A Stitch in Time by Penelope Lively

Author:Penelope Lively
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter Seven

AN AFTERNOON WALK AND A CALENDAR

ONCE, WHEN MARIA was younger, she had imagined a burglar. She had imagined him on to the ledge outside her window, and clothed him in dark furtive clothes, and given him a stocking over his head that horribly blunted his features as in a picture she had once seen in a newspaper. And then somehow he had got out of control, this burglar, and instead of staying where he was or dissolving like a nightmare as you wake, he had tampered with the catch of the window so that lying in bed she distinctly heard it click, and the window lift, and then there he was climbing into the darkness of the room, and she had huddled there first quaking and then finally screaming at full pitch till people came, lights snapped on… And then, of course, the burglar picked his moment to vanish, leaving Maria hysterical in an empty room.

But I have grown out of that kind of thing now, she thought. I can deal with burglars, and the stairs creaking in the night, and thunderstorms. I can even go to the bathroom in the dark if I can’t find the electric light switch. I am on the way to being grown-up and not having problems of that kind at all.

“That’s what you think,” said the cat. “What about the time you lost your head in the supermarket and rushed about weeping?”

“That was different,” said Maria. “I couldn’t find my mother. I thought she’d gone without me.”

“A pretty poor performance, all the same,” said the cat. “Grown-up, my foot…”

It was sitting at the foot of the ilex tree, grooming its belly in a contorted attitude that involved sticking one leg vertically above its head.

“You’ve missed a bit,” said Maria, “on your left side.”

The cat began a vigorous lathering of its ears. “I take it you won’t be mentioning to that boy that you see faces in old samplers?”

“He’s not all that interested in her, actually,” said Maria.

“Got some sense. Unlike you.”

“I don’t see why it’s not sensible to be interested in other people,” said Maria coldly.

“Well, what could be more silly than spending your time chuntering on about a girl you’ve never known and never will. You could be reading a good book. Improving your mind. Learning something.”

“Speak for yourself,” snapped Maria.

“Ah,” said the cat, “but I can’t. Remember?” It flexed its claws, apparently admiring them. “What’s so fascinating about her, anyway? A perfectly ordinary child, no doubt, like yourself.”

“I don’t think she ever grew up.”

“Rubbish. Everyone does.”

“They don’t have to,” said Maria stiffly. After a moment she went on, “There are no photographs of her any older than I am now. And her sister finished the sampler.”

“Plenty of explanations for that.”

“And funny things happen here, so that you can’t be quite sure what’s real and what isn’t. There’s a dog that barks but nobody seems to have a dog around here. And I hear this swing that squeaks.”

“The gate needs oiling,” said the cat.

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