slept.
‘Why do you do that, Maya? Why do you cover your face when you sleep?’ Anna had asked one morning, knowing she would never get an answer, but asking anyway because she couldn’t keep to herself all the questions she had for her daughter.
Maya had picked up her iPad and touched the word ‘jump’. She had only been seven at the time.
Anna had smiled at her. ‘Do you want to jump?’
Maya had touched the word again and again, until Anna had gently taken the iPad away from her. ‘Jump then, Maya; if you want to jump, jump.’ Anna had jumped up and down to show her. ‘Let’s jump together, Maya—jump, jump.’ But Maya hadn’t wanted to jump. She shook her head and touched her eye. She pointed at the iPad, and when Anna gave it back, she touched the word ‘jump’ again.
‘What did you expect?’ Anna had thought. ‘Let’s do your writing exercises,’ she had said, pushing on with the day, but Maya had begun to scream and thrash. It had taken seconds for her to go from sitting calmly on the couch to becoming a screaming, raging dervish.
‘Oh, not today, Maya; please, not today,’ Anna had said but it was too late. Chaos had reigned for hours.
Lying on her daughter’s bed, Anna had relived that day, trying, as she always did with days like that, to work out what had set Maya off. She had touched the word ‘jump’ on her iPad but hadn’t wanted to jump, so why had she touched the word?
And then she had touched her eye. ‘“Jump”, eye; “jump”, eye,’ Anna had muttered to herself. What had Maya meant? What had she wanted? Anna had taken her arm away from her face as a car turned in the road outside. Its lights flashed through the gaps in the closed curtains and Anna instinctively covered her face again. ‘“Jump”; eye,’ she thought. The lights flashed into the room again as the car drove off.
‘Oh,’ Anna moaned, feeling her stomach churn with nausea. ‘Oh, Maya. It was the lights, the lights from the cars outside,’ she whispered, sitting up. ‘That’s what you were trying to say. The lights made your eyes jump, so you had to cover your face. I get it, Maya, I understand now. It was the lights.’
She had curled up on the single bed and let herself cry once again. ‘I get it, Maya, I get it now,’ she said. It was so clear, so obvious, what her daughter had been trying to say, that she had been answering the question. As she had drifted off to sleep, Anna had another thought: What else did I miss?
When she had woken up, only hours later, she had found herself covered with a blanket. ‘He’s trying so hard,’ she thought as she gulped water, and had experienced a sharp stab of sorrow for her husband, who just wanted to take care of her.
‘Okay, Anna,’ says Detective Anderson, forcing her back into the present, ‘I know this sounds silly but, just for the purposes of keeping an accurate record, I’m going to need you to state your full name and date of birth.’
‘Anna McAllen, twenty-first of February 1976,’ says Anna and it occurs to her that she’s forty. She hadn’t even thought about it on her birthday but she has reached the Big Four-O. She recalls being twenty-five when Sophie, her boss at the graphic design company where she worked, turned forty, and feeling sad for her.
Sophie had a husband and two children to go home to,and didn’t want more than half a piece of cake because she was watching her weight, and at the time it seemed to Anna that Sophie’s life was almost over.
‘All I want to do is get to bed early and have a full night’s sleep,’ Sophie had said. ‘Just wait until you girls have kids. You’ll know what I mean.’
‘Imagine being that old,’ Anna had whispered to Melanie as they sipped champagne out of plastic glasses.
‘Hideous,’ giggled Melanie and then she threw her hair back over her shoulder, attracting everyone’s attention. Anna and Melanie had worked on many projects together and knew some of the older men in
‘Why do you do that, Maya? Why do you cover your face when you sleep?’ Anna had asked one morning, knowing she would never get an answer, but asking anyway because she couldn’t keep to herself all the questions she had for her daughter.
Maya had picked up her iPad and touched the word ‘jump’. She had only been seven at the time.
Anna had smiled at her. ‘Do you want to jump?’
Maya had touched the word again and again, until Anna had gently taken the iPad away from her. ‘Jump then, Maya; if you want to jump, jump.’ Anna had jumped up and down to show her. ‘Let’s jump together, Maya—jump, jump.’ But Maya hadn’t wanted to jump. She shook her head and touched her eye. She pointed at the iPad, and when Anna gave it back, she touched the word ‘jump’ again.
‘What did you expect?’ Anna had thought. ‘Let’s do your writing exercises,’ she had said, pushing on with the day, but Maya had begun to scream and thrash. It had taken seconds for her to go from sitting calmly on the couch to becoming a screaming, raging dervish.
‘Oh, not today, Maya; please, not today,’ Anna had said but it was too late. Chaos had reigned for hours.
Lying on her daughter’s bed, Anna had relived that day, trying, as she always did with days like that, to work out what had set Maya off. She had touched the word ‘jump’ on her iPad but hadn’t wanted to jump, so why had she touched the word?
And then she had touched her eye. ‘“Jump”, eye; “jump”, eye,’ Anna had muttered to herself. What had Maya meant? What had she wanted? Anna had taken her arm away from her face as a car turned in the road outside. Its lights flashed through the gaps in the closed curtains and Anna instinctively covered her face again. ‘“Jump”; eye,’ she thought. The lights flashed into the room again as the car drove off.
‘Oh,’ Anna moaned, feeling her stomach churn with nausea. ‘Oh, Maya. It was the lights, the lights from the cars outside,’ she whispered, sitting up. ‘That’s what you were trying to say. The lights made your eyes jump, so you had to cover your face. I get it, Maya, I understand now. It was the lights.’
She had curled up on the single bed and let herself cry once again. ‘I get it, Maya, I get it now,’ she said. It was so clear, so obvious, what her daughter had been trying to say, that she had been answering the question. As she had drifted off to sleep, Anna had another thought: What else did I miss?
When she had woken up, only hours later, she had found herself covered with a blanket. ‘He’s trying so hard,’ she thought as she gulped water, and had experienced a sharp stab of sorrow for her husband, who just wanted to take care of her.
‘Okay, Anna,’ says Detective Anderson, forcing her back into the present, ‘I know this sounds silly but, just for the purposes of keeping an accurate record, I’m going to need you to state your full name and date of birth.’
‘Anna McAllen, twenty-first of February 1976,’ says Anna and it occurs to her that she’s forty. She hadn’t even thought about it on her birthday but she has reached the Big Four-O. She recalls being twenty-five when Sophie, her boss at the graphic design company where she worked, turned forty, and feeling sad for her.
Sophie had a husband and two children to go home to,and didn’t want more than half a piece of cake because she was watching her weight, and at the time it seemed to Anna that Sophie’s life was almost over.
‘All I want to do is get to bed early and have a full night’s sleep,’ Sophie had said. ‘Just wait until you girls have kids. You’ll know what I mean.’
‘Imagine being that old,’ Anna had whispered to Melanie as they sipped champagne out of plastic glasses.
‘Hideous,’ giggled Melanie and then she threw her hair back over her shoulder, attracting everyone’s attention. Anna and Melanie had worked on many projects together and knew some of the older men in
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