can put you to bed, then Martin, and I’ll end up with a full tummy as well.’
Elsa laughs and nods.
‘We’ll make a salad for you to take.’
They sit down by the kitchen worktop together and chop vegetables.
Every time Victoria gets too close to Elsa she detects an acrid smell of urine. It makes her think of Dad.
Hard Dad.
The smell makes her feel nauseous. She knows all too well what it tastes like.
Aunt Elsa has a tin of orange sweets on the kitchen table. Victoria opens the tin whenever she wants to fend off thoughts of him. She never knows in advance when the memory of him is going to creep up on her, so she never chews the sweets, not even when there’s only a sharp little sliver left.
She sucks the sweet as she slices the cucumber into good-sized pieces. Even though Elsa has rinsed them carefully there’s a little soil left on the lettuce leaves, but Victoria doesn’t say anything because she realises that Elsa’s eyes are too old to see such small details.
She tucks Elsa in, as she promised, but she’s thinking of Martin.
‘You’re a very sweet girl. Never forget that,’ Elsa says before Victoria shuts the door. She gets the salad and sets off with a feeling of tense anticipation towards Martin’s cottage with the bowl in her hands.
She thinks about how nice it would be if she could persuade Dad to let her stay another week. It would be good for everyone. And she’s got so many exciting things left to show Martin.
The only thing that spoils the fairy tale in her thoughts is Martin’s dad. She thinks the way he looks at her has become more intense, his laugh louder, and that his hands stay on her shoulders a little longer. But she’s prepared to accept that in order to escape her own father for another week. It isn’t usually so bad the first few times, she thinks. It’s only when they start taking her for granted that they dare to be less careful.
As she goes up the drive towards the cottage she can hear someone shouting inside. It sounds like Martin’s dad, and she slows down. The door is half open and she can hear splashing from inside the house.
She goes up to the door, opens it wide, and happens to hit the old doorbell that’s hanging there. It lets out a few muffled rings.
‘Is that you, Pippi?’ the father calls from the kitchen. ‘Come right on in.’
There’s a nice smell in the hall.
Victoria steps into the kitchen. Martin is in a bathtub on the floor. His mum’s sitting in a rocking chair over by the window, and is busy knitting. She’s facing away from the others, but turns her head to greet Victoria. Martin’s dad is sitting with his top off in just a pair of shorts beside the bathtub.
Victoria goes completely cold when she sees what he’s doing.
Martin is covered in soap, and his dad gives her a broad smile. He’s got one arm wrapped around Martin’s bottom, and is washing him with the other.
Victoria just stares.
‘We had a bit of an accident,’ Martin’s father says. ‘Martin messed his trousers while we were playing up in the forest.’
He gently rubs the boy’s genitals. ‘We need to get you properly clean, don’t we?’ he says.
Victoria watches as the man takes hold of the little penis with his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand he carefully rubs the pink bit at the end.
She recognises the scene. The dad with the child, the mum in the same room but looking the other way.
Suddenly the bowl feels so heavy that it slips from her hands. There’s an explosion of tomatoes, cucumber, onion and lettuce all over the floor. Martin starts crying. His mum puts her knitting down and gets up from the rocking chair.
Victoria backs away towards the door.
She starts running as soon as she’s in the hall.
She runs down the steps, stumbles and falls head first onto the gravel but gets up at once and continues running. She heads down the drive, out through the gate, along the road and home. In tears she shoves the door of the cottage open and
Elsa laughs and nods.
‘We’ll make a salad for you to take.’
They sit down by the kitchen worktop together and chop vegetables.
Every time Victoria gets too close to Elsa she detects an acrid smell of urine. It makes her think of Dad.
Hard Dad.
The smell makes her feel nauseous. She knows all too well what it tastes like.
Aunt Elsa has a tin of orange sweets on the kitchen table. Victoria opens the tin whenever she wants to fend off thoughts of him. She never knows in advance when the memory of him is going to creep up on her, so she never chews the sweets, not even when there’s only a sharp little sliver left.
She sucks the sweet as she slices the cucumber into good-sized pieces. Even though Elsa has rinsed them carefully there’s a little soil left on the lettuce leaves, but Victoria doesn’t say anything because she realises that Elsa’s eyes are too old to see such small details.
She tucks Elsa in, as she promised, but she’s thinking of Martin.
‘You’re a very sweet girl. Never forget that,’ Elsa says before Victoria shuts the door. She gets the salad and sets off with a feeling of tense anticipation towards Martin’s cottage with the bowl in her hands.
She thinks about how nice it would be if she could persuade Dad to let her stay another week. It would be good for everyone. And she’s got so many exciting things left to show Martin.
The only thing that spoils the fairy tale in her thoughts is Martin’s dad. She thinks the way he looks at her has become more intense, his laugh louder, and that his hands stay on her shoulders a little longer. But she’s prepared to accept that in order to escape her own father for another week. It isn’t usually so bad the first few times, she thinks. It’s only when they start taking her for granted that they dare to be less careful.
As she goes up the drive towards the cottage she can hear someone shouting inside. It sounds like Martin’s dad, and she slows down. The door is half open and she can hear splashing from inside the house.
She goes up to the door, opens it wide, and happens to hit the old doorbell that’s hanging there. It lets out a few muffled rings.
‘Is that you, Pippi?’ the father calls from the kitchen. ‘Come right on in.’
There’s a nice smell in the hall.
Victoria steps into the kitchen. Martin is in a bathtub on the floor. His mum’s sitting in a rocking chair over by the window, and is busy knitting. She’s facing away from the others, but turns her head to greet Victoria. Martin’s dad is sitting with his top off in just a pair of shorts beside the bathtub.
Victoria goes completely cold when she sees what he’s doing.
Martin is covered in soap, and his dad gives her a broad smile. He’s got one arm wrapped around Martin’s bottom, and is washing him with the other.
Victoria just stares.
‘We had a bit of an accident,’ Martin’s father says. ‘Martin messed his trousers while we were playing up in the forest.’
He gently rubs the boy’s genitals. ‘We need to get you properly clean, don’t we?’ he says.
Victoria watches as the man takes hold of the little penis with his thumb and forefinger. With his other hand he carefully rubs the pink bit at the end.
She recognises the scene. The dad with the child, the mum in the same room but looking the other way.
Suddenly the bowl feels so heavy that it slips from her hands. There’s an explosion of tomatoes, cucumber, onion and lettuce all over the floor. Martin starts crying. His mum puts her knitting down and gets up from the rocking chair.
Victoria backs away towards the door.
She starts running as soon as she’s in the hall.
She runs down the steps, stumbles and falls head first onto the gravel but gets up at once and continues running. She heads down the drive, out through the gate, along the road and home. In tears she shoves the door of the cottage open and
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