The September Girls by Maureen Lee

many times a day do you see the boy? Twice, three times?’
    ‘More than that,’ she argued. ‘At least half a dozen.’
    ‘And how long do you stay? No more than a few minutes, I bet. The boy is a burden. He - we - would be far better off if he were in a home where trained people would look after him.’
    ‘I don’t want him to go away,’ she said stubbornly. ‘He’s not perfect, but he’s my son and I love him.’
    He turned away and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘He’s going, Eleanor. I’ve made up my mind.’
     
    She went straight to Anthony’s room. He was sitting on the bed, idle for once, wearing the pyjamas he’d put on himself, and staring into space.
    Eleanor sat at the bottom of the bed. ‘Hello, darling.’ His face didn’t change, not that she had expected it to. ‘Your father is going to send you away. I . . .’ She dissolved into tears. She’d been feeling so much better since Christmas, almost her old self, although she’d never been a level-headed, rational person. She was much too highly strung, cried over nothing, lived in a state of continual anxiety over things that common sense should have told her didn’t matter a jot. Christmas Day wasn’t the first time she’d seriously considered ending her life. When Geoffrey, her fiancé, had been killed, she’d lain on the bed with a pillow pressed against her face, and it was only when she began to lose consciousness and she’d thought of how Daddy would feel if she died by her own hand, that she’d let the pillow go.
    Now she was sitting on Anthony’s bed and the tears wouldn’t stop. She put her hands to her face and rocked back and forth, the pain of her misery impossible to contain. The tears trickled through her fingers and fell on her blue silk skirt.
    But this wasn’t the way to behave in front of a vulnerable child. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looked up and felt herself go cold. A silent Anthony was rocking back and forth, his hands over his face, aping her movements, except that there were no tears. She’d never known him cry.
    ‘Anthony!’ She pulled him into her arms and held him close until his heaving body was still. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she swore. ‘You’re my son, and you shall stay.’ She’d go back and tell Marcus this very minute.
    But Marcus was adamant: he’d made a decision and refused to be deterred. He was about to write to the home and ask them to take him as soon as possible. ‘Imagine,’ he said softly, ‘just imagine if someone waved a magic wand and Anthony was completely obliterated from your mind. Wouldn’t you feel better without him?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Eleanor had to concede, remembering how she had to steel herself to go into his room and how despairing she felt when she came out, ‘but no one’s going to wave a magic wand. Anthony’s here, he’s part of our lives and I’ll feel worse without him.’
    ‘Then you’ll just have to get used to it, Eleanor.’
    ‘I won’t let you take him.’
    ‘How will you stop me?’ He looked amused.
    It was a question she couldn’t answer. He was twice as strong as her. She could scream and kick and protest as much as she liked, but it would do no good. Her child was to be taken from her and there was nothing she could do about it.
    She was on the verge of hysteria when she went down to the kitchen. Nancy’s duties were over for the day and the room looked unnaturally bare, everything put away ready to be taken out again next morning.
    ‘Nancy,’ she called. ‘Nancy, where are you?’
    The sitting-room door opened and Nancy poked her head out. ‘Where you’d expect me to be, pet? In here. What’s up?’ she asked when she saw her distraught face.
    ‘It’s Marcus, he’s putting Anthony into a home for backward boys. Oh, Nancy,’ she sobbed, ‘what on earth am I to do?’
    ‘I’d best get going,’ said a voice, and a woman with red-gold hair and pink cheeks came out of Nancy’s