Rosie dropped her chin onto the palm of her hand and slumped towards the window, her mouth down-turned, her eyes barely registering the landscape that shot by outside the window.
I was panicking. How could I bring her back? When she descended into this kind of a mood, it could be impossible to get her out of it. Her eyelids would hood and her shoulders would round and her answers would become monosyllabic.
Then she said, ‘The new boy, Ben, is really cool, you know. He is literally like the funniest boy I have ever met.’
‘Oh, yeah? Is he handsome too?’
‘Muuuum!’ She rolled her eyes and looked around her self-consciously. ‘I didn’t mean in that way,’ she said, but I could see she was blushing.
She was back. Her small smile was like finding a gemstone in mud. If I could keep a cool head, there would be no reason for her to tantrum.
‘What does he say that’s funny?’
‘He just is. Like Daddy when he says, “Answers on a postcard”, Ben says, like, “Talk to the hand.”’ Rosie giggled, blushing more.
‘That’s quite funny,’ I chuckled, enjoying her amusement.
And she began to talk more about this boy, Ben, and how he had asked every pretty girl in the class out except her, which his friend said was because he liked her best. She talked ten to the dozen; a long-winded, wonderful, barely intelligible story about how Charlotte and the other girls in her class were vying for his attention. Her eyes lit up and her hands gesticulated wildly and she overused the slang ‘I was, like...’ and ‘awesome’, which I studiously ignored. I assumed the whole carriage was listening and watching her with awe, impressed and charmed by this funny and enthusiastic child, so full of life and intelligence, and I listened hard to the details so that I could respond well.
‘What did Charlotte do when Noah laughed at your joke?’
‘Oh, she didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.’ She crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Is everything okay between you and Charlotte?’
‘Yes, Mum! I know you don’t like her but she’s so, so, so nice, you know.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I just can’t believe you don’t believe me,’ she cried, defensively.
Again, the knife edge.
‘I really do believe you. I think Charlotte can be very lovely when she tries. I’m only responding to what you were telling me. It’s not very nice to ignore someone for a whole day.’
‘That was just one day. The rest of the time she is my best, best friend.’
‘Good. I’m glad you two get on so well.’
‘We do,’ she said, staring out of the window again.
We didn’t talk very much more for the rest of the journey. Plainly, she was still hurt by my scepticism about Charlotte. I didn’t push it this time. It had been a breakthrough to hear her talk about the social dynamics in her class, and the boy scandals. Slowly, slowly I would try to win her trust again over the day. Today was going to be a turning point. Miranda Slater’s patronising letter – all crumpled and stained – would gather dust, that much I knew.
There was a buzz outside the theatre as we queued to get in. I bought her candyfloss and a souvenir key-ring. I clutched her hand to keep her safe in the throng of the theatre audience. Despite the many decades I had grown up and lived in London, I was nervous in the city with her. She was a country girl, ill-equipped to negotiate the pace of city crowds.
During the musical I stole glances at her face: gripped, enthralled, absorbed. After the performance, we had shared a huge ice cream at Fortnum and Masons.
In the taxi on the way back to the train station, she snuggled up to me.
‘I think we should do this again soon, don’t you?’ I enfolded her in my arms.
The enticing lights of a city nightlife outside of the taxi window was a world I had no desire to be a part of while I had my daughter nestled next to me.
‘That was literally the best day of my whole life,’ she said. My stomach flipped over with surprise and love.
* * *
The train station was peppered with drunks and rowdy groups of revellers, and that same sense of insecurity came back to me about Rosie’s safety.
‘Keep up with me darling,’ I said, pulling her arm. ‘Come on, or we’ll miss the eight o’clock.’
‘Can I get a magazine?’
‘No, no, darling, we don’t have time.’
‘Please, Mum, I can get it with my own money?’
Feeling the creep of tiredness, I relented, knowing it would give me some time to read the newspaper if she was occupied.
‘Okay, quickly, we only have ten minutes.’
Just before we got to the checkout, she said, ‘Actually, Mum, I think I want the National Geographic one instead.’
‘Go on, then, quickly.’
I watched her go while I kept our place in the queue. She disappeared into the aisle where the children’s magazines were shelved. The seconds were ticking by towards eight. I let a suited man go in front of me.
And then a couple more minutes went by. I left the queue, my heart began to flutter out of rhythm as I made my way to the magazine aisle, expecting to see her knelt down, sifting through the bottom shelf, indecisive. The aisle was empty. I ran to the end, looking left and right frantically, right along the soft drinks section, left along the bestseller shelves. She was nowhere to be seen. My pulse throbbed in my throat and my head spun.
‘Rosie!’ I screeched. Strangers stared at me with a mixture of concern and suspicion.
‘Rosie! Rosie!’ I ran outside. ‘I’ve lost my daughter!’ I cried helplessly as I scanned the criss-cross of humans.
I ran back into the shop, and rushed towards an official person in purple uniform and described Rosie to him.
‘I didn’t see anyone.’ He rubbed at his a fuzzy moustache and looked at me blankly.
‘What do I do? Who do I talk to?’
‘Err.’ He looked to his equally gormless colleague.
‘I could check in the storeroom?’
‘What? Oh Jesus, what the hell would she be doing in the storeroom?’ I shouted, losing my composure. I ran out of the shop.
The various signs dotted around the train station blurred as I looked for an official person to talk to.
The information desk was at the other end of the station. By the time I got there, I was panting and I breathlessly bombarded the young woman with my garbled description of Rosie. Immediately she was on the tannoy. An echoey, electronic voice ricocheted around the station.
The wait was almost unendurable. A few minutes later, the crowds pushed out little Rosie. She ran towards me smiling, holding two magazines in the air.
‘I lost you, Mummy!’ she cried. A young woman in a purple uniform waved her away.
Relief didn’t register immediately.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ I yelled, gripping her shoulders.
Her face crumpled, ‘The girl in the shop got me another one from the cupboard. It’s for Charlotte.’ The pages of two National Geographic Kids magazines flopped open from her fingers.
‘Never ever, ever leave me like that again. Do you hear?’ I shouted, shaking my finger right up to her nose. A woman passing us frowned at me.
‘But you said...’
‘I didn’t say you could go wandering off without telling me, did I? You silly, silly girl!’ I was overreacting. She had been out of my sight for seven minutes. She was back safe. Let it go, I thought.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ I said, squeezing her too tightly to me. ‘It’s okay now,’ I said. ‘It’s over. You’re okay. Sorry I got cross. I was just in a panic.’
During the journey, the mood between us was forced. I was feeling low, although I was trying hard to hide it. I willed the train to go faster.
On the cold and foggy walk from the platform to the car park, I held her hand, which was floppy in mine.
‘Can I have my iPod?’ she asked as she belted herself into her seat at the back. Usually she would sit up at the front with me.
‘No, darling.’
‘Please?’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s only five minutes until we’re home.’
‘So?’
‘So, you don’t need to play a game.’
‘I promise to switch it off as soon as we’re home.’
‘What’s the point?’
‘Please,’ she pleaded, edgy, antagonistic.