Mo said she was quirky Read Online Free PDF

know her. If he had it would have been different, he wouldnt have seemed so murderous and dangerous. Because that is how he was to the others; that was how he appeared: murderous and dangerous. Not to her. Of course not, not at all. Because she knew who he was and if he had known it was her, if he had he would have looked at her differently.
    He would have, because of who she was and who he was – her big brother. He was her big brother my God and it wouldnt matter about anything else; all what had happened, whatever had happened was away in the past. If anything had happened. She didnt even know if anything had happened. It was all past now, everything, she was his wee sister, she was only little, she had been; if anything had ever happened, she was only little. Nothing had happened anyway, what had happened? nothing.
    Other shadows now, and a darkness. Oh but darkness, what is darkness, just darkness of mood, if her mood was dark.
    These shadows. Shadows shadows, this is the past.
    Memories are memories. Memories are not dark. It was Helen herself and her imagination, too many books as a girl,Mum always said it. Shadows and images, darkness. These were only memories, all crowding in, her and the family when she was very small; the ones from the beach where she was sitting up on Brian’s shoulders. He took her down to the water. Other brothers would have skipped away and left her but he took her, walking over and over the sand, a far stretch of sand, across twirly little sandworms. She would not step on them although they were not real sandworms and would never hurt her. Brian said that. And nothing ever would hurt her if he was there. Helen knew that. But you could imagine worms, how they twirled round and were hiding there in the little piles my God and you could not walk to the water without stepping on them they were everywhere you looked and made you shudder and she hated touching them how boys could touch them oh my God and she could just look down at them, from high up on Brian’s shoulders.
    She couldnt have had a better brother. Did people not know? It was just so obvious. Dad knew that too. He must have. Why wouldnt he? Because he didnt like him. Poor Dad, his voice was a roar filling the whole house. Frightening and horrible. Helen hated it and wished she could stop it and just hide, she could just hide, if there were blankets, and just pulling them over her head, it was so so horrible.
    If he didnt like his own son. My God. Surely not, but yes. It isnt strange to find in families a parent doesnt like a child. You had it in stories and films. It was an old subject; even in the bible. The parent tries but cannot bring himself to do it. It does happen. It is nobody’s fault and just such a horrible shame, for everybody – not only the child. Dad would have felt it the worst. Poor Dad, fifty-four years of age. That is young for people dying. Cholesterol and blood pressure, or blood through the veins; to do with blood, something. Scotland was horrible for dying. She hadnt known it was so bad. Porridge and whisky, kilts and haggises. People laughed. It was a warped sense ofhumour. It happened in the casino. Anything about Scotland and they made a fool of it. Even Mo, and that was racist too, if he wanted to talk. Okay it was a laugh but just as well Mum didnt hear him. She was for Scotland and against anybody who said different. Scotland is a Protestant country. So if people came here they just had to put up with it. Or stay in their own place; why didnt they? Nobody asked them to come.
    Mo said he liked Mum but how could he? If people dont like you how can you like them? She couldnt look in his direction except with lowered eyes. Nobody would have succeeded with her. Even Dad failed. Of course Brian.
    Helen glanced at the photograph in her hand, she had lifted it from the floor, one of Mum and Dad but half turned so she couldnt see the actual surface, the image. She didnt want to see them. Not at this moment. The