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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

Where usually there would be an opening, slow or fast, gentle or sharp, there was nothing. I felt nothing, could hardly sense his hands as they pushed my top up, grabbed one breast roughly. Jake had never touched me like this before: as though I was just a body.

I lay down on the landing carpet as he fumbled with his belt above me. He kissed me again, slightly more tenderly, looked in my eyes for the first time, as though checking. I nodded. Surely, I thought, this was the least I could do.

As Jake moved above me, I saw a poster on the wall, an old one, from his flat at university. I remembered the first time we ever had sex, something awkward about it, before the passion had built up. There was a full moon that night; I thought of the way we’d taken our clothes off and let the pale light shine on our bodies, the way we’d felt new: to each other, to the world.

30

30

I was going to collect the boys from school, take them to their swimming lesson, like this, with soreness between my thighs. I would stand by the gates and talk about the new playground equipment, question if they could smell it on me: I wondered how many people had collected their children from school with sex on their hands, drying in their underwear. Rearranging their clothes under their jackets.

Paddy and Ted came out exhausted, hungry. I had forgotten to bring snacks; we had to go to the shop, where a tied-­up dog barked loudly, scaring Ted. I knelt down on the hard pavement, took my son’s uniformed body in my arms. He smelled of school, diluted urine accented with cooked meat and something like cabbage. He didn’t stop crying until the dog was led away, still barking, by its owner. Feeling Ted’s small arms on my waist, I thought of Jake, of his fingers pressed blankly inside me, as though he’d forgotten how I liked to be touched. When Ted buried his damp face in my neck, I wondered if he could sense what happened there, could smell the maleness, his own daddy.

It’s only a dog! Don’t be such a baby-­waby, Teddy bear, Paddy yelled, his face creased by spite, flecks of wetness landing on his coat.

Ted bawled even louder at this, threw back his head to the clouds, opened his mouth wide. Passers-­by glanced down at us, at the noise.

Shut – be quiet, Paddy. For God’s sake, he’s really upset. I found an old tissue in my pocket, padded it across Ted’s cheeks, tried to absorb the tears before they fell. I could have left the boys in the car, but I knew the looks I’d get for that.