Talk to Me, Doughnut

Talk to Me, Mr. Buttons

Dont be scared, Mr. Buttons! Its alright! Theyll shout for a bit longer and then settle down I think

I clutch Mr. Buttons closer to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. Im not supposed to be scared. Im grown up now. Thats what Granny Margaret says. Im five already, and that means Im bignot a baby anymore. Everyone says so. I dont even cry at the doctors anymore when I get jabs. Embarrassing! Only with Mr. Buttons can I be little again. Hes seen every side of me. Mum gave him to me the very day I was borna silly, slightly wonky teddy bear, my best friend ever. I can tell him anything, and unlike my best friend Daisy, hell never run off and snitch to Mrs McIntyre, our nursery teacher. He just stares with those round, shiny eyes and patiently listens. And when Im scared, like now, he helps me feel safesoft and warm and mine.

Mum and Dad are mine too, but during arguments, they both turn prickly all over. The whole house seems to sprout spiky bushes, like the ones in Sleeping Beauty, stabbing between them. No one can get close; no matter how much they shout, no one really hears each other at all. I dont understand why grown-ups fight. Granny Margaret says adults are supposed to sort things out, find the right language I cant quite remember which language, but she always insists on the word. Maybe adults dont just get upsetthey get really hurt. Grown-up hurts must be scary if even ordinary childish upsets with Daisy make me so sad I cant even manage ice cream afterwards; how bad must big ones feel?

I open my eyes and listena hush. That means its over for tonight. Mum will slip off to cry in the bathroom, Dad will brood in the kitchen, and its time for me to go. I stand up behind the bed and sigh. My bedroom is so prettywith its white bed, pink blanket, lovely wardrobe packed with all my dresses, and shelves groaning with so many toys I sometimes forget which ones I even own. I never want to leave here. It feels calm now, almost peaceful. But Mr. Buttons beady eyes remind me. I sniffle.

I know, I know, Im going! I say quietly. Stay right there, Ive got this.

I prop Mr. Buttons against my pillow and leave. Mum firstshes always the hardest. Bathroom door closed, as usual. I knock softly.

Mum?

Yes, darling?

Can I come in?

The door opens. Mum is perched on the side of the bath, eyes red.

Do you need the loo?

No. I just wanted to see you. I take a big breath and step inside. I dread this next partshell scoop me up, cry harder, promise itll all be alright, and then Ill cry too. Not because I feel sorry for her, but because I know it wont be alright, not really, not ever. Not for more than a day or two, anyway.

I wipe my eyes and look straight at Mum.

Why?

Why what, sweetheart?

Why do you always shout at each other? If you dont love each other anymore, shouldnt you keep a bit of distance? Thats what Granny Margaret says when Daisy and I fall out: if you stay apart, you cant argue.

Mum freezes, staring at me. Until now, Ive never said anything about their rows. Mum always thought I was too little to understand.

Vera, why would you say that? Of course I love your dad

Youre fibbing, Mum.

Vera!

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

Mum looks lost, searching for words. How to explain that being grown up is hard, that shouting doesnt always mean hate, or does it? Such a simple questionwhy?

You should go sit and think about what youve done! Thats what! I say, mimicking Granny Margaret, and gently stroke Mums cheeks, wiping away the tears.

Granny Margaret again? Mum manages a smile.

Yes! Shes right. I made up with Daisy, and now we hardly ever fight. Only when she gets me in trouble with Mrs. McIntyre.

Youre growing up so fast, Mum sighs, hugging me.

Im still little really, I mumble as I pull away, almost whispering. If I were really big, I wouldnt be so scared.

What are you scared of? Mum frowns.

What if you and Dad shout again and then leave?

Leave? Where would we go?

Somewhere quiet. You cant stay where it hurts, can you? It hurts you, doesnt it, Mum?

It does Wait! You think wed leave you? Is that what youre afraid of?

I burst into tears. And then itd just be me and Mr. Buttons. If he got lost again, like in the taxi, Id be all alone! Granny said shes too old now to be my mum!

Vera, sweetheart, listen to me. Ill never leave you. Youre my little girl, I couldnt possibly

But when you yell with Dad, do you even remember me then?

Of course Mum falters. But I know Im right. In those moments, she forgets everything except her own pain, her own anger. When had everything got so muddled?

I remember how Mum and Dad met at university. She told me she was running late for an exam, collided with a tall, awkward boyDad. His glasses flew off, smashed to pieces, and Mum could only gasp, sorry! But there was no time to explain. Sorry! she called and dashed off. She passed the exam with flying colours and left skippingsummer and the seaside awaited.

Later, the boy with new glasses found her outside and grinned. Hello, express train! Are you always tearing through life at top speed?

He always called her his little engine, especially when Mum was grumpy. You puff and huff so much, I cant even pretend to be cross! All the midwives laughed when he used to shout in the delivery suite, Dont huff, little engine! Push!

When did he stop calling her that? When did her smile fade?

Mum?

Yes, darling?

Is it really that bad? Are you cross with Dad?

Mum twists a finger through my curlsgiant, golden spirals, just like Dads. She always hoped I would inherit those from him.

“Anything but my three strands!” she used to joke. Dad always said she was beautiful, though.

I look just like she wantedwheat-coloured curls, blue-grey eyes as bright as the sea. She smiles at me, and I realise shes remembering the good thingstheir old jokes, Dads first attempts at making a cake to celebrate Mums new job, even the first home they bought together, sitting on the floor surrounded by empty boxes because the furniture hadnt arrived. Now we need another girl! Dad used to say, hugging Mum. We cant stop at one!

But the rest didnt go to plan. Life kept piling up problems, little arguments turned into big ones. Words thrown around like bowling balls, knocking everything over, until all that was left was silence. Mum would be surprised if I told her it was more like sharp thorns growing, pricking at their hearts.

She splashes some cold water on her face and looks determined. Enough. Time to decide: keep fighting or call it quits. She imagines Dad not coming home, never hugging me again. She shudders.

My bare feet are cold on the kitchen tiles as I go to see Dad. He sits staring out of the window, his tea gone cold.

Daddy?

Vera! Why arent you in bed?

Its not late yet. I clamber onto his lap. You were shouting

Im sorry.

Why?

For shouting.

So why did you?

I dont know, it just happened.

Are you upset with Mummy? I search his face. I should have talked to them both earlier instead of hiding with Mr. Buttons. At nursery, Mrs. McIntyre sits us in little chairs, we talk things through, and askdoes it feel good not being friends anymore?

Did Mum say she was cross with me? Dad ruffles my curls, breathing in my sleepy scent.

No, I know myself.

How?

When youre happy, you hug Mummy and she smiles. When youre cross, you shout. Thats right, isnt it?

Dad studies me, surprised.

Youre growing up fast too.

Mum said the same.

What else did she say?

She said she loves you. And me.

His face softens, the frown fading. I slip off his lap.

“Id better check on Mr. Buttonshe doesnt like being left alone.”

Run along, then. He watches me go, lost in thought. When did things change between him and Mum? After I was born, he tried, but everything became so tense and prickly. He stopped being Mums warmth and sunshine, just watched helpless, always apologising, never fixing what was really wrong. He hated it when Mum cried, especially that time when I was so ill He lashed out at her then, said things he should never have said, and that seemed to build another wall between them. The hurt, like stones in a heap, harder and harder to climb.

Dad remembers his own mum once telling himtake responsibility, even when you dont think its yours. Because homes crumble when no one tries. If ever youre lucky enough to love someone, treat her like shes preciousdont you dare forget what mattered before you were married. Only now, thinking about me and Mum, does he see what she meant.

Later, as Mum lies beside me, her breathing heavy with sleep, I curl up tightone arm around Mr. Buttons, the other round Mums neck. She doesnt look peaceful; her brow is creased. I gently stroke away the frown line. That never used to be there. Mum sighs and it vanishes. I nuzzle closer and wish as hard as I can that tomorrow will be a kind daynot just a word, but really true.

The alarm in Mum and Dads bedroom rings, but she doesn’t stir. Only the little cat-shaped clock in my room is ticking away. We oversleptno nursery for me, and Mum will be late for work. Lucky its not urgent today. Oddtheres clinking and clattering in the kitchen, and Im sure Dad left for work already. Mum tiptoes out so as not to wake me. Turns out Dads still there, making coffee.

Morning he says, looking ruinedeyes red, circles dark.

Mums about to reply but gapes at whats on the tablea lopsided cake smothered in homemade icing roses. If Dad made this, he mustve been up all night. He even found the cake piping set Mum lost weeks ago.

He meets Mums eyes and steps forward.

Im sorry, I really am. For everything. Ive been a useless husband, distracted and crabby. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you and Vera. If it werent for you, we wouldnt have her. I know I cant fix everything now, but can you at least think about forgiving me?

Mum looks at him long and hard. Then she steps close, covers his mouth with her hand.

Were both to blame. Youre right, I need time to really think. Properly. About everything.

How long?

Oh, about seven months, Id imagine. Mum raises her eyebrow mischievously.

Dad stares, trying to work out what she means.

Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, you heard right!

Before Dad can get over the surprise, the kitchen door bursts open and in I come, dragging Mr. Buttons, rubbing my eyes.

“Have you made up?

Mum and Dad glance at each other.

Wow! Why cake? Can you eat cake for breakfast?

“Today, anything goes! Dad slides an arm around Mum and whispers, “I love you. Let me try again?

“Only if you let me, she whispers back, turning to me. But jammy girls dont get cake!

“Im off to wash! Two slices, pleaseone for me, one for Mr. Buttons.

Teddy bears dont eat cake.

Thats what Im forhell need help!

Years later, Mum will wheel a pram down the paths of the park, rushing to fetch me from school. Baby Henry will wake early in the pushchair, mumbling for attention. Dad will scoop him up, grinning. Ive got him. You go on ahead.

Mum will smile as she hurries to the playground. My school holidays start tomorrowtickets bought, bags packed, Henrys first ever seaside trip ahead. Shell think back over the years: the hard work patching things up, those two long months we lived at Granny Margarets, the making up thanks to Dads mum, the birth of Henry, his first wobbly steps, toothy smiles, his very first wordnot “mummy,” but “daddy”! Dad teased Mum for weeks.

On my first day of school, bows pinned in, I trembled with nervesbut when I walked through those gates, I never once looked back.

Mum!

Vera! Mum scoops me up. Howd it go?

Best in the class! Mrs. Thompson says only Daisy and I got everything right.

“Well done, you two! Where are Dad and Henry?”

“Out in the park, waiting for us.”

Thats good. What about Mr. Buttons?

Cant go anywhere without Mr. Buttons! Mum laughs. Hes in the prambe gentle, dont squash him.

Even though I gave Mr. Buttons to Henry, because youre supposed to share your very best thing with the people you love most, I still miss him terribly. But thats something you can tell Mum, and shell always understand.

As I skip along behind my parents and Baby Henry, watching them swap him back and forth, gently arguing about nothing important, I bend down to the pram and whisper to Mr. Buttons:

“Do you think everything is alright now?”

He stares back with his round, silent eyes. But somehow, Im certain I hear his answer.