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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

The whole time we spoke, Jake slept beside us, his breath falling gently in and out of his mouth, dreaming as though nothing was wrong. Various hospital staff walked past, some turning their heads to stare through the open curtains. At one point, two nurses walked past together; I saw the look they gave me, the way they turned back to see one more time.

The guilt – if this was what it was – lay on my back like an animal, a physical sensation of heaviness. I stared at the hospital floor, the shining squares of it, crawling with invisible disease. This was abuse, wasn’t it? It was domestic violence. I deserved the looks, and so much more. What Jake did wasn’t a crime. I almost told the doctor the truth. I wanted to be taken away, suddenly, to be led into whatever punishment they would give. But he wasn’t accusing me of anything. He was saying something else.

Thank you, Mrs Stevenson. I understand this must be very hard.

Mrs Stevenson?

Mrs Stevenson raised her head. A woman on a hospital ward talking to a doctor raised her head, and nodded. She thanked him – Dr Davies. She looked away, so she didn’t have to shake his hand. She felt the curtains at her back, looked at her husband – Mr Stevenson – lying in bed, his curls sinking into the pillow, his face colourless. She stared out of the window again, at the miles and miles of sky, stretching into an unknown horizon. The cars leaving the car park, their red lights shining like something new. Teams of swallows flying to the next field, the next tree; they were just practising, Paddy had told her once. They were just getting ready, preparing their wings for months of continuous flight.

~

She still thinks she knows what she is doing. She will go home, she imagines, and she will make food for her children, for her in-­laws.

She will smile and clean and soothe. She will make it all okay.

~

36

36

I stepped out of the hospital, squinted in the light. My head was air-­filled, flying into the world around me, the car park, the shuffling patients in flapping gowns, the buildings that loomed and shifted above me.

I walked a few yards: my body felt clumsy, enormous, the weight on my back even heavier. I knew I needed to move, to travel faster, escape the slowness of foot against pavement. I called a taxi, rested my head against its window, gave the driver my address without opening my eyes. I’d had a text from my mother-­in-­law, knew everyone was at the park, would be there for hours still, the boys licking ice creams and gliding down slides, oblivious.