The Monster's Wife(34)

“Pick that up.” Cormick jabbed a trembling finger in the direction of the mussels. “Clear up after yoursen for once, spoiled b—”

“Say it, coward!” May took a step closer. “Say what you think.”

“May.” Oona tugged at her sleeve, her heart thudding at this sudden squall risen out of nowhere.

May shrugged Oona off. She was trembling.

Cormick stepped back and leaned in the doorframe, smiling. “Seeing as you’re here, I’m guessing you wangled some coin from that daft man of yours?”

“Not yet.” May stared down at the cat snaking round her feet. “It’s coming, though.” She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at Cormick, smiling.

Oona knew the look: charming May getting her own way. It was out of place here. She pulled May’s sleeve again. “Come on.”

May shot her another look before she turned back to Cormick, twirling a finger in her hair. “I ken where he keeps it. He just needs to go out for a long enough while.”

“Aye well. Don’t forget, there’s a price to pay lassie.” He reached in his pocket, hunting for something, a puzzled look on his face.

May nodded, turned, took a step backward. Her smile was fixed but her hands shook harder than ever.

Oona stared at her, trying to make her fogged brain piece the shreds of talk together. It sounded as if money was owed, but who knew for what - something to do with the boat they’d stolen? Oona had been part of that night. She couldn’t let May suffer this old sot’s extortion alone. “I’ve got a few pennies—” Her words were directed at Cormick, but he drew into the shack before she’d finished. She turned around.

May was already far ahead of her, scampering over the slippery rocks, her feet as light and sure as the cat’s. Oona ran after her, caught up, her hand on May’s shoulder. May was clutching her shawl, her nose red and streaming.

“What was that palaver?”

May dragged her nose across her sleeve wretchedly and said nothing.

Oona gently took hold of her shoulders. “Is he after us for the other night?”

May looked up abruptly, her eyes wide and childlike, the dark pupils flitting to the side, as if she was piecing things together in her head. “We came here one day, when we were just...I don’t know. I think I was ten and you were eight. The cat had little kittens. You wanted to play with them. Remember?”

Oona shrugged. “Not really.” Behind May’s head, she saw the curtain of Cormick’s shack twitch. “Let’s go and scrub a few floors before the doctor gives us our marching orders.”





29


In the kitchen of the big house, Oona dropped beef bones into a stockpot. Behind her, May chopped onions, sullen and silent except for the occasional sniff. Onions always made her cry. Oona turned round for her jug of water and saw May blotting her eyes on her sleeve. When she lifted her face, Oona could see that it was red and blotchy. Strings of snot ran between her swollen nose and the rolled fabric buttoned at her elbow.

Oona cradled the jug in her arms. “You might feel better if you told me.”

“Oh, Oona, for Heaven’s sake.” May picked up her knife and brought it down angrily on a pale half-moon of onion. “Learn to keep your neb out, why don’t you?”

Oona turned sharply to the stove and poured water into the pot. It sizzled and steamed furiously. “Listen,” she said, struggling to keep the anger from her voice, “you’ve no need to tell me what you’re paying him for, but if it’s... if he saw us the other night or something. Well, I was part of all that and I’ve got some money saved—”

May stopped mid-chop. “Chrissakes, Oona, you think because you’re book-learned, you know it all, but you don’t know anything. Not my problems, not my thoughts and not this. At times I wish you did, but as it happens, it’s not your concern.” She banged down her knife and ran out of the kitchen door.

Oona turned back and stirred her stock hard. Secrets, so many stupid secrets. She threw the spoon down in disgust, splattering the floor with grease. She went to the potato bin in the pantry, shoved her hands in to reach for good, smooth ones. Despite the cool dark, there were hairy spuds growing pale nubs of shoots that would soon sprout waxy, green leaves. She slipped the potatoes into the pockets of her apron. That’s when she remembered the feel of the kittens. She’d been drunk on their softness all those years ago, those purring balls of quick-breathing warmth, and the mother cat watching her cautiously, eyes bright in the gloom.

Had it really been there, in that stinking shack?

Walking back into the light, she thought the vision would fade. But instead it grew stronger. She could almost feel her fingers running through the mewing wool. In the vision, May wasn’t there. She’d gone somewhere. Oona knew she should be frightened, but the kittens were too soft. Their purring soothed her. She looked up, saw May holding Cormick’s hand, like he was leading her somewhere. Then Cormick grabbed the basket up off the floor. He told them to go, shouted at them to go.

On the way home, May stumbled on a rock and fell down. Oona said, May, it’s getting dark, but May wouldn’t get up. She just lay there crying like the kittens. Her shoulders shook the way they shook today when she cried. Oona knelt down and took hold of her hand. She pulled it away. Don’t touch me, May said. Just don’t touch me.