the condom

i am standing in the doorway of the living-room. i am 14. it is dark outside; the room is lit by table lamps. my father is pointing towards the fireplace. it is a hideous fireplace; portland stone, built by the previous owner. it has a rough stone hearth on which, incongruously, is some bedlinen.

"what do you call that?" he shouts, bright red and shaking. he is pointing at the sheets.

"sheets?" i venture.

"don't you dare take the piss!" he shouts, louder. dealing with this sort of situation is delicate; too lippy and he will lay into me, not assertive enough and i will be considered guilty.

i take a step towards the sheets. then all becomes clear. among them is a condom. it appears to be used. i know it is not anything to do with me. whilst both my sister, who is a year younger than me, and i are both sexually active, i favour bareback riding. i do not indulge in any form of contraception until my 16th birthday, when my step-mum marches me along to the family planning clinic in my school uniform and demands that i am put on the pill. but this is yet to come. so i look at the condom, trying to think of something to say. i know it must be my sister's, or more accurately, her boyfriend's.

we are both going out with soldiers. mine is called alan and hers is called andy, a matching pair. my sister and i share a room and sleep in bunk beds. with the abandon of youth we think nothing of each bedding our respective soldier in our respective bunk. our parents do not know they are in the house. we sneak them in when they are watching telly, and they leave before the house is awake.

my father is still waiting. i realise that the condom must date from the previous weekend. i insist i know nothing about it. i refuse to grass up my sister. she is not subjected to the same inquisition. they assume she is too young to know about condoms. little do they know she is more sensible than me.