Read Online The Home Girls by Olga Masters - Free Book Online Page A

arm across Sylvia’s waist.
    â€œWe can whisper,” she said. “They won’t hear.”
    Light from the window outlined Sylvia’s features and her spread hair.
    â€œTell me all about your little flat,” Esme whispered.
    â€œIt’s not little. The sitting room is as big as all this house.”
    Mindful of the rule about not talking Esme’s gasp went inward.
    â€œAs big as this house except for the kitchen,” Sylvia amended.
    â€œAnd where you work?” Esme whispered.
    â€œIt’s big too. Everyone has their own desk. I have the best.”
    â€œHow do you know what to do?” whispered Esme and the heads of Rose and Yvonne rose like fish from a lake.
    â€œI know. I show the new girls when they come.”
    She lifted her hands from the bedclothes and held them up to catch the light and arranged them as if they were to be painted.
    â€œYou typewrite, don’t you?” whispered Esme.
    â€œI’m fast too,” said Sylvia.
    â€œAre there boys?” whispered Esme.
    â€œMen!” said Sylvia too loud and the larger bedroom heard.
    â€œI warned you!” called out Mrs McMahon and Mr McMahon winced.
    â€œIt’s natural she’d talk,” he said.
    â€œSkite!” said Mrs McMahon. She wriggled her body so that Jackie fitted into the curve between stomach and thighs.
    Mr McMahon wriggled too.
    â€œPut him on the other side of you,” he whispered.
    â€œThey’d hear,” said Mrs McMahon.
    Through the wall Esme put her lips close to Sylvia’s ear.
    â€œDo they want you to you-know-what?” she whispered.
    â€œOf course,” said Sylvia.
    Esme drew back to study Sylvia’s lovely remote profile.
    â€œYou don’t?” she said.
    Sylvia was silent.
    So was Mr McMahon with his profile also outlined by the moonlight.
    Across Jackie Mrs McMahon saw.
    His lips tucked in at the corners were finely sculptured like Sylvia’s.
    She rose slightly in bed but he did not turn his head.
    Angry she pulled at her pillow.
    â€œI’ll get her working tomorrow!” she said. “Sitting about with her hands in her lap! Lady Muck! She’ll work the same as the others do!”
    â€œShe’ll probably do it well too,” said Mr McMahon.
    Very still he felt he was about to leave his warm bed and step into the icy flooded current of Berrigo Creek.
    â€œShe’s a housemaid.”
    â€œA what?” shrieked Mrs McMahon and to quieten her he put a hand across Jackie and laid it on her thigh. He felt it quiver like the flesh of a young horse he was breaking in.
    â€œShe’s got an office job!” said Mrs McMahon.
    â€œShe couldn’t get one. Bess wrote and told us.”
    â€œUs? Why don’t I know?”
    â€œBess wrote when she left there and said it was a good place. It’s not to say she won’t get an office job when times get better.”
    â€œBess pushed her out! She was frightened she might get something better than their Margaret. I know that one! She’d be glad she’s only a maid!”
    Only a maid, thought Mrs McMahon her flesh no longer quivering.
    I was a maid.
    â€œYou were a maid,” said Mr McMahon, “You were all right.”
    Mrs McMahon for a moment wanted to steer his hand towards her inner thigh. But she raised her knees and it slid away to lie indifferently on Jackie’s stomach.
    â€œYou knew all that time and you didn’t say! I see where she gets her lies and deceit from!”
    â€œBess wrote and I got the letter in the mail one day when I picked it up. Just by chance.” Mr McMahon a fairly devout Catholic appeared still grateful to God for organizing this.
    â€œAll that blowing and skiting and her a maid! No more than a housemaid.
    â€œI’ll bowl her out!” cried Mrs McMahon. “First chance I get and there’ll be plenty I’ll bowl her out!
    â€œI’ll bowl her out with pleasure!” cried