Mummy's Little Helper Read Online Free PDF

‘Now, then, how about we go down and get that box out, and see what we’ve got? I was thinking that perhaps we could go on the internet and find some pictures to print out. You could have the cast of
Glee
on the cover of it, perhaps. Something like that.’
    Abby nodded, seemingly mollified, and produced a small smile which I hope betrayed at least a spark of enthusiasm. ‘Okay,’ she said, as I turned to lead the way back downstairs.
    Before following me, however, she crossed the bedroom and carefully turned off the bedside lamp, then reached up and flipped the switch for the main light, as well. And then, as we crossed it, she turned off the landing light too. Then on again, as if undecided, and then off again. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I began as we were plunged back into near blackness. ‘We usually leave that one till we’ve gone up to bed.’
    She turned to face me, her expression one of complete consternation.
    ‘But what about the bills?’ she asked incredulously.
    It seemed that bills, and the worry of them, not to mention that of timetables for everything from laundry to medication, were what took up most of this small girl’s time. After we’d spent a focused half-hour gathering the raw materials for her new scrapbook, I suggested she go up and change into her pyjamas and that we could then watch some TV before she went to bed. We’d abandoned hope of having our usual meal and Mike contented himself with a couple of extra biscuits, the plan being, since Abby still had no interest in dinner, that we’d order in a take-away to eat once she’d gone to bed. It wasn’t the usual thing we’d do on a random Tuesday evening, but this, of course, wasn’t a usual sort of day.
    She’d come back down now and we’d tried to find out a little more about her. There was no point in setting up a tailored behaviour modification programme till we had more idea both about the small person for whom we’d tailor it and the behaviours which most needed modifying.
    And it soon became clear – just as John had warned us – that whatever behaviours were worrying social services, they were the result of a life dominated by caring for her mother.
    ‘So what sort of things do you and your friends like doing?’ Mike asked her, as we settled in the living room. Abby had gone straight to the big new recliner armchair by the fireplace. It had been a moving-in extravagance, and was already Mike’s favourite – but tonight he’d had to come and join me on the sofa. Not that he didn’t often, but I smiled even so. After a long day at the warehouse he liked nothing better than to press the button that made the footrest pop out, and more often than not declare, ‘Fit for a king, this!’
    But I knew he didn’t mind, bless him. There was a David Attenborough wildlife programme coming on shortly, which we’d both been keen to see, and which Abby had expressed interest in watching too. Her mum, she explained, had really liked the series about the sea – when ‘she could still actually see the telly,’ she’d added sadly.
    She turned to Mike now. ‘I don’t really have many friends,’ she told him, one hand twiddling a few strands of her hair round and round. ‘I don’t have much time for things like that.’
    Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘What, none?’ he asked, mock-incredulously. ‘Not even one special best friend for ever? A BFF – isn’t that what they call them these days?’
    Abby shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she repeated, with a shrug. I watched her carefully, but she didn’t seem to be distressed making this admission – simply stating a fact. ‘I don’t need friends anyway,’ she added quietly. ‘I have Mummy.’
    ‘And a very busy life, by the sound of it,’ I said quickly, anxious that she didn’t get upset again. Which she clearly was. She was twiddling her hair even faster, though she didn’t seem conscious of the fact. ‘Oh, and look, the programme’s starting,’ I said, glad of a