Mo said she was quirky (12 page)

Oh Mummy.

Dont cry.

I’m not.

But now she really was, and her face red with it, and her nose, poor wee thing. Helen took her in her arms and cuddled her.

One and a half minutes! called Mo from outside the room.

Sophie’s crying was unabated, breaking her heart it was so real, just completely real. You could tell when she was acting. This wasnt it. Now you’ll have to wash your face, whispered Helen.

Oh Mummy.

And get your clothes on you need to get your clothes on!

The crying continued. There was a box of tissues. Helen extracted two and dabbed round the girl’s eyes, kissed her on
the tip of the nose. Sophie was trying to laugh the wee soul, it was so tough for her, it just was so tough.

I dont want him coming in if I’m dressing.

He doesnt.

Well I dont want him to.

But he doesnt.

I dont want him to.

Yes but he doesnt.

Sophie had left the chair and was searching for clothes inside a drawer. Sometimes he does, she muttered.

No he doesnt, not unless he doesnt mean to, if he doesnt know.

Sophie ignored her, concentrating on the clothes inside the drawer, but she began dressing. Everything is all upside down, she said.

Helen watched her. Eventually Sophie glanced across. Helen said, I’m just watching you.

I dont like you to.

Well I’m going to Sophie, I’m your mother.

But I dont like you watching me, and if Azizah does it.

Azizah is there to help.

Sophie sighed.

One and a quarter minutes! called Mo.

Again Sophie sighed, but at least she was moving, spreading three blouses out on the side of the bed to compare. She did this methodically, yet in a self-conscious, defensive manner. Helen moved to the doorway. I’ll get your breakfast, she said. What do you want? What do you want to eat?

Sophie didnt reply.

What do you want for breakfast, Sophie, what do you want?

Nothing.

Oh for goodness sake.

I dont want anything.

You’ll have to eat something.

I dont want to.

It doesnt matter if you dont want to, you’ll be hungry later on, so you’ve got to.

Yes but I dont want to.

I dont care.

Mum I dont want to.

Oh God.

Well if I dont want to?

I dont care if you dont want to.

Because I’m not hungry.

Yes but you havent eaten anything to not be hungry.

Sophie was fastening on her school skirt now, watching herself in the mirror but she paused while doing this. It is horrible, she said, it is just horrible.

I’ll put crispies out for you.

I dont want crispies.

Weetabix …

I dont want Weetabix, I dont want anything Mum; if there’s toast, can I have toast?

Just if you hurry!

Oh Mum.

Hurry up.

I cant.

Of course you can. Helen closed the door on her.

Mum!

She clicked it open, left it slightly ajar, and continued into the kitchen. Mo was at the table eating toast, sipping tea. Helen clasped her head with both hands and acted a scream: She’s still dressing!

Hoh. She’s been mooning about in her nightdress for the past half hour.

Females take longer.

Oh yeh?

We do that, havent you noticed?

There’s a lot I havent noticed. Mo reached to her and held her hand. You are tired.

Mm.

Go to bed.

When you’ve taken her to school.

Helen went to the pantry, lifted out the packet of crispies, a bowl from the cupboard below, the milk from the fridge. Mo had noticed the photographs. I was looking at them earlier, said Helen.

Mo nodded. He watched her prepare the cereal. Cant she do her own? he said.

Be quiet.

She’s past six.

Only just.

Only just is past.

Helen put her finger to her lips to stop him saying more. The kitchen door opened. Sophie walked to her chair, looked at the crispies in the bowl. I wanted Weetabix, she said.

Surprise surprise, murmured Mo.

Helen signalled him to be quiet, lifted a hairbrush as though threatening him. Mo mimicked panic, waving his hands above his head.

Sophie lifted her spoon, unaware this was happening. She studied the spoon. She began eating. While she did so Helen brushed her hair. Mo poured Helen a cup of tea and put a glass of orange juice out for the girl. She drank this swiftly, held out the empty glass.

Champion orange-juice drinker, said Mo.

You just talk all the time, she said.

It’s because I’m a blabber.

Sophie craned forwards to allow Helen to brush the back of her head more easily.

I cant help myself, said Mo.

But if it is all the time?

I got to do it.

Yes but all the time?

All the time you dont eat your breakfast.

Not all the time.

I’m just listening to you two, said Helen.

Oh but Mum he doesnt have to do it all the time, not if it’s talking.

You know Mr Noisy.

I’m not going to listen. Sophie stuck out her tongue at Mo.

I got to do it. It’s like it’s a disease, know what I mean?

No.

Helen finished brushing Sophie’s hair, tapped her on the shoulder.

Maybe they’ll send me to hospital! said Mo.

Helen had taken the loaf of bread from the cupboard, was inserting a slice of bread into the toaster although Sophie had forgotten about it and was getting up from the chair.

Maybe they’ll do an operation on me tongue!

Big blabber, muttered Sophie.

Helen chuckled. Mo had raised his right hand in the air, forefinger extended. Look at you, she said, you’re like a schoolteacher scolding the class.

It is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. What am I? a big blabber! I should start a blabbers’ anonymous. Guys with blabbing problems can all join up. Maybe they’ll pay me a signing-on fee? I never thought of that!

Isn’t he silly? said Helen.

Poo face!

Oh Sophie!

No, said Mo, poo-face blabber, that’s even better! Poo-faced guys with blabbing problems, dribbling down my chin.

You’re just silly, said Sophie.

I wont be silly once I’m a millionaire and everybody is all paying me money and I can go and buy old Totters Football Club.

The very very silliest. Helen said, A real Mr Silly.

I’m only one of the sillies. Silliness runs in my family you know, they came from a little village where everybody is silly. The name of the village is the very word for silly. My grandfather used to say, Oh we are all sillies, every last one of us, that’s why we wound up in London, got on the wrong boat.

Helen chuckled. She saw Sophie looking at her and she winked.

No, it’s true, me old gramps, him and me nan were heading for Toronto, Canada and what happened, yoicks and tally ho, London, England old chap. That’s as true as I’m standing up.

Oh you fibber! Look Sophie, he’s sitting down when he’s saying it!

Sophie smiled, only for a moment, but a smile nevertheless. Mo made a startled face and clutched his throat, croaking: Hoh the smile, the young lady smiles, she smiles, my life is not in vain!

Sophie glanced at Helen with an expression on her face, a certain expression. It was nice seeing her smile, and that expression too, whatever it was. A mixture of amusement and wonder perhaps; puzzlement at the behaviour of adults, in particular the male of the species. The poor girl was glimpsing the future world; encounters with ‘the male animal’. Helen called to her: Shoes Sophie!

Sophie sighed to the ceiling but her mood had shifted and off she went, almost cheerily. Mo could do that. He coped with her; it was so good that he did. Helen passed Mo the extra slice of toast. She wont eat it now.

Mo folded the slice into his mouth immediately.

Mr Hungry, she said but so quietly he either didnt hear or assumed it was not for his ears. He had the toast in his mouth so that it was half in half out when Sophie returned with her shoes in hand.

Helen had lifted her tea-cup and sat down for a moment; she signalled Sophie to hurry. Sophie sighed. Because she already was hurrying. Helen could see that she was and now she returned to the front room. In the huff or not? Helen was unsure. Mo winked, followed the girl from the kitchen.

But it was the two of them. If Mo coped with Sophie Sophie coped with him. First thing in the morning that was not easy. Mo and his jokes. Helen wouldnt have blamed her. Nothing against ‘jokes’ but there is a time and a place. People arent always capable of smiling, wearisome having to try. Perpetual smiles. Smile, smile, why dont you smile? That was it with some folk. Why do they do it? Not just men. Who wanted to smile all the time? Not all the time: cheer up, what’s wrong with your face, give us a smile. So irritating. The same in work with some of the punters, like it was their job to make the dealers laugh, cracking jokes all the time and getting her to smile. Just shut up and play the cards. That was what she did, or tried to.

That was her with him too, her ex, what a pain it was being the audience, him and his stupid wee jokes. She even found him amusing, in the beginning. Talk about sad cases, that was her.

She did though. Imagine. What a confession! My God! Oh well. And it was childishness pure and simple, like in the classroom at school when a boy did it and you were supposed to look at how wonderful he was. It was him was the joke, a complete joke, showing off like a wee boy.

Mo was so different, he really was. He was funny for one thing. Genuinely funny. Sophie thought so too and she wasnt easy pleased.

At least she made the effort. Some children wouldnt. It showed she was learning. It should never be underestimated how difficult things had been for her. Mo said she was a woman already but she wasnt. Six years of age my God. Although he didnt mean it seriously, not literally; she was only a girl, and a little girl at that; a month ago she was like everywhere, legs everywhere, skirt round her neck, jumping up on Mo, and he had to
not
see. It was him that told her about that. And she listened. She did, she really did. The boys would laugh at her if she didnt sit properly. She had to sit properly and not jump up like that because they would see up her skirt. Boys did that. Thank God he told her. If she listened. She seemed to. It hadnt occurred to Helen until he said it. But of course they would laugh at her. Of course they would make her life a misery. Boys did that; they could do, they could be so so cruel. To them she was a girl, so fair game, girls and boys, a wee girl but a girl; she was. But that is all she was. Why would anyone ever think anything else, my God! Surely no one would ever ever, ever think anything else?

Or harm them. How could anyone ever harm a child? an innocent little child.

Mo would have made a wonderful teacher. He was so very patient. Patience was needed with children. Mo had it. Because he liked them. That was the difference. And Sophie could be difficult, there was no denying that. Things had been tough, very very tough. So no wonder about ‘lacks enthusiasm’. What a horrible comment, ‘lacks enthusiasm’. Sophie lacks enthusiasm. Her teacher said it. Does she talk at home?

Of course she talks at home.

But not all the time? no. What does that mean, all the time? You dont want a child talking all the time, not in the classroom. Surely? It was just a ridiculous question.

Talking was not a problem at all. Helen liked the teacher but
she was too quick to judge. This was a new school and a new environment, completely new. Sophie was the only Scottish child in the class. Did it ever occur to them to wonder about that? She was on her own. It was significant for a girl, so so significant, and disappointing about Sophie’s teacher because Helen liked her; she was a down-to-earth woman with a nice London accent; not snobby at all.

It was said about Helen too, people thought she was quiet; even
reserved
. Reserved! Caroline called her that. What a laugh. As though she was middle class! With her background! Ha ha to that. Really, it was just stupid. People didnt know; just what they made up out of their own brains. Helen had never been quiet. It was only England if she was. People didnt understand her at first but eventually they did because she spoke slowly and changed how she said things. They made fun of her anyway. Not nastily; stagey voices and jokes about kilts and being mean. Mo did it too at times. It wasnt meant to be nasty, and it wasnt. Do they all talk Scotch in Scotland? That was Mo’s jokey question. He knew because he lived there but other English people might have wondered about it, even the teachers. Yes they did speak Scotch. It was not funny, even if some acted like it was.

Everything was so different. If Sophie was not talkative, well of course she wasnt. Who wouldnt have been? My God. It was so understandable. Even the school, Helen had been dreading it on Sophie’s behalf. It had been such a relief to see this one and the children from all different backgrounds.

The girl had suffered during the past months. No question about that. The important thing was she had settled, thank God. She had settled. It seemed like she had. If she didnt they were not staying. Helen had discussed it with Mo. If the wee one didnt settle they would go home; they would pack their bags. Helen would make sure of that. She liked London but
would leave immediately. Not to go home to Glasgow, not necessarily.

Helen had never been quiet. If people thought she was; never, and never as a girl. Dad called her the champion chatterbox, she was to get the gold medal. She didnt like him saying it but it was only Dad having fun. Helen did chatter. It was true. Sixteen to the dozen when she was little. Brian was the quiet one, he just looked, he looked and he said nothing. Dad didnt like that. He wanted people to talk.

Neither did Mum talk. Brian took after her. So Helen took after Dad.

Oh God, but it was true. Mum said it so it had to be. Imagine telling that to your daughter. So thoughtless, because of how Mum felt about Dad, did she even like him? No, not very much. Not that Helen ever saw, so thank you Mum, thank you very much.