Nora, 1
Nothing could please her as much as this.
A rare kiss from her mother, planted in the soft sticky folds of her neck. It makes her giggle. It makes her gurgle. And her mum says, shall we go, then, you and I? Shall we get some lunch?
Nora laughs.
Her mum nods. Let’s get you some lunch.
Nora doesn’t need anyone, but one person. Nora’s mother is all that Nora needs.
Mama, mama, mama, was the first and easiest sound she learned, so now she says it all the time.
Mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama.
She does not like to be apart from her mum. She does not like to be away from her, at all. Not in a cot. Not in the pram. Not in a high chair. She will kick up a fuss about this.
Her mum is nipping off to grab a napkin. But what is a napkin? And how long will she be gone?
Nora cries. It starts as a wobbling lip and turns into a high-pitched whimper and then becomes a shuddering wail. The whole café is staring. The whole world is turned upside down.
And, oh. Her mum is back. Her mum is sweating, and red, and saying I’m sorry, to them, I’m sorry, to Nora. I’m sorry I brought you here, I’m sorry I left.
But Nora doesn’t understand. She can’t stop crying. She knows that her mum can leave, and the thought will always terrify her.
Her mum, her mother. Her anchor. Her base. Her fixed point.
The tears keep coming. She is crying so much that they have to leave the café.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhhhh now. It’s alright. It’s all going to be alright.
But Nora’s mum is crying, too.