The quiet of the cottage is a gift to exploit. This is her chance to hide away, to breathe, to work out every possibility that could come from Leah meeting Saul in the woods, of her seeing that body.

That body.

Viola doesn’t want to think of it as a real person with a name. It is easier that way. Anyone could be lying dead in the ferns. Don’t take it personally – that was the phrase the boys at her mainland school used if a girl was ever upset by an insult. Why do you have to take everything so personally? Calling a girl a sket or a ho was no excuse for that girl to think she was something special. All girls are skets and hos, if boys decide they are. The insult is universal, and so, in that case, is the body in the woods.

Viola lets Dot leap onto the bed this time and nestle beside her thigh. She pets the animal’s head as an apology for shouting.

Beside the bottle on the bedside table there is a wooden jewellery box. Viola lifts the lid, fingering through the few silver pieces there, plucking out a brooch shaped like an arrowhead, set with green stones.

She puts it in her pocket. It feels like a fair exchange. Or rather, it’s not quite enough. For now, Viola will take it as part payment.

The Book of Leah

THE BOOK OF LEAH

It was my birthday and my mother had invited me to lunch. I had to go, if only to lay foundations. News of Ben and me would reach them soon, and though my mother might be pleased, my father would not. I was challenging his authority, being the rebellious teenager at last, but I couldn’t stand the thought of rejection, that he might cut me adrift. Somehow, that felt like a possibility.

Ben and I agreed to take things slowly this time – ‘rewind’, as Ben put it. He came for dinner at my house and I saved my meat rations to make something special. I lit candles. We stretched out on the living-room floor – just like teenagers – and worked through my small collection of records and CDs. Ben said that he would bring a cable and his phone next time, link it to my hi-fi system, so he could play the music that he liked – all the bands and songs that hadn’t reached us yet.

He didn’t stay the night; we kissed on the doorstep. This felt more momentous than what we had done by moonlight in my bed. We were working towards a commingling of minds, a more intimate endeavour. The uniting of bodies was something, I had ably proved, that could be done with anyone. The flesh was easily pleased, easily fooled.