Free What They Do in the Dark by Amanda Coe

in her waist, and had bits dangling off for stockings, although Joanne’s white legs were bare. She was carrying a bucket full of water.
    ‘Take your clothes off then. Get in the bath.’
    She wasn’t angry, as far as Pauline could tell. She had the face on she wore when she had a job in hand. Pauline gestured to the stuff in the bath, an assortment which included broken-down shoes, unstapled porno mags and an ancient, flexless bar heater.
    ‘Well, shift it then.’
    Pauline complied as quickly as she could, not wanting to shatter this fragile interlude of grace. Joanne even helped her, finding the plug in the process. She put it in the plughole, commanded Pauline to get in, and poured in the bucket of cold water. Although she was still shivering, Pauline was grateful, after all the recent weirdness her body had visited on itself, for the normality of the water shocking her skin. Joanne went off to fetch another bucketful, as Pauline tried to wash off the sick and shit. It took four buckets altogether. Joanne chucked the last one over her as she stood in the bath, like a shower, she said. Then shebrought a dry towel from somewhere and let her wrap herself in it. Throughout this, Pauline tasted the sick in her mouth and was terrified that she might vomit again. She knew how easy it would be to overtax the miracle of Joanne’s patience. But nothing happened.
    Joanne followed her back to her room, told her to get back in bed with Cheryl. As Pauline climbed in she looked around.
    ‘Where’s the flipping blanket?’ she said.
    She doesn’t know, Pauline realized. She didn’t recognize it, heaped in a corner of the bathroom floor, covered with sick and mess. And the dread came back to her, as sour as the taste of vomit.
    ‘I haven’t seen it,’ she lied.
    ‘I washed it,’ Joanne told her indignantly. ‘Put it back on the bed today.’
    ‘Sometimes our Craig takes stuff,’ said Pauline, faking more sleepiness than she felt. ‘It’s dead warm, any road.’
    As soon as Joanne had gone and she was reassured by a few minutes of silence, Pauline was up again and back to the bathroom. She dragged the unrecognizable, stinking bedspread back and stuffed it under her bed. Anything was better than letting Joanne see what had happened. She’d be first out of the house in the morning, however ill she felt.
    By the time the sun was up Pauline no longer felt particularly ill. What she did feel was starving, and she had to nick a bottle of milk from the nicely decorated house five doors down to stop the ache in her gut. After this, she distributed her soiled clothes among a few local dustbins. She’d realized on waking that she had to retain her school pinafore dress because there was nothing to replace it. But it was more badly stained than the water from the kitchen tap and a frantic rub could remedy, and she could smell herself even in the weakness of the early sunshine.
    Pauline walked on to school, although it was at least an hourbefore lessons would be starting. To wash the bedspread, she needed money for the launderette. Scavenging about their house before she left had only unearthed a few coppers and two five-pence pieces. The one thing all Brights took care of when they had it was money. It wouldn’t be a problem to shake some down from the littler kids in the playground, she knew. But then, cost aside, she had no idea what happened once you were in a launderette. Pauline didn’t like new environments, where it was likely she’d be disapproved of, if permitted to enter at all. She knew better than to go into a launderette unarmed with any redeeming knowledge of its procedures. Ignorance would make her stink twice as badly as she already did.
    Still groggy, she slumped against one of the school gateposts and dozed in the sunshine. When she woke the gates were open, and other kids were milling through, some accompanied by parents. Pauline could see in their faces how bad she looked and smelled. She glowered back at