Читать книгу Undressing Emmanuelle: A memoir - Sylvia Kristel - Страница 33

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I’ve had enough of Hanny badmouthing my mother, loudly enough to ensure that I’m aware of her daily discrediting campaign and continual bewitching of my dependent father. She walked in on him and me laughing today. It must have been too much for her.

‘It’s Sylvia or me!’ she tells him.

There’s talk of placing me with a foster-family.

I phone my mother in tears and she responds: ‘Come back, your coffee’s waiting.’

She couldn’t just say ‘I’m waiting’. My mother hid herself behind stock phrases. Her coffee – hot, strong, and always ready – was given as if it came from her own body. It was her attention, her warmth; it was my mother.

I came back, after six months at the hotel.

When my mother opened the door she opened her lips too, giving me a wide, unfamiliar smile.