Pretty Lady by Marian Babson Page B

treat.’
    â€˜Not hungry.’ But, automatically, his hand reached out and closed around three biscuits.
    â€˜You can’t drink lying down like that. Sit up now, or you’ll get biscuit crumbs all in the bed.’
    â€˜I’m up! I’m up!’ He wriggled to a sitting position as she bent over him, clutching the bedclothes defensively around his middle.
    â€˜Then have your cocoa.’ She handed it to him, watching him take the first big gulps.
    â€˜That’s right, Denny. Drink it down. It will –’ her voice shook – ‘it will help you to sleep.’
    Denny lowered the cup thoughtfully and took an enormous bite of one of his biscuits. She put the packet on the table beside him. ‘Have all you want, Denny.’ And she picked up the tray with her own cup of cocoa. If she stayed here and watched him, she’d never be able to go through with it. She’d dash the cup from his hand. And what would be the good of that? It would only mean she had the whole thing to do over again later.
    In the doorway, she paused and looked back. ‘Have you said your prayers tonight, Denny?’
    His startled look, his quick guilty nod, told her that he hadn’t. But he’d say them, now he’d been reminded.
    â€˜Don’t forget to make a good Act of Contrition,’ she said, and closed the door behind her.
    Perhaps she ought to make one herself – in case it would do any good, in case it might mitigate any of the circumstances. But she’d come to this decision – this deliberate sin –after too much thinking and planning. Could there be any forgiveness for her under those circumstances?
    â€˜ Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry – ’ As she sipped the cocoa, her mind slid into the old familiar formula – ‘ for having offended Thee. Because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell; but, most of all – ’ Oh, Denny, Denny.
    The cup was empty, she should wash it out. But she should write a note to Sheila, too. She fumbled in the dressing-table drawer for notebook and pen.
    â€˜Dear Sheila -
    â€˜I’m sorry for having to do this to you. Try not to blame me too much – ’
    The letters blurred before her eyes. That stuff had never worked so fast before. Of course, she’d never taken so much of it before.
    Dear God, I’m not ready! I’ve got to try to explain, so that Sheila can understand. I’ve got to –
    The dressing-table tilted away from her as she fell back on the bed. The tiny part of her mind that was still conscious noted with clinical precision the onset of the heavy, stertorous breathing that meant she was sliding into a coma.
DENNY
    She had gone. Denny absently took another gulp of cocoa as he listened. He heard the door of her room close and knew that she would not be stirring again tonight.
    He set down his cup carefully, slightly surprised to find himself still holding the chocolate biscuits. He took another bite, cramming them all into his mouth – they were pretty crumpled up, it would just upset everybody if he tried to put them back into the packet. Mum and Sheila got awfully upset about little things like that.
    Throwing back the bedclothes, he slid quietly to the floor, peeling off his pyjama jacket. It had been a tight fit over his clothes – good job Mum hadn’t noticed. He’d been worried for a while, but she’d seemed to be thinking about something else.
    ( ‘Make a good Act of Contrition.’ ) Denny’s forehead wrinkled. Did Mum know what he had been doing today? Or did she suspect that he was going to sneak out of the house tonight and go back to Merelda’s?
    Mum wouldn’t approve, he knew. Not of any of it. Not of going to tea with Merelda, even. ( ‘Don’t go bothering people, Denny. They’ve got more to do than to be bothered with the likes of you.’ ) But Merelda wanted him. She needed him. He was going to