It was beyond talking about except it had to be because with people in the house; there had to be people in the house. But who were they? That was the trouble with lodging houses with people all coming and going. Strangers: you were surrounded by them.
Of course some strangers were necessary. You had to bring people into your home. Childminders. They had Azizah and thank God. She was a lovely girl and they were so so lucky to get her. Who else could they have relied upon for weekend working? All Azizah did was read. She barely spoke at all. Perhaps she did when Helen wasnt there. Mo said she did, it was only shyness. She couldnt look Helen in the eye never mind say hullo. The scarlet woman! Teenage girls have an imagination. Helen didnt care. Yes she did, but not much. Sophie liked her and that was the difference. Even if she didnt, childminders dont last forever, sooner or later it would be somebody else. And who might it be, you never knew, horror stories abounded. She was right to worry. Of course she was. It was impossible not to. But what choice did she have? None. That was divorce, that was being a parent. It was always difficult and you were always taking a chance.
She had worked in casinos for years so was well used to it; at the same time, she got weary. There was nothing wrong in admitting it. Nightshift was difficult with young children, the constant organising, everything, it got you down. She was lucky with Mo. Mo was good. He wouldnt hurt a fly. And so gentle with Sophie. More than her ex. He threw her up in the air! My God! Why did men do that? He put her to the highest chute in the park. No wonder she was nervous. Two years of age my God she was entitled to be. He knew better. He always knew better. That was him, Mr Know-Better. Because he was a man? What did that mean? a man? Did it mean something special? Not as far as she was concerned. Mo wasnt like that, not even close. If ever he was she would tell him. He was one good thing that had happened to her, amongst many others. She acted like they didnt but they did. Even if they did they didnt. If it was her they were happening to it meant they were not good. Because good things didnt happen to her. If they did they would come to an end; sooner or later they would. Anything good came to an end. That was her and that was life, her life anyway.
Her daughter’s head had moved on the pillow. The dampness was evident, her thick head of hair and the furry toy too close to her face, La Divina, Helen reached to ease it away, careful not to screech the chair legs. She kept her hand near to Sophie’s forehead but without touching. Even so there was movement, the tiniest wisp, but more than a pulse beat. Sophie’s brain must have picked up a signal. Mother and daughter, it was so so sensitive, so sensitive between them.
She would be up for school soon enough, poor wee soul. She had to be strong. Children had to be, nowadays, and resilient, just to survive. But they began strong. Mo said that. Their bodies were strong when they left the womb. Gradually they weakened, until late in life they died. That was humanity’s story. From birth on the spirit was strong but then it got knocked out you. The best part of life is birth, from there on it is downhill, downhill all the way!
What a terrible way of looking at the world. Helen wondered if it was his religion, then saw he was laughing. He had made it all up. He was always doing it, always laughing at her. Thank goodness, she loved it about him, she needed it so much, seeing life like he did, he was just so so cheery and so so — just cheery, it was so necessary.
It was lovely the way he had transformed the cupboard. It was a bedroom; it really was — perhaps not a proper one but
But it was a proper one! Helen knew that now. She hadnt at first, unlike Sophie who had believed from the beginning. That wonderful story about the doll who lived in a cupboard: so it was a bedroom.
But it was wonderful. It made you want to curl up and just, just listen, close your eyes, or open them. It was so so — just unbelievable. Who could believe it? The book had been put there for Sophie. If miracles did happen. It was for them to find and they did. The doll who lived in the cupboard had been written for Sophie. Mo said it. There was nothing surer than that. It was the exact same cupboard. So amazing, exciting. Even the doll, it didnt look like La Divina but it was her best first cousin, you could see that. Mo held the book-page next to the doll to show the resemblance. When the story was read to her Sophie’s eyes were huge as she looked round the interior walls. Whatever she was seeing, she was seeing something. Such an imagination. Oh but she got it from Helen. Her imagination my God it was notorious. Dad used to joke about it!
Poor girl if that was what she had. Helen felt sorry for her. It wasnt sweet and wasnt cute. Mundane thoughts were better. Boys had those. Girls were different. Boys thought what they thought but girls didnt, girls had their own world. They loved stories and loved reading books. Sophie too. Helen was so glad and would encourage it all the way. Real books and not just computers. Real books to help with her studying. So she would get away from it all, the horrible stuff, just get out of it all and get away and just — if she got a worthwhile job and just away from the hopeless world, all the horrible and dark side and all
Helen had an urge to touch Sophie: she resisted. When the girl was asleep like this you had to stop yourself. What had she wanted to do? She didnt know, perhaps hold her. No, only touch her, only that. Helen wanted to laugh, and seeing her brow; there was a strength there, strength of purpose.
Her breathing was irregular but not to worry about — a particle catching in her throat. It made the breathing catarrhal, a little, but it was fine and nothing at all, really, not to worry about, just being silly, that was Helen all over.
The pillow and the side of her head damp with sweat. Of course it was normal. Boys were even worse apparently. Mo certainly was. He burned, it was like feverish. But Sophie burned too, and the side of her head, the temple, my God, it was so so thin and would be damaged
Oh so easily damaged. Easily.
You saw children throwing stones, girls as well as boys, and if they hit the side of the head, where the scalp was so thin, it would cause an injury, a dreadful one, and if it was by the ear. Children could be rough.
She was sound asleep. She was, she couldnt be more asleep.
Touch wood she was okay now but she had had such a hard time settling in at school. People said boys were the shy ones. It was hard for them, harder than it was for girls, supposedly, but Helen didnt believe it. Girls were every bit as shy, perhaps shyer. And it wasnt harder for boys. Definitely not. And girls could be horrible too. If it was bullying especially, if they had to fight. And worse with the Glasgow accent. London children would just look at her and think she was funny, they would laugh at her and perhaps might fight her. You could imagine it, because she was a stranger and with the different voice.
Sophie didnt like fighting. Some girls did. Some fought all the time, they hit boys too. And they could torture. Girls could torture. Helen remembered it from her own day. Perhaps worse than boys. Did boys even do it? Perhaps they didnt. Girls did, oh my God they did, they were so so good at it too.
Why did people have to hurt each other? Why did they not accept things, and accept each other. Helen was not clever and knew she was not but that was what she believed. Anyway, you didnt have to be clever to believe that, not if it was the truth. And it was the truth, people did hurt each other.
Helen shivered. She could have been into bed in one minute; into the warmth. Why didnt she? She didnt want to. She did but she didnt. Her head was too full, she would be tossing and turning. And she had a headache too. Of course that was normal.