“Like you are scared,” the girl clarified. “I’m not scared.” “I want someone to hold my hand.”
“What?” “I want someone to hold my hand.” “Right.” “Silly Mummy!” “Yes. Yes, I’m silly.”
“I’m really scared.” She said this quietly, matter-of-fact. And it was then that Nora looked at her.
Really, properly looked at her. The girl seemed wholly alien and wholly familiar all at once.
Nora felt a swell of something inside her, something powerful and worrying.
The girl was staring at her in a way no one had stared at her before. It was scary, the emotion.
She had Nora’s mouth. And that slightly lost look that people had sometimes attributed to her.
She was beautiful and she was hers – or kind of hers – and she felt a swell of irrational love, a surge of it,
and knew – if the library wasn’t coming for her right now (and it wasn’t) – that she had to get away.
“Mummy, will you hold my hand...?” “I...” The girl put her hand in Nora’s.
It felt so small and warm and it made her feel sad, the way it relaxed into her, as natural as a pearl in a shell.
She pulled Nora towards the adjacent room – the girl’s bedroom.
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