Erica’s head had sat in the crook of her elbow and her backside had been in her hand. She hadn’t even wanted to look at her, not really, but it had seemed as though she must. There had to be a bit of pretence for the sake of what Ursula believed her sister was giving up. She made the face she used to use at the hospital, after the birth, in front of the nurses. Ursula had watched her closely in those few days, anxious for any signs of attachment. But Leonie really hadn’t felt a thing. Just looked at the funny squishy mass of person-waiting-to-happen and felt a bit sorry for her. Better if she’d been born with a cock. She’d be having an easier life. She had stepped towards Ursula, whose arms were crooked, ready. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and Leonie nodded. Ursula left the room, carrying Erica. Leonie looked at the empty Moses basket, and then she left the house and went back to her own flat. She drank a bottle of wine. And then she called Vee. In retrospect, the tears, and the need, were probably nothing more than relief. But Vee didn’t know that.

10 April 2018

10 April 2018

Vee

Ah, here comes the rain. The traffic is heavy, and now there’s the sound of the water on the roads as well as the engines. The Peace Garden sits in a corner created by two roads that come off the access roundabout; every vehicle is braking, accelerating, braking as it goes. Together with the noise from the roundabout and the wind in the trees, Vee feels something like claustrophobic. It’s only weather, and traffic, she tells herself, you know what weather and traffic are. They won’t hurt you. Ignore what the tumour says.

Erica fetches an umbrella from the tray on the bottom of Tom’s pushchair. He is well protected from the rain, between the buggy hood and the plastic cover Erica pulls down over it. She hesitates before handing it over. ‘It’s pink, I’m afraid.’