Lizzie and I sat opposite each other, legs crossed, knees just touching. I raised both hands to begin a clapping game, but Lizzie paused at the sight of my funny fingers. They were puckered and pink.
‘They don’t hurt anymore,’ I said.
‘You sure?’
I nodded, and we began to clap, though she was too soft with my funny fingers to make the right sound.
‘So, what’s your big secret, Essymay?’ she asked.
I’d almost forgotten. I stopped clapping, reached into the pocket of my pinny and pulled out the slip that had landed in my lap earlier that morning.
‘What kind of secret is that?’ asked Lizzie, taking the slip in her hand and turning it over.
‘It’s a word, but I can only read this bit.’ I pointed to bondmaid. ‘Can you read the rest for me?’
She moved a finger across the words, just as I had done. After a while, she handed it back.
‘Where did you find it?’ she asked.
‘It found me,’ I said. And when I saw that wasn’t enough, ‘One of the assistants threw it away.’
‘Threw it away, did they?’
‘Yes,’ I said, without looking down, even a little bit. ‘Some words just don’t make sense and they throw them away.’
‘Well, what will you do with your secret?’ Lizzie asked.
I hadn’t thought. All I’d wanted was to show it to Lizzie. I knew not to ask Da to keep it safe, and it couldn’t stay in my pinny forever.
‘Can you keep it for me?’ I asked.
‘I s’pose I can, if you want me to. Though I don’t know what’s so special about it.’
It was special because it had come to me. It was almost nothing, but not quite. It was small and fragile and it might not mean anything important, but I needed to keep it from the fire grate. I didn’t know how to say any of this to Lizzie, and she didn’t insist. Instead, she got to her hands and knees, reached under her bed and pulled out a small wooden trunk.
I watched as she drew a finger through the thin film of dust that covered the scarred top. She wasn’t in a hurry to open it.
‘What’s inside?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. Everything I came with has gone into that wardrobe.’
‘Won’t you need it to go on journeys?’
‘I won’t be needing it,’ she said, and released the latch.
I placed my secret in the bottom of the trunk and sat back on my haunches. It looked small and lonely. I moved it to one side, and then to the other. Finally, I retrieved it and cradled it in both hands.
Lizzie stroked my hair. ‘You’ll have to find more treasures to keep it company.’
I stood, held the slip of paper as high as I could above the trunk and let go, then I watched it float down, swaying from side to side until it came to rest in one corner of the trunk.
‘This is where it wants to be,’ I said, bending down to smooth it flat. But it wouldn’t flatten. There was a lump under the paper lining that covered the bottom of the trunk. The edge had already lifted, so I peeled it back a little more.
‘It’s not empty, Lizzie,’ I said, as the head of a pin revealed itself.
Lizzie leaned over me to see what I was talking about.
‘It’s a hat pin,’ she said, reaching down to pick it up. On its head were three small beads, one on top of the other, each a kaleidoscope of colour. Lizzie turned it between her thumb and finger. As it spun, I could see her remembering it. She brought it to her chest, kissed me on the forehead then placed the pin carefully on her bedside table, next to the small photograph of her mother.
Our walk home to Jericho took longer than it should, because I was small and Da liked to meander while he smoked his pipe. I loved the smell of it.
We crossed the wide Banbury Road and started down St Margaret’s, past tall houses standing in pairs with pretty gardens and trees shading the path. Then I led us on a zigzagging route through narrow streets where the houses were tightly packed, one against the other, just like slips in their pigeon-holes. When we turned into Observatory Street, Da tapped his pipe clean against a wall and put it in his pocket. Then he lifted me onto his shoulders.
‘You’ll be too big for this soon,’ he said.
‘Will I stop being a littlun when I get too big?’
‘Is that what Lizzie calls you?’
‘It’s one of the things she calls me. She also calls me cabbage and Essymay.’
‘Littlun I understand, and Essymay, but why does she call you cabbage?’
Cabbage always came with a cuddle or a kind smile. It made perfect sense, but I couldn’t explain why.
Our house was halfway down Observatory Street, just past Adelaide Street. When we got to the corner, I counted out loud: ‘One, two, three, four, stop right here for our front door.’
We had an old brass knocker shaped like a hand. Lily had found it at a bric-a-brac stall in the Covered Market – Da said it had been tarnished and scratched, and there’d been river sand between the fingers, but he’d cleaned it up and attached it to the door on the day
