While My Eyes Were Closed by Linda Green Read Free Book Online

from the top shelf and carefully measure two capfuls into the basin of water and swish it around.
    ‘What’s that? It stinks,’ says the child, screwing up her nose.
    ‘It’s Dettol. For your hands. Doesn’t your mother use Dettol?’
    She shakes her head. ‘Is it going to sting? I don’t like stingy things.’
    ‘Only a tiny bit, but it will get the germs out of your hands.’
    She wrinkles her nose again and looks down at herhands, examining them closely. ‘I can’t see germs. Where are they?’
    ‘You can’t see them, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Let’s get your hands in the basin and we’ll get rid of them for you.’
    The child lets me take her hands and immerse them in the water. She winces only slightly but does screw up her nose again. ‘I don’t like smell.’
    ‘The smell will be gone soon. Now, I’m going to dab them for you with some wet cotton wool. Make sure we get everything out.’
    I take each hand out in turn and wipe over the grazed pink skin. My eyes keep returning to the child’s nails. When we are done I dry her hands gently on the towel and take the nail scissors from the bathroom cabinet.
    ‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
    ‘We’re going to get your nails cut. They’re filthy.’
    ‘Have they got germs too?’
    ‘Looking at the state of them they’ve probably got carrots growing under them.’
    ‘I don’t like carrots.’
    ‘All the more reason to cut them, then.’
    She stays relatively still while I trim each nail in turn and use one of the scissor points to ease the dirt from underneath.
    ‘That tickles,’ she says. When we are finished I take an emery board from the cabinet.
    ‘What’s that?’ I am beginning to think her mother doesn’t know how to care for herself, let alone a child.
    ‘An emery board, to file your nails nice and smooth.’
    She looks at it with fascination and feels the edge of the first nail I file.
    ‘Nice and smooth,’ she says.
    When I am finished I place her hands back in the basin of Dettol.
    ‘Are there still more germs?’
    ‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ I tell her. I dry her hands again. They look much better now. They look like Matthew’s hands. She has long fingers for her age, like he did. I wonder if she has ever played the piano.
    ‘There,’ I say.
    ‘Are we done now?’
    ‘Nearly.’
    I take the Germolene from the cabinet. I wish they still did the little tins of it. I have never got on with the tubes.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Germolene for your hands.’
    ‘Why are you putting germs back on them?’
    ‘I’m not. It’s to protect them from germs.’
    ‘I don’t like smell.’ I sigh and shake my head. I find it hard to think of a better smell. It is warmth and comfort and safety. A smell of mothers.
    ‘Have you never smelt Germolene before?’
    She shakes her head. I wonder what else she hasn’t smelt. What she hasn’t tasted. What love she hasn’t felt.
    ‘Is Mummy coming to find me now?’ she asks.
    ‘Aren’t you hungry? I was going to make buttered crumpets.’
    ‘I’ve never had trumpets.’
    ‘Crumpets. They’re flour and yeast cakes. The butter melts into the holes in the bread.’
    ‘Are they yummy?’
    I smile at her. ‘Well, I think so. Why don’t you try one?’
    ‘And then will Mummy come?’
    ‘Let’s get you fed and watered first, shall we?’
    ‘Can I come and hide here again? It’s a very good hiding place.’
    ‘Of course you can. We can have lots of fun and games here.’
    I help her down from the stool. Melody is standing guard outside the bathroom. The child bends to stroke her.
    ‘Please don’t touch her,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to get cat hairs on your hands or Germolene on her fur, do we?’
    ‘No. She might not like the smell.’
    The child stops on the landing and points to the framed photos on the occasional table.
    ‘Who’s that?’
    ‘It’s Matthew. My son.’
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘He’s grown up now. He doesn’t live here any