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Back The Harpy Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. The Harpy
  2. Also by Megan Hunter
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. The Harpy
  8. Part I
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. 16
  25. 17
  26. 18
  27. Part II
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. Part III
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. 32
  43. 33
  44. 34
  45. 35
  46. 36
  47. 37
  48. 38
  49. 39
  50. Part IV
  51. Acknowledgments
  52. Back Cover

Ancient, meaning sheath. We should have wanted this, apparently, to be a covering for a man’s sword. At around the same time a man in a pub told me gender equality was impossible, as long as a man continued to be the active party in penetrative sex, the doer, the woman the done to. I’d tried telling him that surely a woman could just as actively cover a man, but he didn’t look convinced. Even then, it had all felt pointless, word games that changed nothing.

Jake had taken the boys out to play football in the park while I got the house ready. We had sat together on the sofa a few nights ago as he systematically deleted Vanessa from his contacts. At that moment, it had seemed to mean something, the way the screen cleared so decisively, the way her information could simply disappear.

I hung a coloured bauble from the corner of the mantelpiece, seeing an image of Vanessa’s profile picture in its colours, her face distorted, guppy-­wide. Her generous mouth, big when she smiled, staggeringly large when she laughed. Good for—

I shook my head. Disgusting. I felt the sensation again: embarrassment, corrosive as acid, a sense of pitching, tipping into a forgotten emptiness. I would have no more children, but I remembered, now, exactly how pregnancy felt: like being taken over, taken up, willingly. I was – from the first positive test – happy to be inhabited, possessed, had loved having company at every second. There was someone to see the world with me, a silent, nudging companion, always there.

22

22

As people arrived at the party, I looked at each guest for signs of knowledge, every gesture open to interpretation. The way they reached for a glass, took off their coats. Their questions:

How are you all doing? Anything new? How was your term?

But these were normal questions, I told myself. These were the things people always said. I tried to stay busy, to focus on not burning myself as I lifted the mince pies out of the oven. Jake seemed completely at ease, at the centre of the living room, laughing with two of the men from his Thursday-­night football team. He was wearing one of his best shirts, dark blue corduroy, his sleeves rolled up in the warmth from the fire.