Talk to Me, Doughnut

Talk to Me, Biscuit

Dont be scared, Biscuit! It will all be okay. Theyll shout a little more and then settle down I think.

Rosie hugged her beloved teddy bear tighter and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldnt be afraid now, not when she was such a big girl. Gran Margaret had told her so. Five years old that was practically grown up. Grown up enough that everyone expected big things from her. She didnt even cry anymore when she had her jabs at the clinic. Embarrassing, really. Only when she was alone with Biscuit was she still her small self the way shed always been. Hed seen her happy, cross, brave and frightened, and he never told a soul. Biscuit had come from Mummy the day Rosie was born a round, slightly lopsided little bear with button eyes and a squishy tummy, her best friend in all the world.

You could share anything with Biscuit, and he wouldnt run off to tell Miss Watson, like her best friend Tilly might, if she thought shed get Rosie in trouble. Biscuit would just listen with his big round eyes and not say a word. He always understood. And now, when everything felt scary and sharp, he was right there, soft and safe and hers. Mummy and Daddy were hers too, of course but when they started shouting at each other, it was as though prickly brambles sprouted across the house, like in the Sleeping Beauty story. Rosie couldnt explain it, but she imagined nobody could get near anyone else; all their words got stuck in the thorns, meaning never quite reaching meaning. She didnt understand why her parents argued. Werent grown-ups meant to be above all that? Gran Margaret said they should find common ground or was it common tongue? It was tongue Rosie was sure. And maybe grown-ups had different sorts of hurt not petty squabbles but proper, enormous grudges. Rosie had never met a real grudge before, but she was certain they were awful. Her fallings-out with Tilly had been enough to make her wish for nothing but tears, not even ice cream as a comfort. Real grown-up hurts must be far worse.

She opened her eyes and listened. Silence. That meant Mummy had gone to cry in the bathroom, and Daddy would be sitting in the kitchen glaring at his mug, and now was Rosies moment. She got up from behind her bed, where shed crouched through the row, and let out a sigh. Her bedroom was so pretty Mummy had picked the wallpaper herself, making sure Rosie liked the colour. White bed, rose-pink quilt, a wardrobe almost bursting with her dresses. So many toys that she sometimes forgot which ones she had. She didnt want to leave it. It felt safe, almost peaceful, now that the fighting paused. But Biscuit gazed at her, and Rosie stifled a sob.

I know, I know. Im going. You stay here.

She propped Biscuit on her pillow and slipped into the corridor. Mummy first; that was always harder. The bathroom door was shut, predictably. Rosie tapped softly.

Mum?

Yes?

Can I come in?

The door opened. Mummy sat on the edge of the bath, dabbing her eyes.

What is it, sweetheart? Do you need the loo?

No, I just wanted you. Rosie filled her lungs with air and stepped inside. She hated what came next. Mum would cry some more, hug her too tight, promise everything would be fine and Rosie would cry too, not because she really believed those promises, but because she knew they werent true. They never were. As Tilly always said, the nice times only lasted a little while before the brambles grew again.

Rosie wiped her eyes and looked at her mother.

Why?

Why what, love?

Why do you and Dad always shout at each other? If you dont love each other, maybe you ought to stay apart. Thats what Gran Margaret says when I fell out with Tilly, she told me to keep my distance until we stopped being cross. If youre apart, you cant argue, can you?

Eleanor froze. Her daughter had never spoken aloud about the rows. Eleanor had convinced herself that Rosie didnt notice she was only little, after all. What could she possibly understand?

Rosie, why are you saying that? I love your daddy

Thats not true, Mum.

Rosie!

If you loved him, you wouldnt shout at him so much. You dont shout at me, do you?

Eleanor was stumped. How did you explain adult relationships to a five-year-old? That shouting didnt always mean hate or did it? Such a simple question but how to answer?

You need to sit and think about how youre behaving. Like Gran Margaret says! Rosie patted her mums cheeks, brushing away tears.

Gran Margaret, again, Eleanor said, attempting a watery smile.

Yes! And shes right. I made up with Tilly after we had a row. We fight less now only when she tells on me to Miss Watson.

Youre growing up so fast Eleanor hugged Rosie close.

No, Mum, Im still little. If I were big Rosie leaned away and whispered, I wouldnt be so scared.

What are you scared of? Eleanor frowned.

What if, next time, you and Daddy both shout and then leave? What if you go somewhere quiet, away from the bad stuff? Its not nice here for you, is it, Mum?

No I mean Wait, are you scared well leave you? Is that what you think?

Yes Rosie burst into tears. And it would just be me and Biscuit. What if he got lost again, like last time in the taxi? Then I really would be all alone. I asked Gran Margaret, but she said shes too old to be my mum now!

Eleanor took Rosies hands in hers. Rosie! Listen to me. Ill never leave you never. Youre my little girl, my only little girl.

But when you and Daddy shout, you forget all about me, dont you?

Eleanor opened her mouth, but truth stuck in her throat. Her daughter was right. In those bitter moments, nothing else existed but hurt. The words flew like stings, burning everything in their wake. When had she become this person?

She remembered how she met Sam, at university. Eleanor had been rushing down the corridor, certain shed be late for an exam, when she crashed into a tall, awkward man. His glasses shattered, and all shed managed was a breathless, Sorry! before hurrying off. She passed with flying colours and was skipping on her way out when she bumped into him again outside.

Hello, Express Train. Are you always on such a tight schedule?

Hed called her my little train ever since, especially if she sulked. You puff away so adorably! I cant even get cross with you. All the midwives laughed in the labour suite when he called out, Dont puff, Train, push!

When had he stopped? Stopped teasing, stopped seeing her as both funny and precious? When did fighting become their routine?

Mum?

Yes, pet?

Are you that upset with each other?

Eleanor idly played with Rosies curls. She looked so much like her father, all golden ringlets. When Eleanor was pregnant, shed prayed Rosie would take after Sams hair.

Please, not my straw, shed joke. What would a little girl want with my wispy mop?

Nonsense! You have wonderful hair, Sam would tease her.

Thats because Ive got a brilliant hairdresser and a good cut. Imagine if Rosie inherited your curls and my green eyes! Boys wont stand a chance.

Everything had happened as shed wished wild curls and sea-blue eyes. Rosie was already beautiful, and would only be more so. Eleanor smiled despite herself. Mum always said: Pick the right dad. Sam had been the right one. A brilliant father. For him, Rosie meant the world perhaps even more than Eleanor did, and oh, how that stung. Jealous of your own child what sort of mother did that make you?

She remembered Sam rushing home, nuzzling past Eleanor to find Rosie: Wheres my princess? There you are! I brought you chocolate, your favourite! Then, after playing with Rosie, hed lose himself in films, headphones clamped on, disappearing into someone elses sadness, ignoring Eleanor as she put their daughter to bed and tidied up.

How he sang with Rosie in the car, barely turning when Eleanor spoke, so she had to repeat herself. How hed snapped at her when Rosie was ill: What are you crying for? Will that help her? Pull yourself together! What sort of mother are you?

That day, something snapped inside. Eleanor stopped crying, not from comfort, but from feeling empty and useless. Shed pressed her lips to Rosies forehead without even realising the fever was gone. Gone were the endlessly anxious hours, but she couldnt shake that feeling of being nothing, of being not enough. Was it a grudge? Yes.

Rosie watched her mother. Now Mummy was lost in thought. No more tears, which meant it was Dads turn.

Ill be back soon, Rosie said.

She wriggled free and left for the kitchen. Please dont cry any more, all right?

Eleanor didnt answer, staring hard out the window, memories tumbling past like autumn leaves good and bad, all mixed together. So many squabbles, so many gentle moments. It was just hard, that was all. Shed once known exactly what to say to Sam; now she never knew.

University days, their wedding, moving into their first flat. Sam baking a cake for the first and last time to celebrate her first work success. It was a disaster, so sweet it made their teeth ache, but Eleanor nearly cried throwing it away. Ill bake another, dont fret. We can put the leftovers in a box, like at royal weddings, and keep it for a hundred years.

They bought their flat, sitting on the empty floor to celebrate as Rosie bubbled on her inflatable bed. Well have to have another girl, Sam laughed. Theres only two rooms, after all. The second never happened. Eleanor didnt know if she really wanted it, in the end. Arguments piled up, small at first, growing bigger until they filled the entire space, like her daughters imagined thorns.

Eleanor splashed her face with cold water. Enough this keeping-score of good and bad. Rosie was right. Bitter hearts got in the way of everything. Either theyd mend, or or what? She imagined life without Sam and shivered.

Rosie padded to the kitchen, pushed open the door. Her father sat, hunched in profile, staring out.

Dad?

Rosie! Why arent you in bed?

Its not late. You were shouting

Im sorry.

What for?

For shouting.

Are you cross with Mummy?

Sam studied her. Did Mummy say shes cross with me?

No. I know it anyway.

How?

When you love each other, you hug. When youre cross, you shout. Isnt that right?

Sam shifted Rosie onto his lap, searching her face.

Youre so grown up now.

Thats what Mum said.

What else did she say?

She said she loves you. And me.

Rosie watched as something shifted in her fathers expression, a frown smoothing away. Satisfied, she climbed down.

I need to get back to Biscuit. He hates being alone.

Go on then, love. Sam watched her go, lost in thought. When had things got so wrong between him and Eleanor? It was almost by accident. After Rosies birth, Eleanor seemed to withdraw. Childcare took over; things were never quite warm again. She became snappy, then nearly vicious. He felt guilty all the time, waiting for a smile that never came. Even if he tried to reach her, shed snap and shut down. It felt hopeless. The day he shouted at her for crying over Rosie, shed simply looked at him, emptied of all reaction an expression hed never forgotten.

He remembered his mums advice, years ago: Take responsibility, Sam. Think what you could have done. Both are usually at fault, but the man more often. Hed asked why. Because women follow. Support them and theyll give you everything. But if you leave all the burdens to them, trouble will follow. And remember: treat her the way you did before you married. To her, you are a miracle at first try not to become ordinary.

Sam smiled to himself. Thanks, Mum, he murmured, standing to make things right.

Rosie couldnt sleep for ages. She lay, clutching Biscuit with one hand and hugging Mum with the other. Eleanor looked so tired, a deep line between her brows. Rosie gently stroked it till it faded and, satisfied, snuggled back in. Tomorrow, she wished hard, would be a kinder day. People said that, after all Itll be a good day even if it rarely turned out true. Rosie squeezed her eyes tight and wished.

The alarm rang in the master bedroom, unheard. Instead, Eleanor shot up, checked the little kitten-shaped clock hanging in Rosies room, and squeaked, Were late! Nursery would just have to wait. Thankfully, there was nothing urgent on at work today. As she crept out to the kitchen, she was startled by the scrape of a spoon. Sam was still home? He never was, not this late. Eleanor washed and dressed, hoping hed slip out before she could face him. No such luck.

She found him at the stove, brewing coffee. Morning he said, glancing back. He looked exhausted red rimmed eyes, dark circles.

On the table stood a cake, lumpy and obviously homemade, with gaudy, wonky icing roses. Had Sam spent all night making it? And unearthed the piping kit shed lost weeks ago?

Eleanor met his gaze as he stepped forward.

Im sorry, El. I really am. For everything. Ive been a rubbish husband. You and Rosie are the best things in my life, and I know I cant fix it all overnight, but maybe maybe youd give me a chance?

Eleanor stared, absorbing the new-old tenderness in his face, then placed a hand over his mouth.

Were both at fault. Youre right I need to think. About lots of things. Seriously this time.

How long will you need? Sam ventured.

Oh, about seven months, Eleanor replied.

Sam blinked, not sure hed heard right.

Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, you understood correctly.

Before Sam could react, Rosie bounded in, Biscuit in her arms, rubbing sleepy eyes.

Are you friends again?

Sam and Eleanor exchanged a look.

Wow! But why cake? Can we really have it for breakfast?

Today we can do anything! Sam scooped Eleanor into a hug and whispered, I love you. Give me another go?

Eleanor squeezed him tightly. So do I. But messy girls dont get cake for breakfast.

Ill wash now! Rosie grinned. Save two pieces for me and Biscuit!

Teddy bears dont eat cake, Eleanor teased.

Thats why hes got me. Ill help.

A few years later, Eleanor would hurry through the park with a buggy, on her way to fetch Rosie from school. Little Freddie would wake too soon, moaning softly. Leaning over, shed be gathered in a familiar warm embrace.

Ill take him, Sam would say, cradling his son. Well wait for you.

Eleanor would smile and quicken her pace. Rosies holidays started tomorrow, tickets were booked, suitcases packed, and Freddie would see the sea for the very first time. So much had happened over the last three years the struggle to rebuild things, living with her parents for two months, the bittersweet return, and the birth of Freddie. First steps, first tooth, first word which wasnt mummy. Sam had strutted for weeks, teasing her: He said Daddy first! Well done, son!

Rosie at her first school assembly, nervous and pale as her big ribbons, but shed managed not even looking back as she walked into her new class.

Mum!

Rosie! Eleanor swept her up. How did it go?

Best in class! Mrs. Taylor says me and Tilly are model pupils.

Well done! Eleanor beamed, hugging her.

Wherere Dad and Freddie?

Walking in the park, waiting for us.

Thats good. And Biscuit?

Of course! Biscuits in the buggy.

Rosie sighed. Shed given Biscuit to her brother, because you should share your best things with the people you love most. She missed him all the same, but only told Mum that much.

Watching her family stroll ahead, passing Freddie between them, Rosie peered into the pram and whispered to Biscuit, Do you think everythings alright now?

Biscuit gazed up with his round, quiet eyes. Rosie felt sure, deep down, that shed heard his answer.