7

A History Lesson

Mum dumped the wriggling baby in his father’s arms. Pulling the dusty paper wrapper from the chip, she used a blade from a pencil sharpener to slice the greasy object like an oversized loaf of bread. She laid the chip slices on a square of tinfoil and shoved them into the candle-warmed oven to reheat.

‘Plenty of leftovers!’ she said, carrying the remainder of the chip into an adjoining larder. ‘Almost too much, even for our hungry mouths.’

‘Why aren’t there more of us, Mum?’ said Gafferty, collecting a stack of plates from the dresser and placing them on the table.

‘You can’t be wanting another brother or sister?’ said Dad, mildly horrified. Grub gurgled furiously from his father’s lap, as if the idea of further rivals for his parents’ attention was completely unthinkable.

‘No! Definitely not! Two are enough trouble.’ Gafferty gave Gobkin a look. He stuck out his tongue at her as he scrubbed his hands. ‘More Smidgens. People of my own age. What happened to all the other families that lived here? And in the Tangle? You’ve never really spoken much about it.’

‘Not much to tell,’ said Dad under his breath. ‘Nothing good, anyway.’

‘I’m sorry, Gafferty love,’ Mum said sadly. She rinsed a spring onion leaf under the water pump before shredding it into pieces. ‘I know it’s been hard for you, being the only one of your age.’ She dried her hands and sat with her family at the table. ‘There are tales, but it’s difficult to know truth from tattle after all these years. We can’t give you an honest answer if we don’t know ourselves.’ She looked at each of her children in turn and sighed. ‘There were lots more Smidgens once – you can tell that from the size of the House alone.’

‘There were lots of families – clans?’ Gafferty trod carefully. If she told them about the atlas, she would have to tell them she’d disobeyed them and gone into the forbidden part of the Tangle, leaving Gob all alone.

‘I don’t know anything about any clans,’ Mum said. ‘But Smidgens lived here and throughout the Tangle, like the humans in their town above. Maybe even beyond the Tangle. And they were properly civilised too, more so than the Big Folk. My old grandpa said they knew a bit of magic.’

‘Magic?’ said Gobkin, his eyes widening.

‘Small magic for Small Folk,’ Mum said, smiling. ‘Nothing fancy, I shouldn’t think, but some of the tales say the Smidgens got lazy and forgot how to live without their magic.’

‘What happened?’ said Gafferty impatiently. ‘Where did everyone go?’

‘We don’t really know what happened. A big falling out, I was told. That’s what happens when people have time on their hands. But whatever happened, it was bad. Bad enough for folk to want to forget it. Bad enough for people to not want to write it down. People leave out the bits of history they don’t like, the bits that don’t suit them. Either way, after the Disaster, the magic was gone, and the Smidgens had to learn to live without it. But they struggled, and struggled badly.’

‘They’d gone soft,’ said Dad, with a dismissive snort. ‘Careless. They’d forgotten how to survive. And that’s no good when you live amongst the Big Folk.’

‘The magic protected the Smidgens from humans, supposedly,’ said Mum. ‘Anyway, they found out about us, even hunted us. Treated us like rats!’ She shuddered. ‘They were dark days. The Smidgens left the Tangle as the humans dug up parts of it to find us, and those that remained hid themselves away, here at the House, relearning old skills of foraging and scavenging. But for a long while there was little food, and fewer babies, fewer Smidgens.’

‘But that was years and years ago,’ said Gafferty. ‘Hundreds of years.’

‘It was never the same again,’ said Dad. ‘Our kind never really recovered. Many Smidgens thought there was a better life to be had elsewhere and moved on. Others have followed over the years. Until only us Sprouts remain.’

‘But why? Why didn’t we go too?’ Gafferty said. ‘Why are we stuck here in this … this miserable tomb? It’s just us and … ghosts.’ She shivered uncomfortably as the memory of the thing in the tunnel returned. It couldn’t have been a ghost, could it? One of the Tangle stories come true?

‘Oh, Gafferty,’ Mum said, getting up. ‘Leave, when we’ve the young ones to look after? Don’t be silly.’

She went to the oven, humming to herself. It was the sign she wanted to change the subject, sensing an argument brewing.

‘We’re stuck here, as you say, young lady, because this is our home,’ said Dad, not taking the hint. Gafferty often battled with him, their stubbornness evenly matched. ‘It’s where we belong! The world is still dangerous for Smidgens, even if the Big Folk have forgotten us now and leave us alone. Have we heard from those who’ve left? No. The Sprouts made the right decision, staying here, staying safe, and we should be grateful for it, Gafferty.’ His voice was thunderous, but Gafferty persisted.

‘I am grateful,’ she said. ‘But there must be more Smidgens out there, mustn’t there?’ She waved her hand in the general direction of the factory. ‘Perhaps if we looked, we’d find them. What’s the good of me teaching Gobkin or Grub all the Smidgen-lore if we’re the last? What’s the point, Dad?’

‘The point is survival,’ her father said, rapping his big fist on the table so that the plates rattled. ‘You want to go out searching for Smidgens in the Big Folks’ world? You want freedom? It comes with a high price.’

‘Prices are fine if something’s worth it!’ snapped Gafferty. ‘And any price would be worth it to get away from here!’

‘Gafferty!’ Mum turned from the oven, her voice filled with hurt, her eyes with sadness. Gafferty’s face burned red in anger and shame. She got up from the table and ran out of the room, out into the darkness of the abandoned House. She had never felt more alone.