Free Room by Emma Donoghue Page B

slips down into the sea.”
    “No.”
    Ma looks at me close. “You don’t like this story?”
    “She shouldn’t be gone.”
    “It’s OK.” She takes the tear out of my eye with her finger. “I forgot to say, of course she takes her baby, JackerJack, with her, he’s all knotted up in her hair.
And when the fisherman comes back, the cottage is empty, and he never sees them again.”
    “Does he drown?”
    “The fisherman?”
    “No, JackerJack, under the water.”
    “Oh, don’t worry,” says Ma, “he’s half merman, remember? He can breathe air or water, whichever.” She goes to look at Watch, it’s 08:27.
    I’m lying in Wardrobe for ages, but I don’t get sleepy. We do songs and prayers. “Just one nursery rhyme,” I say, “please?” I pick “The House That Jack
Built” because it’s the longest.
    Ma’s voice is yawny. “ ‘This is the man all tattered and torn—’ ”
    “ ‘That kissed the maiden all forlorn—’ ”
    “ ‘That milked the cow with the crumpled horn—’ ”
    I steal a few lines in a hurry. “ ‘That tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that—’ ”
    Beep beep.
    I shut my mouth tight.
    The first thing Old Nick says I don’t hear.
    “Mmm, sorry about that,” says Ma, “we had curry. I was wondering, actually, if there was any chance—” Her voice is all high. “If it might be possible sometime
to put in an extractor fan or something?”
    He doesn’t say anything. I think they’re sitting on Bed.
    “Just a little one,” she says.
    “Huh, there’s an idea,” says Old Nick. “Let’s start all the neighbors wondering why I’m cooking up something spicy in my workshop.”
    I think that’s sarcasm again.
    “Oh. Sorry,” says Ma, “I didn’t think—”
    “Why don’t I stick a flashing neon arrow on the roof while I’m at it?”
    I wonder how an arrow flashes.
    “I’m really sorry,” says Ma, “I didn’t realize that the smell, that it, that a fan would—”
    “I don’t think you appreciate how good you’ve got it here,” says Old Nick. “Do you?”
    Ma doesn’t say anything.
    “Aboveground, natural light, central air, it’s a cut above some places, I can tell you. Fresh fruit, toiletries, what have you, click your fingers and it’s there. Plenty girls
would thank their lucky stars for a setup like this, safe as houses. Specially with the kid—”
    Is that me?
    “No drunk drivers to worry about,” he says, “drug pushers, perverts . . .”
    Ma butts in very fast. “I shouldn’t have asked for a fan, it was dumb of me, everything’s fine.”
    “OK, then.”
    Nobody says anything for a little bit.
    I count my teeth, I keep getting it wrong, nineteen then twenty then nineteen again. I bite my tongue till it hurts.
    “Of course there’s wear and tear, that’s par for the course.” His voice is moved, I think he’s over near Bath now. “This seam’s buckling, I’ll
have to sand and reseal. And see here, the underlayment’s showing through.”
    “We are careful,” says Ma, very quietly.
    “Not careful enough. Cork’s not meant for high traffic, I was planning on one sedentary user.”
    “Are you coming to bed?” asks Ma in that funny high voice.
    “Let me get my shoes off.” There’s a sort of grunt, I hear something drop on Floor. “You’re the one hassling me about renovations before I’m here two minutes
. . .”
    Lamp goes out.
    Old Nick squeaks Bed, I count to ninety-seven then I think I missed one so I lose count.
    I stay awake listening even when there’s nothing to hear.
    •   •   •
    On Sunday we’re having bagels for dinner, very chewy, with jelly and peanut butter as well. Ma takes her bagel out of her mouth and there’s a pointy thing stuck in
it. “At last,” she says.
    I pick it up, it’s all yellowy with dark brown bits. “Bad tooth?”
    Ma nods. She’s feeling in the back of her mouth.
    That’s so weird. “We could stick him back in, with flour glue,