Hoh. She’s been mooning about in her nightdress for the past half hour.
Females take longer.
Oh yeh?
We do that, havent you noticed?
There’s a lot I havent noticed. Mo reached to her and held her hand. You are tired.
Mm.
Go to bed.
When you’ve taken her to school.
Helen went to the pantry, lifted out the packet of crispies, a bowl from the cupboard below, the milk from the fridge. Mo had noticed the photographs. I was looking at them earlier, said Helen.
Mo nodded. He watched her prepare the cereal. Cant she do her own? he said.
Be quiet.
She’s past six.
Only just.
Only just is past.
Helen put her finger to her lips to stop him saying more. The kitchen door opened. Sophie walked to her chair, looked at the crispies in the bowl. I wanted Weetabix, she said.
Surprise surprise, murmured Mo.
Helen signalled him to be quiet, lifted a hairbrush as though threatening him. Mo mimicked panic, waving his hands above his head.
Sophie lifted her spoon, unaware this was happening. She studied the spoon. She began eating. While she did so Helen brushed her hair. Mo poured Helen a cup of tea and put a glass of orange juice out for the girl. She drank this swiftly, held out the empty glass.
Champion orange-juice drinker, said Mo.
You just talk all the time, she said.
It’s because I’m a blabber.
Sophie craned forwards to allow Helen to brush the back of her head more easily.
I cant help myself, said Mo.
But if it is all the time?
I got to do it.
Yes but all the time?
All the time you dont eat your breakfast.
Not all the time.
I’m just listening to you two, said Helen.
Oh but Mum he doesnt have to do it all the time, not if it’s talking.
You know Mr Noisy.
I’m not going to listen. Sophie stuck out her tongue at Mo.
I got to do it. It’s like it’s a disease, know what I mean?
No.
Helen finished brushing Sophie’s hair, tapped her on the shoulder.
Maybe they’ll send me to hospital! said Mo.
Helen had taken the loaf of bread from the cupboard, was inserting a slice of bread into the toaster although Sophie had forgotten about it and was getting up from the chair.
Maybe they’ll do an operation on me tongue!
Big blabber, muttered Sophie.
Helen chuckled. Mo had raised his right hand in the air, forefinger extended. Look at you, she said, you’re like a schoolteacher scolding the class.
It is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. What am I? a big blabber! I should start a blabbers’ anonymous. Guys with blabbing problems can all join up. Maybe they’ll pay me a signing-on fee? I never thought of that!
Isn’t he silly? said Helen.
Poo face!
Oh Sophie!
No, said Mo, poo-face blabber, that’s even better! Poo-faced guys with blabbing problems, dribbling down my chin.
You’re just silly, said Sophie.
I wont be silly once I’m a millionaire and everybody is all paying me money and I can go and buy old Totters Football Club.
The very very silliest. Helen said, A real Mr Silly.
I’m only one of the sillies. Silliness runs in my family you know, they came from a little village where everybody is silly. The name of the village is the very word for silly. My grandfather used to say, Oh we are all sillies, every last one of us, that’s why we wound up in London, got on the wrong boat.
Helen chuckled. She saw Sophie looking at her and she winked.
No, it’s true, me old gramps, him and me nan were heading for Toronto, Canada and what happened, yoicks and tally ho, London, England old chap. That’s as true as I’m standing up.
Oh you fibber! Look Sophie, he’s sitting down when he’s saying it!
Sophie smiled, only for a moment, but a smile nevertheless. Mo made a startled face and clutched his throat, croaking: Hoh the smile, the young lady smiles, she smiles, my life is not in vain!
Sophie glanced at Helen with an expression on her face, a certain expression. It was nice seeing her smile, and that expression too, whatever it was. A mixture of amusement and wonder perhaps; puzzlement at the behaviour of adults, in particular the male of the species. The poor girl was glimpsing the future world; encounters with ‘the male animal’. Helen called to her: Shoes Sophie!
Sophie sighed to the ceiling but her mood had shifted and off she went, almost cheerily. Mo could do that. He coped with her; it was so good that he did. Helen passed Mo the extra slice of toast. She wont eat it now.
Mo folded the slice into his mouth immediately.
Mr Hungry, she said but so quietly he either didnt hear or assumed it was not for his ears. He had the toast in his mouth so that it was half in half out when Sophie returned with her shoes in hand.
Helen had lifted her tea-cup and sat down for a moment; she signalled Sophie to hurry. Sophie sighed. Because she already was hurrying. Helen could see that she was and now she returned to the front room. In the huff or not? Helen was unsure. Mo winked, followed the girl from the kitchen.
But it was the two of them. If Mo coped with Sophie Sophie coped with him. First thing in the morning that was not easy. Mo and his jokes. Helen wouldnt have blamed her. Nothing against ‘jokes’ but there is a time and a place. People arent always capable of smiling, wearisome having to try. Perpetual smiles. Smile, smile, why dont you smile? That was it with some folk. Why do they do it? Not just men. Who wanted to smile all the time? Not all the time: cheer up, what’s wrong with your face, give us a smile. So irritating. The same in work with some of the punters, like it was their job to make the dealers laugh, cracking jokes all the time and getting her to smile. Just shut up and play the cards. That was what she did, or tried to.
That was her with him too, her ex, what a pain it was being the audience, him and his stupid wee jokes. She even found him amusing, in the beginning. Talk about sad cases, that was her.
She did though. Imagine. What a confession! My God! Oh well. And it was childishness pure and simple, like in the classroom at school when a boy did it and you were supposed to look at how wonderful he was. It was him was the joke, a complete joke, showing off like a wee boy.
Mo was so different, he really was. He was funny for one thing. Genuinely funny. Sophie thought so too and she wasnt easy pleased.
At least she made the effort. Some children wouldnt. It showed she was learning. It should never be underestimated how difficult things had been for her. Mo said she was a woman already but she wasnt. Six years of age my God. Although he didnt mean it seriously, not literally; she was only a girl, and a little girl at that; a month ago she was like everywhere, legs everywhere, skirt round her neck, jumping up on Mo, and he had to not see. It was him that told her about that. And she listened. She did, she really did. The boys would laugh at her if she didnt sit properly. She had to sit properly and not jump up like that because they would see up her skirt. Boys did that. Thank God he told her. If she listened. She seemed to. It hadnt occurred to Helen until he said it. But of course they would laugh at her. Of course they would make her life a misery. Boys did that; they could do, they could be so so cruel. To them she was a girl, so fair game, girls and boys, a wee girl but a girl; she was. But that is all she was. Why would anyone ever think anything else, my God! Surely no one would ever ever, ever think anything else?
Or harm them. How could anyone ever harm a child? an innocent little child.
Mo would have made a wonderful teacher. He was so very patient. Patience was needed with children. Mo had it. Because he liked them. That was the difference. And Sophie could be difficult, there was no denying that. Things had been tough, very very tough. So no wonder about ‘lacks enthusiasm’. What a horrible comment, ‘lacks enthusiasm’. Sophie lacks enthusiasm. Her teacher said it. Does she talk at home?