-13-

Maggie

The next morning mother, father and I sit around the kitchen table while June plates up cooked breakfasts. The weak autumn rays push through our single glazed windows, obstructed by the swaying branches from the trees in the orchard. The air feels heavy. Nausea writhes in the pit of my stomach at the thought of what I witnessed last night.

How can father just sit there like this? As though nothing happened?

Mother would die if she found out, but how can I conceal it from her?

The weight of it bears down my chest, crushing me.

I throw a daggered look at June, disgust writhing through my veins. While she is preparing breakfast I see her slipping bits of bacon into her mouth, chomping them audibly at first, then seemingly swallowing them down whole. She slurps on her fingers, saliva stringing from her mouth and down onto our plates. Drool coats our bacon and eggs.

My parent don't react. Both of them just sit there, smiling.

"Is nobody going to say anything?" I demand, throwing a pointed glance towards June.

Mother looks at me.

"Whatever do you mean, darling?"

June places three small portions of eggs and bacon before us – bacon fat smeared around her mouth. She grins at me then carefully puts a jug of apple juice in the centre. Father takes it, pouring us all a glass.

"Drink up, princess," he says cheerily, looking at me.

I push the glass away. How can he even speak to me? How can he even look at me after what I saw last night?

"Princess," there's a warning tone to his voice, "Don't disrespect me, young lady. Drink your apple juice."

I look into his face. He looks ill – his eyes black rimmed and the angles of his cheek bones accentuated through his almost transparent skin.

"He's right, darling," says mother, "Drink your apple juice, it's good for you."

She smiles, her eyes unblinking – unseeing. June places a hand on my father's shoulder.

"Very good for you," says the maid, "I made it myself. From the orchard."

"Don't touch him," I snarl.

I knock over the glass, spraying juice all over the table.

I need some air.

I stand and storm out of the kitchen, bursting through the kitchen door into the yard outside.

What is going on here? What is wrong with my family?

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