MIDNIGHT - HarperCollins NZ

JOSEPHINE COX
six-year-old with long, fair plaits and mucky hands,
instead of a shapely, pretty woman aged thirty. ‘What
am I to do with you, eh?’
‘Sorry, Mother.’ Following doctors’ advice, Libby had
learned how to deal with her mother’s unpredictable
moods. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ Gently
reaching out, she suggested in a quiet voice, ‘Come on
now, Mum. Don’t let your tea go cold. You know how
you hate cold tea.’
Unsure, Eileen moved back a step. ‘Too cheeky for
your own good, that’s the truth of it. Drive me to
distraction at times, you really do!’
‘I try not to.’ She gently wrapped her fingers about
the older woman’s hand. ‘Come on, Mum.’
Eileen took a tentative step forward, only to pause
again as though unsure. ‘You do realise, don’t you? I
shall have to tell your father when he comes down.’
‘If you must.’
‘He’ll probably smack your legs.’ She jabbed her
forefinger into Libby’s chest. ‘Oh, and don’t think I’ll
stop him this time, because you deserve a smack!’
‘I expect I do.’
There followed a quiet moment, during which the
older woman took stock of the situation, her kindly
gaze holding her daughter’s attention. ‘Perhaps I won’t
tell him,’ she confided in a whisper, ‘because he can
get nasty when he has to give you a telling-off.’ Her
face softened. ‘Yet he loves you, Libby. We both do.’
Choking back the tears, Libby told her, ‘And I love
you, Mum . . . so very much.’
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