here,’ said Mandy, taking Connie’s hand as they came to the lane. Pip came bounding along to join them. ‘She said they steal people’s babies and turn them to stone.’
‘Does she now?’ said Connie.
‘And Gary Philips says they are short in the arm and thick in the head.’
Connie suppressed a smile. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t repeat what someone else says,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll tell you what, after we’ve been there, you tell me what you think.’
Mandy nodded gravely. ‘Can I share my sweeties with Sam?’
So that was why Connie had seen her squirrelling away a couple of farthing chews from her sweetie box. Mandy hadn’t asked if she could have one but Connie hadn’t said anything. Why not let her have them? They were her sweets after all. She had no idea Mandy was planning to share them with Kezia’s son. ‘I’m sure he’d love that,’ said Connie, ‘but ask his mummy first.’
Somewhere along the lane, Pip joined them again. ‘Where have you been?’ said Connie, patting his side.
The two sisters were very close. Connie adored Mandy and it was plain to see that Mandy enjoyed being with her. Kez took to her straight away especially when Mandy began to mother little Samuel.
The women spent the rest of the afternoon rubbing down handmade clothes pegs and putting them into bundles. On Monday, Kez and some of the other women would take them around the big houses in Goring and sell them. As they worked, Pen told them tales about the old days … ‘Little Mac took the tattooed lady’s mare then Abe gave Little Mac a piece of bread and a quart of ale but there was none for ’e so he died …’ Mandy listened spellbound and for Connie it felt just like old times. Peninnah always used the same form of words and if anyone interrupted her, she’d go back a bit and start again.
While Connie helped Kez with the meal, Reuben let Mandy feed the horse tethered in the field. By the end of the afternoon, they’d both had a wonderful time and it was time to go home.
‘Where’s Isaac?’ said Connie, suddenly missing him.
‘He’s with Simeon and the Frenchie,’ said Kez. She was putting Blossom to the breast.
‘What are they doing?’ Connie frowned.
‘Go and see for yourself,’ said Kez mysteriously. ‘It’s on your way home.’
Connie was curious. It was unusual for a gypsy to be working with a non-Romani. She wondered how the Frenchie got on with someone like Isaac who was so surly. They said their goodbyes and Connie and Mandy set off for home with Pip.
‘I like Auntie Kez and Sam,’ said Mandy as they walked towards Goring Street. ‘And Uncle Reuben.’
‘So what do you think about gypsies then?’ Connie asked.
Mandy thought for a bit and then said, ‘Just because you are different, doesn’t mean you’re bad, does it?’
Connie squeezed her hand. ‘I think you’ve got the right idea, darling.’
‘Can we sing my song?’ Mandy asked.
Connie smiled. ‘I’m amazed that you still like it so much.’
Mandy nodded and holding her sister’s hand, they swung their arms as they sang ‘You are my sunshine …’
The dog had run on ahead and was surprised to see them turn away from Goring Street and towards Jupp’s barn. As Connie approached Sam Haffenden’s blacksmith’s forge, she craned her neck. So where were the men? Beyond the forge and the two thatched cottages, everything melted away into farm land. It was then that she noticed a corrugated iron shed to the right of the forge. She’d never noticed that before even though it was obvious it wasn’t new. It was just off the road, and the only access was via a short lane entrance littered with old bits of wood. The potholed pathway opened out into a weed-filled yard. There was no sign of Isaac or Simeon but Connie heard the sound of raised men’s voices coming from inside the shed. She reached for her little sister’s hand and held on tight. Perhaps she should leave it for now and come back another time. She was about to turn around but Pip sped past her barking excitedly.
Six
The Frenchie’s workshop, cluttered, untidy and littered with bicycle parts, doubled as an artist’s studio. She and Mandy stopped singing as they went through the door. There were pencil drawings and paintings everywhere. Connie spotted a fantastic drawing of Reuben sitting on the steps of his caravan smoking his pipe. High on the wall she saw a watercolour of two local fishermen she recognised from the beach at Goring from where they sold their fresh fish from the jetty. She looked at their rugged faces and rheumy eyes and knew that whoever had painted them had caught their likeness exactly. Kenneth had been good at drawing but nowhere near as good as this. The room itself smelled of engine oil and paint.
As she and Mandy walked in, it was obvious that the men had reached a crucial stage of their work. There were about four of them in the large open area in the middle of the building, Isaac, Simeon and two other men. Which one was the Frenchie? They were all working together using a series of pulleys and chains to lower a large wooden frame onto a chassis on wheels.
Calling the dog to heel, Connie stood in the corner by the door and drew Mandy into a protective embrace. One man was acting as instructor and guiding their every move. ‘Steady, steady. Keep that end nice and straight. Take your time, steady … Right, that’s it.’
Someone let go of the chains and they clattered across the roof.
‘Careful,’ said the man. ‘Don’t damage the bodywork.’
Once the bulky frame was secure, Simeon began screwing it into place. It was a very solid piece of work and she could see that with the door at one end, it would be like a small house on wheels.
‘Well, I’d best be off,’ said an older man Connie had never seen before.
‘Thanks for your help, Bob,’ said the one who had been giving the orders.
Isaac grabbed his jacket and turned with a scowl on his face. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded when he saw Connie and her sister. Pip growled.
Connie jumped. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘Kez said you and Simeon were here and I thought … Sorry.’
‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’ The instructor had come out of the shadows and into the light. Connie’s heart skipped a beat. He was broad shouldered and muscular. She could tell by the bulge at the top of his rolled-up sleeves that this man was used to heavy work and yet he moved fluidly and effortlessly. This must be the Frenchie. His brown hair was curled, not with tight curls but with more of an attractive wave. His face was streaked with perspiration. He glanced at her and Mandy and smiled. The smile transformed his whole face, revealing a long dimple on his left cheek. ‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ he said, bending to stroke the dog. His voice was like deep velvet, and he spoke like a Canadian with just a hint of a French accent. Connie felt her face flush and her heart began to beat a little faster.
‘She ain’t no lady, Frenchie,’ said Isaac bringing Connie back to the here and now.
Connie’s
