MORNING SERIAL
‘Modron and Mabon.’ ‘Smile at them.’ ‘They’re snails.’ He rolls his eyes again.
‘I know, but smile at them.’ ‘But they won’t know what it means. It’s stupid.’
‘Then smile because of them. Because of how they make you feel.’
He smiles again, less toothy, but sincerely.
‘Good. Use that smile.’
He tries again but is back to the false gurning.
‘How do they make you feel?’ He shouldn’t still have them. He shrugs.
‘Do you feel responsible? Powerful? Because they depend on you for food and a home?’ He frowns, nods.
‘Okay, so you give them things they need.’
He nods again.
‘Right, and what do they give you?’
He thinks for a minute, face screwed up, then, ‘I like to watch the foot on the glass.’
‘Well, if you want Uncle Ioan and Aunty Jennifer to give you food and a home then you have to show them your smile. Like the snails show you the foot on the glass.’
He is concentrating, solemn again.
‘Good boy. How’s school?’ ‘Just school.’
‘I love you, Jack.’ She hopes he doesn’t hear the catch in her throat.
‘Ditto.’
‘Do you like the truck?’ He shrugs. ‘Mam, when are you coming home?’
When the call is over Helen slips off her leathers and pads around the room in bare feet.
The carpet is thin and scratchy, a dull brown colour.
She is wearing fleece-lined leggings and a long-sleeved top, but now the leathers are sloughed off like a snakeskin in the corner, she is cold.
She unpacks her panniers, just the things she’ll need tonight, and
goes into the en suite. It’s simple, functional.
A plastic tub and shower, a square mirrorover the sink.
There is complimentary shampoo and conditioner, tiny bottles, and a paper wrap with a sliver of soap.