Page 56 of Mad Mabel

Persephone nods, though her gaze is faraway.

“What is it, child?”

“Why did those people spray you with blood?”

I take a moment. “I suppose they don’t like me.”

“But they don’t even know you!”

I sigh. “Sometimes we form judgments about people we don’t know. I do it. You probably do it too.”

“But I don’t squirt them with blood,” Persephone says.

“No,” I agree. “Nor do I.”

“Maybe we should start?” Persephone grins.

I snort. “Yes. Perhaps we should.”

Persephone’s grin remains for several seconds and I can tell she’s imagining squirting people with blood. I find myself doing the same. Joan, for example, would be fun to take down with a water pistol. Her nephew would have a field day with the legal letters after that.

“My mum says I’m not supposed to bother you anymore,” Persephone says quietly.

I sit on the bed. “Yes, she told me that too.”

“But I’m not bothering you, am I?”

I feel something move in my chest. “No, child.”

“I just thought… since I was lonely with no one to play with, you might be lonely too.”

Much has been made of my above-average strength in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever needed to exercise as much strength as I do right now, to stop myself from weeping.

“What about kids from school?” I ask. “Why don’t you play with them?”

Persephone’s face lights up at this. “Actually, I made a friend at school today. A new girl. Her name’s Delly.”

“Delly,” I repeat. “Short for… Delilah?”

“No, just Delly.”

It takes a herculean effort not to let my smile falter at the absurdity of a child called Delly. “Well, great.”

“I asked Mum if I could ask Delly over after school one day, but she said no because she has to work.”

She starts picking at the chipped paint on my windowsill and I put a hand on hers to stop her. She misunderstands the gesture and grips my hand in her own.

“But she doesn’t go to work until later!” Her voice becomes whiny. “Delly’s mum could pick her up before dinner!”

“You’ll have to speak to your mother about that, darling.”

Persephone is quiet for a moment. I find myself wondering what time Roxanne goes to work.

“Persephone? Dinner!”

The child and I both startle at the sound of Roxanne’s voice. We immediately drop hands. “Coming, Mum!”

She turns back to me, uncharacteristically shy. “I liked it when you called me darling, Elsie.”