My Notorious Life by Kate Manning

Author:Kate Manning [Manning, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Literary, Retail, Top 2013
ISBN: 9781451698060
Amazon: 1451698062
Barnesnoble: 1451698062
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2013-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Assistant

Some hours later Charlie’s boots thundered on the stairs, and then he was at the door hungry for his dinner. I went with our daughter in my arms and stopped him.

—Don’t go in.

—How can you keep me from my own house? For what reason? His temper was up, fast. —Out of the way.

—Greta’s here. In our bed.

—With a customer? What? Have we started a cat house?

My nerves was unraveled enough already and so when he called my friend a flagabout I flown straight off the handle and shot him across the face with the flat of my hand. —What do you know about anything? I cried, shocked at myself.

And he slapped me back, right across the cheek.

Annabelle started up crying and he’d have struck me again, if she hadn’t. —Da, she sobbed, with her two year old tears, —Da! as he reeled away, into the hall.

—I’ll be leaving now then Mrs. Jones before I wale on you again, he said, flexing his knuckles.

—Charlie.

—I’m gone. He started down the stairs.

—Da, Annabelle cried, her voice echoing in the stairwell. —Wheresa mousie, Da?

Charlie stopped. He clutched at his heart for she had got him right in it.

—Mousie? she said. It was a game Belle had with him, for he’d convinced her he had a creature named Whiskers in his pocket. —Da?

Unable to resist her Charlie returned, smoldering at me and winking at his daughter, the whole family in a welter of confusion. He reached in his pocket where he pretended to find the mouse. —Here he is! he cried. —Whiskers! Acting like he was not furious he placed the pretend creature on Annabelle’s head, and ran his fingers down her back and pointed toward the floorboards. —Look! he cried, as if it had run off. —Gone.

And our little girl laughed and laughed. It never failed. —Again!

I quieted her and sent her toddling back inside where I could hear her call for us through the door I shut, so she would not see her father leaving her mother once and for all because of what I done. —Mam!

—There’s no call to use your FISTS, Charlie said, his voice scary.

—There’s no call to say Greta’s a HOOR.

—She is, though, ain’t she? I saw her myself in the streets flagging about in her petticoat.

—And you never mentioned nothing of it?

—It’s well known in the taverns your Greta’s a dirty shake, Charlie said. —AND she has a child.

—That same child is here too. Her boy.

My husband cursed. The print of my hand was red on his cheek, his eyes dark. —The devil is going on, he said, helplesslike and confused.

—Charlie, I cried now very quiet so the neighbors would not open their doors for a free drama. And I told him. What I done. Scrape, I said. Blood. I said it was in the bin.

—H***, he said, and worse. —You want to tempt the devil on us, is that right? And the traps?

—Greta ASKED me.

—If she asked you to light yourself on FIRE, would you do it?

—It’s what she WANTED.

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