the pregnancy no one knew you had.
Later, she saw how Ma’s life had been for fifteen years, nothing but a round of work and disappointment, with, just occasionally, ten minutes to sit on the step with her face to the sun. Later, when Elizabeth herself looked at some boy with a new haircut raw up his neck, and eyes glistening with nervous lust, she thought of it, and the thought was enough to draw her sharply back into herself.
Later. But not tonight, when she was drooping tired, yet too excited to sleep, nor the next morning, when she woke to a milky light, and the soft sough and rasp of the sea, dragging down the shingle.
The bed was a plank, with a thin, sour mattress, and both of the windows were partly broken, so thatsometime between sleep and now, she had been aware of the cow’s breath on her face, and of Ma crying quietly.
When she stepped outside, entirely by herself, she had looked straight over the edge of the world, onto the shining sea, and she ran on bare feet towards it, arms open.
They were there four days before it happened, and the sun never stopped shining, but there was always a wonderful coolness off the sea. Milo leaped about like a goat-kid, wild and solitary, talking to himself.
There was no warning. Elizabeth sat up in the middle of the fifth night, wakened by odd, half-smothered moans and whisperings and the torch waving over the walls and roof like a drunken thing. It caught Milo’s face, and his eyes were huge and terrified in the light of it.
‘Your Ma’s in trouble. You stay with her, Elizabeth. You stay here.’ He was dragging on his trousers.
‘No. I want to come with you. I don’t want to be left.’
‘Jesus, girl, you do as you’re told just the once, why can’t you?’
The injustice stung even then, in the midst of it all. She had never disobeyed him, never dared. Then he went out into the darkness, dragging Milo down the step after him, and away towards the truck.
For a moment, it was utterly still and silent. She crouched back in her bunk against the wall, and prayed to God.
‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth, be a good girl. Light the lamp. He’s taken the torch with him.’
‘Yes.’
‘You turn up the oil with the little knob.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t like to be in the dark.’
The lamp flared and then sank back to a low blue flicker.
‘Will you come here and sit by me?’
She reached out. Ma’s hand was slippery and hot.
‘Minchy Fagin said you’d been to see the doctor.’
‘Minchy Fagin!’
A breeze blew through the broken window-pane, making the lamp sputter.
‘Da’s gone for someone. He took Milo with him.’
Her mother gave a sudden, sharp cry.
‘He’ll bring the doctor back, won’t he?’
‘The dear knows. How’ll he find me one, Elizabeth? I don’t know.’ She was gripping Elizabeth’s hand; the nails were sharp.
‘Should I get you a drink of water?’
‘No, no.’
‘What should I do?’ She was afraid. She wanted to be anywhere, for things to be normal again, for someone else to be here.
‘He met a man who had this place to let. Why did he waste his money on a tin shack in the middle of nowhere? Because he has no sense.’
Elizabeth wanted to stop her ears.
‘You shouldn’t think of yourself, they say, you should always put others first. You should never be self-regarding.’
‘I know.’ Though she had always questioned it, for what other person did she, Elizabeth, know, so well as she knew her own self? What other point of reference had she? How else might she measure the truth of things than against herself? If she denied and obliterated this Elizabeth, what was left?
‘Don’t listen to it, don’t! Don’t make that mistake, Elizabeth.’
She thought, let them come back, let them bringsomeone quickly. I don’t want this. Her mother was crying, and then stifling her cries in the blanket, and Elizabeth’s hand was held stuffed hard against her mouth. She felt her mother’s teeth biting into her in pain.
‘But
Later, she saw how Ma’s life had been for fifteen years, nothing but a round of work and disappointment, with, just occasionally, ten minutes to sit on the step with her face to the sun. Later, when Elizabeth herself looked at some boy with a new haircut raw up his neck, and eyes glistening with nervous lust, she thought of it, and the thought was enough to draw her sharply back into herself.
Later. But not tonight, when she was drooping tired, yet too excited to sleep, nor the next morning, when she woke to a milky light, and the soft sough and rasp of the sea, dragging down the shingle.
The bed was a plank, with a thin, sour mattress, and both of the windows were partly broken, so thatsometime between sleep and now, she had been aware of the cow’s breath on her face, and of Ma crying quietly.
When she stepped outside, entirely by herself, she had looked straight over the edge of the world, onto the shining sea, and she ran on bare feet towards it, arms open.
They were there four days before it happened, and the sun never stopped shining, but there was always a wonderful coolness off the sea. Milo leaped about like a goat-kid, wild and solitary, talking to himself.
There was no warning. Elizabeth sat up in the middle of the fifth night, wakened by odd, half-smothered moans and whisperings and the torch waving over the walls and roof like a drunken thing. It caught Milo’s face, and his eyes were huge and terrified in the light of it.
‘Your Ma’s in trouble. You stay with her, Elizabeth. You stay here.’ He was dragging on his trousers.
‘No. I want to come with you. I don’t want to be left.’
‘Jesus, girl, you do as you’re told just the once, why can’t you?’
The injustice stung even then, in the midst of it all. She had never disobeyed him, never dared. Then he went out into the darkness, dragging Milo down the step after him, and away towards the truck.
For a moment, it was utterly still and silent. She crouched back in her bunk against the wall, and prayed to God.
‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth, be a good girl. Light the lamp. He’s taken the torch with him.’
‘Yes.’
‘You turn up the oil with the little knob.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t like to be in the dark.’
The lamp flared and then sank back to a low blue flicker.
‘Will you come here and sit by me?’
She reached out. Ma’s hand was slippery and hot.
‘Minchy Fagin said you’d been to see the doctor.’
‘Minchy Fagin!’
A breeze blew through the broken window-pane, making the lamp sputter.
‘Da’s gone for someone. He took Milo with him.’
Her mother gave a sudden, sharp cry.
‘He’ll bring the doctor back, won’t he?’
‘The dear knows. How’ll he find me one, Elizabeth? I don’t know.’ She was gripping Elizabeth’s hand; the nails were sharp.
‘Should I get you a drink of water?’
‘No, no.’
‘What should I do?’ She was afraid. She wanted to be anywhere, for things to be normal again, for someone else to be here.
‘He met a man who had this place to let. Why did he waste his money on a tin shack in the middle of nowhere? Because he has no sense.’
Elizabeth wanted to stop her ears.
‘You shouldn’t think of yourself, they say, you should always put others first. You should never be self-regarding.’
‘I know.’ Though she had always questioned it, for what other person did she, Elizabeth, know, so well as she knew her own self? What other point of reference had she? How else might she measure the truth of things than against herself? If she denied and obliterated this Elizabeth, what was left?
‘Don’t listen to it, don’t! Don’t make that mistake, Elizabeth.’
She thought, let them come back, let them bringsomeone quickly. I don’t want this. Her mother was crying, and then stifling her cries in the blanket, and Elizabeth’s hand was held stuffed hard against her mouth. She felt her mother’s teeth biting into her in pain.
‘But
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