Pretty Lady by Marian Babson

takes longer than you’d think,’ Polly said. ( Even dying? This final day had gone on for ever. She might already be in eternity – endlessly, limitlessly, it went on. She felt a sudden icy chill. Suppose that was what hell was all about? Not the searing eternal flames, but being trapped in time with your sin. Condemned to live the crucial day over and over again, feeling the grief and guilt as poignantly as if it were the first time. And it would be the first time, going on and on, repeating endlessly – )
    Polly swayed. ‘I’m going upstairs,’ she said abruptly.
    â€˜Do that,’ Sheila said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea and bring it up. You can have an early night. It will do you good.’
    â€˜No!’ That wasn’t careful, wasn’t natural. Poor Sheila was as startled by the vehemence of her retort as ever poor Denny could have been, wondering what she had said that was wrong.
    â€˜No,’ Polly tried again, smiling. ‘No, don’t bother about me. I’ll come down later and make cocoa for me and Denny. Why don’t you go out for a while, now that I’m back to watch over Denny? Go to a film, or something. You stay in too much. It’s not good for a young girl.’
    â€˜I’m all right.’ Sheila was on the defensive now, as she always was when criticized about her social life – or lack of it. (Did she think her own mother didn’t know the problem? Hadn’t lived with it for longer than she had?)
    â€˜I’m not saying you’re not. I’m only saying you ought to get out and about more. It’s a fine evening, you ought to go for a walk, or something. Why don’t you drop over and visit your Aunt Vera?’
    Sheila looked startled, as well she might. ( Holy Mother of God – that was going too far. She’ll be measuring me for a straitjacket, suggesting she go and drop in on Vera. )
    â€˜You stay in too much,’ Polly repeated. She watched, biting back compunction, as she saw Sheila begin to fear that she was in for a Vera-type lecture – if she stayed around.
    â€˜I could go down to the library,’ Sheila offered placatingly. ‘Are you through with your books? I could change them, as well as my own. And it would be a nice walk ...’
    She’d be gone about an hour and a half, if she did that. Would that be time enough? It wasn’t long, but it was better than nothing.
    â€˜Do that, then,’ Polly said. ‘It will do for a start. You've got to think about getting out and about more. You don’t want to spend all your days and nights tied to an ailing woman and a – a – And Denny.’
    â€˜I don’t mind,’ Sheila said quickly.
    â€˜But I mind!’ Polly snapped. ‘I mind very much. Remember that.’ She softened her tone. ‘I only want the best for you. I want you to be able to go out like other girls and –’
    â€˜I am able, I just –’
    â€˜I’m tired,’ Polly said. ‘Don’t stand there arguing with me. Get along to the library and find me some nice books to read.’
    â€˜All right, Mum.’ Sheila recognized the finality in her voice and turned away.
    â€˜Oh, and Sheila –’ Polly said casually. ‘I may go to bed early, after all. If Denny and I aren’t up when you get back, don’t disturb us. An early night won’t do him any harm, either.’
    â€˜All right, Mum,’ Sheila said again.
    Polly sat in the bedroom chair until she heard the front door close behind Sheila. Then she went to the window and watched Sheila walk down the path, saying the last goodbye that had to be a silent one.
    You’ll understand, Sheila. Perhaps not at first, but later. It’s the best thing I can do for you. And for Denny. Perhaps, some day, you’ll even forgive me.
    After Sheila was out of sight, Polly moved slowly away from the window. To the hiding place.
    It was