Читать книгу Finding Lucy - Diana Finley - Страница 19

People like Susan and Molly, close neighbours who had extended friendship to me, expressed no surprise that Lucy was quieter and more withdrawn than other children of her age. It was natural, they said, in view of her experience of losing her father, and the disruption this tragedy had imposed on our lives. Molly told me it was important for Lucy to play with other children.

‘She’s such a serious little mite, bless her – be nice to see her running about with some other little bairns her own age.’

‘Why don’t you take her to the playgroup next to the church?’ suggested Susan. ‘It would be good for her to play with other children. Charlie absolutely loved it. Be good for you to meet some other mums too. It’s just a couple of hours three times a week, and Harriet Grant, the playgroup leader, is absolutely fantastic at involving all the children, no matter how shy they are. Go on, Alison, it’d be good for both of you.’

So everyone seemed to know what was good for Lucy, and me – what was best for us. But shouldn’t Lucy be with me? Wasn’t it best for young children to spend as much time as possible with their mothers? Yes, my supporters replied – united in their opinions, it seemed – but it’s just as important for them to have the company of their “peers” – they need to learn to play cooperatively, to communicate, and develop their social skills.

I resented this interference, but in the end their perseverance won and I gave in. Susan came with me – just to introduce me to the playgroup staff and some of the mothers, she said. Lucy sat on my knee clinging tightly to my sleeve for the first half-hour. She’d been eyeing a dolls’ house on a table close to us. Eventually she slid cautiously off my lap and walked hesitantly towards her goal. Susan nudged me.

‘There you are,’ she whispered. ‘What did I tell you?’

A little girl was playing with the dolls and toy furniture, arranging them in one room, then moving them somewhere else. Lucy stood watching her for a few minutes. Then she sat down on the small chair next to her. The other little girl smiled and chatted about the toys.

‘I like that one, that mummy one,’ she said, pointing to a toy figure. ‘I gonna put her in the bath!’ She looked at Lucy and giggled.

Lucy watched her solemnly. She picked up a boy figure, bent his legs and sat him on a chair. She nodded. ‘Put Wy-yan on tair,’ she said.

Every now and then, as she explored the toys, Lucy turned around as if to check what I was doing. Watching her seeking me out for reassurance, I felt a terrible pain in my heart; a feeling that was both intense and mysterious, yet not altogether unpleasant.