I don’t know which was harder, trying to keep up with a life and a child, or trying to pretend nothing had changed.
I cancelled all my social plans over Christmas in order to look after Henri, and made up an excuse about spending time with distant relatives (which wasn’t completely untrue. That way if I was seen with Henri, my alibi would still stand.
I know it was stupid. I’ll make no excuses for the person I was. The least I can do I be honest about it. Everything in my life was well organised, clean and simple. Back then, Henri was like a dark juice stain on a new white curtain.
To get us both through the days I invested in what I would call a ‘Boredom Survival Kit.’ It was a gift I bought for Henri, using the money I would have spent going out with friends. To avoid the ramble thing, it consisted of;
A large double barrel Toy Box.
Children’s Books.
Paper.
Colouring Pencils. (Never give paint to a five-year-old.)
2 Matching rag-dolls.
1 Teddy Bear (who she named Jam Butties.)
1 Bag of Marbles.
1 Deck of Cards.
1 Child-size Blanket.
1 Child-size Sheet.
1 Pillow.
Rule #1: Toys go in the right half, blankets go in the left.
Rule #2: Put one toy back without taking another.
Rule #3: All toys must be in the box by 7pm.
Rule #4: Bedding must be in the box by 7am.
She seemed content, as children do, when I taught her how to read the numbers on the cards, or new tricks you can do with marbles. Sometimes she smiled, and sat quite happily talking to her teddy bear. Other times she scared me in the same way one would be scared by the hollow eyes of a porcelain doll. (See “Deleted Chapters 4.1” for examples.)
Henri as highly observant, and picked new things up very quickly from simply watching, memorising and mimicking. But then, she was always watching, and quite often mimicking. Overall it was kind of creepy.
On December 18th we sat together on the couch. I was reading, and she had a children’s book in front of her. She wasn’t looking at her pages though, but mine. Every time I turned a page just a moment later she would turn hers, and wait.
‘Will you stop that.’ I said, in a much harsher tone than I meant to. ‘It’s a little annoying.’ She nodded, and turned to her own book. Then she stared at the pages for much more time than necessary.
I lifted the corner of my page half way, and she turned over. Then I sat up straight, and smoothed the corner back down. Though she didn’t even turn her head she went back to the previous page and sat up straighter.
‘Why do you always copy me?’ She shrugged. ‘Don’t you have a mind of your own?’
‘My Mum…’ She began. She looked at me with her eyebrows raised while she struggled to find the rest of her sentence. ‘My Mum never makes up her mind!’ She shook her head.
‘Who says that?’ She shrugged again.
‘Everybody.’
‘So, what’s that got to do with you?’ She continued to stare at me, trying to understand the question, before deciding it wasn’t worth the thought.
‘She says she wants coffee so she went to a shop that sells cakes because she wants cake and she said she wanted chocolate but he already got her coffee and I didn’t get anything.’
It took me a few seconds to translate what she said into human words, but it seemed to be something she remembered at a time when some person said “You never make up your mind.” It was easy to overestimate Henri, especially for someone who hadn’t looked after a child since he was one (that’s me.) I think at that time I felt a little sympathy for her.
‘Shall you and I go get a cake then.’
‘From the cake shop?’ I nodded.
‘Only if you can get your shoes and coat on in two minutes.’
‘Two minutes!’ She leapt off the couch, leaving the book to fall on the floor.
When we came to leave I locked the door and prepared myself for the wind that would hit us as soon as we got down the stairs.
‘Henri, do you even know how long two minutes is?’
‘It’s not long.’ She said. Quite loudly. ‘It’s about… Ten seconds!’
‘One hundred and twenty. There’s sixty seconds in one minute, one hundred and twenty seconds in two minutes.’
‘No there’s not. One hundred and twenty is, well… that’s like, forever!’
‘No, it’s not,’ I said softly and patted her head.
She took my hand and sighed; ‘Leon, you don’t know anything.’
Once we where out on the Mainstreet I noticed she slowed down to stare at something I had not. It was the rows of thin trees, now decorated with ribbons and Christmas lights.
‘What are they?’
‘Christmas lights?’
‘What are they for?’
‘Christmas.’
‘What’s Christmas?’
‘It’s when people decorate the streets with lights.’ I hoped she wouldn’t notice when I pulled her down a quieter road; away from the larger shops with gifts in the windows and laughing Santa’s in the doorways.
‘Why do they do that?’
‘Because they’re strange.’
After buying the Custard Cream she insisted on, and realising that this “Christmas” thing had the same effect as asking how babies are born, she proceeded to ask until I agreed to trade it for my own Strawberry Tart.
The lights stayed in the street, and the songs and cheers stayed in the distance. Christmas passed with barely a whisper in our home, and New Years was drowned out by a high-volume version of “Sinbad: Journey through the Veil of Mists.” With the days spent inside, Henri and I quickly grew ever more agitated by each others presence.
Facing school we went out to buy clothes and school supplies; a day which hammered my bank account down into double digits. My life as I knew it had fallen apart, and I was starting to feel sick of having to look after her.
If I’d known that would happen in two chapters time, I would have thought differently. But then, some lessons have to be learned the hard way I suppose.
