What became of us

one,’ Manon replied.
    ‘Nearly forty and not wearing a bra yet,’ Geraldine said, and Manon could not tell whether her tone was disapproving or envious. ‘I’ll send Roy up with the T-shirt and a plaster for that foot.’
    Their relationship seemed to be wavering somewhere between mothering and girls’ changing-room talk, Manon thought, surprised to find Geraldine’s presence warm and comforting, like the big warm apricot towel she had handed her from the airing cupboard.
    She turned and caught the reflection of her naked breasts in the mirror above the sink. Was it the light, or just a deferent mirror that made them look rounder and more pronounced than usual, or could pregnancy already be changing her body? Very tentatively, she cupped her breasts, then dropped her hands suddenly. She could not have a baby, she told herself, crashing back to reality. She was not a fit person to have a baby.
    In the bath she washed herself briskly, efficiently, scrubbing away at her skin as if to slough off the patina of sentimentality, then she stood up and hosed herself down with the feeble shower attachment.
    There was a knock at the door. She wrapped herself in the soft apricot towel and opened it. The white T-shirt and jeans were lying on the landing outside, pressed and folded with a pair of cotton knickers and box of Elastoplast on top. She picked them up and closed the door again, wondering whether the knickers belonged to Geraldine and whether she had brought them to the door, or whether it had been Roy. She could not imagine Geraldine handing a pair of her knickers to Roy.
    She pulled on the jeans and they fell down. Improvising, she pulled a silken rope from the paisley dressing gown that hung on a hook on the back of the door, and tied the jeans up around her waist. She slipped the T-shirt over her head and tucked it in. Then she sat on the bathroom stool and applied a plaster to her foot and towel-dried her hair as much as she could. She stood up, throwing her hair back from her face, and washed out the bath, put the plug in again and began to run another bath for the girls. There was something so homely about the bathroom that she did not want to leave it. She looked out of the window, guessing from the shadows in the garden that it must be at least six o’clock.
    On the washing line, her black dress flapped in the mild breeze. Beyond the end of the garden was a small meadow and beyond that the old graveyard of the church.

    * * *

    When she opened the bathroom door, Roy was leaning against the banister of the landing, and his presence made her jump. She had imagined herself all alone upstairs.
    ‘I’ve come to do the girls’ bath,’ he said, slightly bashfully, as if he needed to explain his presence.
    ‘It’s running.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    They both took a step forward at the same time, almost collided, then took a step back.
    ‘Sorry, after you,’ he said, then as she did not move, he took a step forward again and so did she, and the same thing happened, like an awkward country dance.
    They both laughed nervously.
    ‘You first.’
    This time she stepped quickly past him.

Chapter 22

    The light was different when Ursula opened her eyes. It was not yet dusk but the sun’s rays were soft and golden. Her mouth tasted sour and furry and there was sweat on her forehead, as if she had been startled mid-dream, although she could not remember what she had been dreaming about. She turned over, lazily, willing herself back to sleep, knowing that the headache that was prickling behind her eyes would disappear with just an hour’s more rest. Then she sat up, suddenly aware of where she was and why she was there. The noise she had tried to blot out by closing her eyes was not the children playing on the stairs at home, but the sound of women’s heels walking along the corridor outside and down the stairs to dinner.
    Dinner in Hall. She jumped out of bed and stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do first. Dinner in Hall had always been ridiculously early and she could remember panicking in exactly the same way almost every evening of her first year. The food then had been awful, but it was included in the fees. In those days, she had no money apart from her grant. Everything was deep fried, even the most sophisticated dish which they called Chicken Maryland and which consisted of a piece of deep-fried chicken with half a deep-fried banana. It was such a nondescript pile of fat and carbohydrate,