There was a time when she was smaller than now and her bed was right next to mine The kitchen floor space was less than two square meters and the bathroom about one. Those three rooms were all I had left, and into those rooms I had to fit myself, my daughter, and a rather large orchestral pump organ. No, I couldn’t do without the pump organ. It was my morphine. No, I can’t play anything except the start of ‘superstition’.
I would put her to bed, angry at the change bubbling around her and the ivory knives filling her mouth (seriously, is it normal for your skeleton to break through gums that way) – and she would scream and scream and scream. And I could feel my heart twist and all I could do was lie in the dark and hear her scream and the neighbours swear and fight. Maybe she would fall asleep, around 11pm, and i could risk turning the laptop on or go and cook food for myself, finally. Maybe they would bang on my door and she would scream again whilst they laughed and ran. On occasion a fist would bang at the door until i let it in and threaten to take her away from me. I fought enough to keep her but it was just as much for me.
And finally, someone i love sent me a link on facebook to a post advertising a flat in my town. The dream, a little more than I could afford but worth a chance at safety and my mind back at night. Some more people I love helped me get the rest of the money i needed together, even more helped me move everything. The first night Eve stayed at the house I had her room perfect. The first room she had ever had, her cot built and I had finally achieved what others didn’t have to worry about. Until then, I had failed her completely. And now she sleeps through the night and smiles at me in the morning. She says ‘mum mum’ and walks from room to room exploring and I don’t have to watch her in case she hurts herself every second of ever. She sits in the bath laughing at her shark and the door only bangs for more love to be let in.