The Stain

She slipped a finger inside her vagina, certain now that he had found the stain and that he had known instantly what it was. I won't say anything...He hadn't told Pauline. He wanted the two of them to have a secret...

Next time, it''ll be me on the tear...

He'll be driving me home. Me and him, side by side in the dark interior...She saw him stopping the car, turning towards her, anticipation in the dash-lit hollows of his face. You're so beautiful...French-kissing, unbuttoning his shorts to release his cock as he kneaded her breasts through her bra. You're so beautiful...She made him say it in the intervals of kisses, as he helped her take off her jeans before hauling her into his lap. Impaled upon his body, her palms flat upon the dimpled padding above her head, she invoked a corrupt and sensual God. He wanted her so desperately that it made her want to scream into his mouth. Atavism, malice, betrayal...Sex could be other than joy.

She came brutally, falling backwards on to the bed and a heap of Pauline's cast-offs. Silk, cotton, linen, polyester – she could feel all of them at once, touching her, drawing her into their musty embrace. I want him to know. I want him to smell it...She grabbed the sleeve of a grey turtle-neck and pushed it against her vulva, past caring about stains. You can be such a child...She won't notice but he will...When she had done, she lay back and looked at the map of cracks upon the ceiling, deaf beneath the beating of her blood. Fuck...It was the only word that occurred to her...

...They arrived home a half an hour later. Pauline was sober. Don was paralytic.

'He always does this to me.' Pauline's smile was forced. She came into the front room, her nostrils twitching. 'How were things?'

'They were fine,' said Suzanne. She felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. She listened to Don's slow footsteps on the stairs and on the ceiling, watching Pauline fret her car keys.

'Are you ready, love? Did you watch the film? What time did he go up at...?'

I hate you. Suzanne felt a twinge in her abused vulva. I wish you were dead...

Suzanne knew the phone call the following morning was bad news. So did her mother, who was standing at the foot of the stairs holding the phone like it was something disgusting.

'Pauline, hi.' Her voice slipped up an octave.

'Am I disturbing you? Sorry.' Pauline was nasal with insincerity. 'Suzanne, if it's no trouble love, could you pop in for a minute this evening? About seven? That's lovely, see you then...'

She hung up, leaving Suzanne gaping at the receiver.

Deny everything...She looked at the kitchen door, from behind which came the well-fed voice of a morning DJ. Yes folks, you heard me. A woman who spent her redundancy money...on fake breasts. Her mother changed the channel. Could you pop in...? The whimsy was unnerving. It stayed in her head as she considered scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. Couldn't they have made it earlier? And why do they want me to call over? It was the kind of torture that her Headmistress went in for. The waiting was the real punishment. How were they going to handle it? Would Don be there? Oh Jesus...why wouldn't he be? She gnawed upon the tangled cord of the phone and tried to rationalize – It might be nothing...You're just assuming...She didn't actually say... – but it was hopeless. She knew she was fucked.

She called to the house a half an hour early, having just spent the same amount of time loitering piteously in a phone-box at the entrance to the estate. Pauline answered the door, holding a tea-towel.

'Oh...We were just about to eat. Come in.'

She left Suzanne standing in the hall and went back to the kitchen, leaving the door open a crack.

This isn't good. Suzanne looked at a suit jacket hanging from the banister, thinking how much the cloudy pearl of its cuff-buttons resembled KY...

Oh just fucking get on with it...

A few minutes later, Don appeared at the door and called her in. They were in the dining room. She saw Matty exiting the French doors, Pauline at one end of the table, smoking regally.

'I'll be straight to the point.' She didn't look at Suzanne as she spoke. 'We won't be needing you anymore. We're very disappointed...'

'Very.' Don sat down to the right of his wife, clearly happy to be yielding the floor.

'We. Do. Not. Hit. In. This. House.' Pauline looked up, her lips mean with pomposity. Suzanne felt queasy with relief. Was that all that this was about...?

'Some day, when you have children of your own...' Don's hip priest was cut dead with a look.

'You're lucky we're not getting your mother involved,' said Pauline. 'Or the Guards. You know, we could have you done for assault...'

'Ah, come on love...' Don reached for her hand but she snatched it away.

'Assault.' Pauline seemed to like the word. 'Do you remember what I said to you about trust?'

'No, I understand. I'm sorry. I told Matty I was sorry...'

Suzanne felt like hugging the little rat bastard. Perhaps it was just as well she was getting fired. She would definitely have hit him again. Properly too.

'Oh you're sorry now, are you?' said Pauline.

'I'm sorry to have let you down...'

'Just stop it. It's too late for that. It's inconsiderate, Suzanne. Do you have any idea how much you've put us out?'

'We were supposed to be going away at the end of the month,' said Don.

'Not anymore, we're not.' Pauline sucked a lemon. 'We have to put our lives on hold.'

She took a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose. It was only then that Suzanne realized of what she had on. A grey turtle-neck, tight around the breasts. She looked at Don, caught the tail-end of his glance up to heaven.

Did he just wink...?

'No matter,' said Pauline. 'It's called responsibility, Suzanne. One day, I hope you'll understand what that means.'