27

Ten cadets are hired by the national newspaper The Antipodean because apparently, they want new blood. When Louisa realises she’s the only girl, she tells herself it’s no great sign of anything. Must have needed one and I showed up, she thinks, but still, there’s a creeping sense of unease.

Louisa’s first sin as a journalist is that she’s inclined to be slow on the uptake and her second is paralysing shyness, two big disadvantages. Hiding both brings certain challenges. On a tour of where they will work, she’s startled by the typewriter that will be hers. Oh dear, she thinks recoiling, never reckoned on typing, but at least the shyness keeps her quiet.

And being the only girl in the office puts her into an uncomfortable place. If she stretches her arms out above her head, men dart looks at her. If she stands up to get copy paper, their magnet eyes follow.

At first she thinks they must be bored, or maybe they’re kind and they want to help. It takes a while for her to see that to men she’s just ripe fruit, and to realise that the men watch all women with the same ardent intent. The secretaries know all about it.

Even men with families do it but they look at her sadly, as if remembering something. Louisa, never slow to rile where men are concerned, would really like to kill them. These men who are never satisfied, they have their lives, so what’s she got to do with them? And what’s with all the perving? Apart from the hang-dog looks, there’s something about them that reminds her of Emmett, but maybe it’s just their evident seeping dissatisfaction with their lives. Does he look at women like this? She finds the answer without strenuous research and recalls that, yeah, Emmett always did have trouble with women.

It became apparent to her when she was about twelve. He called her into his room. She’d heard his voice down the tunnel of the passageway and been shocked that he would call her.

Though she felt guilty that she must have done something wrong and now would be found out, she went straight towards the door anyway like the condemned. She knocked on it. Opened it to a surly ‘enter’.

The big desk stretched before him and the blinds cut into the hot light pouring through the window and though Louisa was subdued, a steady tremor ran through her and she held her hands behind her back to still them. Her bowels felt loose, her mouth was a desert and the dizziness was there yet again.

‘I’ve called you in here, young Louisa,’ her father began, leaning back on the chair until it cracked and strained before he snapped it back up, ‘to tell you something important. Are you ready to hear something important?’ His voice lifted with every word.

‘Yes Dad,’ she said, her heart sinking.

‘This thing I have to tell you is about...’ and he leaned towards her as if he might whisper or bite but decided instead to shout, ‘...BLOOD.’ At the word, she flinched and her skin prickled. He paused and drank some beer to settle himself and then he launched into it again.

‘The fact is that pretty soon you will find that there is blood coming from between your legs. You are already twelve or so. Each time it comes it won’t last for long but, and remember this, Louisa, this is nothing to worry about. Do you hear me?’ His megaphone voice hummed through her.

Louisa was looking hard at the floor. Possibly he was trying to comfort her, but why was he talking about such a thing? She tried to block him out. What had she done to deserve this? He drained his last inch of beer and continued. ‘All women have it. Some make a great big deal about it. But YOU will not do that.

‘Some women spend their lives whingeing about such things. That’s all they do. They are nothing more than bitches. They seem to like to make people unhappy,’ he said with a kind of sad bitterness, leaning back again on the creaking chair into the stale, stinking bedroom.

‘But that’s another matter. The blood, well, that just means you’re growing up. And sadly Lou, we all have to do that. So just to recap: blood – when it shows up, don’t panic. Now, off you go.’

Like a zombie, Louisa reached for the door handle but knew it would be a mistake not to show appreciation. ‘Thanks Dad,’ she mumbled in a small voice.

‘My pleasure. Anytime. Shut the door. Properly.’