Toast

‘What you at?’ I said. I was in her bedroom putting clean clothes in her drawers and to retrieve the dinner plate and empty glass she took up to her room earlier.

She put the handset down and switched the Play-station off. ‘Nothing,’ she said while looking out one of her colouring book and pencils.

I knew what she was doing; I know the signs and the tone. She won't make eye contact, she just deals with things, and she does it her own way.

I’d invaded that space, her private escape world, and I’d burst the protective bubble and brought her out of the dream place she escapes to and copes.

I sat on the bed for a minute or so, and watched as she coloured in. Not once did she go out side the lines, and the colours were so light I could barely make them out. She does it with such deft delicacy and patience way beyond her years.

My baby had grown up so much in the past two years.

Her Mother had cancer, and passed away. In the end, it was a relief, she was suffering too much and it was for the best

Although I didn’t ignore her, I did give ninety percent of my time to her Mother. No, not my time but, certainly my love and my effort.

Anything I had to give was given to make sure her Mother was comfortable and happy in what was as far as she was concerned, the last season of happiness she would have.

So, through no fault of her own at the age of nine, she had to spend so much time alone with nothing but colouring in books and her games for company.

She was an angel then, and still is, my special angel now.

Not once did she complain when I said she couldn’t have friends around. She never cried when I shouted at her for making a mess when all the time, there was no mess. Without her I can’t say with any kind of honesty I wouldn’t have ended it all myself, I’m sure I’d have gave up long ago.

I don’t know how she did it, but I’ll always be thankful she did.

I stood up. ‘D’you want me to go?’ I said and ruffled her hair.

‘Dad!’ she said annoyed, and buried her head further into the book.

I left her and her thoughts alone and returned to finish ironing school clothes.

Later that night, we were in the lounge, she had returned to the real world, our world. A world where we can steel a laugh without feeling guilty. A world where we don’t care if other people will think we are being heartless and insensitive if we smile.

She sat watching the telly and ate toast before bedtime. I read the paper, and for the first time since the funeral, some seven months before, she kissed me goodnight before she went to bed.