Four Bare Legs In a Bed by Helen Simpson

Author:Helen Simpson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446499955
Publisher: Random House

1 ‘The ordinary leaves of the raspberry canes from late spring to full summer should be gathered and used (fresh, if possible). Infuse in boiling water and drink freely with milk and sugar. It also makes a good drink with lemon and sugar. It is well-known as particularly good during the later months of pregnancy.’ Food in England, Dorothy Hartley.

Christmas Jezebels

A seasonal story dedicated to St Nicholas, patron saint of (among others) prostitutes

THE THREE SISTERS lay curled asleep together like cats in a basket. They had always shared this truckle bed; and, as they had grown older and larger, it had become increasingly crowded. There seemed little hope of an improvement in the situation, however, since the family’s cash-flow problems were by now quite hair-raising.

Beatrice was the first to wake, frowning and snarling her way out of some dream argument. At eighteen she was the oldest of the sisters, and the most worried. Opposite her snored Isobel, a better pragmatist at sixteen than she would ever be; and in the middle lay her favourite, Jessica, an unnervingly brainy child of twelve.

It was still very early, but already Beatrice could hear the fishermen down on the beach. The uncurtained window showed December stars fading into another fourth-century Lycian morning.

‘Time to get up,’ she announced at last, throwing off their blanket of patchwork sacking. Not being able to afford nightdresses, they slept in their underwear, though they were fastidious girls and always hung their stockings to dry at the fireplace before going to bed.

‘Oh no,’ said Beatrice.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked her sisters as they shuffled out of bed.

‘He’s finally lost his reason,’ said Beatrice, staring at the pile of unfamiliar garments on the chair.

‘Look at these,’ said Jessica, holding up a pair of transparent frilly drawers edged with red ribbon.

Isobel sniggered to herself as she buckled on a stiffly-boned satin bra.

‘Don’t you dare touch these filthy rags!’ thundered Beatrice.

‘Why not?’ asked Isobel. ‘We can’t go round in our pants and vests all day, and he’s obviously pawned our usual clothes.’ She pranced over to the little mirror and started to wind a feather boa around her neck.

‘Such obvious garments almost parody his intention,’ observed Jessica. ‘I suppose he expects me to wear this babyishly short smock with the teddy bear appliqués.’

‘Oh, my poor lamb,’ moaned Beatrice, hugging her sister. ‘Little do you realise.’

‘I think I do, you know,’ said Jessica. ‘He wants you two to dress as filles de joie, but he’s decided to aim me at the paedophile market.’

Isobel had by now wriggled into a leather jerkin and was squeezing her feet into a pair of high fur-rimmed mules.

‘It’s a disgrace,’ said Beatrice, and sat down on the edge of the bed in tears.

‘Don’t worry, Beet,’ called Isobel from the mirror. ‘I’m not going to fall in with his wicked plans. I just like dressing up.’

Jessica put her arm round Beatrice’s heaving shoulders.

‘You know what he’s like when he gets a bee in his bonnet,’ she said soothingly.

‘But he’s serious this time,’ sobbed Beatrice.

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