Hope Nicely's Lessons for Life

by Caroline Day

  I tell Connor Flynn that I like research too, because of having to do it for my book. And I tell him about my book and about how it is going to change my life and find my birth mother. And he asks what research I am doing, he says what is my methodology but I don’t know that word so I just tell him about doing my research in the library and what I’m doing is writing about what I know and where my cardboard box was found and writing down all the questions that I want to ask my birth mother, like why did she put me there. This is what my mum, Jenny Nicely, does when she writes a poem. She writes down lots of words on a page. She says after a while they start to talk to her.

  ‘Yes, but in terms of actual research what sources have you consulted? Have you spoken directly to the police officers or the doctors involved in your case? I presume you’d have had to approach the newspapers for the original articles, or are the archives now available online? Or perhaps they were saved for you? With your adoption history. That’s likely, of course. Do you have a file of all the paperwork? I imagine your adoptive mother must do so. And, then, it would be interesting to know what happened to the actual cardboard box. It would be interesting to know what clues it offered. DNA testing was not so widely used at the end of the twentieth century as it is now, of course, but still I imagine it was a valuable piece of primary evidence. Would the police have kept the box? My guess is …’

  ‘I …’ I’m looking at him and my mouth is open but my head is feeling like it’s been emptied by all the questions. I don’t know any of the answers because of not having thought of them at all, but only thinking about why my birth mother left me at the church, and if she knew how she’d made my brain, and not thinking at all about who kept the cardboard box or any of the other stuff. Now I’m worrying that Connor Flynn will think I’m stupid if I tell him about not having done any of these things for my research, and he’ll think no wonder I don’t even know if I have a GCSE or not.

  I say: ‘It was only a cardboard box. But I have the blanket. That is evidence. It’s pink and it was in the box with me and it’s still mine now.’

  ‘Has the blanket ever been washed?’

  And I tell him, oh yes, because of it going in the washing machine when it’s time to change sheets, which is every week or maybe every day but I think it’s every week, because of needing our homes and bodies to be clean. So it’s a very clean blanket even though it’s as old as me.

  ‘Unfortunate. Washing the blanket will certainly have compromised the DNA evidence, though of course there are a number of variables such as temperature of the wash and the detergent you’re using which would need to be taken into account. Deoxyribonucleic acid, that is DNA, is found in all living cells and contains genetic information, which is why it’s so useful in genetic fingerprinting, such as identifying parentage. But putting this blanket through a wash over that amount of time will invariably mean that any DNA that there might have once been will no longer be intact enough for examination.’

  I think about telling him that, in fact, I have the blanket right here in my bag in my room – not really my room, but where I can stay for a few nights, with a sweet bathroom and a white duvet with stars embroidered on it – and hopefully not too long because I’m sure my mum is going to be right as rain very soon. It’s my blanket, which is not big enough to be my real blanket, because of me having grown so much bigger than a baby, of course, but my blanket is still big enough and soft enough to snuggle when I’m going to sleep. It’s not just pink but it’s pink with green flowers. But I decide not to say anything about the blanket because of Connor Flynn telling me that it’s compromised. I’m not quite sure what that means but it sounds bad, and so Connor Flynn wouldn’t be able to do research with it. Also I don’t tell him because I don’t want him to think I’m a baby boo boo who needs a blanket to go to sleep. But anyway I don’t need to say anything else, and that’s because of Barry barking. It’s a very funny bark. It’s quite high but not as high as a chihuahua, and Bridget says it’s him telling us he wants to go out in the garden. I say can I go out with him please.

  There’s a ball in the garden and Barry is very good at bringing it back to me when I throw it and each time he drops it right at my feet and looks up at me with big eyes. I play with him for ages and I’m still laughing a bit because of remembering in my head about him being a Yorkie Poo-Shit. And when he’s brought back the ball like maybe a hundred or a thousand times, I sit on the step and he comes straight to me and puts his head onto my leg with his eyes looking up. And that’s why dogs are so special, and I’m thinking I like Barry even as much as I like Tinie Tempah. Dogs are much better than friends, because they care about you. And I tell him it’s nice to be staying with him, and I tell him about my mum, who is called Jenny Nicely, and about her being in the hospital because of having an arrest and I think it’s a cardio one, and not a police one at all, like on the telly when you have to right to remain, although they did come and get me, the police. I tell him about the doctors saying they don’t know if she’ll wake up but that I know she’ll be right as rain because the doctors don’t know my mum and how strong and clever she is and how unique.

  Barry doesn’t say anything of course, because of him being a dog, but I think he’s listening to me, and his fur is soft and nice when I stroke him. I think he agrees too and thinks that everything will be right as rain.

  15

  Danny Flynn was not fibbing when he said that his mum was a good cook and even before I’ve tasted my dinner I’ve been smelling it, and thinking about it, even when I was in my sweet bedroom, having a little nap. But it wasn’t a real one, a nap I mean, because of just having my eyes closed but my head not wanting to sleep, and that’s because of thinking so hard about if things will be right as rain. But even then, it was like smelling toasty and roasty, like sausages, like when my mum, Jenny, does them with fried potatoes and peppers for special breakfast, and a little bit like pancakes. And it was like in the advert which was on telly when I was little, maybe ten years old, and isn’t on the telly anymore, because of being old-fashioned maybe, and it was of a pot for putting gravy in, and the gravy is making a big line of smell that you can see on the telly that’s stretching and stretching. It’s a smell but you can actually see it, and it’s going into the children’s noses and they’re going mmmmm. And that’s like me now, with the toasty, roasty sausage smell and even though nobody’s told me time for tea, I’m coming out of my sweet bedroom and I’m in my pyjamas and I’ve even got my slippers on, because they’re soft and Danny Flynn’s house only has carpet in the bedrooms and not in the kitchen, which is wood. My slippers are very funny because of looking like dog feet, which are very much bigger than my feet, and they’re shaped like a foot of maybe Barry, which is paw and that’s what my slippers are.

  Bridget says, ‘Look at you in your funny slippers.’

  And I say, ‘They’re paws.’

  ‘I can see that.’ This is her. ‘They look very snug.’

  I say I’m very hungry and is that tea because it smells very nice. And I say mmmmm, like in the advert with the smell you can see. And Bridget laughs and says good, good, and it’s nearly ready and do I like toad-in-the-hole. And I think this is a question that must be a joke or else it is really a big problem, because even if it smells as mmmm as with the smell you can see, and even if it smells just like pancakes and sausages, eating toad is not a thing I want to do. Not ever. And my brain is telling me about being polite but it’s too late because my mouth is already saying that eating toads is yucky disgusting.

  Danny Flynn is laughing and I didn’t even know he was here in the room, but he’s in the armchair, watching the news, and he’s turning round now and he says don’t I know what toad-in-the-hole is, and he says don’t worry, it won’t be slimy or have warts on it. He promises. And Bridget is laughing too and saying, it’s OK, they don’t eat toads in this house either and toad-in-the-hole is just a funny name and, in fact, what it is, is sausages in Yorkshire pudding, with her very special g
ravy, and she’s certain I’ll like it very much. Danny Flynn says Hope Nicely, you’re priceless.

  The toad-in-the-hole is very delicious and the knife and fork have handles which are plastic, but they’re not thin and hard, and that’s good, because I don’t like it when the handles are thin and hard or when they’re only silver. And Bridget and Danny Flynn tell Connor Flynn the story about my muddle, and about me thinking we were going to eat a toad. Connor Flynn doesn’t have his sausages inside his Yorkshire pudding like Danny Flynn and Bridget and me. He has a plate with his sausages on one side and his Yorkshire pudding on the other side, because he likes it best that way. And no gravy. But Connor Flynn knows lots of things about toads, like they are part of the same family as frogs and it is called Bufonidae and that there are toads in all corners of the world, but not in the continent of Antarctica. And I ask him if he knows any facts about sausages and he’s thinking for a while before he says, actually, not very many, except of course that the name for a sausage comes from the Latin word salsisium which means something that is salted, with salt.

  Barry sits under my chair and, when nobody is looking, I give him a little bit of the salsisium-in-the-hole, but only a tiny little bit because of it being so delicious and me wanting to eat it all. And pudding is treacle tart and it’s with custard. It’s so nice that I have seconds and then even more seconds. And Bridget says how good to see that I have an appetite and she’s glad I like it because she can’t bear food going to waste.

  There is coffee at the end of the meal, but not for me, because coffee is yucky, even if it’s without the caff. But I have a tea and it’s a mint tea. It’s like hot water, but with a bit more taste and it’s a bit green. Danny Flynn is telling me about who he’s been speaking to on the telephone. He’s been speaking to the hospital about my mum and everything is the same, that’s what he says: no change. But they say that’s to be expected because of my mother being sedated and Danny Flynn has to go to work tomorrow but the hospital has the number for the house and the number for him, and my number too, so if there’s any change at all, they will let us know straight away. And if I want to go and see Jenny tomorrow, Julie said she can pick me up about two, and he’s sorry about leaving me but he has to work, and Mum and Connor will be here and, actually, Marnie Shale phoned to ask after me and see how Jenny was, and said she’d love to call in to see me. Also Karen, my boss, called and everyone sends their love.

  Bridget says she’s sure my mum will be better soon, then Connor Flynn says, statistically, unless CPR was instigated within the first couple of minutes, the likelihood of brain damage or—

  ‘Thank you, Connor. Enough.’ This is Bridget and she’s putting a hand on his arm, but he pulls his arm away. Connor says, or fatality or persistent vegetative, and Bridget says, enough, a bit louder this time, and it’s interrupting but he stops talking. I’m not sure what he’s talking about or why he’s stopped. But maybe it’s something to do with his special vegetable. It sounds a bit like it.

  ‘I thought maybe you’d like to take Barry for a walk tomorrow?’ Bridget is saying it to me and I can even feel my mouth smiling and my face feeling a bit warm, because I’d like it very much.

  The bed is very comfortable and nice to sleep in and I have my own pillow, from my own bed at my own home, and that’s good because of it being so much better than the hospital one and not flat and because of it smelling of the right washing machine. I have a nice night, apart from the bit where Bridget is there and saying shh, it’s OK, you’re just having a bad dream, and my head not knowing where I am or who she is for a bit, not just because of the big old muddle but because of being a sleepyhead too.

  It takes me a little while to stop screaming and she’s cuddling me, just like my mum, Jenny, would do too, if she was here instead of being in I See You. I’m sitting up, with my hands in front of me and they’re made into balls and squeezing my fingers tight, tight, tight. And my neck and my back feel wet, and like sweaty hot, and in my mouth it’s a bit salty like a toad. And Bridget is there with her arms around me, saying everything’s OK now, and she’s saying, louder, don’t worry, boys, it’s just Hope having a bad dream. She brings me a glass of water and asks if I want the little light left on. And I say no, because I’m not a baby boo boo. She says OK then and she says sleep tight now. And that’s nice but it’s not goodnight, Hope Nicely, sweet dreams and see you in the morning, which is what my mum, Jenny, always says. After Bridget has gone and she’s shut the door very quietly, I take out my pink blanket from under my pillow and I hold it tight with it soft against my cheek and my eyes still open, even in the dark.

  16

  I am five foot tall. That is what Connor Flynn tells me and I think he’s probably right. He says it because of me not knowing how tall I am, and I want to say an answer like thirty or twenty-three, so that he doesn’t think I’m a stupid No-Brain, but I don’t even know what to say, like is it metres or inches or something else, actually. So I just say I don’t know, and I say it in my quiet voice, because of not being very proud of not having the right answer. He says well, he’s very good at estimating and in his estimation I am five foot zero, which is the same as 152.4 centimetres because 2.54 centimetres makes one inch.

  He says, of course it is one of the signature characteristics, to have short stature and a small head, although I don’t appear to have any of the facial abnormalities that often accompany the condition. I don’t really know what to answer, so I just look at my Rice Krispies, and eat some of them, and Bridget says not to ask personal questions and Connor Flynn says he’s not asking personal questions, he’s simply assessing height, which is nothing more than objective data, and he is five foot eleven and that is three inches taller than Danny Flynn because of Danny Flynn being a short arse. And he does the dimple smile thing, even though he’s looking into the corner, but Danny isn’t really listening because of eating toast and mostly reading the paper.

  Danny Flynn says it’s time for him to go because of not being able to take today off work, he’s afraid, and not wanting to be late, and he says but Mum will take care of you, and Barry will too – look at him there by your feet again, looks like he’s forgotten who the rest of us are. Danny Flynn says, and be sure to tell Connor to get back in his box if he’s annoying you. He says, oh yes, and Marnie Shale’s going to pop by this morning, isn’t that kind of her. He says he’ll be in touch if he hears anything from the hospital and, remember, Julie said she can take me in later. And she said to call her any time as she’s around all day. And not to worry about Karen, she’s not expecting me at work today. And if there’s anything I need …

  When he leaves he says ta-ra then, everyone, and he gives his mum, that’s Bridget, a kiss on her cheek and he gives me one too, but not Connor Flynn. I’m wondering if maybe Danny Flynn really is my boyfriend now because of the kissing, but I’m not sure because of never having had a boyfriend ever before and not really knowing how you can tell if someone is one. I’m not sure if it is something I can ask.

  After my Rice Krispies I have some Honey Nut Cornflakes, too, because of not being able to make up my mind, and because of wanting both. At home we have Cornflakes sometimes but not ever Honey Nut ones because my mum, Jenny, doesn’t like them, and never ever Rice Krispies. Mostly, at home, we have porridge and sometimes sausages, but real ones not salty-toads, with spicy potatoes or maybe peppers, but not on a workday, only on a Sunday or other days that are not when we go to work.

  I have real tea for drinking this morning, not mint tea, but a nice real cup. And I’m trying to listen to Bridget, who is Danny Flynn’s mum, talking and talking about chores like the garden and paying the gas bill and going to see her dad who’s in a home, but in my head I’m doing a little walk, like in the trees with a dog. It’s not a real dog, like Barry or Tinie Tempah, just an in-my-head one who doesn’t even need a lead because it’s just walking along with me, not going away and running into where it shouldn’t be. It’s not a bad fog or a big jumble in my head t
oday, it’s just a place where I’m a bit stuck, but quite nice stuck, like it’s good to be going for a walk in my head. But maybe I’m a bit too much in my own walk, because when my head tells me that my name is being said, it’s like it’s by someone a long way away and it’s been said quite a lot of times.

  ‘Hope. Hey, daydreamer. Look, you have a guest.’

  It takes my head quite a long time to work out what’s happening and even to remember where I am. My cup of tea and my bowl with the Honey Nuts isn’t on the table anymore and I’m still in my pyjamas and my paws but now there is someone else in front of me and she’s …

  Inside my head I’m looking for the answer, because of still being in there walking around, and now trying to remember who this is. I’m looking at hair which is a bit bouncy, and a big smile, and hearing an accent that sounds like laughing. For just a little moment I’m thinking whose home is this and where is my mum, Jenny? And I know who this person is but, just for a little bit, her name isn’t coming.

  ‘… that lovely. Look what Miss Shale has brought you.’

  ‘Marnie, please.’

  And it’s a face that I know, and an accent, which is going up and down like a wave, saying Hope, you poor thing, how are you coping? And I know who it is, because it’s Marnie Shale, because of her saying it. But my brain is still coming out of its walk.