A Killing Moon by Steven Dunne Page B

come before.’ The sensored main door swept open and Kassia looked nervously towards the noise of the picket line, singing their hymns and chanting their slogans. The door closed and the clamour was muffled until the next unfortunate tried to enter or leave the building.
    ‘Did they give you a hard time outside?’
    Kassia looked back at the receptionist. ‘Please?’
    The woman shook her head, reverting to her previous demeanour. ‘I need your name.’
    Kassia gave it in a whisper, as though to broadcast her identity would be to invite further shame. But then the severe tone of her interrogator spoke to something deep within her – something hard, something resilient, something that all migrants needed. Suddenly she held the older woman’s judgemental gaze and glared back defiantly.
    How dare this dried-up old cipa look down on me?
    Then she thought of the name her mother had given her when she saw those big brown eyes blinking back from the swaddling, and her gaze found the floor again. Kassia. It meant purity.
    ‘Nationality?’
    ‘ Polska ,’ replied Kassia. When the cipa feigned ignorance, she added, ‘Poland.’
    ‘Date of birth?’
    ‘December twenty-five, nineteen hundred ninety-four.’
    ‘Christmas Day?’ The receptionist looked up briefly from her keyboard. ‘Married or single?’ Kassia didn’t answer. ‘Single,’ concluded the woman, checking the appropriate box. ‘Have you brought a doctor’s referral?’
    ‘I give letter before,’ answered Kassia. ‘Remember?’
    The receptionist sighed. ‘Take a seat. Your nurse will be with you shortly.’
    ‘Kassia, isn’t it?’ said the nurse, pointing to her badge. ‘I’m Mary.’
    Kassia stood, looked into the smiling face, and nodded in recognition. ‘Nurse Moran.’ She tried to smile back, but as so often when sympathy accrued, the tears followed and Kassia’s sangfroid evaporated. ‘No. I can’t do it. I can’t hurt my child.’
    ‘There, there,’ said the nurse, moving in to her, pulling her head on to a chubby shoulder and rubbing her back. ‘It’s all going to be fine, you’ll see. No need for all this upset. We’ll get you a cup of tea and Dr Fleming can have a word.’
    ‘No!’ said Kassia. ‘No talk. I don’t want.’
    Moran guided Kassia towards a chair, eased her down and clasped her hands. ‘Child, your hands are like ice. I’m getting you a hot drink . . .’
    ‘No,’ said Kassia, standing. ‘Sorry. I go.’
    Moran studied her. ‘Listen, Kassia. We know this is the most difficult choice you’ll ever have to make. But you must think about the child as well. It’s not just a question of love. Think about the kind of life you can give it.’
    ‘It?’
    ‘I know we’re talking about a human life, but ask yourself if you’re ready. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’ She shot a glance towards the reception desk, but the hard-faced woman’s attention moved back to her screen at once. ‘If you decide to go ahead, nobody here will judge you.’
    ‘My mother judge me.’ Kassia looked up, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I judge.’ She sobbed harder and cupped her freezing hands to her mouth.
    ‘Come on,’ Nurse Moran said. ‘Let’s get you that hot drink . . .’
    Kassia pulled away, her decision made, drying the tears on her cheeks with a sleeve. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I can’t kill my child,’ she added with an involuntary grab of her stomach.
    ‘That’s your decision, my love,’ said Moran. ‘What about the father?’
    ‘The father can go to hell.’ She moved hesitantly towards the double doors, shrinking from the ordeal outside.
    Moran marched to the reception desk and returned with a card. ‘Here.’ She pressed it into Kassia’s hand. ‘If you need to talk, you know where we are.’
    Kassia turned back to the nurse, unable to meet her eyes, as though any further communication might dissuade her from her course. The automatic doors opened at her approach and she