Parents love their children, and if they dont, well, if they dont they dont. Only dont let the children see it. If a child knows, surely that is the worst? An innocent little child.
No wonder she worried. People worried. No wonder they did because take your eye off a child for one solitary moment, just one.
Helen would die.
Mo knew better than to let her out his sight, so nothing would happen. Not with him. Because he wouldnt let it.
It was obvious. Who didnt know it. You had to keep your eye on children. Even that isnt enough. It isnt. Not if somebody is there, watching, waiting, with all the patience waiting and waiting for the moment to come and it does and they just they grab the child and steal it. Nobody means to let it happen but it does because the stealer is there to do it, the abductor and the child is gone, never to be seen again.
Families never recovered. Couples split, the relationship ended, divorce; because of what happened, people laying blame on themself and each other; if she hadnt done that and done that and if he hadnt gone there and come back from there, and who let go her hand, why did he let go her hand, for that one fraction of a second, and the wee girl jumped out and the motor hit her full on, in that one fraction of a second, when he lost concentration, he took his eye off her then when he turned back at that very very next moment she was gone, vanished, where on earth was she? and searching everywhere. But the girl had vanished, perhaps wandered off but no, she had been taken, a bad man took her and whisked her away and she would now be overseas, forever, in a country where you couldnt find out things, where nobody knew what you were talking about and the police didnt even care, they couldnt speak your language and didnt even try, they didnt care, nobody did.
Not even a proper ironing board but blankets and towels on the floor. She had to kneel on the floor to do it. Sore on the back but better than that old wobbly contraption thing Mo brought home from his travels. He called it an ironing board, it wasnt an ironing board, God knows what it was although it worked fine for his shirts because of the shoulders and sleeves but not for other things. His shirts had to be ‘smart white’. That was a laugh. It was a constant battle. He hated the same shirt two nights in a row. Other men werent so finicky. He liked to be smart, fresh shirt, smart white, that was him. She helped him. She didnt have to, she just did; women were better at ironing. He spent hours, she did it in half the time. Oh well what did it matter. Anyway, she liked helping him.
Girls were ridiculous for clothes. Oh for a boy. The very idea of vests being ironed! No boy in his right mind
But surely Helen had ironed her own clothes? Not at six she hadnt. Even holding the iron, she couldnt have. Mum’s old thing weighed a ton.
Sophie was fussy, so so fussy, too fussy. Mo made fun of her. Of course she didnt like it, but she was learning. Even how she smiled. That was unusual, really, and beautiful. She had fought so hard against him. Yet here he was winning her over. But had he? Yes. Sometimes.
Helen kept out it.
Sophie had been fourteen months when she started walking and even then, when she looked at you, it was as though she saw into you, and was asking, Who are you? Are you my mother? But these questions were within herself and the answers came from within herself. Are you my mother? Sophie asked the question and gave the answer, Yes, you are. It is you, you are my mother.
If it wasnt so silly she might have thought Sophie was special, her own daughter. This wee girl the size of nothing who had the power to defend herself against a full-grown man.
It was true, so resilient, really, and strong-willed. You wouldnt believe how strong-willed, and children needed to be. It was the survival instinct like in this day and age especially, the weak would not survive. People scrambled for scraps. And Sophie was a fighter thank God, such determination! There was a humorous side. Mo was inexperienced with children and didnt know about staring games. He tried to get Sophie to break the stare by laughing into her face and making funny faces. He failed. She focused on something faraway. Eventually her expression altered and she looked straight at him but a concentration was here and it could make you squirm. Squirm was a good word. Mo squirming, yes, he squirmed! He could never have broken her stare. He didnt have the power. It was Sophie broke the mood. She exercised the control. Mo adopted a gangster voice: Hey kid, why you staring at me? Wanna make something of it! You wanna fight me? Hey kid.
But still she stared at him and he was standing there — what? defeated. She had defeated him. So then he called her ‘kid’. Why had he called her ‘kid’? She was not a goat. Helen didnt like him calling her that. Why did he? Because she had won? A kid is an animal and children are not animals. Then he patted her, or tried to. It could be the most patronising thing one person ever did to another. That was a dog, not a child. Dogs are clapped, not people. People are people, even children. A kid is not a child, a kid is a baby goat.
Mo smiled when Helen said that but it was true.
Brian grabbed her and whizzed her off the floor. Helen would be walking by when he did it. Although it was fun she didnt always like it. And not the way he did it, if he jerked her too hard, her shoulders came back and it was sore and hurt her, hurt her chest. Not like Dad who did it smooth. Brian was just like so clumsy, so so clumsy. He just plucked her up; one moment you were walking. She didnt even see him till suddenly she was in the air and kicking, how could you not kick! of course she kicked. Because he shouldnt have done it without warning. It was only fun and it was fun but only if he warned her first, and he never. It wasnt a good thing to do, not to a little girl. It was inconsiderate. No wonder she kicked him! But it was not like she meant it my God how could a child be blamed for that? Nobody would. Not even Mum. Surely not. Brian was her pet. Skinny malinky long-legs. Dad called him that. Legs like kirby-grips. It was unfair, but that was Dad. But it was funny. Kirby-grips and legs. Big banana feet, went to the pictures and fell through the seat. If you were a child, you just imagined it and of course you laughed, skinny malinky long-legs. But Dad was Dad, an adult. So it wasnt funny. He shouldnt have done it. It was unfair, like for a son — or for any person, male or female, when you were growing and maturing.
What did people expect? A man grabs you up, are you supposed to surrender?
No but relax, relax, you never relax, when have you ever relaxed, you never fucking relax. That was her ex talking; his voice was still in her head. He liked to swear because he was the boss. That was him.
Helen put up with most things but swearing in front of children was difficult to take. Also if it was girls; so disrespectful. For women too. Guys swore round the blackjack table but what did that matter, you were only a dealer.
Respect was important. If men were respectful to women there would be no rapes and no humiliations, these horrible ones like the fourteen-year-old girl in France who was stripped by a crowd. She was wearing a hijab and they took it off, and they stripped her.
Men who could do that. Mature men, adults.
Just ugly brutality, cowards and bullies. What was worse? racism or sexism? But both at the same time. It was just like any excuse.
It was true what he said about relaxing. Helen did find it difficult, and always did. When Dad took her onto his knee she could only sit five seconds until needing down. She hated being trapped, struggled and struggled, she struggled and he still held her. But he shouldnt have held her. He held her too long. If the child wants down then put her down; dont hold onto her; not against her will. Why did Dad do that? That is what he did, bouncing her on his knee, making her still, having to be still, him forcing her to be still but she wouldnt be still, no, and why should she have been? never. Apparently she fought and struggled. No wonder. That wasnt fun. Would Dad have done it with Brian? He said he was beating the record. Five seconds is the record! It caused a bad fight with Mum. It was her told him to stop it, to put her down. She ordered him. She was the strong one. The strong silent type. That was supposed to be men; not in her house, Dad roared and Mum gave the orders