Mo said she was quirky (3 page)

That was Mo. He interfered. He did. Walls came under fittings, you werent to touch fittings, it was interfering and you werent to interfere. He went in and did things, and that was the shelves, building them and so high. And he kept heavy stuff up
there; old computers and bits and pieces; cables and connections, leads and other stuff, all fankled together. He hunted the secondhand shops and came home with junk. Ancient junk. Why did he do it? There was nothing in them. Spare parts, it was stupid. Two old video machines under the bed my God why did he keep them? outmoded junk. What a waste of space. Spare parts for what? The IT industry didnt work like that. She knew enough to know junk when she saw it, and that was junk. It was all relics. The technology changed every couple of years. Less. It had to. That was how the industry worked, that was profit and loss, people had to be buying and people had to be selling. And like the ones that made the things, them too, the people doing the actual jobs, poor people in foreign countries, whatever they did for a measly pittance of a wage and catching all the cancers. Mo wanted to talk about them and that was good but he didnt make the other connection. A man he knew worked down town selling the stuff, why didnt he ask him? That old junk was not going to be useful and come in handy; it would sit up there gathering dust. Why clog up your home? What was the use of that? eBay, nobody was going to buy these things on eBay. Even if they did, a pound here and a pound there. And these big hi-fi speakers on the top shelf. What were they for? They were completely obsolete. Things became obsolete because they had to be so people were forced to update. Everybody knew that. Mo was clever but he could be thick. He had blank spots. All men did, it was like a gender issue. They did things that were silly. They didnt see the consequences. Mo said the shelves were strong but they had to be strong because what happened if they fell down? so that was not an answer. Even the walls themselves: what if they fell down, because of all the shelves and all the heavy objects piled on top of them? This wasnt Glasgow where you got big thick sandstone lasting a hundred years. The buildings here were flimsy, their wee thin
bricks, the big bad wolf could have blown it down. She got sick of talking about it. He wore her down. Not everything was a joke. When you looked up to the ceiling and saw the stuff all piled high, then down below and it was Sophie’s bed! My God!

Oh but the walls would never collapse. It was just her worrying.

Even the nails, see the nails.

Mo showed her them. They were big strong nails. They were too. Helen could see they were.

Nothing would happen. He called her ‘girl’. Dont worry about it girl. What did he mean by that? As if ‘girl’ because she was a ‘girl’ and a girl was a child like not an adult and not to be taken seriously. It was annoying. They said ‘girl’ in London but so what? Mo wasnt even a real Londoner he was Middlesex my God he said it often enough, ‘Middlesex’, like being proud of Middlesex. Danny the driver said ‘girl’ too. She didnt like it from him either. ‘Girl’, it was not like an adult.

What did it matter? She closed her eyes, although thoughts of her ex, his image; she was too tired to shudder. Why could she not be rid of him forever? It wasnt fair that his image could still be there and come into her brain, not after such a long time. Why could she not wipe it out? If the brain was a computer. People say that, as though things can be deleted and then
erased
, but the brain is not a computer, things cannot be
erased
, not like that.

Even now her main worry – laughable, so laughable – that she might turn a corner and bump into him. She knew he was in Glasgow and there was no reason to worry but she did. So it was like why? He would never come to London. Except perhaps it was a new job, and he came down for it, if she was with Mo, and Sophie too, Mo walking with them and it was hand in hand and they turned a corner and there he was. But he would never do it, he would never leave Glasgow and there was no
reason ever to worry, never more, he could do what he liked. She could too. She could. It was up to her; if she wanted to do something she could do it.

Oh God.

Mo was nothing at all like her ex. Nonsense even thinking it. Only he could be silly. She liked it about him but also she didnt like it.

But the walls wouldnt fall down. She accepted that. She did. Mo knew what he was doing. She didnt have to nag him, if you could call it nagging. That was what he called it though with a smile on his face to make it a joke; but it was still nagging. That was what he thought about Helen safeguarding and protecting her child, he called it nagging. But if one hair on her little girl’s head was ever hurt by one single thing relating to these damn shelves, one thing, that was all, then that was that.

She was not going to lose her temper about it. Only if anything happened, if anything ever happened.

But that was why she worried and why she nagged him so that it wouldnt happen and it wouldnt be too late and it didnt matter if he sighed or how much he sighed. She was not a silly child. He got exasperated. It was his word,
exasperated
. She exasperated him. She felt like slapping him never mind exasperated, he exasperated her. Then when he laughed. She hated that. It was like – why did he do it? As if she was thick, she wasnt thick. Why did he make her feel that way? It was a thing about Mo and why Helen compared him with her ex. Of course she did, it was natural. He had mates from the restaurant. One came to the house and Helen saw him smiling at something Mo said. Helen knew it was about her, whatever Mo said. Else why whisper? Mo had whispered. He did it so Helen couldnt hear. What other reason was there? So she was the one excluded, so it was about her.

Why else would he have whispered? It was like speaking in
Urdu. His mate did that until Mo corrected him because with Helen there, it was just bad manners. So was whispering if it excluded people. Especially matters between a man and a woman, these are private things, it could be anything, sex or whatever, if it was about her he was speaking, that was horrible, like behind her back and in the same room too, it was horrible, so so horrible, any man that could do that. Helen just could not ever, ever, never ever. She would never stand for it, how could she she never ever

That was a trust. He would have broken the trust. She had trusted him and he had broken the trust. That is how it would be. There was no excuse. She had trusted him, even with her own daughter. My God, if ever Sophie suffered. That was the one thing, if ever one thing happened, one little tiny thing.

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.