– Is it? I should get up.

– Go to bed!

– Ivy, ma chérie – can you tell if this radio is the kind that gives housewives subliminal messages?

We both looked at the radio.

– I think they all do, Maman!

My answer did not help her agitation any.

These days she’s thinner than a whippet and does a fuck-of-a-lot of brass polishing.

Maman only speaks in French.

She doesn’t like Edinburgh. Or its weather. Or its people. Or my father. She likes smoking and amphetamines. Expensive shoes with very high heels. Brandy and plastic. She is very thin and very French. She could out-French anyone across this entire city. We do not have my brother’s body. I want to bring it home and lay it at the back door for my mum so she might one day sleep again. So she will stop rattling around like a wind-up tin toy. I know it is a stupid want. Aren’t wants so often that way? My dad speaks French offensively poorly and only to irritate Maman. Amphetamine truly is the ultimate patriarchal conspiracy. Men are cleverer than us – it is quite clear. We do the cooking and cleaning and everything else for them and it is all for free. Then they give out amphetamines to keep us thin and efficient and more neurotic than ever. Dad thinks I will just get married. He doesn’t know how many of his papers I read, or how many war journals. I read every bit of political information I can get my hands on. What girls are usually able to do is limited, but right now we are holding down nearly every kind of job in this country! The war is presenting a window of opportunity. Dad talks about that. He talks about the progression of science. He is a nice man – I won’t lie. Everyone we know says the same. Except Maman. Dad would like me to find a nice husband and have children. It is quaint. My aspirations are… different. Why not become a deadly killing machine?

The shop door tinkles.

A woman places her brolly in the bucket.

Her coat drips on the shop floor.

Death.

Counterblow.

REVANCHE!

If good people don’t kill bad people, then the bad people will kill all the rest of us. Without guilt. No second thought – that’s a fucking fact – and then they win.

No?