âIâm not sure this is the right time.â
I took a saucer from the cabinet and returned to the living room as Margaret was saying, âActually, Vivian, this is a very good time. Think of it as a dress rehearsal for the lawyers.â
Vivian topped off her glass of wine, settled back into her chair, and said, âI donât know how to put this delicately.â
âThen try directly,â Margaret said.
âAll right, then,â she said, setting her glass down firmly on the coffee table. âHere goes. Branwell Zamborska seemed to have an unhealthy interest in little Nikkiâs nappies.â Still holding her cigarette between her first two fingers, she leaned forward and picked up her wineglass in her cigarette-holding hand. Peering mischievously at me over the rim, she said, âOf course, a lot of it was little-boy curiosity, you know.â
Margaret asked, âWhat do you mean?â
âOh, you know. A little boyâs curiosity about what the other sex keeps inside her panties.â
Margaret looked over at me to see how I was taking this information. I was doing all right even though I had never had a discussion about sex with a mature woman before.
Margaret said, âDonât you think itâs a natural curiosity? I remember when Connor here was a baby, I actually asked to change his nappy. Once.â
Vivian asked, âDid you, really?â
âYes. When he was new, and I was young and curious.â
Laughing, Vivian said, âWhat did you find out?â
Margaret looked at me and smiled. âThat God has a sense of humor after all.â I flared my nostrils at her and jerked my head away. I should have stayed in the kitchen.
Vivian said, âAt first I thought it was only the natural curiosity of a thirteen-year-old boy. But after awhile, it became something else. Branwell became absolutely obsessive about changing Nikkiâs nappies. That wasnât  . . . wasnât . . . natural  . . .â Her voice trailed off as if she had ended that sentence with a comma and not a period. She transferred her wineglass to her other hand and took a long drag on her cigarette before saying, âIt seemed to me that Brannie always spread the cheeks of her little bum and spread her little legs and wiped and wiped some more. All that wiping. All that powdering . . .â
Margaret said, âOn the rare occasion when I was requested to change Connorâs nappy, his mother always insisted that I clean all his little bits and pieces.â Margaret was determined to embarrass me. She was pissing me off. âEven though there wasnât that much to do,â she said, smilingâshe was really pissing me offââthe whole process was nothing but a chore.â Really, really pissing me off.
Vivian said, âI kept thinking that Branwell, too, would find it a chore and just stop, but he didnât. Even when I was there, he insisted on changing her nappies himself.â
At last I knew why Branwell rushed home from school every day.
âI tell you, he was always changing her. Whether she needed it or not.â She took a long pull on her cigarette. I held my breath as I watched the ash grow until it seemed ready to drop. But as she took it from her mouth, she held it straight until it was over the saucer. With the tiniest flick of her finger, she made the ash drop. Then with a delicate movement of her wrist, she stubbed it out. âActually,â she said, âI think thatâs when he did it.â
âDid what?â Margaret asked.
Vivian answered in a hoarse whisper as if the wordshurt her throat. âDropped her. Thatâs when he must have dropped her.â
Margaret asked, âHe didnât take her out of the crib to change her nappy, did he?â It seemed to me that Margaret was saying nappy a lot.
âSometimes he did, actually. And on that day, the poor little thing