turned back to the window. She couldn’t even bring herself to smile. A baby; it was not good news.
Pregnancy transformed Helen. Over the coming months she seemed to swell and ripen, like the giant peach in Dora’s favourite children’s story. She had never been one for housekeeping, but she suddenly took to washing, cleaning and, most unfortunately, cooking with a newly found zeal, until Richard gently suggested she might want to conserve some of her energy for the baby’s arrival; but the truth was none of them could stomach another of her elaborate and inedible family meals.
Her sister basked in Helen’s glow, flitting moth-like around her mother with irrepressible excitement. Helen had told them that the baby could already hear their voices and Dora chattered away to the bump about anything and everything, but Cassie felt self-conscious the one time she had tried and couldn’t think of anything to say, so she left it to Dora to babble idiotically at their mother’s belly.
Their father too, could barely contain his excitement. He bounded round the house each weekend, preparing for the arrival. There was a new nursery to paint and an old crib to sand and varnish. He built wooden shelves which he stocked with new books and toys, and attacked his projects with vigour, as if by hurling himself into them he could somehow encourage the baby to arrive more quickly.
It didn’t help that as Helen blossomed and grew, Cassie’s own body was undergoing a strange and uncomfortable transformation. Overnight, it seemed, hair had begun to sprout in awkward places. Her skin broke out in greasy red pimples and she got hot and sweaty at difficult times, particularly whenever Miss Mackintosh, the prettiest teacher at school, addressed her in class. And worst of all, breasts had started to grow where once had only been flat, pink nipples. She studied and poked at them in the bedroom mirror, half annoyed, half fascinated. She wasn’t sure she liked the new additions and felt self-conscious in her too-tight school blouses. Secretly she hoped that Helen might notice and suggest a shopping trip, like the other girls in her class; a mother–daughter rite of passage, it seemed: a new bra, a milkshake, and even her ears pierced if she were really lucky, like Tamara Hopkins. But Helen was preoccupied with her own life, and the new one growing inside her. As the days passed and Cassie’s growth spurt went unnoticed, she grew increasingly annoyed, until eventually she raided Helen’s purse, pocketed a twenty pound note and took herself off to the department store in Bridport.
All she wanted was a bra. How hard could it be? She drifted round the ground floor on her own for a while, trying to summon the courage to grab something from the bewildering array of lingerie on display. There were little lacy numbers, sporty T-shirt bras, pretty ones covered in flowers and bows, and giant hammock-like contraptions terrifying in their complex construction. Finally, a kindly grey-haired assistant with gold-rimmed spectacles perched high on her nose took pity on her. ‘Can I help you there, love?’ She smiled down at her.
Cassie would have run, but she really didn’t want to return home without a bra; it was getting impossible at school. Her shirt was virtually see-through and she’d seen some of the boys staring.
‘I need a bra, please,’ she finally muttered.
‘Well, you’re in the right place. Let’s get you into a changing room, shall we? I’ll measure you up and then you can try on some different styles. We’ll have you fixed up in no time, all right?’
Cassie nodded and followed the lady into the changing rooms. The assistant pulled out a tape measure and continued with her small talk as she took Cassie’s measurements. ‘You on your own today, love?’
‘Yes.’
‘First bra, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I remember when I got my first bra. My mum and I went to a funny little shop in Exeter. Terribly uncomfortable it was. Not
Pregnancy transformed Helen. Over the coming months she seemed to swell and ripen, like the giant peach in Dora’s favourite children’s story. She had never been one for housekeeping, but she suddenly took to washing, cleaning and, most unfortunately, cooking with a newly found zeal, until Richard gently suggested she might want to conserve some of her energy for the baby’s arrival; but the truth was none of them could stomach another of her elaborate and inedible family meals.
Her sister basked in Helen’s glow, flitting moth-like around her mother with irrepressible excitement. Helen had told them that the baby could already hear their voices and Dora chattered away to the bump about anything and everything, but Cassie felt self-conscious the one time she had tried and couldn’t think of anything to say, so she left it to Dora to babble idiotically at their mother’s belly.
Their father too, could barely contain his excitement. He bounded round the house each weekend, preparing for the arrival. There was a new nursery to paint and an old crib to sand and varnish. He built wooden shelves which he stocked with new books and toys, and attacked his projects with vigour, as if by hurling himself into them he could somehow encourage the baby to arrive more quickly.
It didn’t help that as Helen blossomed and grew, Cassie’s own body was undergoing a strange and uncomfortable transformation. Overnight, it seemed, hair had begun to sprout in awkward places. Her skin broke out in greasy red pimples and she got hot and sweaty at difficult times, particularly whenever Miss Mackintosh, the prettiest teacher at school, addressed her in class. And worst of all, breasts had started to grow where once had only been flat, pink nipples. She studied and poked at them in the bedroom mirror, half annoyed, half fascinated. She wasn’t sure she liked the new additions and felt self-conscious in her too-tight school blouses. Secretly she hoped that Helen might notice and suggest a shopping trip, like the other girls in her class; a mother–daughter rite of passage, it seemed: a new bra, a milkshake, and even her ears pierced if she were really lucky, like Tamara Hopkins. But Helen was preoccupied with her own life, and the new one growing inside her. As the days passed and Cassie’s growth spurt went unnoticed, she grew increasingly annoyed, until eventually she raided Helen’s purse, pocketed a twenty pound note and took herself off to the department store in Bridport.
All she wanted was a bra. How hard could it be? She drifted round the ground floor on her own for a while, trying to summon the courage to grab something from the bewildering array of lingerie on display. There were little lacy numbers, sporty T-shirt bras, pretty ones covered in flowers and bows, and giant hammock-like contraptions terrifying in their complex construction. Finally, a kindly grey-haired assistant with gold-rimmed spectacles perched high on her nose took pity on her. ‘Can I help you there, love?’ She smiled down at her.
Cassie would have run, but she really didn’t want to return home without a bra; it was getting impossible at school. Her shirt was virtually see-through and she’d seen some of the boys staring.
‘I need a bra, please,’ she finally muttered.
‘Well, you’re in the right place. Let’s get you into a changing room, shall we? I’ll measure you up and then you can try on some different styles. We’ll have you fixed up in no time, all right?’
Cassie nodded and followed the lady into the changing rooms. The assistant pulled out a tape measure and continued with her small talk as she took Cassie’s measurements. ‘You on your own today, love?’
‘Yes.’
‘First bra, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I remember when I got my first bra. My mum and I went to a funny little shop in Exeter. Terribly uncomfortable it was. Not
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