n Her mother-in-law, the midwife, had promised her that,nafter the first three, leastways it would be wonderful easy this time around,nlike shelling peas she said, but now that her belly had begun to bloat, nownthat she had started spitting up that thin, bitter bile-water early in thenmornings again, now that the ache in her ankles was back to bite her as shenpuddled about, and now that her already short temper was growing even shorternby the day, she knew now that the lying old bitch was lying to her again.
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nShencursed her for her lying, she cursed that feckless runagate streak she called anson for lying to her, with his silvery words, his golden tongue and his brassnpromises, and most of all she cursed herself for falling for them easy, emptynlies again. She cursed the stupid, boss-eyed bitch they’d sent to help her grubnout the last of these stupid, worm-riddled turnips, what with her stupid lispnand her stupid whistling. She cursed her own aching back, her fruz fingers andnthis stupid, stupid, unwanted brat. She hoicked her mire-spattered round-frocknabout her knees, swung herself to one side and planted her otherside,ncack-caked clog half a yard to the left.
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nA rabbit erupted from the sod, itsnscut bobbing in the half-light, she hadn’t seen it cowering in the turf and shencursed the fright it gave her. If only she’d seen it first, she’d have brainednthe thing and there’d have been spoon-meat in the pot tonight. The boss-eyednbitch snorted and spluttered, hawking out what might have been a laugh, andndropped her sack of swedes, spilling them in the mud. Mary skewered thenspawny-eyed silly with a gimlet glare for a second, spat a satisfying green gobnat her and turned back to the clung red clay. Stupid damn rabbit.
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nShe flinchednas the gormless bitch plucked at her arm, spun and faced her, a curse forming in her mouth when she saw thenpointing finger. There. There in the hedge. Under an elder. Another rabbitnquaked, twitching and shivering, tight as a fist, hiding in brambles. Slowly,nshe drew the hefty turnip from her trug, weighing it with a poacher’s pull asnshe raised her weary arm back. Aim and weigh, slow, slowly, without blinking ornbreathing, she hefted it, arcing it toward the brown buck’s back.
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nIt sprang,nrising and jinking and kinking like a trout on a line, barrelling toward her, quirking afirstnthen, at once, a wild thing screeching like a teething brat. She’d been told oncenthat rabbits could scream but she’d never heard one do it before. The banshee boltednaright at her and then, in a blinking, it was gone, gone as quickly as hernbloom, her figure and her dreams. Too frightened to think, it had panicked andnnow it was her turn to gasp and shiver, cold with sweat, trembling with fear,nwondering why. Stupid, stupid rabbit. And deep inside her belly, she felt ankick.
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nTomorrow – The True Tale of Mary Toft