The Insect Rosary by Sarah Armstrong

her verdict. ‘The problem is that the more rules he encounters, the more labelled he gets. The more labelled, the less taught he is. The less taught, the less learning he has. And then the rules become even more problematic and he becomes more challenging. Children don’t want to get things wrong, they don’t want to antagonise people. They’d much rather get everything right, and you have to behave as if they’re trying to.’
    Nancy leaned over to help herself to the bottle and topped up her glass too. ‘Can you talk to Elian about it? He’s entirely behind the pill route and this summer has been his cut off. Can’t you tell him there are other priorities than getting him through a few exams?’
    â€˜Nancy, don’t be ridiculous. He’s your husband. You talk to him.’
    Their first proper conversation by themselves, and Nancy felt as if she’d failed.
    â€˜Sorry, I just thought you’d be able to put it in the right way.’
    â€˜Because he thinks I’m some mental health expert?’
    Nancy winced. ‘Did he bring it up?’
    â€˜Just a bit.’
    â€˜Sorry.’ Nancy drank half her glass down.
    Bernie gave a weak smile. ‘My past means I don’t deserve privacy, apparently.’
    â€˜It’s my past too. He’s my husband. Of course I’m going to talk about my childhood.’
    â€˜Funny, because you’ve never spoken to me about it no matter how many times I begged.’ Bernadette’s eyes slid from Nancy. ‘There are things I need to know.’
    Nancy faced the window, still open although the meagre heat of the day had already gone. The wine warmed her though. She could feel a flush on her cheeks. Nancy looked out at the barn, at the steps, at the roof, at the open forever garage doors until she gave in and looked at Bernie. She was making an effort to think of her as Bernie, rather than Bernadette. Adrian called her Bernie. Even Elian did now. Saying Bernadette had started to sound like a rebuke.
    Bernie’s eyes had glazed over. She faced the door to Cassie’s room and seemed to be looking through it to the room, to the window, to Bryn’s Field beyond. Nancy turned to stare at the door too and started to become aware that she felt someone was going to open it. Someone was going to walk through it and into the parlour, and the thought terrified her. She quickly looked at Bernie who was already looking at her.
    â€˜Everything that happened to me, what do you put that down to? Before the therapy messed everything up.’
    â€˜The car.’ Nancy tried to look definite. ‘It was the shock and trauma of what happened in the car with Dad.’
    â€˜It was before that. It all happened right in front of you. What about before?’
    â€˜I know nothing more than you. We can’t talk about it.’
    â€˜You don’t know or you can’t talk about it? Which one?’ Bernie leaned over, ‘We can go somewhere else. Anywhere. It doesn’t have to be here.’
    Nancy shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to say.’
    â€˜We were all guilty, Nancy, one way or another. I knew, everyone knew what was happening.’
    Nancy made her voice light. ‘So I don’t need to say anything. Do I?’
    Bernie sighed. ‘What do you remember about Cassie’s room?’
    Nancy looked back at the door. ‘Nothing much. We weren’t allowed in there.’ She twirled her glass and looked back to Bernie. ‘What do you remember?’
    Bernie looked down at the table. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
    Nancy spread her hands out. ‘I really don’t remember.’
    â€˜Try.’
    Nancy felt that this was a test. If she passed, a little bit of Bernie would be hers. She turned her seat to face the door. It was painted white, about a dozen times like every other door, so that there was a fat bulkiness to it. The outside handle was