Page 64 of Pyg

“Why don’t you put on some clothes, and I’ll fix you something to eat?”

“Where’s Bernard?”

“He’s left for school.”

“You sent him to school without me?” I scratched my neck, trying to push away thoughts of Bernard dealing with the bullies on his own.

“Well, you’ve hardly been fit, but there was no reason for Bernard not to go.”

How did this odd little woman not understand that our world had been upended? Our mother had abandoned us. Then our bitter, twisted grandmother had burned all we had left and, in the process, murdered our dear Pyg. Our lovely, soft girl, with her bright eyes and clever tricks.

My face must have said it all. As she touched an icy hand to my bare shoulder, I fought the urge to shrug it away.

“Come on now. I know you must be worried about your grandmother.”

“You don’t know anything.”

She removed her hand and gripped her pale fingers on the crucifix hanging around her neck. “Father Sutherland said you might be… difficult. He said, if you give me any trouble, then?—”

“Then what? I don’t care if you leave as well. I don’t care if we get sent somewhere else. Anywhere has to be better than here.”

“I’d be very careful if I were you, or you might lose that little brother of yours as well as everything else. Exodus.”

I frowned.

“Chapter twenty, verse five.God will punish the children for the sins of their parents.It’s no small coincidence that some of us have a lighter cross to bear.”

Ironic, given the size of the one swinging from her neck.

I swallowed what little saliva I had left in my dry mouth against the sickening churn of my stomach grumbling for food. I didn’t want to need this woman, but…

“You’d do well to reflect on this little chat.”

I flinched as she touched her freezing fingers to my arm again.

“Get yourself dressed and I’ll fix you something to eat. We can start afresh.”

She flapped her tiny wings and twittered downstairs, humming a churchy tune as she went.

I tugged a scratchy wool jumper over my white vest and a thick pair of socks onto my cold feet. Treading the usual pattern of floorboards, my heart wrenched at the absence of Pyg leading the way. I sniffed and squeezed my eyes shut against the urge to cry.

In the kitchen, I pulled out a chair and sat at the table as the woman busied herself.

“Now then, eat up.” She placed down a bowl of creamy porridge with a sprinkle of brown sugar melting on top.

I clasped the spoon and forced a smile.

I would eat my breakfast. I would keep my head down and my mouth shut, because I knew a threat when I heard one, and I wasn’t prepared to lose the only thing I had left —Bernard.

11

TELL YOUR FACE

Leaning over the marble-topped island in Maggie’s gleaming kitchen, Alice reached for a caper from the ramekin next to the chopping board.

“Oi,” Maggie said, slapping Alice’s hand away.

“Ouch! No need to hit.”

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