The Winds of Heaven by Judith Clarke Page A

shrieked. ‘I know it is! Look what happened to me!’
    The silence that followed seemed to tremble with some kind of grief. Beyond it, Clementine could make out a muffled thumping sound, like dust being beaten from a dirty old mat, and a picture rose up of Aunty Rene’s small clenched fist thudding on her bony chest, over and over again. Was it that? Could it be? Clementine cast a quick furtive glance across the room towards her cousin’s bed. The rigid stillness beneath the blanket told her Fan was awake and listening too.
    Aunty Rene was crying now. ‘I was a girl once, wasn’t I?’ she sobbed. ‘A pretty girl?’ Her voice lost its savagery and took on an imploring sound. ‘You remember, don’t you, Cissie?’
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘Remember that Tangee lipstick I used to wear?’
    ‘Yes.’ Mrs Southey’s voice was the barest breath.
    ‘And the Coty powder? Evenin’ in Paris scent?’
    ‘Oh, Reenie!’
    ‘Jeez, I was a fool!’ Another piece of china crashed and tinkled to the floor. ‘Dressed in me flim-flams, off to the Roxy – ’ Aunty Rene’s voice descended to a hiss. ‘And that’s where I met
him
, wasn’t it? That’s where I met His Lordship. And before I knew what hit me, there’s a bun in the oven, and – ’
    ‘Rene!’
    ‘Oh, leave me alone, Cissie! I’ll say what I like, now it’s too late for
me.
A bun in the oven and me hardly more than a girl and what was I to do? Then
he
carts me off up here! To this dump! This
place
! Bloody end of the world and I’m
stuck
in it!’ Aunty Rene paused to gulp in breath and when she spoke again her voice was hoarse with loathing. ‘And I’m tellin’ you, Cissie, what happens down there in the city happens sooner up here! And that little madam – ’
    ‘But she’s only
ten,
’ repeated Clementine’s mother helplessly.
    ‘Only ten and she’s gunna learn now before it’s too bloody late! She’s gunna learn something she won’t forget in a hurry!’ Aunty Rene’s voice soared up again. ‘And that’s to stay away from bloody boongs!’
    Clementine sneaked another glance across the room. Fan was kneeling up on her bed now, straining for every word.
    And now there came the sound of footsteps running to the kitchen, and a queer little noise from there, a small metallic chatter followed by a brief swishing sound. Whenshe heard this, Fan gave a little cry and leaped from her bed. She ran to the door, but she was too late, Aunty Rene was already halfway up the hall. Rushing. You could hear her, like the willy-willy, seething.
    ‘The window, quick!’ Clementine began to wrestle with the catch and Fan scrambled up beside her. Stiff with rust and ancient paint, the window wouldn’t budge. There was nowhere to go.
    A small furious figure burst through the doorway, swinging a wide brown belt.
    Clementine had noticed this belt in the kitchen, hanging from a hook beside the gas stove. She’d noticed, too, how her cousin’s eyes would sometimes swing towards it, and then swerve away. Once Fan had seen Clementine looking at it and whispered to her, ‘She uses the buckle end.’ Clementine hadn’t quite realised what her cousin had meant. Now, as Aunty Rene came seething across the room, one hand outstretched to grab her daughter, she knew.
    Fan jumped from the bed and slid under it, but with the same single swift movement she used to gut a rabbit, Aunty Rene seized Fan’s ankle and pulled her out again. She dragged her to her feet and brought the belt down hard across her daughter’s legs. There was a fat fleshy sound and a bright red stripe appeared across Fan’s calves, beaded with drops of blood. Fan screamed, she strained like a dog on a leash, but Aunty Rene’s strong fingers held her fast.
    She ran in a tight circle round her mother, who turned with her, bringing the strap down and down and down. Buckle end. ‘You’ll learn!’ Aunty Rene was screaming, over and over and over again. ‘You’ll learn!’
    ‘That’s enough,