shifty uncomfortable smile, not quite looking straight at Sheila, focusing on the dark tangle of sheets and blankets that she seemed to have kicked to the bottom of the bed.
—D’you want anything? Tea?
Sheila shook her head. —I’m only throwing it up.
—D’you want anything?
Hilary couldn’t believe he was actually talking to her. —No, I’m fine, thanks, she said.
—I’ll be downstairs, he said. —If you need anything.
They heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. Hilary put down her case: her hand for quite a few minutes wouldn’t ease from its frozen curled position. —Shuggs: what’s going on?
Sheila groaned: not in answer to the question, but a sound ripped from inside her, a low and embarrassing rumble as if she didn’t care what anybody heard. She rocked fiercely.
—I’m miscarrying a pregnancy, she said when the spasm seemed to have passed. —It’s a fine mess. Blood everywhere. Buckets of blood. You’ll have to help get rid of everything.
—I can’t believe this, Hilary said. She felt she was still somewhere inside the Bluebeard story she had been imagining on her way from the bus station. For a few pure moments she blazed with anger against Sheila. It wasn’t fair, for Sheila to have spoiled her visit with this, her so looked-forward-to chance to get away. Sheila’s mission had been clear and certain: to cut herself free of all the muffling dependencies of home and childhood. If she could succumb to anything so predictable as this melodrama – just what their parents would have warned against if only they hadn’t been too agonised to find the words – what hope was there?
—What are you doing here? she demanded. —What is this place?
—It’s a squat, said Sheila calmly.—Neil’s squat. I told them at Manor Hall that I was going away for a few days. They’re not to ever know anything about this, obviously.
—You’d be kicked out.
—Uh-oh, said Sheila, attentive to something inside her. Then she lunged from the bed to sit on something like achamber pot in the crazy shadows on the far side of the room. Hilary tried not to hear anything. —Oh, oh, Sheila groaned, hugging her white legs, pressing her forehead to her knees.
—They wouldn’t kick me out, she said after a while. —It’s not that.
—And who’s Neil?
—That’s him, you idiot. You’ve just walked in with him.
Hilary hadn’t moved from where she stood when she first came in, or even made any move to unbutton her mac. She felt as if there was an unpassable waste of experience between her and her sister now, which couldn’t be crossed. Sheila had joined the ranks of women submerged and knowing amid their biology. She realised with a new shock that Sheila must have had sexual intercourse, too, in order to be pregnant.
—I don’t want Mum to know, that’s why, Sheila said. —I’ll simply kill you if you ever tell anyone at home.
—I wouldn’t, said Hilary coldly.
—I just can’t bear the idea of her thinking that this is the same thing, you know? The same stuff that’s happened to her. Because it isn’t.
Hilary was silent. After a long while Sheila stood up stiffly from the chamber pot. She stuffed what looked like an old towel between her legs, and moving slowly, bent over as if she was very old, she lay down on the bed again, on her side this time, with her eyes closed.
—You could take it down to the lavatory for me. It’s a flight and a half down, door on the right.
Hilary didn’t stir.
—Please, Hills. You could cover it with a newspaper or something.
—Did you do this deliberately? Hilary said. —Is this an abortion?
—No. It just happened. I might have done itdeliberately, but I didn’t need to. I’d only just realised that I was pregnant. I’ve only missed two periods, I think. I never keep track.
—Who is the father of it?
Sheila’s eyes snapped open incredulously. —Who do you think? she said. —I wouldn’t have just sent any old person to get
—D’you want anything? Tea?
Sheila shook her head. —I’m only throwing it up.
—D’you want anything?
Hilary couldn’t believe he was actually talking to her. —No, I’m fine, thanks, she said.
—I’ll be downstairs, he said. —If you need anything.
They heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. Hilary put down her case: her hand for quite a few minutes wouldn’t ease from its frozen curled position. —Shuggs: what’s going on?
Sheila groaned: not in answer to the question, but a sound ripped from inside her, a low and embarrassing rumble as if she didn’t care what anybody heard. She rocked fiercely.
—I’m miscarrying a pregnancy, she said when the spasm seemed to have passed. —It’s a fine mess. Blood everywhere. Buckets of blood. You’ll have to help get rid of everything.
—I can’t believe this, Hilary said. She felt she was still somewhere inside the Bluebeard story she had been imagining on her way from the bus station. For a few pure moments she blazed with anger against Sheila. It wasn’t fair, for Sheila to have spoiled her visit with this, her so looked-forward-to chance to get away. Sheila’s mission had been clear and certain: to cut herself free of all the muffling dependencies of home and childhood. If she could succumb to anything so predictable as this melodrama – just what their parents would have warned against if only they hadn’t been too agonised to find the words – what hope was there?
—What are you doing here? she demanded. —What is this place?
—It’s a squat, said Sheila calmly.—Neil’s squat. I told them at Manor Hall that I was going away for a few days. They’re not to ever know anything about this, obviously.
—You’d be kicked out.
—Uh-oh, said Sheila, attentive to something inside her. Then she lunged from the bed to sit on something like achamber pot in the crazy shadows on the far side of the room. Hilary tried not to hear anything. —Oh, oh, Sheila groaned, hugging her white legs, pressing her forehead to her knees.
—They wouldn’t kick me out, she said after a while. —It’s not that.
—And who’s Neil?
—That’s him, you idiot. You’ve just walked in with him.
Hilary hadn’t moved from where she stood when she first came in, or even made any move to unbutton her mac. She felt as if there was an unpassable waste of experience between her and her sister now, which couldn’t be crossed. Sheila had joined the ranks of women submerged and knowing amid their biology. She realised with a new shock that Sheila must have had sexual intercourse, too, in order to be pregnant.
—I don’t want Mum to know, that’s why, Sheila said. —I’ll simply kill you if you ever tell anyone at home.
—I wouldn’t, said Hilary coldly.
—I just can’t bear the idea of her thinking that this is the same thing, you know? The same stuff that’s happened to her. Because it isn’t.
Hilary was silent. After a long while Sheila stood up stiffly from the chamber pot. She stuffed what looked like an old towel between her legs, and moving slowly, bent over as if she was very old, she lay down on the bed again, on her side this time, with her eyes closed.
—You could take it down to the lavatory for me. It’s a flight and a half down, door on the right.
Hilary didn’t stir.
—Please, Hills. You could cover it with a newspaper or something.
—Did you do this deliberately? Hilary said. —Is this an abortion?
—No. It just happened. I might have done itdeliberately, but I didn’t need to. I’d only just realised that I was pregnant. I’ve only missed two periods, I think. I never keep track.
—Who is the father of it?
Sheila’s eyes snapped open incredulously. —Who do you think? she said. —I wouldn’t have just sent any old person to get
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