Free A Stitch in Time by Penelope Lively

music-stand. So you could run faster when you need to.”
    They began to giggle. Mrs Foster, down below, looked up in surprise.
    â€œWe are, though,” said Maria. “Seriously, I mean, changing all the time. Growing up. Getting taller and growing new teeth.”
    â€œThat’s different.”
    â€œMore peculiar,” said Maria, “because you know it’s happening.”
    But Martin had lost interest. He was examining the postcards at the exit. They each bought two rather mutedpostcards of fossils (“Wouldn’t you rather have a nice view?” said Mrs Foster. “Or one of the beach?”), and then set off on the climb up through the town back to the house. It seemed a very much shorter walk than it had ever done before. Disconcertingly soon they were outside the drive gates and Martin was saying, “Well, ’bye then…” and, more politely, “thank you for having me.”
    Lying in bed that night, waiting for sleep, Maria floated back in her mind to the night before. Same bed, same window, same curtains. But between them twenty-four hours of time during which things had happened. Nothing in particular (except that I had a nice time with Martin at that museum) but time none the less, which changes everything. Even, she thought, me. I’m not the same as I was last night. Not absolutely exactly the same. I look the same – except that I suppose I’m just a very tiny bit bigger, because I must have grown – but I’m not the same, not quite the same, because I’ve seen things and done things and thought things I hadn’t this time yesterday.
    Downstairs, her mother’s voice came up in fragmented clips of a conversation with her father “…not at all a tiresome boy, really… fascinated by the museum, for some reason… positively chattering, she was…”
    And I might, Maria thought, falling away into sleep, I just might tell Martin sometime about that sampler, and the cocks, because he might think they’re interesting too. But I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to think about that.

Chapter Five
T HE D AY THAT WAS A LMOST E NTIRELY D IFFERENT
    â€œ GRYPHAEA ,” SAID MARTIN. “It’s a Mesozoic oyster.”
    â€œI wonder what they were like to eat?”
    â€œOK for ichthyosauruses, presumably,” said Martin, “with a nice piece of toast.”
    Gryphaea was a kind of fossil that the beach provided in abundance, curled grey stones like snails. They had five of them now.
    â€œWhat we need,” said Martin, “is a brontosaurus vertebra. Some hope.”
    They were examining the books in the library. In the hall, Mrs Foster passed once or twice, looking into the room as she did so. Martin’s presence unnerved her: she expected him to break something.
    â€œWhy don’t you go and play outside, you two?”
    â€œWe’re just going to,” said Martin blandly. He was verygood with grown-ups, Maria could see, in a way that she was not. It usually ended up with them doing what he wanted, rather than the other way around. Mrs Foster went into the kitchen and closed the door.
    â€œJames nicked my Stomechinus yesterday. I found it, though. And I belted him – not hard – and he told Mum and I got sent to bed early.”
    James, Maria thought, was brother, not cousin. About four. It was hard to be sure, though – she never could sort them all out. She nodded sympathetically.
    â€œYou can’t win,” said Martin with sudden gloom, “when you’re the eldest. Whatever you do, you shouldn’t have because you’re old enough to know better. And you spend your life fetching things from upstairs. Other people’s jerseys. Look – there’s a fantastic fossil! S’pose we found one of those!” They had come across a book with particularly clear and satisfactory illustrations.
    â€œWe won’t.”
    â€œWe