Helen was different though. She hadn’t lost it. Whatever she had over me, it hadn’t gone. I still felt shy talking to her, even into my early twen...ies. I always saw her, as much as I tried not to, as incredibly sexy.She was forty now with a husband and that’s why I pitied her. Because of her balding, perpetually angry husband.A kid had never come along. Maybe they were satisfied without but from his temperament and the look of him, I perhaps judgementally guessed that the husband couldn’t. Nice.It was as if I had come home. I had never felt as safe anywhere. Not at the sleazy brothel, not in the 'Wooden Ladle' where I cleaned dishes, nor at the orphanage where the Spanish nun Sister Maria took care of me ... and named me.I doubt I felt as safe in my mother's womb.I was suddenly fearful... 'What is wrong with me... ? This is a demon's chambers, an agent of Satan! And I felt no fear ... just an overpowering feel of ... coming home.'The candles all along the stairway suddenly burst. More

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