A Good Man

Havermouth, Present Time

Meguitte lay on her side of the table staring up at the ceiling. The walls between the offices were thin, and the ceiling the suspended foam tile type, the combination of which mean that it seemed that every moan and groan was amplified in their room.

She had grown up in a single room hut, where her mother’s bed had been separated by a curtain, and her own bed had been a blanket and cushion before the fireplace. She had never known her father, he had gone before she was old enough to form memories. Died, her mother had officially said, but Meguitte had always suspected that her mother had not known who had sired Meguitte, or had not been married to him, as her mother had always supplemented the income from her midwifery by servicing the husbands of her patients.

Men’s bodies had never been unfamiliar to Meguitte as a result as the men who came made no effort to hide their bodies as they dressed to leave. In fact, more than a few had tried to hire Meguitte rath