by Amy Cross
“Don't tell anyone!” she hisses, turning to me and yanking the brush from my hand. With wide-open startled eyes, she stares at me while the brush hangs in her hair. “He just gave me some advice, that's all,” she continues, rather defensively. “I was having my weekly check-up, and he'd got wind of some of the things we're doing. He said he saw us out the window the other night, when we were on the lawn trying to contact Abigail. He said we're not to do it again under any circumstances.”
“Well, he would say that, wouldn't he?” I reply.
“He was serious,” she says firmly, “and I think we'd best pay attention. I don't want to get into trouble.”
“God forbid,” I mutter, reaching out and pulling the brush from her hair. When I hand it to her, it's clear she'd forgotten all about it. Poor, simple Sissy. “Come on,” I tell her, “enough nattering. We can't be late for Bible class.”
“Bloody hell, no!”
“Sissy!” Turning to her, I'm shocked by what I just heard.
“What?” she asks cautiously.
“You've been listening to the other girls again, haven't you?” I continue. “Sissy, really, the b-word doesn't make you sound more grown-up. It just makes you sound coarse and undignified.”
“It does?” She frowns. “Sorry.”
“We must still have standards,” I continue. “Now seriously a bally move on. I don't much fancy being the last ones through the classroom door again. You know that means will be picked on first when he asks questions.”
***
“And what does that passage teach us,” Mr. Kane asks, his voice booming across the high-ceiling room, “about the value of virtue in the modern world?”
He makes his way along the aisle, passing desks on either side and, unfortunately, heading this way. I glance at Sissy and see that she's staring intently at her Bible, clearly hoping that by doing so she won't get picked on to provide an answer. Lord knows, in our time here I don't think I've heard Sissy give one correct answer in any class at all. I glance at Mr. Kane and watch for a moment as he calmly makes his way closer and closer, and I look down at my own Bible just as he turns and seems to look this way.
His footsteps come closer.
No-one wants to meet his gaze.
Finally he stops close to my desk, but I don't know if it's me he's looking at or -
“Elizabeth O'Neill,” he says suddenly. “Why don't you enlighten us with your understanding of the Bible?”
I breathe a sigh of relief at the realization that I'm not to be picked on, but my chest tenses at the realization that Sissy won't know how to answer. Glancing over at her, I see that she's still staring down at her Bible, but that she seems to be holding her breath, which is what she always does when she's terrified.
“Miss O'Neill?” Kane continues, rapping his black-gloved knuckles against the edge of her desk. “I asked a question and I expect an answer. You were paying attention when I read that passage from the good book, were you not?”
Her face is starting to turn a little red now. I want to whisper to her to breathe, but I can't risk getting into trouble. Besides, she knows this already.
“Miss O'Neill,” Kane says firmly, “I want an answer. Look at me!”
There are tears in Sissy's eyes now. For God's sake, what's wrong with her? It's a simple enough question, and even if she doesn't know the answer, holding her breath isn't going to bally well achieve anything, is it? I know I have to help her, but at the same time I can't risk incurring Kane's wrath, which I suppose means that there's only one option.
Even though I know this is a horrible idea, I raise my left hand in the air.
“Put it down, Miss Jones,” he says immediately, not even looking at me. “We'll get to you later.”
“But Sir -”
“Down, Miss Jones.” He turns to me, and I can see the anger in his eyes. I immediately lower my arm.
Suddenly there's a clattering sound from next to me, and I turn just in time to see Sissy toppling sideways and collapsing in the aisle at Kane's feet. Several of the other girls gasp, but I'm the only one who gets up and hurries over to help. With my pregnant belly, it's not easy to kneel next to her, but I force myself down and immediately place my hand against her forehead. She's cold and clammy, but I'm pretty sure she simply passed out after holding her breath for too long. Poor, silly Sissy.
“What in God's name is wrong with this child?” Kane asks with a sigh. “Is she determined to be simple in the head forever?”
“Please, Sir,” I reply, looking up at him, “I think she merely fainted.”
“And what business does she have with fainting?” he asks, turning and making his way slowly back along the aisle. “No-one ever made it very far in life by fainting. How far along is she?”
“I believe she's seven months, Sir,” I tell him, while gently tilting Sissy's face toward me and patting her on the cheek.
“She should not be experiencing fainting fits at seven months,” Kane says firmly, as if he's the expert all of a sudden. “Wake the girl up so that she might answer my question.”
I feel a rush of relief as Sissy's eyes flutter open, but I know deep down that Kane will show no mercy.
“It's okay,” I tell her, “you just fainted. You held your breath again, Sissy. You have to learn not to do that.”
“Well?” Kane calls out. “Is Sleeping Beauty ready to rise from her impromptu slumber?”
I turn and see that he's retaken his seat at the desk by the window.
“Yes, Sir,” I reply, “but I think maybe she should go and get checked by Doctor -”
“You've already done more than enough, Miss Jones,” he says firmly. “Kindly return to your seat and we shall all enjoy hearing Miss O'Neill's answer to my very important, very instructive question.”
Even though I know I might get into trouble, I linger to take Sissy's hand and help her up, and then I wait until she's in her seat before returning to my own. She looks so pale and stunned, and I know full well that she has no hope of giving a satisfactory answer, but there's really nothing more I can do for her. I just have to hope that, for the first time, she can come up with something to contribute.
“You can do it, Sissy,” I whisper, and even that risks incurring Kane's wrath.
“Well, Miss O'Neill?” Kane asks, raising his voice a little. “You heard the passage I read from the Bible. I trust that it made sense to you, and that its words reached deep into your soul. After all, the Bible is written in simple terms that even the most foolish among us can understand.” He's grinning now; I hate the way he enjoys tormenting poor Sissy. “So what, in particular, did that passage have to say about the value of virtue in the sinful, decadent modern world?”
He waits for an answer. The room remains silent, but Sissy is clearly in no state to say anything. She's gripping the sides of her desk awfully hard, and there are tears in her eyes, and when I lean just a little closer I realize that once again she's holding her breath. I swear to God, she seems to be incapable of thinking and breathing at the same time.
“Breathe,” I whisper through the corner of my mouth, as loud as I dare. “Sissy, remember to breathe.”
The room is so quiet now, I can almost hear my heart pounding in my chest.
“Sissy, please breathe,” I whisper, even though I'm starting to think that the cause is hopeless. Her face is already turning red again. “Sissy, you must -”
Before I can finish, she topples over again, this time falling to the other side and thumping down onto the floorboards.
II
“She'll be fine,” Doctor Ratcliffe says as he leads Sissy out of his office. “Just a fainting fit brought on by, among other things, a failure to regulate her breathing.”
I get to my feet and hurry over to them. Sissy still looks awfully pale, and when I look into her eyes I'm immediately struck not only by the tears that are still brimming but also by the abject fear and confusion in her expression. Looking up at Doctor Ratcliffe, I can't help no
ticing that he too looks somewhat troubled, and that he's glancing both ways along the corridor as if he's scared of something.
“She wasn't feeling quite herself before class,” I tell him. “I think maybe you should -”
“I'm busy,” he says firmly, as he steps back into his office. “Please, girls, I don't want to be disturbed again today, not unless it's an emergency.”
With that, he slams the door shut.
“What's up with him all of a sudden?” I mutter, before turning to Sissy and seeing that she has one hand on her belly, and that she's standing slightly bent over, almost as if she's in pain. “Sissy?” I ask, feeling even more concerned. “Are you -”
“I'm fine,” she replies, as a tear trickles down her cheek. “Doctor Ratcliffe says I'm fine.”
She tries to shuffle past me, but after just a couple of steps she stops and lets out a gasp. Worried that she's going to fall yet again, I take her arm and help her over to the chair where I was sitting a moment ago. By the time I've got her sat down, I can tell that she's most certainly not fine. I know a poorly girl when I see one.
“You need to learn to keep breathing when you're asked a difficult question in class,” I tell her, forcing a smile in the hope that she might cheer up. “It's an awfully bad habit that you've developed.”
I wait for an answer, but she's simply staring down at her bump.
“We'll practice tonight,” I continue. “It's the only thing that has a chance of helping. You're just lucky Mr. Kane didn't go absolutely ballistic in class earlier. He must be having a soft day. After all, he let you come to see Doctor Ratcliffe and he let me come to make sure you didn't collapse on the way.”
Again I wait for an answer, but something else seems to be troubling her.
“I haven't felt it move,” she says finally.
I open my mouth to ask what she means, but I think I already know. After a moment, she finally looks at me with anxious, tear-filled eyes.
“I'm seven months gone,” she continues, her voice trembling with fear. “I'm further gone than most of the girls here, but I haven't felt anything. They sit around, some of them, talking about how they feel their babies kicking and turning and all that, but... Mine hasn't kicked or turned. I don't feel any sign that it's alive in there.”
“Well...” I pause. “I'm sure it is. Hasn't Doctor Ratcliffe taken a look?”
She wipes her eyes. “He always says he'll look properly next time. He never does.”
I stare down at her bump. The truth is, Sissy has mentioned this concern a few times already and I know she should have felt her baby moving by now. After all, I've felt mine, and I'm a little way behind her.
“If Doctor Ratcliffe isn't worried,” I say finally, “then you mustn't be either. Not everyone is the same, you know. I bet your baby is as healthy and strong as everyone else's.”
“What if it's dead?” she asks, sniffing back tears.
“It can't be dead, your body wouldn't keep it if it was dead. It'd flush it out or something.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course,” I reply, although I'm not certain I'm right. Still, I need to give her hope. “The one thing that's really important,” I add, “is that you stop holding your breath whenever you have to think about something difficult. Crikey, Sissy, that can't be doing the baby any good, especially when you keep falling out of your chair and hitting the floor.”
She looks panic-stricken all of a sudden. “So you think I've killed it?”
“No!” I hiss, taking her hand in mine. “I bet you've got a beautiful baby in there, all happy and warm, and the only reason it's not kicking is that it's too content. It doesn't need to kick because it has absolutely nothing to complain about.” Again, I fear my understanding of science and biology might be woefully lacking, but it's not as if I can actually change the situation with my words. All I can hope to do is encourage Sissy and make her feel more confident, and then hopefully in seven or eight weeks' time she'll give birth to a wonderful baby.
And then, of course, that baby will be taken away from her and she'll never see it again.
“We should get back to class,” I tell her. “Mr. Kane doesn't like it when we miss even a second of his Bible teaching, and he seems particularly on form today.” I wait for her to get to her feet, but I can tell she's still dreadfully worried about her baby. “You'd know if it was dead,” I continue. “You'd just know, deep in your soul, there'd be no hiding from it. You've already got a powerful psychic connection with your child, Sissy, and I promise you'd know, really know, if something was wrong. Besides, if it was dead it'd feel like a bowling ball. Does it feel like a bowling ball?”
“No,” she admits cautiously.
“Then you've nothing to worry about,” I say confidently, with a cheery smile, even though deep down I'm worried about her child. “Come on, let's get back to see what Mr. Kane's banging on about this time. And whatever you do, Sissy, remember to bally well breathe when you're asked a question!”
***
“We're going again tonight,” Prudence whispers as she bumps into me later, just as we're all spilling out of Mr. Kane's classroom. “Midnight in the library.”
We keep walking, and I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure we can't be overheard.
“The library's no use,” I reply after a moment, as we round the next corner and head toward the dormitories. “Face it, you didn't have any luck last night, did you?”
“Beryl felt queer at one point.”
“Beryl's queer all the time.”
“Well anyway, that was just for practice.”
“Rubbish!”
“Millicent says she learned a lot,” Prudence continues. “She's convinced that this time she knows how to summon Abigail's spirit and make her talk to us. You should come, Ivy. If you don't, you'll miss out on an awful lot.”
“Might as well go with Mary and talk to the fairies on the lawn,” I mutter.
“Your approach wasn't any better, I heard. Catherine reckons you didn't hear a thing.”
Spotting Sykes up ahead, lugging some equipment to the broken-down van he's been mending for weeks now, I grab Prudence's arm and force her to stop with me.
“Do you know how many different groups of girls tried to contact Abigail last night?” I ask.
“Three or four, at least.”
“Six.”
“Blimey!”
“So don't you see the problem?” I continue. “We were canceling each other out! My approach was bang on the money, I'd have had poor Abigail on the spiritual blower if it hadn't been for all the unnecessary energy that was being put into the air by the rest of you lot. It's just simple science that things work like that!”
“That's not true and you know it!”
“Can't you convince Millicent to give up?” I ask. “Please, Prudence, you know I'm right! I'm always right!”
“Not this time,” she replies, pulling free of my grip and taking a step back. “There'll be a whole bunch of us in the library at midnight, and Millicent thinks we'll be more powerful if we have lots of girls. Come on, Ivy, don't be a spoilsport. Just come along and contribute.”
Sighing, I realize there's no way I can dissuade her. “Here's a deal, then,” I reply. “We'll try this thing in the library, but when it doesn't work -”
“It will!”
“When it doesn't work,” I continue firmly, “then we'll try my way instead. And we'll try each group's method one by one if necessary, a different one each night, because I'm absolutely certain that we can get poor old Abigail to communicate with us. We just need to get our heads down, find the right method, and work together. Can't say fairer than that, can I?”
“You're being stubborn,” Prudence tells me.
“I'm being diplomatic!”
Now it's her turn to sigh. “Listen here, Ivy, I didn't want to be mean, but a few of us have been talking and we think you're being bossy. You don't get to push everyone around and dictate how we try to
contact Abigail. Just because you were her friend, that doesn't mean you know any better when it comes to the spirit world.”
“It means she might be more willing to get in touch if I'm there,” I point out.
“You're infuriating!” she hisses. “If I wasn't in this condition, I'd bloody well pull your hair!”
“If I wasn't in this condition,” I reply, “I'd -”
Suddenly I let out a gasp as I feel a bump in my belly.
“Kicking again?” Prudence asks.
I lean against the wall, waiting for the sensation to pass. “Like a champion,” I stammer, wincing before the discomfort starts to ease.
“Mine too,” she continues, placing a hand on her smaller but still noticeable belly. “Five months now. You?”
“Six.”
“My back's killing me,” she adds. “I heard your ankles get dodgy too, later on. Sometimes I wish...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “Do you want me to help you to the dormitory? I've got time before class.”
I shake my head. “I'll be fine.”
“Don't be a hero,” she continues, taking my arm. “Come along, old bean, it's really no trouble at all. After all, we're in this together, aren't we?”
I offer a muttered note of gratitude as I start shuffling toward the door, with Prudence providing much-needed support. Sometimes, just every now and then, I find myself feeling weaker than usual. As we pass the main window, I glance out and spot a figure watching from the far end of the playground, and a shiver passes through me as I realize that Mr. Kane seems to be keeping an eye on us.
“There he is,” I mutter. “Have you noticed that he seems to be everywhere lately? Since Abigail died, it's like he's always watching us.”
“Not us,” she replies. “You, Ivy. We've all noticed it.”
I turn to her.
“He's watching you,” she continues, with a hint of fear in her eyes. “And if I were you, I'd try not to encourage it.”
