The Carhullan Army

crossed an ankle over her thigh, held the knotted laces of her boot. ‘But I don’t blame the Sisters for shutting it out. Truly, I don’t. They’ve come up here to make a better life, and not make the same mistakes. They’ve … Let’s say they’ve washed their hands of the past.’
    Her expression darkened. ‘Fine. Yes. Women were treated like cunts back down there. Like second-class citizens and sex objects. They were underpaid, under-appreciated. Trust me, I know all about being told you aren’t suitable for a job. Fifty per cent of the world’s female population was getting raped, the fanatics had the rest bound up in black. We were all arguing over how women should look and dress, not over basic rights. And in this country, women have treated each other just as poorly. Fighting like cats and dogs. Competing for men. Eating our own young. No solidarity. No respect. No grace, if you want to call it that.’
    She let go of her bootlace and spread her arms wide. ‘And here, we’ll we’ve more or less cracked it, haven’t we? Everyone’s employed. No one’s made to kneel in a separate church. No one’s getting held down at bayonet point. We’re breeding. We’re free. Why would anyone want to risk this, Sister?’ I gave a small brief nod, but I don’t think Jackie noticed. ‘And the government down there now? Well, it would be madness to interfere with it and draw attention to what we’ve got here, wouldn’t it? Sheer madness. Too much of a risk. What possible kind of campaign could we run? Surely it’s better to just bolt the door. Hole the fuck up. And pray to be left alone.’
    There was a smile on her face. It was not derisive but it seemed somehow mannered, and patronising, as if she were acknowledging a moderate and rudimentary opinion presented by a child, like the reciting of a basic commandment: Thou shall not kill . Her sympathy was so great it almost looked like disappointment.
    Suddenly, she leant forward on the chair. ‘What do you think, Sister? Do women have it in them to fight if they need to? Or is that the province of men? Are we innately pacifist? A softer sex? Do we have to submit to survive?’ I was still standing in the middle of the room. I felt the air around me, wide and open at my sides, and wished I had something solid to touch. ‘Yes, of course we have it in us,’ I said. ‘Ah. Attacking or defending though?’ I frowned and thought for a moment. I could not tell if she was seriously engaging with me, or just warming me up for what might occur in the kitchen. ‘Both,’ I said. ‘But it depends what scale it’s on. I think women are naturally just as violent. Especially when we’re young. But we’re taught it’s not in keeping with our gender, that it’s not feminine behaviour. Men are forgiven for it. Women aren’t. So it’s suppressed. We end up on the defensive a lot of the time. But I think we’re capable of attacking when it’s something worth fighting for.’
    Jackie nodded. ‘All good points, Sister.’ She sat back and recrossed her legs. ‘Then let me ask you this. When you went in to get that tag fixed up your tuss, why didn’t you fight then? Why did you let them do that to you?’ Her brow was lifted and heavily lined. She had summoned up incredulity and I did not know if it was for effect or if it was genuine. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut, and I gaped at her, appalled by her ruthlessness. I had become used to her bad language, her often taciturn moods, but the onslaught when Jackie Nixon launched a hard line of enquiry was impossible to withstand. I could feel my back teeth clenching and grinding over each other, a prickle in the ends of my fingers. I did not know if I was upset or angry. ‘What choice did I have?’ I finally managed to say. ‘It’s the law. I was surrounded by the system, and …’ I stumbled over my words, ‘… and they have these places where those who refuse are sent. I’ve heard about them.’
    She nodded again. ‘Yes, I know they do. They’re in the old county prisons. It’s a scandal.’ There was an undertone of sarcasm in her voice. ‘So, tell me. Was it fear that stopped you? Fear of reprisal? Fear of what else they might do to you? Sister, how bad does a situation have to be before a woman will strike out, not in defence, but because something is, as you say, worth fighting for? Weren’t you?’ I searched her blue eyes for compassion, then I looked away. The bedroom window was