hillbeyond shone against the dark. She lit the small glass oil lamp and turned to rake the coals out of the ashes.
She worked quickly and well and without thinking much. She didnât wash herself or brush her hair or go outside till she had to get water out of the barrel for Reeganâs shaving. The cold made her wince as she broke the ice, and she saw their black cat dart in through the door sheâd left open; she came in afraid to find her thieving, but she was only waiting to wrap her frozen fur about Elizabethâs legs and purred and cried loudly till she was given a saucer of milk in the scullery.
The children were rising, their feet were padding on the boards overhead. The kettle was boiling, the shaving water, the slices of bacon laid on the pan ready for frying, the table set. The morningâs work was almost done; her sense of purpose, of things needing her to do them, failing fast. There wasnât enough in front of her now to keep her going headlong: she didnât want to wash or brush her hair and she could not bear the look of her face in the mirror; and when the children came with a rush of life into the kitchen it made her only more oppressively aware of her sickness. âThere was frost, Elizabeth?â their cries came. âWeâll be able to slide on Maloneâs pond if it keeps up.â
She could only answer them with tired assent. There seemed no end to their excitement and curiosity. She wondered if theyâd wake Reegan.
âDaddyâs off to court today?â
âYes.â
âIs it time for him to get up, Elizabeth?â
âCan I go up to call him?â
âMe, Elizabeth, Iâll go up!â
âLet Sheila go up so,â she said to Una.
âThen I can quench the lamp, Elizabeth? Itâs no good any more, itâs too bright.â
âIâll shine his boots, Elizabeth.â
Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, it seemed without end. Sheila was racing up the stairs. The blinded darkness met her with a shock. She stood at the door and called,âDaddy, itâs time to get up,â but she got no answer and she had to tiptoe to the window and let up the blind so that the light poured in.
âDaddy, itâs time to get up,â she timidly rocked his shoulder.
She had to rock harder and raise her voice.
âItâs the day for the court, Daddy.â
He grunted, and then suddenly opened his eyes. She felt the wild fright of his eyes opened on her and not recognizing her and then the slow remembering and the dawning there of the world he lived in. At last he knew who she was.
âItâs time to get up, Daddy.â
âItâs you, Sheila,â he rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. âWhat day is today, Sheila?â
âThursday, Daddy. Itâs the day of the court.â
He took a moment to absorb what she said and then his eyes searched swiftly for the clock on the table: it was five past eight. âChrist, I forgot,â he swore as he jumped out of bed. âAnother blasted day in town.â
He was downstairs almost with her in his collarless shirt and trousers and stockinged feet. He stopped to listen at the dayroom door: but there was no noise of Mullins moving.
âYou must have been up early,â he praised Elizabeth when he felt the kitchen warm with the blazing fire.
âI thought not to wake you,â she replied.
âIs there water boiled?â
âItâs readyâwhen you want it.â¦â
He took down the plain wooden box that held his shaving-kit from the top of the medicine press and opened it on the sewing-machine to get his cut-throat razor and he stroked it over and back on a strip of fine leather tacked to the side of the press. After heâd tested its sharpness he laid it carefully on a newspaper in the window and searched the box for the brush and stick of soap.
Elizabeth poured the hot water into the basin in the