Another one. I was in the garden centre with my two, no three now. I forget to count Ben because he is so little, even now. I strap him to me and he doesn’t cry so I have a hand each and a strong voice for the other two. There we were with our overpriced cream tart and Ribena and I saw a couple; a mother and daughter, I assumed. The mother’s arms were around the daughter, just outside the toilet. And I thought what has happened, just now, in the toilet? or was it a phone call? That overly portable device that means anyone can find out anything anywhere. There is no time for sitting down these days for bad news. I remember when I heard about Jo, I had pulled into my driveway, there was a child asleep in the back of the car, I had checked my emails on my iphone. There was a circular email from the MA administrator with her name as the subject and I thought that was odd. Or I thought maybe she had been published. But then the first few words spoke of regret and I knew before I had finished reading. I was angry as I read it, and then I didn’t believe it. And then I thought but if she’s dead, why hasn’t she told me?
But these two, they embraced, in the cafe, by the toilets, and the older led the younger away, her face crumpling under the weight of it; whatever it was.
A man, her father I presume, followed at a safe distance.
elisabeth pike 