'I don't know. It's bad luck.'

'Bad luck? Jesus.'

He sounded disgusted. He moved the phone again; she imagined him tugging at his hair. She said, 'Don't be like that. It's been hell, for me. I've been worrying myself to death. I've tried all sorts of things. I- I took something.'

He couldn't hear her. 'What?'

She covered her mouth again, but tried to speak more clearly. 'I took something. You know… But it didn't work, it just made me sick.'

'Did you get the right thing?'

'I don't know. Are there different kinds of things? I got it from a chemist's. The man said it would work, but it didn't. It was awful.'

'Can't you try again?'

'I don't want to, Reggie.'

'But it might be worth just trying again.'

'It made me feel so awful.'

'But don't you just think-?'

'It'll make me sick again. Oh Reggie, I don't think I can! I don't know what to do!'

Her voice had been trembling, all this time; now, with a rush, it tightened and rose. She'd started to panic, and was almost crying.

Reggie said, 'OK. All right. Listen to me. It's all right, baby. Listen to me. This is the hell of a shock, that's all. I just need to think about it. There's a bloke here. I think his girl- I just need some time.'

She moved the receiver, and blew her nose. 'I didn't want to tell you,' she said miserably. 'I wanted to sort it out by myself. I just- I felt so awful. If my dad found out-'

'It's OK, baby.'

'It'd break his heart. It'd-'

Pip pip pip, went the line; and the operator spoke. 'One minute, Caller.'

It was the girl who'd connected Viv right at the start; or another girl, with the same bright, glass-like voice… Viv and Reggie fell silent.

'Do you suppose she heard?' whispered Reggie at last.

'I don't know.'

'They don't listen really, do they?'

'I don't know.'

'How can they, with so many calls?'

'No. I expect they don't.'

Silence again… Then, 'Shit,' said Reggie, as if wearily. 'What luck. What lousy rotten luck. And I was so careful, every time!'

'I know,' said Viv.

'I'll ask this bloke, about his girl, about what she did. OK?'

Viv nodded.

'OK?'

'Yes.'

'You're not to worry any more.'

'No. I won't.'

'Promise me?'

'Yes.'

'We'll be all right. OK? Good girl.'

They stayed on the line, not speaking, until the operator's voice came again, asking if they'd like to extend the call. Viv said they wouldn't, and the line went dead.

'Hello,' said Kay very softly, an hour or two later. She was stroking Helen's hair.

'Hello,' said Helen, opening her eyes.

'Did I wake you?'

'I'm not sure… What time is it?'

Kay got in beside her. 'Just past your birthday, I'm afraid. Just two o'clock.'

'Are you all right?'

'Not a scratch on me. We didn't go out. Bethnal Green and Shoreditch got it all.'

Helen took her hand and squeezed her fingers. 'I'm glad,' she said.

Kay yawned. 'I'd rather have gone out. I spent the night doing puzzles with Mickey and Hughes.' She kissed Helen's cheek, then fitted herself about her. 'You smell soapy.'

Helen stiffened. 'Do I?'

'Yes. Just like a kid. Did you have another bath? You must be clean as anything… Were you lonely?'

'No, not really.'

'I thought of sneaking back to you.'

'Did you?'

Kay smiled. 'Well, not really. It seemed an awful waste, that's all, to be there, doing nothing, while you were here.'

'Yes,' said Helen. She still held Kay's hand; now she drew Kay's arm around her-tight, as if wanting comfort or warmth. Her legs were bare against Kay's; her cotton nightdress had risen, almost to her bottom. Her breasts felt loose and warm beneath Kay's arm.

Kay kissed her head, stroked back her hair. She said, in a murmur, 'I suppose you're awfully sleepy, darling?'

'I am, rather.'

'Too sleepy to kiss?'

Helen didn't answer. Kay drew free her arm. She caught hold of the collar of Helen's nightgown and, very gently, pulled it down. She put her lips to the bend of Helen's neck, moved her mouth against the hot, smooth flesh. But she became aware, as she was doing it, of the feel of the threadbare fabric in her hand. She lifted her head from her pillow and said, in surprise, 'You're not wearing your new pyjamas?'

'Hmm?' said Helen, as if from the edge of sleep.

'Your pyjamas,' said Kay softly.

'Oh,' said Helen, reaching for Kay's hand again; drawing Kay's arm about her and pulling her close. 'I forgot,' she said.

5

The moon was so full and so bright that night, they didn't need their torches. Surfaces were lit up, white against black. Everything looked depthless, the fronts of houses flat as scenery on a stage, the trees like trees of papier maché touched up with glitter and silver paint… Nobody liked it. It made you feel vulnerable, exposed. People got off the train and turned up the collars of their coats, put down their heads, darted away to darker places. A hundred yards from Cricklewood Station, the streets were silent. Only Reggie and Viv, uncertain of their route, went slowly. When Reggie took out a piece of paper to check the directions on it, Viv looked fearfully up at the sky: the paper shone in his hand as if luminous.

The house, when they found it at last, was an ordinary one; but there was a name-plate screwed to the door-frame, beneath the bell. The plate looked solid, professional-reassuring, but frightening too. Viv had her arm through Reggie's and now slightly pulled him back. He caught hold of her hand and squeezed her fingers. Her fingers felt odd, because he'd got her a gold-coloured ring, that was slightly too large and kept slipping.

'All right?' he asked her. His voice was thin. He hated doctors, hospitals, things like that. She knew he wished she had come with Betty, her sister-anyone but him.

So it was she who pressed the bell. The man-Mr Imrie-came to answer it almost at once.

'Ah yes,' he said, quite loudly, looking past them into the street. 'Come in, come in.' They stood close together in the darkness, unsure of the size of the hall, while he closed the door and rearranged the black-out across its panels of frosted glass; then he led them into his waiting-room, where the light was bright and made them blink. The room smelt sweet: of polish, of rubber, of gas. There were pictures on the walls, showing teeth, pink gums; a case had a plaster model inside it of a single great molar, a slice removed to expose the enamel, the pulp and red nerve. The colours were livid, because of the light. Viv looked from one thing to another and felt her teeth begin to ache.

Mr Imrie was a dentist; and did this other thing on the side.

'Do sit down,' he said.

He took up a sheet of paper and clipped it to a board. He wore spectacles with heavy frames and, in order to see the page before him, he pushed them up, so that they gripped his brow like a pair of goggles on a band. He asked for Viv's name. She'd taken off her gloves to expose the ring, and now, with a little flush of self-consciousness, gave the name that she and Reggie had agreed on: Mrs Margaret Harrison. He said it aloud, as he wrote it down; and then he kept saying it at the start of every question: 'And now, Mrs Harrison', 'Well, Mrs Harrison'-until the name, Viv thought, sounded so false and made-up, it might have been an actress's name, or the name of a character in a film.

The questions were simple enough at first. When they grew more personal, Mr Imrie suggested that Reggie might like to wait in the hall. Viv thought he went out pretty quickly, as if in relief. She heard the slither of his shoes on the lino as he paced up and down.

Perhaps Mr Imrie heard it too. He lowered his voice. 'The date of your last period?'