Free Life: An Exploded Diagram by Mal Peet

hit him back. It was an awkward upward swing of her fist that surprised the corner of his jaw, and he staggered backward and sat down among the carrots. He gawped up at her and she began to cry. He got to his feet and moved toward her. Ruth retreated.
    “Dunt you touch me,” she said, thick-voiced.
    She wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands.
    “I hent never hit anyone afore in my life. I can’t believe the first person I do hit is my own husband.”
    She sobbed horribly.
    George’s self-pity expanded until it included her, and he put his arms around her.
    After a while she said, “I’ll tell her tomorrer, after she come home from the chapel.”
    “Right,” George said.
    “And you make yerself scarce. I can’t stand the thought of you and her tearun inter each other. Take Clem round to Chrissie’s or somethun.”
    “Why would I take him to Chrissie’s?”
    “I dunno. Think of some reason. Thas not like she ent always pleased to see you.”
    He smiled. “You reckon she fancies me?”
    “Chrissie fancy anythun in trousers, as well you know.”
    “I’ll take ’m off before I go, then.”
    Ruth snuffled a sort of laugh. The back door opened and a rhombus of mean yellow light fell onto the yard.
    “Ruth,” Win called. “Ruth? Whatever are yer doin out there? I thought yer’d gone to make the Horlicks.”
    While Ruth stumbled through her rehearsed speech, Win stood as still as a monument in her chapel clothes, at the sink, holding the tea strainer out in front of her like a pessimist’s begging bowl. Her black Sunday hat on the draining board. Her back to her daughter.
    Eventually she said, “An when’s this, then?”
    “First of September, Mum.”
    “What, this September? Next month?”
    “Yes.”
    Win inhaled deeply. “Yer kept this quiet, Ruth. How long’re you known?”
    “Not long, Mum. It come up sudden. Thas nice, though, ’cos Clem’ll be able to start up at the new school.”
    It sounded feeble. Ruth felt sick.
    “You seen this house?”
    “No, but George say they’re very nice. Up off the Aylsham —”
    “I know where they are. Two of the mawthers at work live there — Dorothy Eldon and Jane Whassername, who ent no better than she oughter be. Always gorn on about how they’re got the indoor toilet, as though thas somethun to be proud of, doin your business insider the house and stinkun it up.”
    Ruth said nothing.
    “Breed like rabbuts up that estate, by all accounts,” Win went on. “Dorothy moan about how she can hear next door at ut, the walls are that thin. An thas a laugh, seeing as how she’re up the spout agen herself.”
    She banged the strainer against the side of the sink, dislodging the tea leaves.
    “I’re lived here aller my life, Ruth. Born an grew up here, like my father and his father. Back beyond that, I dunt know. This come as quite a shock. I ent sure I can just up and move to Borstead jus like that.”
    “Well, Mum,” Ruth said, “we . . . I mean . . . That ent . . . You dunt . . .”
    Win turned and surveyed her primitive kitchen.
    “Nemmind, though. My Father’s house hath many mansions. We stay who we are, no matter where we go. I can walk to work from the Aylsham road. That’ll save me heven to listen to Willy Page’s squit mornin and night. Though I dunt know how we’re gorna get everythun there. Hev George thought about that?”
    Ruth gazed at her mother, stricken.
    “Mum,” she said, “the house ent . . .”
    She made an enormous effort to say what had to be said.
    “Mum. You dunt hev to come. You can stay here if you want. George . . .”
    “No, Ruth,” Win said. “Thas all right. I daresay that’ll be all right. That can be a struggle livun here. I can see how for Clem and gettun to work that might be better to be in Borstead. I’ll get used to ut. I ent so stuck in the mud as you think I am.”
    Defeated, Ruth hung her head.
    The gate banged against its post.
    She heard Clem say, “Tommy said I could, Dad. Why can’t