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flinched. I flung myself down on my bed and wept into the bedspread. I made as much noise as I could, gulping and gasping and sobbing until my shoulders ached and my nose and eyes stung. I’d never cried like that before with every bit of me. Although it couldn’t have been every bit, because there was enough left over to be aware that Mama and Bob were listening, and there was even a bit of me that enjoyed the abandon, that looked on with interest at what I could do.
    When I’d worn myself out with crying, I lay in a blank state, my shoulders convulsing, my cheeks itching from the drying tears. I knew they’d be relieved downstairs, I knew Bob would be saying things like, ‘I’m glad she’s got that out of her system.’ And then they’d carry on as usual. And sure enough, after a pause, I heard a buzz of voices, and then the washing up being done, and then the radio.
    I did not join in with the daily dozen in the morning. Bob sent Mama upstairs to call me, and then he called me himself, but I remained curled up in the warmth of my bed. Mama came up eventually, but I turned my face away.
    â€˜Aren’t you well?’ she asked. ‘Can I get you something? Some aspirin?’ This was a sure sign that she was worried, because Bob didn’t go along with aspirin. I wondered if he knew she’d offered it. I didn’t answer and she left the room eventually, sighing. I heard a short muffled argument downstairs, and then a silence, and then the rhythmic lumping and thumping sounds of the exercises, and Bob’s barked instructions. The muscles in my arms and legs twitched in response, so well trained were they, so obedient. So obedient no more.
    Bob would not speak to me at breakfast time, and I would not speak to Mama. I ate my boiled egg and bread and Marmite and drank my tea with my eyes fixed on the brown Bakelite cruet in the middle of the table. Then I got up and left the room. As soon as I’d gone they started fretting in burrowing undertones. They made me want to laugh. They were so simple. My shoes were warped and stiff after their soaking and subsequent drying out on the stove. I should have stuffed them with newspaper. Bob usually did it for me, but he’d neglected to this time, or maybe just forgotten. The pinching of the stiff leather against my toes seemed somehow fitting. I would have left the house without a word, but Mama darted out into the hall with a folded piece of paper in her hand. ‘A note,’ she said, ‘for Miss Clarke, excusing you for yesterday.’ I took it. ‘Jenny,’ she began, putting her hand on my sleeve, ‘I know it’s been a shock …’
    â€˜Ha!’ I said and snatched my arm away. I went out and slammed the door. It was a foggy day. The first of my new life.

9
    Bronwyn was waiting for me outside the school gates. ‘I never thought you’d be the type to bunk off,’ she said. ‘You’ll be in for it, today.’
    â€˜No I won’t,’ I said. ‘Mama wrote me a note.’
    â€˜Who’s Mama?’
    â€˜My grandmother.’
    â€˜Why do you call her that?’
    I shrugged.
    â€˜What does it say?’
    â€˜Read it if you like.’ I said. Mama had a special way of folding notes that saved using an envelope, she folded and tucked them into a neat square. I unfolded it and held it out to her. She read it, frowning, her lips moving. ‘You lucky thing,’ she said. ‘I wish my granny lived with us. Mum would never cover up for me like that.’
    I put the note in my pocket. She linked her arm through mine and we walked into the playground. It was awkward, I couldn’t walk quite in step with her. I saw the popular girls smirking to each other as we walked past. Bronwyn was oblivious. I let her hold onto me but my own arm hung limply. She wanted me to go to tea again, and I said I would. I didn’t mind going. It was better than being at