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“Shush,” I whispered and gently touched her cheek, “it’s going to be alright. You’re here with me now, and I’ll never let you out of my eyes again. I’ll never let anything like this happen to you again. But you need to sleep now. I’ll be here tomorrow.” Her arm wrapped around my back. In all the wrongness of what happened, this single gesture felt incredibly right. It took almost half an hour until she fell asleep, but finally her body relaxed and her breathing evened out. I lay awake for ages, images of her battered body dancing before my eyes and scaring me back into wakefulness each time I was about to drift off. * The week seemed to stretch endlessly. Mum took Kirsty to the doctor in the morning, which had been arranged by Officer Eddings. I begged and pleaded, but I wasn’t allowed to accompany her, something about ‘proper procedure’ or such. So I spent an awkward, tense morning in my room, listening for slightest sound of the returning car. When they did arrive back it was. Just two friends having beer in the fine evening air. She asked about my week and it gave us something to talk about as dinner cooked. She got up once to refill our glasses. When the timer rang, she sprang up again and rolled with that hip-swaying easy gait of hers back to the kitchen, telling me to stay where I was. In a moment she was back with two Little light weight wooden stools that she set next to our chairs. She set them quickly, and then moved off to bring our meal.When she returned, another of the buttons of her blouse seemed to have come undone. So had her hair. It lay beautifully over her shoulders and over her breasts. She smiled, her back arched as she carried our plates. She set one down on my table, then slipped back into her own chair and set down her plate. Dinner was delicious, a mixture of rice and chicken with little vegetables and light seasonings called popularly as chicken briyani. She had to rise again to get the second bottle of KF and I was startled to.
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