The Spectral Book of Horror Stories by Mark Morris (Editor) Page A

hungrily at a cigarette. The smoke came up in little clouds that hung in the gloom.
    “Miss Higgins,” she called. “Over here.”
    “Kitty, is it?”
    “Look, it isn’t good for Auntie,” she cut in, her voice tight and furious. “I can get you space at my college. I’m sure you’d much prefer that, wouldn’t you?”
    Nora felt an immediate distaste for the girl. Kitty was used to getting her way; that was clear. Nora had dealt with many girls like this in her undergraduate classes, girls pretty enough that they could coast by in most of their classes, girls who when they couldn’t flirt, cajoled and threatened. It made Nora angry. She had seen girls like this with her male colleagues. She had seen these simpering, sneering creatures making eyes at the men, placing their slim little hands on their thighs. It was shocking. Absolutely shocking. Not that the girls tried, who could blame them? Nora could understand calculation. Nora could understand how you might make a choice to do something distasteful—it was a choice after all. What she couldn’t understand was that, with most of them, it wasn’t all calculation. There wasn’t enough calculation, not enough thought. Even in their seductions was a certain messiness, a lack of rigour.
    “No,” Nora said firmly.
    “Be reasonable.”
    “Does your aunt want me to go?”
    “She doesn’t know her own mind. She’s not well.”
    “So she hasn’t said I ought to leave?”
    “No,” the dark-haired girl said through gritted teeth. “She likes you.”
    “Then.”
    Now the girl looked desperate. She sucked away furiously at the cigarette, the red tip glowing, ash flying off in great white flakes.
    “Auntie is old, of course she wants someone around. But it shouldn’t be you, that’s what I’m saying. It shouldn’t be you . It should be someone who cares for her and can take care of the arrangements.”
    “I’m sure she can take care of them herself.”
    “No, listen , it’s too much for an old woman. She’ll be lonely, and—” Kitty let the cigarette fall to the ground, then trampled it with her toe on the cobblestones. She seemed close to tears. Nora had seen that trick too. They always thought they could shame you into seeing them as weak, giving them what she wanted.
    “What?”
    “You aren’t part of the family! What do you care about her? Tell me that, what do you care about her? Do you care enough, that’s what I want to know? Does she even matter to you?” Kitty clutched dangerously at her arm, and Nora recoiled in shock.
    “Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you dare! I’ll call the police!”
    “No,” Kitty said, wiping at her eyes, smearing her mascara. “No, I can see quite clearly how things are. She’s just an old woman to you—and Sean? You didn’t even know him! How could he possibly mean anything to you? But that’s fine, if that’s the way you want it. There’s no need for such bullying. I only wanted to help.”
    “Help yourself then,” Nora said, turning away from the girl. “I don’t need it.”
     
    #
     
    When Nora got home, still shaking from the encounter, she felt a strange sense of rage at the presumption of the girl. The feel of her hand on the wrist, fingers tight. It was shocking behaviour, absolutely shocking! Touching as easily as that. She was like one of the disgusting girls from the hostel, ready to make love to whomever she found simply because. Because, because, because. Because it was easy, that’s why! Because they could! Because they liked it!
    Nora hated the nerve of the girl.
    “Mrs Moreland!” she called, taking off her shoes. “Mrs Moreland! Oh, there you are.”
    The old woman had appeared at the top of the stairs.
    “Of course, dear, now what’s the matter?”
    Nora opened her mouth to speak, but another idea came to her. She abandoned her original course of action. “I thought, perhaps—” she forced a wide smile “—you might like some company?”
    “Why, yes, that would