Free My Candlelight Novel by Joanne Horniman Page A

she learns to crawl first.’
    â€˜She’s worked out that way of getting about by herself,’ I said sullenly. ‘I know it looks sort of awkward and lopsided, but it seems to work for her.’
    â€˜For now. But she’ll get on better later on if she crawls properly first. You can teach her by showing her, you know.’
    And she got down on her hands and knees and started to crawl. Hetty looked at her with interest – she had a way of regarding everything new she encountered as something she might need to know.
    â€˜ You show her,’ Maggie Tulliver urged.
    Feeling foolish, I got out of the hammock and into a crawling position. I called out, ‘Hetty! Watch this.’
    She sat holding onto her toes, smiling at me indulgently. I crawled up to her and lifted her into the correct position. She sat right back down onto her bottom.
    â€˜Try again.’
    This time Hetty started imitating me. She crawled a few paces, arms and legs working in opposition.
    â€˜Good girl, Hetty!’ I said. She sat up on her bottom again and grinned at me.
    We spent ages crawling around with Hetty, and by the end she was starting to get the hang of it. She thought it was a marvellous game we were playing with her.
    Lil came out to see what was going on. We explained to her and she said, ‘Well I never. In my day, crawling was just crawling and babies seemed to manage all right.’
    Maggie Tulliver and I looked at each other and smiled.
    â€˜Is that a letter from Kate?’ said Lil, noticing the pages floating about on the floor. She picked them up and started to smooth them out, tutting about the dreadful state they were in.
    She went inside, taking the letter with her. ‘Read away,’ I said with a flourish, as she disappeared. Anything from Kate was Lil’s as far as Lil was concerned.
    Maggie Tulliver left then as well, and it was only after she’d gone I realised I hadn’t known why she’d come up to the top floor in the first place, as it was our private part of the house.
    I saw her again on Sunday night.
    When I can’t sleep, I go to a sitting place on a short, secluded flight of steps that runs from the bottom floor at the back of the house to the garden. I sit on a step near the ground, next to a patch of fragrant mint. If Hetty’s asleep, I take her with me bundled up in a straw carry-basket, where she lies charmingly like baby Moses in the bulrushes.
    That night there was a woman sitting in my exact spot; she turned around as I stood at the top of the stairs with the basket, hesitating. It was Maggie Tulliver. ‘Have a seat,’ she said carelessly, over her shoulder.
    I made my way down the steps and sat, not beside her, but a couple of steps above, with Hetty’s basket next to me.
    Maggie Tulliver said, ‘At times like this I miss smoking. Sitting still, looking at the dark, and doing nothing.’ She reached down and picked a sprig of mint, pinching it between her fingers. ‘I gave it up ages ago because of the singing. I’m in the music school up at the uni – doing voice.’
    I said, ‘I’m studying literature and writing. I’m only part-time at the moment, so I’m doing the literature first. “Introduction to written texts” it’s called.’
    Maggie Tulliver laughed. ‘Don’t you love the crazy subjects they teach?’ she said, with more than a hint of mockery in her voice.
    I hesitated. Actually, I thought it sounded an interesting subject, but I didn’t feel up to defending it.
    I usually try to keep myself apart from the guests, but the experience with Dev and Pagan (who had ended up leaving together) had made me think that perhaps I should try to be more open to the people who stayed with us. It might be interesting, and companionable.
    â€˜Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked.
    â€˜You offering to make it?’
    I got to my feet. ‘If you could just watch