A cat was miaowing. It sounded like a baby. This one miaowed constantly. Its owner must have locked it in then went to work. Quite heartless really. There were a few animals in the neighbourhood. Mainly it was cats. Helen wasnt fond of cats. Sophie liked them but Sophie was a girl and girls liked all pets. And foxes! Not just foxes, in Glasgow you saw deer. Cafés sold venison and chips. It was said as a joke but you could imagine people killing them, baby deer. Teenage boys would do it for a laugh.
Oh well. She would fall into bed, to lie down and sleep for a month, that would have been nice, the Sleeping Beauty.
Mo had cold feet.
So then she would waken up, so she couldnt be a Sleeping Beauty.
A man and woman came round the corner. It should have been Mo. If he knew she was waiting, he knew she was waiting, just because she worried, she did worry but why did she? So foolish, like so so foolish. Foolish behaviour. Because she was foolish. Little Miss Foolish
and silly, so silly. Mo visited an old man who worked in a wee shop. He sat about or else shifted boxes and things. He looked like nothing but was a respected man in the community. If you saw him you wouldnt think anything. He wore an old-fashioned jacket, his shirt buttoned to the top without a tie. He had a white beard, straggly too and wore a certain hat with a pattern, not a turban, just like a round little tub. It didnt matter that he worked in a shop because a wise man is without power. In the Muslim religion people didnt have to be wealthy folk in great careers. The best man with the best intellect in the community might be a ‘shit shoveller’, he was the one who knew the old stories and all how things were, what was the right way and what was the wrong way. Mo said that. And what the old man said about Glasgow, like how he used to live there and it was backward, that was his word, ‘backward’, Glasgow was backward, meaning the local community, meaning Asian community. They suffered things they shouldnt, because they didnt want trouble. Things happened to them and they didnt report it to the police. The old man said that. If it was true. But you would believe him. Mo did. People punched a baby. Imagine that. The baby was in a pram. A man came along and punched it, a baby, like a man punching a baby. That must mean something. Unless if he was ill in the head. How could a man punch a baby? He must have been ill. That was Glasgow. But why not London? It could be real thugs and they attacked you. And if it was like knives, that was what Mo didnt consider, gangs used knives and bats, they smashed people with bats. They beat them up. Gangs did that. Thugs. They did it to children too. Nothing mattered to them.
Although he should have texted. Why didnt he? Because if she was in bed. He would have thought she was. She could have texted him. Except she was checking on him, he would think that, and she wasnt. Anyway her phone, she needed a top-up. But it was nothing to do with trust. She only worried. He was a flirt but that was all. It made Helen smile. Even the first time they met. Middlesexy; I was born in Middlesex; I am of the Middlesex breed. Male sex, same sex, trans sex. Any sex. You are a member of the female sex. I am Middlesexy.
But it was true, women liked him. He was a nice man. She was so so lucky. She felt that, strongly, she did, she did and she was, except foolish, foolish foolish Mrs Foolish that was her. She had expected him home by this time. So he must have stopped off.
But he was good at meeting people. Helen was hopeless. She hadnt always been hopeless. Oh God, God.
She hadnt though, she used to have friends. Nowadays she didnt get the chance. Anyway, who would look after Sophie?
Imagine a mother not babysitting. That was Mum. She would if asked but always had to be. Each and every time. She never offered, never ever offered. Imagine that, like never. Oh well. Self-reliance, Helen was good at that, she had to be with him, her ex. The complete opposite of Mo.
Thank God.
South London too. It was real life. So different to the West End, just so different. The casino wasnt reality. They didnt know what reality was.
Obviously he was talking to people and hearing the gossip. In his community everybody gossips, everybody bitches, everybody knows your business. If he wasnt home in five minutes she would go to bed.
She rose from the chair by the front room window. Her woollen socks and a hot-water bottle.
The door into Sophie’s wee place. Oh well, she would make it later, the bed. In the kitchen she filled a kettle and put it to boil. Otherwise she would never sleep. Cold feet must have run in the family. What a trait. For some it is genius or musical instruments, hers had cold feet, it was ludicrous. Her entire family, if it wasnt so sad.
She listened to the water heat, elbow resting on the kitchen counter. Hot-water bottles were old-fashioned but they stood the test of time and she needed to sleep. Concentration. You worked on automatic pilot as a dealer but only to a point. If you made mistakes, too many.
She filled the rubber bottle and tiptoed through to bed, so so tired, and shivery, like just shivery and shivering beneath the duvet. Whyever did she wait so long? mad mad mad, that was her, mad, madness in the family. Snuggling into a small bundle, small as she could be, that was just making herself into it oh my God also because she was so so tired, oh she was, she was; exhausted, physically, and drained, so so unfair, just unfair, because she worked so damn hard, mental exhaustion too. If she was uncomfortable, from her side onto her back, her feet so cold, even in woolly socks my God she could not get warm, and dozing, she managed to doze then was not, and with Brian and the other one crossing the road — if it was Brian, and it was — and staring in at her, him with the limp, no, she didnt like him, it was a funny way to walk, just weird, why did he walk that way? it was strange but it was not her fault why they were staring at her, she had done nothing, she was just in the taxi and not doing a thing to anyone, nothing at all, she would not do anything to anybody, whyever they would think such a thing? they were wrong and should not have stared at her if Jill and Caroline were there too, it was so unfair, so so unfair, sitting beside her, unless if they were hiding, people hide, oh they hide, why do they hide
She had been sleeping and was awakened by draughts. He was causing draughts. He was under the sheet. She moved closer into him but where were his legs? They were off the bed, angled off; his legs drooped over the side. This was the draughts. She raised herself to see down at his feet; he had his socks on. His eyes were open. Why have you got your socks on? she said.
Mo chuckled.
And his tee-shirt and jogging trousers. He was wearing it all. His arm pushed under her head, the back of her neck; she raised her head to allow his arm below. What are you doing? she said.
Hey now you sound rough.
Mo had whispered and it was a lovely whisper. He was moving her head, onto his chest. Lifting her head. Oh God, breathing. Her left hand lay on his waist, her right between their thighs, his skin cool. What time is it? she said.
Never you mind.
Mo.
Quarter to two.
Oh God.
Dont worry.
Helen found the hot bottle, reached over the edge of the bed to lay it onto the floor. Mo clasped her left foot.
You got warm feet, can I have your socks?
He was laughing at her.
I dont know what you think, she said, like you can just come in here.
Heh heh.