It was true that she hadnt met his parents but he didnt have to worry, she was not bothered, not really, only about what she had, and she only wanted what she had. She wasnt looking for anything else, only for Sophie and things with her ex, if it all could be resolved properly about access matters and whatnot, everything, please God if it could be, that was all, nothing more, she was not being greedy or too wishful in her thinking, surely not, only if things would go as they were going. She didnt need to meet anybody, parents or like anybody. Really, she didnt care. A side of her was glad not to. Especially for Sophie. How she would cope with all the new people. It would be so like strange, a new family and a different family. But that was human beings; they were all different, all strange. Her and Mo. Who would have guessed about them? Nobody at all. Not like when it happened back in Glasgow, who could have guessed about that? Nobody.
It was also the sarcasm with men. So much of how they communicated was sarcasm-based. Not only did they do it to women, they did it to themselves. Mo didnt mean it but he was sharp, occasionally too sharp. Some of the comments he made, sometimes you wondered. He was a Londoner and used to speaking in certain ways but Glasgow was different; you had to be careful. Helen had worried about him there.
All the lives. People’s lives. The ones you were glad to see the back of. It was good when they vanished. Away to annoy somebody else. You never knew who was at your table. And if they were looking at you. Creeps. They didnt care if you saw them. Some did and some didnt. Other ones only looked when you didnt. They didnt seem to be looking but they were and you knew they were, and it gave you the creeps how with their eyes on you and that was that, and how could you hide? you couldnt, unless a duvet cover from your chin down because even your neck, hanging down from your neck, the bumps would show, so it had to be from your chin, if it was hanging down to really hide them. Girls had their boobs taped to flatten them down. Fathers did that. Where did they do it? Some country. Then their feet, they taped the girls’ feet so tightly the bones broke and that was them. What a thing. A horror. Feet. What was feet?
People were living in nightmares. You were exposed. That is how Helen felt. And if there were two of them staring at you, if they were together doing it, with their little smiles all the time, wanting you to see it. Men did that. They came to your table on purpose. Not just hers. But Helen could tell when they did, how they sat down and the little looks to each other. Then if they waited on till she finished her shift, not taking no for an answer, there they were on the pavement. My God! What did they think? That she would go with them! People are mad. Men are. Any woman in her right mind, none would ever, not in their right mind, never ever, not with any of them. Mr Adams was different. She chose him. He chose her but she chose him. He hadnt chosen anyone else. It was something to smile about. Why not? If it was true and it was. She was the one he chose. That is the true fact. Imagine Mum. If she had only known. The very idea. She wouldnt believe it, except it was the truth. Mum didnt rate her; not as a person. She made that plain often enough. Why deny it? Mum didnt rate her. Imagine that, a mother. So unfair, so very very unfair. A child is innocent. Why was Helen being blamed? What had she ever done? Children are innocent. Adults have a responsibility.
My God and it was even like she had extended it to Sophie. Okay if it was to Helen, her own daughter, then so be it, so be it, but not to the daughter’s daughter, that horrible negativity, it was so unfair. The lack of interest, that is what it was, Mum turning her head. Helen saw her do it. Sophie was crying and Mum turned her head away, like just turned her head away. Turning away from a child.
Although Sophie’s behaviour, sometimes, it was difficult; back then it was and no wonder, the wee soul. Complete turmoil. So no wonder she had the screaming fits, worse than tantrums. Poor Mo when it happened to him, people looking and seeing. It pierced him. Like a knife going in. Them all looking like he was a murderer or a paedophile. Him being Asian was so much the worse.
Then something from Mo the way he was looking, almost saying something but stopping himself, meaning molested. If anything had ever happened to Sophie. He wondered about it but not in so many words. Just come out and say it. Helen would have preferred if he had. Because never. Never never. Never never could that have happened and it was surprising Mo could ever think it, so so surprising, honestly astonishing, like how could he ever? That was ‘piercing like a knife’ but the knife was into Helen. Her own child my God. Nothing had happened to Sophie. Nothing ever would. Helen would die, she would die, nothing ever
Nothing ever could. If anything ever could, it would never. Nothing ever would.
Helen looked to the clock.
It seemed ages since he had gone to collect her. Occasionally they walked a different route home. Sophie liked to see things and Mo enjoyed pointing them out. The screaming stage had passed. He carried his ID anyway. In case somebody called the cops. Paki bastard. Going to sell her to the slave-trade you cunt, where’s your ID then?
In me pocket.
And a photograph of the three of them together for further evidence, especially if he had to carry her in public, she hated him doing it. It was okay in the house if he did it for a laugh but not outside, going up the tube escalator or walking through a crowd or across a busy road. Mo joked about it but Sophie hated it. Put me down put me down! I dont want you to hold me! I dont want you to hold me!
He was not holding her he was carrying her. There is a difference. Sophie didnt understand that. At least it was better now than the early days in Glasgow. Leave me! Leave me! She wouldnt hold his hand without a fight, just being touched. Oh I dont like being touched! In this world you have to be touched. You learn that as a child. Although it can be an invasion, of course it can and was for Helen when she was a girl, people grabbing her and poking her. Why? Why did they think that was acceptable, poking your fingers into a child? They looked for an excuse to do it. Men were the worst, and so patronising, the way they did it, so actually just like patronising, like with dogs, stroking their muzzle. Pawing you. What a pretty little girl, stroking your head. Or taking you by the shoulder, What’s that love? grasping you, so you cant hardly move, What’s that love? and you cant hardly breathe. Men did that. Imagine. If you asked them a question, the hand going round your shoulder, gripping, What’s that love? suffocating. On television too you saw them doing it. Not to other men, oh no, they just did it to females. Helen didnt like it. Her own mother wasnt a toucher. Helen was so very glad of that, except the odd occasion, it would have been nice. A mother who doesnt touch. That was unusual, surely. There were times Helen had to touch Sophie, just pick her up and hold her, just hold her, she needed to do it — giving her a bath or she was in her nightdress my God what was wrong with that? just so she was alright. Nothing ever would happen to her, if anything ever did, if anything ever did she would die, Helen would die, she would, she would die, she would die, oh my God. Leave me leave me! Never.
Sophie wasnt spoiled. Helen didnt spoil her, she loved her. People who love dont spoil. What is spoil? People said it about children, Oh she is ‘spoiled’, but Sophie wasnt ‘spoiled’; she was loved. It was the same for Helen when she was wee. Dad didnt spoil her he loved her. Mum said, Oh dont spoil the girl. But he didnt. It was unfair saying that. Dad only loved her. Love is different. If Mum couldnt recognise that. Helen felt sorry for her. A dad loves his daughter. So if her ex did want to take Sophie away for whatever, a long weekend or a holiday, if he did, if he did he did and he was entitled, it was up to him and he could come to London, just make the arrangements, it was up to him.