Then she had to remove all perfumed linen from the room, clear the dressing table of powders and scent bottles, use only Simple Soap in washing her mother’s face. Any sweet odours brought on attacks of furious breathing. In time, the entire house was cleared of perfumes. The girls hid their creams and shampoos. Flowerpots were removed, windows closed against hayseed and blossoming. The house lost all aspects of femininity. It became a bare light-keepers’ home again. It was a male house in mourning, and of the chief mourners one was bald, the other was out of breath, and the third secretly shook perfume down her breasts when she was a decent distance from home. Sara did not return till all hours. Catherine would hear the car on the road tuck in against the gate and come to a stop with quiet malevolence. In the light of a cigarette being inhaled, she’d see Sara’s head on the stranger’s shoulder. She could not look away. She’d imagine all manner of sordid happenings. The curtain would shake in Catherine’s hand. Later she’d hear the quick tap of her sister’s heels on the steps, then, whistling, Sara would go noisily by Catherine’s door.

“Your driving lessons,” announced Catherine sarcastically one morning, “are practically going on all night”.

“One has to learn how to dip the lights,” said Sara as if she were quoting from some manual. “And reverse, of course,” she added, with shocking irony.

“Is that so?”

“You could come if you wanted to,” said Sara, without looking up from her breakfast. She curled in round her meal like a cat.

“You give promiscuity a bad name.”

“Hark, at the saintliness!”

“She asked again for you last night,” declared Catherine tearfully.

“I was in by two,” adamant, adamant.

“She got up. She went to your room.”

“Well, I’m not tied.”

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about Mother.”

“Would you like me to bring him home then?” asked Sara scornfully.

“Why not?” answered Catherine. “At least you’d be here when she calls.”

“And where will you hide?”

“You’re cruel,” snapped Catherine.

A few nights later, with her mother fed and bedded down, Catherine was seated by the fire. She had two mirrors in her hands, one in front to look into the other behind. Then she heard his voice out by the porch, some laughter. He was pleading with Sara, then came further hysterical laughter. Catherine stayed where she was. For no good reason she felt a terrible anxiety. She dropped the mirrors and reached to pull the curtains tightly across, but as she did so, the door opened into the kitchen and Sara entered.

“I’ve brought him,” said Sara. She was still laughing, and she gestured behind her. Whoever it was, he refused to enter. She gestured again.

“C’mon,” she said.

“Sara!” screamed Catherine.