I led her into the spare bedroom and sat beside her on one of the beds. Music drummed through the wall, shaking the Victorian dresser. Looking at Brigid’s reflection in the full-length mirror, I realised that she was pregnant. I lifted her petticoat and stared down at the plump curve of her abdomen. I held her breast, almost expecting to feel the milk gathering inside its heavy globe, then gently touched her stomach.

“Hey, you’re too young for that stuff.” She pushed me away. “It’s okay to fuck me but anything else is off limits.”

“Don’t worry.” It had not occurred to me that sexual games could be played with an unborn child. “How many months are you, Brigid?”

“The doctor thinks four, but I say five.”

“That’s good. What about the father? Does he know?”

“What father?” She glanced at me as if I had not yet learned the facts of life. “She doesn’t have a father.”

“It could be a boy.”

“It’s a girl.” She spoke with complete certainty, then lay on the bed and raised her knees to expose her vulva. I knelt in front of her, drawing her buttocks onto my thighs, and eased my penis into her vagina, moved by the thought of sharing this private space with her unborn infant. For the child’s sake, I hoped it was not a son.

“Just take your time. You won’t hurt her.”

Who was the father—one of the Danes or Norwegians, or some Canadian railroad worker waiting for her in the trailer town behind the grain elevators?

“Did Captain Artvin ever come here?”

“Who’s that again?”

“Artvin—the Turkish pilot who disappeared.”

“They all disappear, believe me. I went with some of the Turks. Yvette likes them, but I couldn’t get to them. What did this one look like?”

“I never met him. He took off one day and flew away.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Next time he can ask me to go with him.” She held my scrotum, drawing on my testicles. “Come on, baby, more now … that’s it, push for Momma…”

Later I lay beside her, gazing at the curve of her abdomen. One day soon, a midwife would be using similar words to her. Accepting that I had no prurient interest, she let me raise the petticoat and put my hand on her skin. I was surprised by the size of the child. Now and then a small tremor moved the surface, as if it recognised my hand.

“You come from England?” Brigid asked. “I always wanted to visit there. Maybe I’d see the king and queen.”

“The king died. But I’ve seen them—they came to my college.”

“On the level?”

“Sure. A big limousine pulled up and four little people stepped out, the king and queen and the princesses. They looked as if they were landing on the Earth for the first time.”