Dot (Araminta Hall)

to her bed in a magical blue and silver bottle and was her only concession to luxury, or maybe even life. The springs which held her mother each night almost touched Dot’s nose and she worried that her mother might come in for a rest and push the springs into her face. Dot would shout, of course, but she knew it would take her mother ages to figure out what was going on, by which time the springs could have dug into her skin.
    Mavis was searching now. Dot could hear her in the bathroom next door looking in the laundry basket. She could probably roll out from under the bed before her mother lay down; in fact if she heard her coming upstairs she’d roll out just in case. This made Dot worry that she would scare her mother or not be able to make her understand what she was doing. Only the night before she’d been going up to her room and seen her mother sitting at her dressing table, staring so intently at her reflection that the woman in the mirror seemed more real than the one doing the looking. Dot wished that she hadn’t hidden under her mother’s bed; it had been a stupid idea and was bound to make Mavis cross. Nothing was ever simple. Why couldn’t her mother be more like a proper mother? This mythical woman lived solely as an image in Dot’s mind along with the ponies and princesses: proper mothers did things like bake and pick flowers and ask what had happened at school. A proper mother didn’t drift off in the middle of sentences or rub her temples as if she would push her fingers into her brain if she could. She didn’t cook the most indigestible and weird foods she could think of, she didn’t still live with her own mother. Most of all, she didn’t forget to mention who her child’s father was.
    The fact that Dot had never met a perfect mother was not the point. The only other mother she knew well enough to compare was Mavis’s, who was as strange as her own, cleaning a pristine house every day, watching the world through smear-free windows and avoiding speaking to Mavis’s father as if her life depended on it. There was her grandmother as well, who was of course her mother’s mother, but it was almost impossible for her young mind to comprehend her as a mother and she was hardly what you might call normal anyway. Dot listed some of her grandmother’s beliefs as the dust itched her eyes and prickled her skin: do not sit on at least five of the chairs round the dining room table and three in the sitting room as they are too precious, never pick daffodils as they look common anywhere but in the ground, under no circumstances say the words ‘toilet’ or ‘pardon’, stand up when anyone older comes into the room, never sit on the blue velvet chair by the fire or go into her bedroom or touch any of her china. Dot was still too young to decide what she thought about her grandma’s rules, for all she knew they could have been right. And besides, they were related to Jesus, as proved by a family tree which some great-uncle had drawn and which now hung on her grandmother’s bathroom wall. And that surely must give her grandmother some sort of right to preach.
    Dot’s arm had grown numb and was starting to buzz with pins and needles which felt like ants running through her blood. She pushed it upwards and her elbow brushed against the smooth surface of what she immediately knew to be a photograph. Unable to turn around she rubbed her elbow over the photograph again and felt that it was trapped against the wall by the head of her mother’s bed. An excitement built inside her out of all proportion to the event: she knew she had to look at something so alien in her mother’s bedroom. It was easy to dislodge and then she was able to pull herself out and reach back in to retrieve the photograph. Dot’s eyes had been made lazy by the dark and it took a minute for them to adjust to the light, for them to focus on the face staring out at her. Then she saw him: a handsome man smiling out at whoever had taken the picture. His face took up most of the frame, but she could see enough blue sky to know that he was outside, as well as the fact that his mid-length brown hair was blowing across his good-looking face with his blue eyes sparkling out and straight into her. Dot felt her whole body tingle like it was Christmas morning. She staggered to her feet and ran to the landing where she shouted for Mavis.
    Mavis had been downstairs and it took her ages to reach Dot, although any amount of time would have