Helen reached to place her hand on the girl’s wrist. Dont do it like that, she said, you’ll bend them.
It was only to see this one, said Sophie.
Helen sighed. The girl was pointing to one with Helen and Brian, the same one Helen had been looking at earlier.
It wasnt strange; not really. Helen had been roughly the same age as the girl when it was taken. That’s my big brother, she said.
Your big brother?
Yes! Helen chuckled.
Oh Mummy!
Do you like him?
Yes, said Sophie.
I showed it to you before.
No you didnt.
I did. You just dont remember.
Sophie grinned. You’re holding hands, he’s your boyfriend.
Cheeky.
You are! Sophie gripped the photograph, holding it more closely to her eyes.
Careful, said Helen.
But I just want to see.
Well you wont if you hold it too near.
You’re holding hands.
Of course, he’s my big brother.
Helen and Sophie continued to study the photograph. Helen was holding Brian’s hand but he was holding hers too, you could see it, he was as self-conscious as ever but at the same time he looked pleased. They both did; it was in their smile that they were pleased with each other, and so pleased to be holding hands. This is what was nice.
Yet they never would have done it had they not been forced. Boys dont like holding hands and look for any excuse not to. Although fourteen years of age, Brian was fourteen years of age when this one was taken so he was not a child.
But girls dont like it either. They wont hold hands with boys at all unless they have to. But if they have to. If they have to they enjoy it, if the boys dont laugh, if they dont make a fool of you. If they dont. But some boys enjoy it, if they are forced to do it, they do it then, and they enjoy it, even if they pretend not to. Girls are the same.
My God she looked so happy in the photograph! Brian too. At least he seemed to be. Who took it? Dad? You wouldnt have expected it to be. But it must have been. Because who else? Mum didnt take photographs. Dad must have taken it.
Why do people not take photographs? Mum pretended she didnt know how to. It was nonsense. Mum was sharp, the sharpest; sharper than Dad. Why do women not do things? Because they arent allowed, it isnt encouraged; the same with her ex who did everything. He didnt want her to do anything. She used to like it and think he was a gentleman but he was just a control freak. Perhaps that was Dad. Although Mum was strong, very, she was. Helen was not; not with her ex. Although she was with Dad. Mum said that anyway, twisted him round her wee finger. Mum said that was how Helen had him, twisted round her finger. Not a nice thing to say about a child. They arent adults and shouldnt be treated as such. If Mum was critical then it should have been to a child she was critical but not like the child was an adult.
Sophie was speaking. Helen didnt answer. Sophie waited, then said: Is this you?
Pardon? Helen squinted at the photograph. It was the same one. What was she talking about? Of course it’s me, she said, as well you know.
I thought it was another girl.
Oh did you!
Mummy I’m honest, that’s honest. It is! Sophie pointed again: Who is he?
But you know who he is he’s your Uncle Brian, he’s my big brother.
Sophie frowned, slightly baffled. My Uncle Brian?
Yes, your uncle, my brother.
My God!
You’ve not to say my God.
But he’s your big brother?
Of course. So he is your uncle. Your Uncle Brian is my brother Brian. My brother is your uncle.
Sophie was watching her.
He is your uncle because you are my wee girl and I’m your mum.
Sophie frowned. I wish I had a big brother.
But I told you before who he was.
But Mum what is his name?
Helen looked at her. I’ve just told you his name for goodness sake his name is Brian!
Could he be my big brother?
What a question. But she seemed in earnest. He is your Uncle Brian, said Helen, wagging her right forefinger. And he is my brother Brian. He cannot be your brother because he is mine, so dont be so smart, you cant have him as a brother if he is mine!
Sophie grinned. They each took a corner edge of the photograph, peering closely, but Sophie gripped her edge tightly; almost clinging onto it and making it bend yet again for goodness sake Sophie!
She let go the photograph at once, lifted another from the pile. Helen stared at her but the girl didnt react. So that was it again. And she wouldnt apologise either. She never did. Not unless forced. It was aggravating. You felt like smacking her and how could you? you couldnt, it was horrible. The very fact it crossed your mind was horrible. One of the nursery women used to smack the children’s wrists. The parents turned a blind eye or like pretended there was nothing wrong. It was mainly boys she did it to. If it had happened to Sophie Helen would have complained.
Of course he was the biggest child of all. He never apologised, not for anything. If Sophie had inherited her father’s way of acting, that would have been the absolute worst. Surely bad behaviour was not genetic? It had to be learned from other people; not passed between the generations. My God, it was so unfair if it was. Imagine a child having to go through life under that burden. It made you wonder about childish behaviour in adults, if it was genetic. Her ex in one corner, her mum in the other. Everybody else having to put up with it.
Helen looked again at the photograph of herself and Brian. It was quite special. She hadnt realised that before. It was really quite in a way wonderful. It was! A record of childhood. Yes they were pleased, with themselves, pleased with each other. It was not smug. It was because really they so liked each other. They did and it was there how they held hands together. A brother and sister. Brian’s love for her. You could see it. Just like how Helen the girl trusted him, my God she did, it was so true: he was her big brother. It was in that sense of trust, how you trust someone in your own family, a male, you trust him, she trusted him.
That wasnt Brian at the traffic lights, with the big beard and all dirty looking. Brian was never dirty looking he was lovely, a lovely boy. He was. It was not silly saying so, a beautiful lovely brother. People would think it silly but it wasnt. She didnt care anyway what they thought. Why should she? People say what they like and think what they like, and always will. It didnt matter about her or anybody else, they said what they wanted to say and thought whatever they wanted. Nobody would stop them from that. That was life; real life; not fantasy. Helen sighed. Sophie was tugging at her coat. Oh Mum see this one! Mum, see this one?
What?
Who is this?
No.
Sophie continued the tugging.
Sophie!
But who is it?
I dont know because I’m not looking. Helen held onto the other, and the question who took it? who took the photograph? Dad. Twenty-five years ago. It must have been, my God — Sophie, stop pulling my sleeve!
But Mummy!
No.
Oh but
No, there’s no time, you have to get ready. Come on. Oh my God look at the clock, you should have your clothes on by now! Hurry up! Hurry up hurry up! Helen sprang from the chair and chased the girl across the floor, spanking her on the bottom when in striking distance, the pair of them laughed their way out the kitchen.
Mo was in the bathroom, side on to the door. The space was so cramped there was hardly room for a washhand basin never mind the shower but there it was and so snug the way the man had fitted it; such a pleasure. Less than a month in the flat and Mo had arranged for a shower unit to be fitted. She didnt think he would have been able to get anybody but he had; and he did wee bits to help the man. He was good at do-it-yourself, even if she laughed at him and was critical too, he was good at it.