Free The Chalk Giants by Keith Roberts

plates. When she turned back, she’d been crying. But she didn’t talk about it. Neither of us talked about it, not for the rest of the day.
    The mist didn’t go. I thought it would be here for ever.
    When the wood ran short we gathered driftwood again from the bay. There was enough of it. I didn’t think about Martin. Not any more. Later on we walked up the hill to the village. There was a post office, it had been a general shop as well. I think we’d got quite used to breaking in.
    We brought so much back it took us all our time to carry it. Getting back to the house was nearly like coming home.
    I should have loved to live in a place like that. I don’t know how old it was. Eighteenth century, I suppose. I could see Maggie as an eighteenth century lady. You know, making up and putting those sexy patches on they used to wear. Another time I thought we should have been fishergirls. All poor and ragged. I think between us we lived through all the ages.
    There were cows in one of the fields behind the house. One morning they were all bellowing, I thought they were ill but she said they wanted milking. I don’t know whether she’d done it before but she was very good. She said it must be rotten for them. Like wanting to spend about six pennies at once.
    We had so much milk we didn’t know what to do with it. We boiled it all at first because of TB. Later we just stopped bothering.
    Then she showed me how to use the guns. They’re easy, you just open the little latch and put the shells in and they’re ready. And you’ve always got another shot if the first one misses. She made me promise never to carry one closed. She showed me what might happen if I did. There was a dead hare in the field, she fired at it and it was horrible. There was nothing left...
    There’s a little concrete pillbox in the bay, I think it was left over from the war. We made love inside it once. Nearby there was a stack of lobster pots, we found a boat pulled up and got it down to the sea and sank them out in the bay. We didn’t catch anything for a week but she said to keep on trying, we just hadn’t found the proper place.
    I remember the first one we caught. He was huge; and they’re so dark here, because of the black-coloured rocks. I didn’t want to kill him, I don’t think she did either. But she said it was him or us, and anyway it was no different from eating meat.
    He was so beautiful, when he was cooked. I couldn’t believe it. And there were lettuces in the kitchen garden, enough for a salad. She made a wonderful sauce, out of ketchup and thick cream, and fed me the claw meat, put it in my mouth. I think that was the sexiest meal I ever had.
    Only one bad thing happened. I saw that Stan Potts man again, one day.
    I couldn’t believe it. I was going down to the beach, I wasn’t taking much care. And there he stood, in the mist, in this horrible old macintosh. He was staring up, toward the house, I thought he’d seen me or heard the noise I made. But I don’t think he had.
    I sort of skulked back, behind a rock. I closed the gun, as quietly as I could. I thought, ‘If he starts to climb. If he starts to come up ...’ I knew what would happen if I fired it but I think I’d still have shot him. I think I’d turned into a sort of little animal. What we had was so good, nobody was going to take it away.
    Anyway he didn’t come up. Just stood there looking miserable, as if he’d lost something, he was looking for it. Finally he walked away.
    I followed him for a bit. In the mist. He kept going, round the bay. I left off when he got near the western cliff. I suppose he was going back to the farmhouse. I hadn’t thought, about him still being there.
    I didn’t tell Maggie. Perhaps I should have, but I didn’t. It was just that... I didn’t want anything to spoil it. Not even a little thing.
    Another night there was some gunfire. It sounded close. We sat up all night listening, but nobody came near.
    She said I always had to