evie let her eyes close for a moment. Sleep had been elusive for the last few nights but wanted to snare her now. Her chin slumped onto her chest. The packet tumbled from her hand before she
could even remove a cigarette.
    ‘Taking a break?’
    Her eyes flew open. Martha, back from fetching water. She sat up. Martha always made her feel guilty for taking a minute’s break. If Evie sat on a hay bale or leaned against the fence
posts for a sip of tea from the Thermos, that would be the moment Martha conjured herself up from nowhere to suggest with just a flash of those green eyes of hers that Evie lacked commitment.
‘Just wanted a rest.’
    ‘I see.’ Martha’s eyes seemed to glide along Evie’s body. Perhaps she’d guessed.
    ‘I’ll just finish this. Would you like . . .’ She gestured at the cigarettes.
    ‘Thanks.’ Martha took one and lit it with her own lighter, standing beside Evie as she smoked.
    ‘Funny how peaceful it gets as soon as you step just a few yards away from the crowds.’ Might as well try for some conversation, Evie thought, difficult as it was with Martha.
    ‘Especially now the silver band’s stopped.’ Martha took a draw of the cigarette. ‘Bit different from London.’
    She liked to refer to Evie’s early childhood in the city, as though underlining her incomer status.
    ‘I don’t really remember London.’ She forced a note of neutrality into her words. ‘I was so young when I came here.’
    ‘Ten.’