They were possessed with it, the Eldest Girls, possessed by him, that young man with the gun, and they were issuing a twisted invitation. The only question left was, how he would go about doing it – claiming his rightful prize?

The Book of Leah

THE BOOK OF LEAH

And then I understood Leah, in a way I never had before.

The good book has Laban, her father, putting her up to it; saying she should offer herself to Jacob in the dark, pretend to be her sister, Rachel, secure a husband by deception.

That used to make sense to me.

Daughters do as their fathers tell them. Eldest daughters should be married first, no matter how beautiful the younger. There is a system to everything – an order. The moral of the story was distinct, familiar – winning at all costs is a man’s prerogative. If Laban wanted Jacob in his family, if Laban needed a husband for his least-favoured daughter, he had the right to kill two birds with one stone. Leah’s feelings were not important. We could sympathise, but we would also understand – she did it for the good of her family.

Anyway, it all concluded well. Jacob took two wives, both sisters, so he got his beloved Rachel in the end. Leah lacked Jacob’s love but was rewarded by God, made fertile, while the younger sister stayed barren (so she wouldn’t get too big for those pretty boots). Justice played out. Of a kind.

But what if Leah was no unwilling pawn?

She wanted to go unto Jacob in the dark, that’s what I believe. She’d already had a taste, a small savour of someone, somehow – fingers reaching forward tentatively for a strand of her astounding hair, the sudden crush of lips upon hers, unexpected but wanted, a warm tongue, a hand slipping to the base of her spine, pulling her body closer.

She desperately wanted to feel that again.

So, Leah suggested the double-cross, pretending to her father that it was a sacrifice, if only to ensure history recorded her as a martyr, not a whore. Women are the true masters of deception, have always had to be. They don’t get to decide which of their behaviours are virtues.

‘What happens now?’ I said as we broke apart.

I moved straight to the classroom window, flattening my hair, checking who had seen. Everyone was still in the canteen.

He picked up the mop again. I watched his hands upon it.

‘Do I take you out for dinner?’ he said.

I laughed, and he caught up quickly. ‘Oh, yeah! Stupid me.’

Unless you have a boat, I thought. A boat that could take us to the mainland. I would get on a boat like that with you. With you, I would.

I didn’t know where it was coming from, this desperate rush.

‘There’s always the Anchor,’ I said. ‘On weekends, Jed lets women in.’