Little Lillian

Little Lillian. She slept so soundly. Perhaps it was the spin of her mobile, with its little plastic clouds and pink elephants pirouetting round in the air. Was she able to dream? 

 

The light of the television at night danced on the balls of her eyes. I bounced her on my knee, holding her securely round the ribcage. She was delicate. Ever so delicate. 

 

Some said it would be hard raising Little Lillian all alone. But watching her face in the early hours of the morning, still as stone, the colour of sugar mice, I could not have disagreed more. Buying a pram with sunflowers on it. Picking out little jumpsuits in violet, fuchsia, red. The little breaths in my ear as I held her. The giggles like pure gold. Why on earth would anyone want to share that with someone else? Why would I spoil her?

 

It was me and her, forever. She had my eyes. Round, blue, glittering. Long lashes. I spent hours playing with her tiny fingernails. Played with puppets. Sang to her. She was so quiet. And she slept so soundly. I couldn’t quite believe she was real.

I’ll never forget her. She never screamed. We danced together on the balcony as the sun went down, so she could feel it on her skin. 

 

Someone took her from me. I know they did. I heard them, creeping, in the night when the curtain light was misty blue and the room was full of monstrous little faces that peeked out of shadows. They smashed things. Took the photos. They slammed the door. 

 

I don’t cry, not anymore. Not even when I stare at her cot, her toys. 

 

I’ve got Little Jane, now. She’s as sweet as rosewater and as good as gold. Just like her sister was. It’s me and her, forever.

 

People give me looks when we go to the park. Looks that taste like sour milk. We feed the ducks together, and they’re watching us. I take her for an ice cream, and they’re watching us. They never say anything. They wouldn’t dare take her from me, not Little Jane. But they stare, and we have to come home. Their stares make me want to vomit.

 

Let them stare. The monsters will always be after us. 

 

They think she runs on batteries. I know she runs on love.