Oh God, but it was true.
The rain was heavy, it was. Had he even taken the umbrella? At least he carried one, unlike her ex who was too macho, so he got soaked, ha ha. Sophie carried a wee one in her schoolbag which was just as well because she would not wear a hat. Put one on and she pulled it off. Even if it was raining. Some silliness to do with a girl in her class. Surely she didnt want her hair getting wet? Mo suggested pinning her hat to her coat collar. Imagine. So if the pin got loose and jammed there, the point sticking out beneath her chin, right at her neck. What if it did and she fell and the point sticking up oh God it was just so dangerous. It really was. You couldnt believe he would suggest such a thing. Trust a man, just so stupid. And like really thoughtless, it was.
She wouldnt sleep now.
Oh well, the television. The remote lay within reach. She pressed the power button, then the mute-setting on the volume-control. She didnt want people’s voices, that was the last thing.
Before the screen image appeared she pulled the sheet and duvet up to her chin, closed her eyes. Eventually she looked at the screen then pressed the guide-setting for the listed programmes. The one about house-decor improvements was watchable. She quite liked being able to see things for when she got a house, if ever she did. She used to think so; perhaps she wouldnt. Mo called it window-shopping. That was what these programmes were, virtual walking down the virtual High Street. But what was wrong with that? At least it was something. If you didnt have any money it kept you going, even to see the things, and if you ever did get the money, if you got enough, you could go and buy something. Then too you got basic tips for do-it-yourself and that was good for painting and decorating. Helen liked all that and if they did get a place she wanted to do it herself. In his situation Mo should have appreciated that. When would he ever have money? He didnt even go in for the lottery.
Anyway, a cup of tea.
That was cheery. But it was true, she needed a cup desperately. If not disaster. Leastways a fainting fit. Helen smiled, but her eyes blinked shut. And a Nurofen.
She got out of bed and dressed.
At six years of age Helen had helped her mother. As far as she remembered. She thought she had; she used to pick things up and put them in drawers. Sophie didnt, she didnt pick up anything.
It was too early to collect her from school, so wherever Mo had gone it was someplace else. That happened after sex; he bounced about and had to do something, go and visit people. He used to play five-a-side football. Not now. She wished he would, it was just like ordinary. Other men slept, not Mo. But he had to be at the school for three ten on the dot, on the dot. As long as he remembered that. Helen would text him. Except she needed a top-up. Anyway, he would remember, he was good at remembering. Really, he was a responsible guy. If you forgot the doritos. Me doreeetos, I needs me doreeetos! Cheese and doritos, tomatos and doritos. Everything was like doritos. Doner doritos, everything. He took them in his cornflakes and made it fun. Sophie didnt know whether to laugh or not when she saw him, glancing to Helen for guidance. When Helen laughed Sophie nearly choked on her own, and when he poured in the milk and mixed it all in oh God it was like hysterical, just so so funny. He was such a fool! He truly was. A born comedian. He could have been on television, without any doubts.
The bag of doritos was on the kitchen-counter. Helen was nibbling another. They were full of fat and salt and sugar and all the ‘gluegomerates’ as he called them, I needs me gluegomerates. She closed the bag and put it away in the cupboard, the salsa into the fridge, then filled the kettle.
Unleavened bread was good for diets but not so tasty, not for a sandwich; toast and cheese was what she felt like but was avoiding. Mo ate dried fruit in handfuls. She should have. It was a habit to acquire. One mouthful of chocolate. She was not going to because one is two; one is always two.
Life
It was a sigh. She did sigh. She sighed and didnt know she was sighing. Sophie’s head would have turned, What’s wrong Mummy? She always noticed; so so perceptive, the slightest sigh. Helen couldnt stop herself. Who could? You didnt know you were doing it until then you were, you heard yourself.
Green tea. There was an online site Helen visited which gave good information and green tea was one. It was will and commitment. You cant feed the horse if it doesnt take the food, you lead it to the well but if it doesnt drink. Good habits to acquire.
She would have a proper meal later, her and Sophie, after Mo had gone to work and before Azizah arrived. Although the ironing, she had a pile of ironing, oh God. In Glasgow they might have popped up to see Mum, even for half an hour. There were times she couldnt stay home, if you called this home, although it was. She just needed to get out. Her head was full. She needed to talk. There was nobody. Sad but true. Unless if she phoned Ann Marie. A proper phone call and just talk, and it didnt matter to Glasgow, just whatever, and not having to hide things. She wasnt hiding things. What things? Only her head, she needed to get out her head.
Jill too was somebody, she could be a friend. She already was a friend but a workfriend and there were boundaries with ‘workfriends’. Helen discovered this a while ago. During the bad periods with the ex it was like who to turn to? Who was there? It was her own fault. She had moved away from friends, mentally, physically and felt like she was losing touch, just losing touch, if ever she would make another friend. A real friend: people had friends. Real friends, like who were there for you, if you were in trouble, even for advice, only to ask something, just a question, if they felt something rather than another thing, so you could just ask them, for advice, like what would they do my God if it was their brother and he was there and it truly was. She didnt even know if it was. It could be. Perhaps not.
My God, ridiculous, she was.
Only life was changing. Not just for her. Everywhere you looked, there was a hardness. People were tough. If ever it got too much at the casino she would leave. There was a link between it and the outside world; things that happened there. She didnt need Mo to tell her. If you saw the young men. She saw them all the time. What did tenderness even mean? They wouldnt know. None of them. Somebody like Brian, they would think nothing of him: he was just nothing; that is what they would think. Only the strong counted. They were admired and emulated. If anybody showed weakness they stamped on him. Hurt or be hurt. That was poker too, my God. Helen saw them in the tournaments, so cool with their sunglasses and cowboy hats and like the way they acted, filmstars or something. All watching one other. Pretending not to but they were. Such show-offs. I am the toughest look at me. Little boys. Some of the dealers joked with them. Some of them were the same. There was a foolishness about it all. It was like they had their own wee pretend world. Where did they get their money? It didnt matter. They saw nothing without it. Everything depended on having it. Without it there was nothing. They saw nothing. But that was society. It was forced on you and you had to live. It didnt matter if you thought something else you still had to live. There were men Mo knew were ‘good’, meaning virtuous but it was the same for them, they too had to live. How did they do it? People had to.
Mr Adams was not ‘good’. Helen would never have said he was. Even he was crooked, he might have been. Although if it was business. Crooks and businessmen. But he was the strongest, not meaning physical — far from it. Although he might have been.