A Second Chance by Shayne Parkinson Read Free Book Online Page A

as Beth had
seen her parents chat almost every day of her life.
    When she judged it was time for her to get
on with her work, Beth shooed David unceremoniously from the
table.
    ‘You’d better get out from under my feet,’
she said, standing up to begin stacking their dishes. ‘I’ve got a
lot to do this morning.’
    ‘All right. I’ve got a fair bit to do
myself.’ David rose from his chair and started towards the
door.
    ‘Wait a minute!’ Beth said before he was
halfway there. ‘You have to kiss me goodbye first.’
    ‘Do I? Why?’
    ‘Well, you just do,’ Beth said, stating the
fact as one not to be questioned. ‘Pa always kisses Ma when he goes
outside. So you have to kiss me.’
    ‘I suppose I kiss Ma goodbye sometimes. When
I’m going to town or down to the factory, anyway.’
    ‘Come on, then.’ She tilted her face to
receive his kiss, which he placed very carefully and respectfully
on her mouth, somewhat awed by this new, unexpectedly
self-confident Beth.
    ‘All right, off you go, then.’ She spoiled
the effect with a sudden giggle.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ David asked.
    ‘Oh, I was just thinking about Ma and Pa
when they say goodbye.’ She giggled again at the mental picture of
her father giving her mother’s bottom a pat. ‘Pa does something
else sometimes, when he thinks none of us are watching.’
    ‘What does he do? Do I have to do it,
too?’
    ‘You’d better not,’ Beth said, trying to
appear stern. ‘And I’m not going to tell you what it is, either.’
She smiled at his look of confusion. ‘I might tell you another
day—if you promise not to tell Ma I said it. Kiss me again,’ she
ordered, enjoying the sense of power.
    ‘All right.’ David obliged, with perhaps a
little less reserve this time.
    Beth stood in the doorway to watch him move
away. She went back into the kitchen and contemplated the pleasant
notion that it was completely in her power, limited only by the
contents of kitchen and safe, to decide what they would have for
lunch. This, she reflected, was going to be fun.
     
    *
     
    The boat did not leave Tauranga till well on
in the evening. Amy tried to will herself to sleep, wanting to be
as fresh as possible when she arrived in Auckland.
    But sleep eluded her, and not just because a
swell off the coast of the Coromandel Peninsula sent her scrabbling
for the bucket thoughtfully placed near her bed by the stewardess.
Even when the sea grew calm again, she lay on the mattress staring
up towards the invisible ceiling of the cabin.
    There were too many reminders. The smell of
the boat was the same; she had made it even more familiar now, by
adding the odour of her own vomit to the mix. The noises of the
engine, of sailors moving about on deck, of voices in other parts
of the boat, all seemed the same as on that other voyage.
    Her hands slid down to rest on her belly,
smooth and flat beneath the flannel of her outer petticoat. Then it
had been hard and rounded, full of child. She had been violently
ill for much of the voyage, hidden away out of sight, shut below
decks even during the daytime to try and disguise her shameful
condition, with no relief from the stale smells of the engines, her
vomit, and the bodies of her fellow passengers.
    The voyage had been bad enough, but it paled
in memory against what had come after. The journey had been made
for the sole purpose of being rid of her child.
    Her fingers were digging into the flesh of
her belly, the pain throwing her memories into sharper relief. Amy
made herself uncurl her fingers and let her hands fall to her
sides. Her eyes ached from their futile staring into the darkness.
She closed them, and tried to make her body go limp.
    As she lay in her berth, the sounds of the
boat faded; even the smells grew fainter. Now it seemed that she
was lying in another bed, on a hard mattress, looking about her at
cold, white walls. There was a cradle on the floor, creaking as it
rocked, but bare and empty. A faint sound came