When I get home on Friday evening, I make pasta and cheese and run a bath for Ben. I’ve heard nothing from Alex since Wednesday and have just decided that I’m not going to – and that it’s probably for the best – when my phone bleeps and then his name is there, sitting on my phone screen, in my hand, just as if it belongs there, as if he’s someone that I know: Alex. I realise then that I don’t even know his surname, that I didn’t ask, or tell him mine. There is so much that I don’t know about him, so much to be anxious about. There are innumerable ways in which this could all go horribly wrong.
But then I open the message and read: Fancy a coffee? and I laugh out loud as I realise that he is someone that I know, a little bit at least, and who knows me a little too – and that’s how it starts, isn’t it? Andy, after all, was once just a Christian name tapped into my mobile phone. And in spite of the way things turned out, I’ve never once regretted meeting, knowing... loving him.
I lift Ben into the bath and sit down on the toilet seat to watch him. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing my face as Alex might see it, lit up and twinkling, alive with the possibility of something more than Friday-night bathtime with a five-year-old. I may not have Anna’s long legs or Ellis Stephens’ striking looks, but I’m aware that I have a pretty face and nice eyes, and that my thick fair hair – when it’s freshly washed and hanging in loose, shaggy waves around my shoulders – is worthy of a second glance.
I click inside the box below Alex’s message and type in: Sorry, not tonight. Am washing Ben’s hair! I tap the send button and glance back at Ben, who is leaning forward and putting his face into the bathwater, trying out the sensation against his nose and mouth. When he lifts his face up, he has beard-like bubbles stuck to his chin and the tip of his fringe is drenched with water, which is now running down his nose. I see him first glance at the green and yellow plastic jug on the side of the bath and then at me, as he tries to figure out where the water is coming from. His eyes narrow and squint as they focus in on his nose, as if it might hold a clue. He looks so funny that I start to giggle, and Ben looks up at me and giggles too.
A second later my phone bleeps and a new message appears. Tomorrow then? As planned? I will wash my hair too.
I chuckle again. Ben is delighted with this new game of cause and effect: the phone bleeps and then Mummy laughs – this is a good game!
‘AAAAY.’ He applauds our interaction, loudly. His voice is deep and echoes round the bathroom. He brings his hands up into the air and crashes them, palms down, against the water.
‘Careful, Ben,’ I warn him, still laughing. ‘Big splash. Too wet.’
Sure, I text Alex back. What time?
A thrill of anticipation runs through me as I shampoo and rinse Ben’s hair, lift him out of the bath and wrap him in a towel. I take him into the bedroom to get him into his nappy and pyjamas, and then put him on the floor and follow him as he, predictably, crawls out of the door and into the living room towards the telly. He pulls himself up and presses his nose to the screen.
‘Bah bah,’ he says.
‘All right, Ben.’ I smile. ‘Bah bah it is.’
I slip the Teletubbies DVD into the Panasonic and flick on the telly. I can hear my phone bleeping from the kitchen table, and I savour the moment of not knowing what it says, but knowing all the same that I have a... A what? What do I have? I have a text exchange with a man going on, a man who likes me, is interested in me, a man who wants to see me tomorrow. It’s more than I’ve had for a very long time. It feels as though he’s... well, my boyfriend. The thought is intoxicating, after so long without this, after so many nights of getting Ben and myself ready for bed with nothing more to look forward to the following day than the prospect of having to keep Ben entertained all weekend on my own.
I pick up my phone. There are two messages. I read them in the correct order. The first one says: Shall I pick you up at 10.00? I’m making a picnic. I’ve got hard-boiled eggs and bananas for Ben. The second one says: And coffee for you.
I laugh again and Ben looks up at me with a smile.
‘Ben, look,’ I tell him, excitedly, and show him my phone. ‘We have a date!’
Ben reaches out his hand and taps the screen of my phone, which of course fails to bleep on cue as he’s expecting.
‘Bah bah,’ he says, unimpressed, and turns back to Tinky Winky, who at this moment in time has far more to offer than I.
I type back: :) See you tomorrow.
*
Amazingly, for once, Ben sleeps right through the night, and this time doesn’t wake until eight thirty the following morning. When I look at the clock on my phone I realise with alarm that we’re left with only an hour and a half to get up, dressed and ready before Alex arrives. But when I check myself in the bathroom mirror and see my even, bag-free eyes and rested face looking back, I know it’s going to be worth it. Instead of the foggy-headed woman who drags herself through the day and divides it up into quarters, it’s my fresh-faced, clear-headed former self that is meeting Alex today. Plucked eyebrows and painted nails are definitely of secondary importance when compared to a fully functioning brain, and it’s only once I’ve given Ben his breakfast and got him dressed, our teeth and hair brushed and a picnic packed, that I turn my mind to my own wardrobe.
I’ve spent most of the warmer months of the year in three-quarter-length leggings, tunic tops and trainers, but I settle instead for a simple navy gypsy skirt, a white vest-top and a matching bolero-style chiffon cardie. I’ve no idea what the top and cardie will end up looking like after a day out with Ben, but it’s the newest-looking outfit I’ve got and I do at least want to look as though I’ve made an effort.
Alex pulls up outside a few minutes before ten. He’s driving a silver BMW, which is really smart, but not too flashy. I make a mental note that he’s one of those people that’s actually on time for things, unlike me; I’ll have to mend my ways. Nonetheless, Ben and I are all but ready, Ben’s bag is packed, as is our contribution to the picnic – tuna sandwiches and a Ben-friendly onion- and dressing-free Greek salad of chopped up cucumber, tomatoes and feta cheese.
I walk outside to meet Alex with Ben in my arms. He waves as he gets out of his car. ‘Is it all right here?’ he asks, from a distance.
‘It’ll be fine for a moment,’ I tell him. ‘We won’t be long.’
‘Can’t we walk there?’
I shake my head. ‘We’d probably need the car nearby, just in case.’
Alex nods and I’m struck once again by the knowledge that he isn’t exactly a stranger to me. I know already that I don’t need to explain the ‘just in case’ to Alex: he gets it. He’s standing next to the car looking at his phone when I leave the house with Ben’s car seat in one arm and Ben in the other. He immediately looks up, pushes his phone into his pocket and walks over to help me, taking the car seat and putting it in the back of the car. He then takes Ben from me and puts him into his seat. He stands back and watches as I strap him in.
‘You look nice,’ he says, from behind me.
I feel myself blush and swing round to face him.
‘Thanks. So do you.’ I smile. For an awkward moment we stand in the road, looking at each other. He’s quite a bit taller than me and I have to look up. In the bright morning light, with his face just inches away from mine, he appears a little older than I remembered, but he’s every bit as handsome. His navy-blue eyes crinkle up at the corners with mirth as we both try to think of something to say, the easy conversation we had just a few days ago lost in the realisation that we’ve now progressed from a man helping out a stressed woman with her shopping to a couple on a first date.
Alex resolves the situation by gently touching my arm and saying, ‘It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind.’
I look into his eyes to see if he’s teasing me, but he’s not. ‘Why would I do that?’ I ask.
He smiles and shrugs by way of reply and then opens the passenger door for me before walking round and getting into the car. I glance across at him as he revs up the engine, baffled by his diffidence. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the one in the driving seat – in more ways than one.
I glance back over my shoulder at Ben, then duck my head down behind the seat and pop up again, making a funny face. A smile breaks across Ben’s face. He seems remarkably relaxed and although I’ve brought his nursery rhyme CD for a bit of reassurance and familiarity on the journey, I don’t want to inflict it on Alex unless I have to.
I direct him straight across Seven Sisters Road, which is tailed back with traffic. Alex glances round at the run-down shops and B&Bs that line the street.
‘Hmm. Exotic, indeed,’ he comments as we pass a hair salon of the same name.
‘You’re not from round here, right?’ I tease.
Alex looks momentarily embarrassed. ‘No. I live with a friend. Lewisham,’ he adds.
‘Lewisham’s nice.’
‘It’s a bit of a bachelor pad, I’m afraid.’
‘So, what were you doing on the Holloway Road on Wednesday?’ I ask.
‘Wednesday? Oh, I’d been up north. For work,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d head down the A1. Just stopped off at the shops to get a couple of bits on my way home.’
Alex slows down outside the entrance to the park.
‘Go on in,’ I tell him. ‘You can park inside.’
We follow the road round to the right and park up next to the basketball courts, which are covered in a pretty sky-blue concrete that makes them look from a distance like a swimming pool.
Alex cuts the engine. Ben spots the boating lake on the other side of the road, where a large mêlée of gulls, geese, ducks and swans is gathered, both on the water and spilling onto the path beside it. A flock of pigeons alights from its midst and settles in an orderly row along the railings.
‘AAAAY!’ Ben applauds loudly.
Alex laughs. ‘AAAAAY,’ he cheers back at Ben.
I look up at him. ‘That’s really great,’ I comment. ‘The way you copy him. I’ve heard you do it before. It’s what the speech therapist told me to do. When you mirror his noises back to him, it’s reinforcement for him.’
Alex says, ‘OK. I’ll remember to do it some more.’
From the back of the car, Ben suddenly lets out an enormous raspberry. I’m not quite sure which end it’s come from, to tell the truth, but the look on Alex’s face is priceless as he turns to me and says, ‘You want me to do that too?’
Ben erupts in peals of laughter the minute we do, and we are all three still giggling as we get out of the car. Any enduring first-date tension is now easing right out of me and we continue to joke easily as we unfold the buggy and unpack the picnic and walk across the road in the direction of the lake. As we reach the water, I take Ben out of his buggy and let him stand, holding onto the railings, where he reaches up to the intrepid pigeons – who are sitting there within arm’s length of us – and launches them one by one into the air with a tap on each plump chest. He continues down the line, moving with the aid of the railings, tapping each pigeon in quick succession.
‘It’s real-life Angry Birds,’ I laugh, as each pigeon takes off, only to land again a little further up the railing. ‘He really does think it’s some sort of game. They have touch-screen computers at nursery. When we go to the aquarium, he taps the glass as each fish swims past. I have to stop him, because it frightens them. He doesn’t realise that, of course. It’s just cause and effect to him...’
Ben moves himself along, hand over hand, towards the newly formed pigeon line-up. Suddenly, without warning, Alex leaps forwards and pulls Ben back with one arm. The pigeons swoop up and take off over the lake.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘I don’t think he should get so close to the water,’ Alex says.
‘But there’s a railing...’
‘Not further up, there’s not.’
Alex takes Ben’s hands and walks him away from the lake and onto the grass, towards the playground. ‘One... two... three,’ he counts Ben’s steps.
I stand there for a moment, wondering what just happened. Did Alex just overreact? Or am I a careless parent? I’d have caught up with Ben easily before he reached the end of the railings. Maybe Alex doesn’t realise that Ben can’t move that fast.
But Ben seems satisfied with this change of direction and Alex seems to be genuinely enjoying himself. I watch them for a moment, my confusion turning to delight as I notice how at ease they are with each other – or, more to the point, how uncharacteristically at ease Ben is in the company of someone new. His face breaks into a smile as Alex continues to count, ‘Seven, eight, nine...’ so I call out to Alex and ask him to watch Ben for a moment while I go into the café for some birdseed, which they sell behind the counter with the teas and coffees.
When I come out of the shop, Alex is walking Ben over the grass towards me, holding just one of his hands. I watch him as he leans over Ben, his back bent. Ben is stretching his arm up and holding on tight to Alex’s hand, his face racked with concentration. At the same time, he looks pleased with himself and I hear him say, ‘Bah bah,’ when he sees me coming into view. While Ben is distracted by my reappearance, Alex takes the opportunity to let go of his hand. Ben wobbles a little and Alex bends and quickly catches him.
‘He’s nearly there, isn’t he?’ he says as I approach them. ‘I’d bet he could let go of my hand and keep going.’
‘He has the balance,’ I agree, ‘but he panics. Of course, it’s much further to the ground for him than it is for a baby that’s learning to walk.’
‘OK. Well we should try it again on the grass. I have a plan.’
I smile at him, gratefully. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
I give Ben a handful of birdseed which he tries to eat and then drops. He then takes my hand and pushes it in the direction of the water, indicating that he wants me to feed the ducks myself. Alex picks Ben up and straps him into his buggy as we move closer to the lake. I throw a few handfuls of seed into the water and there is an immediate flurry of activity as the gulls and pigeons swoop down over the ducks and geese and try to get in on the action.
‘AAAAY!’ cheers Ben, appreciatively, and flaps his hands.
When all the birdseed is gone we head up past the café. We stop at the playground, but it’s too busy for Ben, who wails when I try to unstrap him. Instead, we follow the path until we find a patch of grass in the shade between a beautiful russet maple tree and a lush green hornbeam. I spread out the blanket I’ve brought while Alex reaches down and picks up a small piece of branch that has fallen from the tree.
‘Here,’ he says. ‘This is perfect. We just need to get him to hold onto this instead of your hand. That’s step one. Then, once he’s got used to it, we move onto step two: we let go. Want me to try?’
‘OK.’ I sit down on the blanket as Alex unstraps Ben and stands him on the grass. Ben looks at me anxiously when Alex offers him the stick, but Alex lifts his hand to indicate that I should stay where I am and coaxes Ben gently until he clutches it and walks towards me with Alex holding the other end. When he reaches the blanket Ben lets go and drops down onto his bottom.
‘Good walking, Ben!’ I encourage him, before rewarding him with a banana and a Marmite finger.
Ben sits happily on the rug with a plastic plate full of food and I sit back against the tree trunk, relaxed in the knowledge that there is someone else there to take turns in leaping up and running after him if he crawls away or picks up and tries to eat one of the helicopter seeds that are twirling down from the tree.
‘You’re so good with him,’ I tell Alex. ‘It’s so nice for me to watch.’
He smiles. ‘It’s nice for me too. I want to help Ben. And you.’
I look up at him. ‘It’s a lot to ask,’ I say.
He reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I wanted to see you; and you have Ben. I don’t mind, anyway. It’s fun. I like kids.’
‘It’s different with Ben, though. It’s hard work.’
‘Well, for you, it must be relentless.’ He glances at me. ‘And you have a job as well, don’t you? You were wearing a suit when I met you.’
‘I’m a solicitor. A criminal defence advocate.’
‘You go to court?’
‘Yes, most days.’
‘Wow. You do a job like that and then come home and take care of Ben?’
I shrug. ‘It’s what I did before I had him. Life goes on. We have to live. I have to keep a roof over our heads and pay the bills.’
‘Of course.’
‘To be honest,’ I admit, ‘although it’s hard juggling both, it’s work that keeps me sane. When Ben was first diagnosed, work was a real escape for me, a chance to immerse myself in something else, a chance to feel normal again. I had to get away... not from Ben, but just... well, just from this permanent feeling of loss I had whenever I was with him.’
‘It must have been like losing a child. A bereavement. I imagine it feels the same. You lost the child you thought you were going to have, the future that you were expecting.’
‘Yes. That’s exactly how it was.’
Alex looks up. He can see I’m upset, but I’m glad that he doesn’t try to change the subject. I know that the only way I’m ever going to get over the pain and begin the process of truly accepting the life that’s been handed to me is to talk about this, and for some reason that entirely escapes me, Alex seems to want to listen. So I talk about the times I really did think I’d lost him, how Ben ended up in hospital so many times, with seizures or chest infections. Pneumonia, bronchitis, he’d had the lot. ‘I think some people expected me to give up work and stay home with Ben,’ I tell him. ‘Dedicate myself to him, night and day. I don’t mind admitting that it would have driven me crazy. Really, I wouldn’t have made it this far.’
‘I’m not surprised. Not many people would. And anyway, what do you do then? Live off the state for the rest of your life? End up with no savings or pension, living in poverty?’
‘Some of my work colleagues resent it though,’ I tell him. ‘They think I’m not pulling my weight.’
‘I think that’s what most working women experience, even those with children who don’t need extra help, even in this day of supposed equality in the workplace.’ Alex unscrews the thermos he’s brought with him and pours us both a second beaker of coffee. ‘I once overheard a male colleague complaining when another female colleague left work to collect a sick child,’ he tells me. ‘He said it was her choice to have children and his choice not to, and that he didn’t see why he – as a taxpayer – should have to pay her child benefit and pick up her work for her after she’d left for the day.’
I gasp. ‘What did you say?’
‘I told him that one day her children will be the taxpayers who are paying his pension, the GPs that are treating him, or the carers that are looking after him in his nursing home and emptying his bedpan when he’s too old to look after himself. I told him he should be thanking her, not criticising her.’
I laugh. ‘Good point. What did he say to that?’
‘Nothing.’ He smiles. ‘What could he say?’
I look over at Ben, who has finished his food and is starting to moan. I wipe his mouth with a paper towel, and tip some crisps onto his plate: his favourite snack. Ben instantly gobbles them up and holds out his hands for more. ‘Ben’s not going to be looking after anyone, though,’ I say.
‘All the more reason why we need to look after him.’
We. I look at him gratefully. I’m not sure whether he means we as in society, or we as in he and I, but I feel an unexpected tug at my heartstrings as I realise just how much I like this man. ‘So what do you do?’ I ask him. ‘For work?’
Alex looks at me for a moment. ‘Oh, nothing as interesting as your job. Seriously. Brokerage. Corporate finance. Stocks and shares and hedge funds. It’s boring. Don’t make me go there on a Saturday.’
I laugh. ‘OK, I won’t.’
‘Your job sounds far more glamorous,’ he says.
‘Well, I do enjoy it,’ I admit. ‘I love being there for people who are in trouble, people who are scared and need my help. And of course, it’s interesting. No two days are the same.’
‘So what’s your most interesting case?’
‘What, ever?’
‘Or... right now. What are you dealing with at the moment?’
I hesitate. ‘Well, I’m not allowed to talk about individual cases, not in any way that makes them identifiable. But I have one at the moment, involving a child who’s been hurt.’
‘Hurt?’
‘Badly hurt,’ I tell him. ‘They say the mother tried to kill him.’
‘And did she?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But what if she’s guilty?’
‘That’s for the court to decide. My job is to test the evidence. Make sure it stands up to scrutiny.’
‘And does it?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘So what does she say about it?’ he asks. ‘Has she admitted it to you?’
‘Alex!’ I smack him playfully on the arm. ‘You must know I can’t tell you that.’
‘Go on,’ he says.
‘No,’ I laugh. ‘But if you can get some time off work and come along to the Old Bailey a week on Tuesday, you’ll hear it all first-hand, for yourself.’
‘The Old Bailey,’ Alex repeats. ‘Wow.’
‘It’s been transferred there from another court,’ I tell him. ‘The next hearing is where we enter a plea. Only...’
‘Only what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What?’ he persists.
Only I don’t know if Ellie will be there. I’m worried she’s jumped bail. I’m expecting a call from the Defence Solicitor Call Centre at any moment to say she’s been arrested. Or worse, she’s snatched Finn from hospital and is nowhere to be found. But I can’t tell him that. ‘Enough,’ I smile. ‘I’m not telling you any more!’
Alex smiles back. ‘OK. But, seriously, though. It sounds so illustrious – and exciting.’
‘Well, it can be hard work. The people we represent often have mental health problems or addictions and can be highly stressed and difficult to deal with – or otherwise uncooperative.’
‘Hmm. Yes,’ Alex muses, knowingly. ‘I can imagine.’
I glance up at him, but he’s now watching Ben, who has finished his crisps and has thrown his plastic plate onto the grass and is crawling off the blanket away from us. Alex gets up, creeps up behind Ben and gives him a quick tickle under the armpits, which has the desired effect of stopping him in his tracks while Ben tries to work out what just happened. Alex picks up the plate and Ben starts to crawl away again, then seems to change his mind and starts wailing instead. I get up to pick him up while Alex packs the picnic things away.
As we cross the grass, Alex spots another stick that’s just the right size for Ben to hold. ‘Let’s have another go,’ he says. I put Ben back down on his feet and, holding him up by the arms, I offer him the stick. Ben takes it with one hand and clutches at the buggy with the other, but is soon walking steadily across the grass with just the stick connecting us.
Alex comes up behind me. ‘Here, let me take the stick,’ he says. ‘You can be the carrot. Run ahead and then crouch down and face him, and let’s see if he’ll walk to you. Here, take these,’ he says, grabbing a pack of crisps from the picnic bag and giving them to me.
Alex takes the stick from me and after an initial wobble and wail of protest, Ben continues to trot steadily over the grass after me, as I run ahead with the crisps. I stop and hold the pack out to Ben. ‘Crisps, Ben,’ I call. ‘Come and get them.’
‘Bah bah,’ says Ben, smiling as he trots towards me.
‘Come on,’ I call to him. ‘Come to Mummy. Come and get the crisps, Ben.’
When Ben is just a few feet away from me, Alex lets go of the stick. Ben is so intent on reaching me, or more importantly, the crisps I’m holding, that he doesn’t notice at first that there is no one supporting him and he carries on, taking his very first steps on his own, his gait wide and unsteady, his hand still clutching his end of the stick.
I take a deep breath and clap my hand to my chest; my heart surges with joy. I can’t believe it. ‘Ben, you’re walking!’ I screech at him.
Alex quickly whips out his phone and points the camera at Ben, who instinctively glances over his left shoulder, realising suddenly that Alex is no longer beside him and that he is going it alone. His smile disappears and his face drops in a combination of fear and concentration, but instead of collapsing onto his bottom as I’d thought he might, he carries on walking steadily towards me for at least ten paces, before tumbling into my arms.
‘Ben, you did it!’ I wrap him in my arms and kiss him repeatedly. I’m so happy, I could cry. ‘Good walking, Ben. Good walking,’ I tell him over and over again.
*
When we get home, Alex helps me in with Ben’s things and comes in for tea. He turns on my laptop and uploads the footage of Ben’s first steps. We play it back to Ben, showing him what he has achieved and cheering along with our own voices on the screen. Later, while I get Ben ready for bed, Alex goes out for pizza and a bottle of wine and we watch Strictly Come Dancing on the telly.
‘That looks like a lot of fun,’ Alex says, nodding at the TV screen.
‘You like dancing?’
‘Hmm. I’d have a go at that,’ he says.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. If you were my partner.’
‘How do you know I can dance?’
‘Something tells me you can.’
I look up at him. His eyes are smiling.
We both sit there facing each other for a moment and I wonder if something is about to happen between us. But then, ‘Whoa, careful,’ Alex suddenly glances over towards Ben, who is standing up, holding onto the TV with just one hand. Right on cue, as we watch him, he lets go and walks steadily across the room. I take a sharp inward breath. Ben just keeps going, across the carpet, until he reaches us on the sofa. I reach out to catch him but as the music on the TV starts up, he pushes himself off my knee and wobbles back in the direction of the telly.
He is definitely walking. It wasn’t a one-off. He knows he can do this now, and there’s no stopping him. It’s like a light switch has turned on in his brain.
I feel elated. I can’t believe what an amazing day it’s been, and it’s all down to Alex. It’s as though he’s brought us luck. This is no scratch card: this is the lottery.
Later, as I show him out of the front door and watch as he walks down the path, I know that I have to see him again.
‘Alex,’ I call. He turns and comes back down the path.
‘What have I forgotten?’ he asks.
He steps back through the doorway, and I touch his face.
‘This,’ I say, leaning forward. I feel the stubble of his chin graze my cheek ever so slightly, and then his hand is circling my waist and his mouth is on mine.
‘I’ll find a babysitter,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s go dancing.’
Alex kisses me again. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’
After he’s gone and after Ben’s gone to bed, I lie awake for a long time and allow myself the luxury of imagining that this might be for real, that this might be the way my future is heading: a world with Alex in it – Alex, me and Ben. This is the point where my daydreams usually end; this is where reality always kicks in. But is it different this time?
Hope rises inside me like a balloon. This man – this lovely man who has seen my son at his very, very worst – wants to go out with me again. I’ve only met him twice, but I know already that he is a kind, caring, gentle person who has brought a ray of sunshine into my world and who genuinely seems to want to help Ben. For some reason that’s beyond my comprehension, he seems to think that the package that is me and Ben – and he can be in no doubt that we are indeed a package – is one that’s worth having. But why? What’s in it for him? What if he changes his mind about me? What if he doesn’t? What do I really know about him, after all?
My father’s voice creeps into my head: ‘If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.’ I contemplate this long after the streetlights have dimmed and the traffic noise that normally reaches me from the Holloway Road has dulled into an occasional distant swish and hum. I try to summon up my mother’s voice instead of my father’s, to hear her talking to me, to imagine what she’d tell me, what advice she’d give, but it’s been so long since I’ve heard her speak that I can’t quite reconstruct the intonation, the pitch, the cadence of her voice.
But as tiredness finally sweeps over me and my body stills and my mind opens itself up to the funny, random, abstract thoughts that pop into your head when you’re on the cusp of sleep, I feel her hand in mine. I suddenly remember something muddled about strangers being angels, and never being afraid.