Lisa Heathfield - Seed

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Electric Monkey,

an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2015 Lisa Heathfield

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2015

ISBN 978 1 4052 7538 5

eISBN 978 1 7803 1674 1

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties.

Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For my beautiful, brave Mama,

watching from the moon.

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Text copyright © 2015 Lisa Heathfield The moral rights of the author have been asserted First e-book edition 2015 ISBN 978 1 4052 7538 5 eISBN 978 1 7803 1674 1 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication For my beautiful, brave Mama, watching from the moon.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

Here, crouched beside the toilet, I’m terrified I’m dying. My stomach must be bleeding, or my liver, or my kidneys. Something inside me has somehow got cut. Spots of blood smear my underwear. I wipe myself with toilet paper and there’s more blood. Am I being punished for something I have said or done?

‘Elizabeth!’ I shout, running from the coffin-small room. ‘Elizabeth!’

I run from room to room. Kindred Smith is mending a bed in one. Rachel sweeps in another. The children play in the day room.

‘ Elizabeth! ’

I wonder if the bleeding is worse. I look behind, but there are no drops of red following me along the wooden floorboards. I rattle the doors of the rooms that are locked. Elizabeth is not in the dining room, but in the kitchen she is coming through the back door, her rain-drenched dress clinging to her pregnant belly.

‘What is it, Pearl?’ she asks, putting down a bag of muddied potatoes. ‘Is someone hurt?’

I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to tell her that I’m dying. Will the shock damage the tiny baby in her tummy?

‘Pearl?’ She stands, looking at me, and I see the worry in her eyes.

‘My stomach is bleeding,’ I whisper.

‘Where? How?’ Elizabeth steps back, looks at my top. ‘Did you cut yourself in the field?’

‘Inside. It’s bleeding inside me.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asks. I’ve never seen someone turn so pale in the time it takes for me to take a breath.

‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth,’ I say. And I can’t stop the tears. Because I don’t want to die. I want to meet her baby. I want more days swimming in the lake. I want more days dancing in the rain.

Then Elizabeth’s face changes and she starts to smile. ‘Why do you think your stomach is bleeding?’

Why is she happy that I might soon die?

‘Is there blood in your underwear?’

As I nod my head, she laughs and wraps her arms around me. I feel the bump of her baby under her skin. It presses against me. Against my stomach, which is bleeding inside.

Elizabeth steps back and I see that she’s crying. So I’m right – I am dying.

She kisses her thumb, presses it to her belly and then puts it onto my forehead, onto my chest and then onto my own stomach.

‘Are you trying to heal me?’ I whisper. And she smiles.

‘You don’t need healing. You’re not dying, Pearl. You are fifteen years old and you’re changing from a child to a woman.’

Then she’s hugging me again, and her words slowly sink in. So this is what I’ve been waiting for? A bleeding stomach?

I look at Elizabeth, but she doesn’t seem like she’s mocking me.

‘Come on,’ she says, and she takes my hand.

In the bedroom, she changes my underwear, takes away my old ones which are now heavily lined with a muddy red. I concentrate on the faded yellow wallpaper as she fills my new underwear with a thick, woven slab that makes me waddle like a duck.

‘You’ll get used to it.’ She smiles at me so warmly. ‘Now, not a word,’ she says and I follow her out onto the landing. I focus on her long blonde hair as we go down the stairs to the kitchen. In silence, she reaches for the lantern and matches on the shelf, and then we walk out the back door.

I’d forgotten it was raining and it hits down on us hard, soaking us within seconds. I hear nothing but its drumming on the ground as Elizabeth takes my hand again. She leads me through the herb garden with its high brick walls, where the smells have almost been washed away. She opens the rickety door at the other end and we’re walking through the strawberry field. The plants are heavy with red fruit.

I feel the slab of linen rubbing my legs as I walk. I imagine the blood dripping onto it. Will I bleed forever now? Will I never be able to walk or run freely again?

I stumble after Elizabeth, confused about wanting to cry when I have waited so long to be a woman. In the distance, I see the figures in the vegetable patch, where I was less than an hour ago, when I was still a child. I see the shape of Heather, her long brown hair stuck with rain down her back. Then I remember. I’ll be able to grow my hair. Finally, after all these years of waiting, I’ll be able to let my blonde hair grow. I’ll look like Elizabeth, with it flowing over my shoulders and down to my waist.