a little bush either side of each sunny egg.
And on she went, until she got to the vagina, the womb, the fallopian tubes, which looked like a girl skipping, the way she drew them.
It turned out that this lesson was not about sex. We knew about that already. It was about the smell of the sex, and how important it was to wash and deodorise those areas where hair had recently sprouted. I wondered, as Sister Anne said the Hail Mary at the end of class, if she ever looked at herself, naked, after a bath.
Mar and I sat in the cloakroom at elevenses, as we always did.
‘Well, what’s the matter with you? I saw you moping up the lane this morning.’
‘I was up half the night,’ I mumbled, tearing the plastic wrapper on my snack bar with my teeth. Mar bit into her apple.
‘Up half the night with what? Are you sick? What happened you?’
‘Don’t laugh, but I think I’m in love.’
‘Ah, would you give over,’ she said, roaring with laughter. Bits of apple and spittle flew out of her mouth.
I knew she’d react like this. It was a weekday: where on earth would I have seen or met a boy to fall in love with? I hadn’t been near the shops. And there’d been no mention of him before. As far as she was concerned I had the hots for one of her neighbours, the one I’d played a game of pool with once in her garage.
He’d been going up to the graveyard for as long as I could remember, I told her, but only the night before had it suddenly occurred to me – like a flash of lightning, was what I said – that he was the one. I told her about the dream I’d had that morning. That seemed to convince her.
‘So who is he?’
‘He’s a boarder up at St Colum’s.’
‘You don’t even know his name? For fuck’s sake.’
We took our pimply legs down from the bench opposite to let two girls pass, then slouched back down again, our heads sinking into dozens of maroon-coloured coats and blazers. Mar took another bite out of her apple. The bell rang.
‘I suppose we’ll see him at the Colum’s disco anyway.’
‘Do you think we’ll be let go?’
‘No,’ she smiled, ‘but so.’
There was a list of things to do stuck to one of the cupboards in the kitchen. A sure sign there was something wrong with Mam: she’d never written a list before in her life. She just got on and did things. There was no question of sitting about making notes.
I could hear her on the landing. She had the radio on.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she croaked when I asked her if she was okay, her head peering round the top of the stairs. She had that deranged look on her face she got after spending more time than is good for anyone ironing sheets and underpants. She was a little peaky-looking too.
‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Me? I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Dad said you weren’t feeling too well.’
‘Jesus, that man can keep nothing to himself. I’m fine. I had the one glass of wine and it didn’t agree with me is all.’
Blue was yelping to be let in. She must have heard me being dropped off at the gate from school. She’d stopped barking suddenly. Then there was a loud knock, and another – a thud. I found her ready to throw herself against the door for a third time when I went downstairs.
‘You’re weird, Blue,’ I said, crouching down to pet her.
She looked up at me and wagged her tail, mouth hanging open for air, as if she’d run round the world to welcome me home. The fur on her belly and legs was soaking wet, and she was raring to jump up on me, her nails scratching the parquet floor. I turned and she followed, panting.
Mam was in the bathroom upstairs. I stood on the landing beside her ironing board, holding my breath, wondering if I should ask her again if she was okay. The iron was still hot. She’d put out clean linen for my bed.
‘Mam, don’t worry about changing my sheets. I’ll do it myself.’
She didn’t respond. I went and got the blow-dryer out from the drawer of her dressing table, plugged it in in my room, and pointed it at Blue. Her legs quivered.
‘It’s for your own good. If you want to come anywhere near me. You’re soaking wet.’
Her hair was starting to whiten – around her mouth and eyes, and around the star-shaped patch on her breast. She was forty-nine in dog years – half my age if I were a dog. If I were a dog I might be dead, I was thinking.
Then I heard the click of the lock on the bathroom door and Mam’s standing looking down at me and at Blue.
‘Now what have I told you about blow-drying the dog in here? You’ve my heart broke.’
She had a thing about dog hairs getting into the carpet and onto my duvet and curtains.
‘And that awful smell—’
Her eyes were bloodshot.
‘For God’s sake, Mam,’ I said. I couldn’t think what else to say, and I couldn’t not say anything. I didn’t want her noticing I’d seen how red her eyes were. ‘There’s no hairs . . .’
She turned abruptly and walked out, Blue skulking at her heels.
Gran was watching an old World Series of Poker video, with Lazy Bones tucked snugly under her right arm. It was raining. I could hear it thrumming on the windows. I glanced up at the road. No sign of him. It was a little early yet. The air was so heavy with rain I worried I might not see him if he passed by. Dad was out the back, breaking branches over his knee, setting another fire. I stood at the kitchen window and gazed out at him, wanting to cry. I wandered from room to room, avoiding going up to my own, where Mam was fussing over my unmade bed, the clothes on my floor, the dog hair, her eyes still sore-looking. Without bothering to change out of my school uniform as I usually would, I threw on one of Dad’s old jackets and skulked off to the graveyard. I didn’t turn to hear what Dad said as I passed him. I couldn’t be sure, anyway, if it was me he was talking to or himself, as he often talked to himself, and I didn’t want to have to explain to him where I was going at this time of night and in this kind of weather and with my school uniform still on me.
A drizzle of sweat had formed on my back and on my forehead before I’d even reached the top of the drive. I could feel my face reddening as I put my hand up to pull strands of hair away: they were sticking to my skin, catching at the corners of my mouth and in my eyelashes. There was no sign of anyone on the road. I turned up left to the graveyard, walking in on the grass verge. I waved at passing cars though I couldn’t see the drivers’ faces. Headlights were blurred in the rain. As I turned past
