open and staring intently at you.
“Why are your eyes red?” she asked. So much for taking away the redness with cold water.
I brushed her hair off her forehead, exposing the soft white skin on her forehead.
“I’ve been crying,” I replied.
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head deeper into the pillow.
“I’m sad.”
“Why?”
I inhaled deeply, felt the tightness of emotion compressing my lungs. “I’m sad because of your mummy.”
“Mummy?” Tegan sat up. “Are we going to see Mummy today?”
I shook my head. “No, sweetie,” I said.
“I want to see Mummy.”
My jaw trembled as I watched the little girl with disheveled hair and creased pajamas who sat asking me with big confused eyes why I was keeping her mother from her.
“Tiga, when your mummy said you were going to live with me, where did she say she’d be?”
“In heaven with Jesus and the angels,” Tegan replied. Just like that. As though heaven was only around the corner, and Jesus and the angels could be found hanging out in the local park.
“Did she say why?”
“Because she was ill and Jesus and the angels would look after her.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, your mummy’s gone to be with Jesus and the angels.”
Tegan shook her head. “No, she hasn’t. She’s in the hospital.”
“She was yesterday. But today she’s gone to heaven.”
“When is she coming back?”
“I’m sorry, Tiga, she’s not coming back.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Tegan shouted and I recoiled at the volume of her voice. She scrambled out from under the covers and leapt off the bed. “I don’t believe you. I want to see my mummy. I want to see my mummy.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t,” I said quietly.
“I want my mummy,” she screamed. “I want to see my mummy!”
I sat on the bed, frozen as Tegan stood in the middle of the floor, her pajamas hanging off her thin body, flinging her arms up and down and stamping her feet, screaming.
I didn’t know what to do. Try to hold her? Leave her to scream it out? Run away and hide? That was the strongest urge: to bury my face in the pillow, to cover my ears and wait for all of this to go away. I didn’t know what else to do. Nancy had offered to stay while I told Tegan but I’d said no, she’d done enough already, I couldn’t impose upon her anymore. Now I wished she had stayed. She would have known what to do.
I kept repeating that I was sorry but Tegan didn’t hear me. She just screamed and screamed, stamping her feet and flailing her arms about. On and on. “I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
Trampling clothes and papers and other items littering the floor, I crossed the room to her.
“I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
I slipped my arms around her even though she fought me, hit out with her tiny fists, each of them connecting with my body but not hurting.
“I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
She bucked and twisted, as wild and vicious as a cornered animal, still screaming, but I held on to her until her rage subsided and she went limp in my arms—her head flopped onto my left biceps, finally exhausted from crying and yelling and begging for her mother.
“You’ve still got me,” I said, holding her close and gently stroking her back.
“Don’t want you,” she whispered in a tiny, hoarse voice,
“want my mummy.”
chapter 10
T he handle to the door of my former bedroom turned and the door slowly opened. I watched as more of the corridor of my parents’ house came into view and Tegan stepped in. She was dressed in a calf-length, black satin dress with a full skirt, embroidered bodice and long sleeves that my mum had bought her. She had shiny black patent shoes on her feet and white socks that ended mid-calf. Mum had also tied black ribbons into the twin bunches in Tegan’s hair. The black was tragically striking against her whey-colored skin and pale gold
“Why are your eyes red?” she asked. So much for taking away the redness with cold water.
I brushed her hair off her forehead, exposing the soft white skin on her forehead.
“I’ve been crying,” I replied.
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head deeper into the pillow.
“I’m sad.”
“Why?”
I inhaled deeply, felt the tightness of emotion compressing my lungs. “I’m sad because of your mummy.”
“Mummy?” Tegan sat up. “Are we going to see Mummy today?”
I shook my head. “No, sweetie,” I said.
“I want to see Mummy.”
My jaw trembled as I watched the little girl with disheveled hair and creased pajamas who sat asking me with big confused eyes why I was keeping her mother from her.
“Tiga, when your mummy said you were going to live with me, where did she say she’d be?”
“In heaven with Jesus and the angels,” Tegan replied. Just like that. As though heaven was only around the corner, and Jesus and the angels could be found hanging out in the local park.
“Did she say why?”
“Because she was ill and Jesus and the angels would look after her.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, your mummy’s gone to be with Jesus and the angels.”
Tegan shook her head. “No, she hasn’t. She’s in the hospital.”
“She was yesterday. But today she’s gone to heaven.”
“When is she coming back?”
“I’m sorry, Tiga, she’s not coming back.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Tegan shouted and I recoiled at the volume of her voice. She scrambled out from under the covers and leapt off the bed. “I don’t believe you. I want to see my mummy. I want to see my mummy.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t,” I said quietly.
“I want my mummy,” she screamed. “I want to see my mummy!”
I sat on the bed, frozen as Tegan stood in the middle of the floor, her pajamas hanging off her thin body, flinging her arms up and down and stamping her feet, screaming.
I didn’t know what to do. Try to hold her? Leave her to scream it out? Run away and hide? That was the strongest urge: to bury my face in the pillow, to cover my ears and wait for all of this to go away. I didn’t know what else to do. Nancy had offered to stay while I told Tegan but I’d said no, she’d done enough already, I couldn’t impose upon her anymore. Now I wished she had stayed. She would have known what to do.
I kept repeating that I was sorry but Tegan didn’t hear me. She just screamed and screamed, stamping her feet and flailing her arms about. On and on. “I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
Trampling clothes and papers and other items littering the floor, I crossed the room to her.
“I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
I slipped my arms around her even though she fought me, hit out with her tiny fists, each of them connecting with my body but not hurting.
“I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY, I WANT MY MUMMY.”
She bucked and twisted, as wild and vicious as a cornered animal, still screaming, but I held on to her until her rage subsided and she went limp in my arms—her head flopped onto my left biceps, finally exhausted from crying and yelling and begging for her mother.
“You’ve still got me,” I said, holding her close and gently stroking her back.
“Don’t want you,” she whispered in a tiny, hoarse voice,
“want my mummy.”
chapter 10
T he handle to the door of my former bedroom turned and the door slowly opened. I watched as more of the corridor of my parents’ house came into view and Tegan stepped in. She was dressed in a calf-length, black satin dress with a full skirt, embroidered bodice and long sleeves that my mum had bought her. She had shiny black patent shoes on her feet and white socks that ended mid-calf. Mum had also tied black ribbons into the twin bunches in Tegan’s hair. The black was tragically striking against her whey-colored skin and pale gold
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