Her eyes brightened. She saw her mother, so for a second Nora felt like that. Like her mother.
She felt the strangeness of being connected to the world through someone else.
“Mummy, what were you doing?” She was speaking loudly.
She was deeply serious in the way that only four-year-olds (she couldn’t have been much older) could be.
“Ssh,” Nora said. She really needed to know the girl’s name.
Names had power. If you didn’t know your own daughter’s name, you had no control whatsoever.
“Listen,” Nora whispered, “I’m just going to go downstairs and do something. You go back to bed.”
“But the bears.” “There aren’t any bears.” “There are in my dreams.”
Nora remembered the polar bear speeding towards her in the fog. Remembered that fear. That desire, in that sudden moment, to live.
“There won’t be this time. I promise.” “Mummy, why are you speaking like that?”
“Like what?” “Like that.” “Whispering?” “No.” Nora had no idea what the girl thought she was speaking like.
What the gap was, between her now and her, the mother. Did motherhood affect the way you spoke?
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