Oh Lord, we’ve already got three of our own…
25th March
I dropped onto the sofa, my legs like jelly. I put my head in my hands as Tom glowered at me, his brows knitted together.
“So, what am I supposed to do? Send her off to care? She’s still my niece, after all. David was my brother”
“Brother! When did you last even see him? Ten years ago, at least? He only ever turned up when he needed something…”
I softened my voice, watching Tom finally unclench inside. I knew the brunt of looking after Sophie would fall on my shoulders. But what else could I do? I’ve always been the sort to help. Shouty at times, yes, and I can swing a slipper if needed, but my heart is in the right place.
“Tom, tell me, what else could I have done? I’m her uncle, proper flesh and blood. There she is”
He nodded towards the little girl, still standing rooted to the spot by the front door, barely moving a muscle.
“It’s not her fault,” I said, sighing. “When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”
I turned to Sophie, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Come on then, love, come here. Let’s get acquainted.”
She stepped forward, awkward and uncertain. Another shuffle, then I couldnt bear itI jumped up and went to her myself.
“Here, let’s get this coat off you,” I said gently, unbuttoning her heavy old mac, then pulling off the enormous woolly jumperobviously a hand-me-down.
My breath caught. She was skin and bone. And then, as I turned her to the light, I saw her arms, peppered with bruises. I pulled the neckline of her dress, peering at her backcould barely stifle a groan.
“Tom, get the bath on. Michael, come here!”
Michael popped his head round the door. “What, Mum?”
“Go see Mrs Jenkins next door. Tell her we need some clothes for a little girl. Any old things will do.”
“Alright, MumI heard it all anyway,” he said, already pulling on his trainers and darting out.
The boys, ever the nosey parkers, had been eavesdropping. The idea of a little girl joining our family had already gotten them plottingtheir room was to be partitioned, no question. No more mischief to make her life difficult; instead, they fired into action, determined to protect her.
Michael returned, not just with two armfuls of clothes but with Mrs Jenkins herself. She went on and on about David’s hopelessness, then gave Sophie a good look up and down.
“You’ll want to check her hair,” she said. “God knows what she’s brought in with her.”
All the while, Sophie stood in the centre of the living room, in silent shock. I parted her hair, found the worst, and grimaced, swearing under my breath. Good hairsuch a pity.
“Sophie…” I said, trying to catch her eye, “We’ll need to cut your hair short, love. It’ll grow back quickly. And look, I’ve got you a pretty scarf…”
She started to cry. So did I, nearly, as I snipped her plaits and burnt the remains in the fire. Tom peered in, saw what was going on, and grunteda shade more regret in his eyes than I expected.
By the time Sophie and I were off to the bath, Andrew, our eldest, twelve now, called Tom into the boys’ room.
“Dad, can you help us?”
Tom went and stopped short. They were trying to turn the wardrobe to make a little corner for Sophie.
“We thought it could be her own place,” Andrew said, shrugging. “She’s a girl and we can’t shift it ourselves.”
Tom faked sternness, but I heard the pride in his voice.
“Boys, can’t even budge a wardrobe between three of you?”
Then Michael piped up, “Dad, she can have my bed. I’ll take the camp bedyou know I like it, and she needs somewhere proper to sleep.”
By the time Sophie and I came out, almost everything was ready. The little corner, fresh sheets, and even a small rugthe boys had gone all out.
Bath time did her wonders. Her cheeks rosy, she looked tiny but sweet with the scarf framing her head. I sat at the table, spooning stew into bowls.
“Come on, love, time to eat,” I said. She gobbled as if she’d never seen food before.
“Sophie, slow down now. No one will take it away,” I said gently.
She watched the plate, weary at last, and drooped with exhaustion. I led her to her new little bedshe was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
When I returned, I surprised Tom by asking for the sloe gin. I hardly ever drank, but tonight was different.
He poured a glass for me and one for himself. I downed mine in one. Tom watched, eyes wide, as I muttered, “If your David were alive, I’d throttle him with my own hands”
Tom just bowed his head. He would have too.
Memories swirledDavid born when Tom was already into his teens, the unwelcome surprise in the family. Their mother raging at Nan’s curse: “Shouldnt have had another” Everyone said Nan was a witch, and Tom half-believed it.
Then David grew up to be loutish, always in trouble, always blaming others, never learning. Brought a wife home from the army, a daughter soon followed, then the parents passed away one after the other. Not even a year gone, and nobody left to hold things together.
Four years later, Tom got the callDavid and his wife found frozen near home, Sophie the only one left. If we didn’t take her in, Social Services insisted, she’d end up in care. “You and Ann are steadfast; we’d help where we can.”
Suppose Id been too shocked at first to say no.
Within a week, Sophie stopped devouring her food, learned to use a knife and fork, and started to pick up colour in her face. But she was wild stillwouldnt speak unless she had to, hid under the covers, eyes wide like a cornered fox.
The boys offered her their books and toys; she barely nodded yes or no. In frustration, one day, I knelt before her:
“What have we ever done to you, Sophie? Why won’t you speak or smileyou don’t like it here? Nobody is holding you prisoner!”
For a moment, I saw raw pain in her enormous brown eyes. Silent tears rolled down. I nearly lost it myself, ran from the house to pull myself together, and vowed never to raise my voice to her again.
That evening, Mrs Jenkins turned up.
“You’re different, Ann,” she said. “She’s like a little owl, all quiet and wary.”
“What can I do? How do you love someone else’s child?” I whispered. “I try my best”
“But you can love a stray kitten, can’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? Used to be, we’d love anyone in trouble. Now, people are different.”
Spring came unexpectedly quickly. I learned to leave Sophie beshe was safe and looked after, after all. The boys sometimes coaxed a few words out of her.
They were a hive of activity, whispering to Tom about making Sophie a surprisea birthday was coming up. Out of sight, in the shed, they built her a little table with a mirror, just like grown-up girls have. I thought to scold them for the mess but decided to let them learn with their hands.
On her birthday, I tied a lovely lace scarf around her head and helped her twirl in front of the mirror. Tom produced a dress so fancy Sophie stared, gobsmacked.
Then the boys brought out their hand-built dressing table. She ran her fingers over it, thenwonders upon wondershugged each of them in turn. The ice was broken. From that day, she and the boys grew thick as thieves, laughing for hours in their room. But if I came in, Sophie would fall silent and slip away. I couldn’t help feeling stungwhat more could she want? Well, never mindless trouble for me.
Planting season came around and there was no time for such worries. We needed every penny, so we bought a fourth piglet for Michael to sell, and the benefit that Sophie received sat untouched in her savings.
“Better save it for her future,” I said to Tom, who just nodded. He always agreed when I talked sense.
But why did things never quite work between Sophie and me? Such a long time togethershe was happy with the boys, reasonably cheery with Tom, but with me, she froze. I suppose I never warmed to her, either
***
One day as I was planting flowers in the front garden, the neighbour’s boy ran up, breathless:
“Mrs Saunders! They’re fightingyour boys, all of them!”
I straightened up in a rush, hitched up my skirt, and legged it down to the river. Sure enough, there was a proper brawla scrum of local boys, with mine in the middle, backs together, Sophie protected behind them.
Half the village dads came running with belts in hand, waving and shouting. As soon as the other boys spotted their fathers, they scattered like pigeons.
I checked over my lot. Michael with a cut eyebrow, Andrew with a shiner, and little Peter with a scraped arm.
Sophie was crying.
“Alright, what happened?”
Michael sniffed. “We just came for a swim. Sophie took off her scarfnext thing, everyone was pointing and laughing. We stood up for her, Mum.”
Peter looked me in the eye. “Shes our sister now. Why should anyone pick on her?”
Back home, Mrs Jenkins cornered me again.
“Ann, what are people saying? Your boys risking their necks for that waif?”
My patience snapped.
“For who?” I glared.
“You call her an outsideryou said it yourself”
“And you run about the village spreading it! I’ve every right to call her what I want, but you? Don’t you dare utter it again!”
I wagged a finger right under her nose. Mrs Jenkins nearly stumbled back in fright.
“Don’t you dare!”
Slamming the garden gate behind me, I started to cry. Why me? Why this? We’d managed just fine before…
“Mum, are you crying?”
They were all still outside. I never cry, or at least I make sure no one notices.
“Me? Oh, nothingjust onions aren’t growing, and the flowers wont bloom, thats all… Come inside now.”
That night, Tom and I talked in whispers.
“What do we do, Tom? The boys will fight and get hurt for her.”
Tom was stubborn: “Let them! Thats what brothers are for.”
“But what if someone gets badly hurt?”
“You fuss too much. Theyre only children.”
But I didn’t hear the confidence I needed in his voice.
That night, a strange sound woke me: a whisper from the living room. I tiptoed out and there was Sophie, kneeling by the little cross my mother had left, hidden behind the vase.
“Dear God, I know you always helped me before, when I asked for Mum and Dad to fall asleep… Please, just this once, help Auntie Ann’s flowers to bloom. If they do, maybe shell stop being so sad, and then she might love me. If you could let her know Ill be a good daughter, always helping, never asking for anything… I have everything now, really. But maybe if shes happy, she might want to be my mum…”
She wiped her eyes and padded off to her room. My heart broke right then. I bit my hand to stop myself from sobbing out loud.
Next morning, at the corner shop, the local women pounced:
“Ann, what are we supposed to do now? Our boys are fighting, all because of your outsider!”
I bit my tongue, but when one piped up, “She belongs in a childrens home,” I put my bag down and rounded on her.
“That your cow bellowing, Sue?” I said. “My Sophies done nothing wrong, unlike your Clairedidnt she empty Stephensons pockets last year and buy sweets with the lot?”
I advanced. Sue paled.
“Maybe mind your own parenting before you comment on mine. Or do you think I don’t know who started the fracas by the river yesterday?”
I turned to the others.
“Is anyone else going to complain about my daughter?”
One muttered, “Ann, shes not your daughter, shes…”
“I told you, she’s my daughterremember that. And anyone who calls her anything else, Ill personally see you bald!”
I swept up my bag and strode out, leaving silence behind. One of the women muttered, “Ann’s right really. That poor girl, shes had enough sorrow”
I marched straight back into the shop.
“Zina, do you have any pretty ribbons?”
“Yes, blue, red, and look at these pink onespricey, though…”
“Give me those. The nicest for my girl.”
When I got home, the boys had gone to the river again.
“Sophie, come here, love.”
She shuffled over as I showed her the new ribbons. Her fingers trembled as she touched them.
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. Lets see if we can tie them in your hair.”
It took ages, her short hair sticking out everywhere, but at last I managed.
“Go have a look!”
She stared at her reflection in wonder.
“Beautiful Thank you, Auntie Ann.”
I sat on her bed, drew her close.
“Sophie,” I swallowed, “If you ever feel like calling me Mum, Id be ever so happy. Let the boys fightthey’re brothers, and thats their job, to protect their sister.”
A tear fluttered off her eyelashes, then another, then she wrapped her skinny arms around me.
“Can I call you Mum now? Please?”
I cried, she cried and hiccuped and couldn’t stop.
“Of course you can, love. Everything will be alright. Well both look beautiful for the first day of school, and Ill teach you how to bake pieswould you like a pie, right now?”
She nodded, nose running. “For the boys and Dad too…”
That night, I woke again to a whisper. Sophie knelt by the little cross.
“Thank you, God. Now will you help other people, the ones still sad? I have a mum nowshes brilliant, honestly, the best there is!”
I pulled the cover over my head beside Tom and closed my eyes, smiling for the first time in ages.
Maybe, finally, our prayers had been answered. After all those years wanting a daughter, my little princess had arrivednot a baby, but better, ready-made. And she needed me just as I needed her.
