Dollybird
moment would come. I was almost five months on and had just endured a Christmas as lonely and bleak as the winter landscape. And all the while I’d worried only about how I’d respond, rehearsed language measured and eloquent, proof of how very respectable I was so he might, on sober second thought, ask me to stay on. But the words fled.
    â€œPlease, sir, I’ll be destitute. I’ve nowhere to go.”
    â€œWell, that’s not my problem now, is it?” He looked contemptuously at my belly bursting its camouflage. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you got yourself in trouble.”
    Myself.
    â€œI’ll stay out of the way when you have guests.” The words tripped over each other. “I mean, I can set out the tea. And then stay in my room. You could do the shopping. No one would know.”
    â€œPeople are already talking about your bastard.” He slunk out from behind his desk to stand beside my chair, the fingers of his hand closing over the back of it close to my neck. It seemed the hairs on his knuckles must be gently reaching for my skin. I shuddered. He snorted, his eyes heavy on my head. And I wanted to smash his smug face, pictured with satisfaction his soft, fleshy nose disappearing behind the force of my fist.
    â€œYou have until the end of the month,” he said with a self-satisfied nod.
    â€œOh no.” I quickly calculated the days and how much money I might save before then.
    â€œYou stay any longer and the gossips are gonna wonder if I’m keeping you on ’cause its mine.”
    I didn’t know if I’d heard correctly until I looked up to see his suggestive grin.
    â€œYours,” I snorted. “Wouldn’t that be a sweet revenge?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI could drop them hints, keep them guessing.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t dare.”
    â€œWhy not?” Reckless abandon filled the pit where fear had boiled for weeks. “I’ve got nothing to lose.” I thought it was true. A laugh rolled up and out of my throat and the tension slipped from my shoulders.
    Mr. Penny’s small, confused eyes narrowed to slits.
    â€œDon’t worry though.” I stood to face him. “I could never let anyone believe I’d have anything to do with a fat, sweaty...”
    His puffy skin turned red.
    â€œStinking...”
    His body trembled with rage.
    â€œSwine,” I shouted.
    His stubby fingers clenched into fists. “Get out.” His voice was murderously soft. “Now.”

    i i i
    The money in the jar would pay for two weeks at the rooming house. My suite was tiny, a cot and bedside table almost filling the space. Narrow wooden shelves hung on the wall above the bed. Cracked white paint flaked away from the walls and windowsill, while outside the grimy second-floor window was the most impressive array of grey backyard outhouses.
    â€œAnd the bath?”
    The scrawny, grey-haired landlord pointed down the hall. “You share with all the women on this floor.” He was surprisingly sympathetic. “It’s all I’ve got for what you can pay.”
    â€œIt’ll be fine.” Mr. Penny’s hate-filled eyes still loomed large. “Just fine.”
    The shelves were small, so I sacrificed more practical items in order to display the blue china pieces. They gleamed in the drab room. My clothes hung on hooks on the wall, the family picture taking up most of the space on the bedside table. I wanted them near me, to see them, especially my father, on waking every morning. The cot sagged under my weight, the mattress hardly thick enough to hold down the warped plywood it rested on. My few possessions cluttered the small space, incongruent yet heartening.
    A tenuous sense of well-being was invaded by sounds from the house – shuffling feet, squeaking bedsprings, chairs pushed away from tables. A moment later a knock startled me and I froze. I’d wanted to sit in the

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