Of course she talks at home.
But not all the time? no. What does that mean, all the time? You dont want a child talking all the time, not in the classroom. Surely? It was just a ridiculous question.
Talking was not a problem at all. Helen liked the teacher but she was too quick to judge. This was a new school and a new environment, completely new. Sophie was the only Scottish child in the class. Did it ever occur to them to wonder about that? She was on her own. It was significant for a girl, so so significant, and disappointing about Sophie’s teacher because Helen liked her; she was a down-to-earth woman with a nice London accent; not snobby at all.
It was said about Helen too, people thought she was quiet; even reserved. Reserved! Caroline called her that. What a laugh. As though she was middle class! With her background! Ha ha to that. Really, it was just stupid. People didnt know; just what they made up out of their own brains. Helen had never been quiet. It was only England if she was. People didnt understand her at first but eventually they did because she spoke slowly and changed how she said things. They made fun of her anyway. Not nastily; stagey voices and jokes about kilts and being mean. Mo did it too at times. It wasnt meant to be nasty, and it wasnt. Do they all talk Scotch in Scotland? That was Mo’s jokey question. He knew because he lived there but other English people might have wondered about it, even the teachers. Yes they did speak Scotch. It was not funny, even if some acted like it was.
Everything was so different. If Sophie was not talkative, well of course she wasnt. Who wouldnt have been? My God. It was so understandable. Even the school, Helen had been dreading it on Sophie’s behalf. It had been such a relief to see this one and the children from all different backgrounds.
The girl had suffered during the past months. No question about that. The important thing was she had settled, thank God. She had settled. It seemed like she had. If she didnt they were not staying. Helen had discussed it with Mo. If the wee one didnt settle they would go home; they would pack their bags. Helen would make sure of that. She liked London but would leave immediately. Not to go home to Glasgow, not necessarily.
Helen had never been quiet. If people thought she was; never, and never as a girl. Dad called her the champion chatterbox, she was to get the gold medal. She didnt like him saying it but it was only Dad having fun. Helen did chatter. It was true. Sixteen to the dozen when she was little. Brian was the quiet one, he just looked, he looked and he said nothing. Dad didnt like that. He wanted people to talk.
Neither did Mum talk. Brian took after her. So Helen took after Dad.
Oh God, but it was true. Mum said it so it had to be. Imagine telling that to your daughter. So thoughtless, because of how Mum felt about Dad, did she even like him? No, not very much. Not that Helen ever saw, so thank you Mum, thank you very much.
It would have been funny if it wasnt so sad, sad if it wasnt so funny. Funny peculiar.
Mo was standing in the doorway, head cocked to the side. Hey, why you laughing? Come into the dressing room oh lady of the cards, your daughter needs assistance.
She rose and followed.
There were things Mo couldnt do and discussing clothes with Sophie was one of them. It would be the coat. Two weeks ago Helen bought her a new one but she didnt like it and created a fuss. It had a pattern down one side and some boy laughed. Sophie scrubbed her hand up and down the pattern in an effort to erase it. Helen was expecting another fuss but this morning it seemed not to bother her. Instead she chattered about a girl in her class and a funny funny joke that another boy did, one called Borden whom she had spoken about before — Borden? It sounded like Borden, if that was a name. Anyway, the joke wasnt against her, fingers crossed, and fingers crossed she no longer dreaded it all. Tantrums and tears. If all that had ended. With luck it had. Not so long ago she never would have allowed Mo to take her. It had to be Helen, and it didnt matter she needed a sleep. Even at the school gates my God, the girl wouldnt let go her hand. When she entered the school playground she lost the power of speech altogether. Yes it was a worry, of course it was a worry. So if the teachers couldnt get her to talk, no wonder, the wee soul.
She had been trying. Only she got herself into a state. The teachers could have let her stay with the other children. It would have calmed her. But there was no time no time, people had no time. Helen had to sleep with her phone next to the bed for emergencies. On a number of occasions she had been called to bring her home. A woman from the office was there and thought Sophie was having a fit, an actual fit. Sophie had reached a point beyond screaming. She was shaking, really. The woman called it ‘spasms’. The child was having spasms! Spasms could cause brain damage in small children. Actual brain damage. Didnt Helen know that?
Of course Helen knew that, of course she knew it. Why do people say such stupid things? teachers especially. So like it was Helen’s fault? Is that what she was saying? There must have been spasms in her own family the way she went on about it. It was just absurd. And obviously a criticism. As if Helen wasnt aware of the dangers. She didnt for one minute think spasms were insignificant. How patronising can you get? Because she was Scottish she didnt know how serious it was? Did she even have children of her own? People rushed to criticise.
If it wasnt one thing it was another. Sophie was a great wee girl, so let her be a wee girl. Helen had been worse when she was that age. The Queen of Sheba. That was what Dad called her, comical but not very nice. Dad’s sense of humour. Better than jellybelly.
The outside door lay wide open. Sophie had her coat zipped and Mo was helping her pull up that heavy heavy backpack. Why did they have them so heavy? It weighed like a ton and must have slowed her down walking, six years of age for God sake she didnt need all that, surely.
She was waiting for a kiss. Helen gave her a big cuddle. Oh Sophie, she said.
Mummy are you tired? He said you were sleeping and I wasnt to go in.
I didnt say that! cried Mo.
Yes you did.
I did not.
You did!
Mo winked at Helen. He touched her upper arm. Helen smiled at him. Thanks, she said. She looked at the two of them. I feel like you’re both watching me!
Well we are, said Sophie.
Because we like you, said Mo. Then he turned, reached his hand to Sophie. Hey Miss Goldilocks, you ready?
Dont call me that!
Mo sighed and made an apologetic gesture. Helen frowned at Sophie but in a humorous way. Sophie said: Okay Mummy, and she took Mo’s hand. Away they went. On the first landing she turned to wave.
Helen listened to their footsteps down the stairs, closed the door eventually, walked to the front room window. The sky was the usual heavy clouds, even darker than usual, like a thunder storm, or lightning. Perhaps not, but it would still be clouds, it was always clouds, clouds clouds clouds. They said it was Glasgow but London was bad too, it could be.
Sophie and Mo appeared below, down the short flight of stairs onto the pavement. Immediately they turned and glanced upward to wave to her. Helen waved until they were out of sight, then was crying. She couldnt stop. It was so stupid, she just could not stop, tears flowing my God what was wrong with her she just could not stop. It was only to be seeing them hand in hand and the little girl just walking, and her shoes and coat, but even Mo, he wasnt small although he wasnt tall, and the two of them, it was so beautiful seeing them, and if anything happened, but it wouldnt. She was being silly. Buses and lorries and all traffic, it was normal, everything, except her and her worries and all worrying, constant, just so silly, but that was her, Mrs Silly, that is who she was. It was his place, he knew it inside out. One pub round the corner from his parents’ home he tried never to pass, even in broad daylight, but that was miles away.