I tried to concentrate on Dora again – her jokes, her blond curls, her bubbly personality – but I couldn’t. A door had just opened and I wasn’t able to stem the stream of images that suddenly came flooding over me. I realized just how precious moments of complicity with a child could be, how I hadn’t taken enough time to share such moments with Louis, how egotistical I’d been, self-centred, obsessed with my work. How I’d neglected the most important things. The tears came, silent tears. How long was it since I’d spent two hours, two little hours, alone with my son? Shame mingled with my tears, coloured my words. I felt paralysed by their weight. Heavy words, burdened with the terrible truth: you’ve been a bad mother, Thelma. You should have done so much more, you should have done so much better.

I tried to hide my emotion by pretending I had a speck of dust in my eye, but, to my great surprise, Dora gave me a hug. I’d just made myself look ridiculous, on top of the shame. And yet, in the skinny arms of this little girl, something inside me gave way. She started to speak to me, to comfort me the way a parent soothes a child in the middle of the night. The world was upside down.

Then she said a few words that were to change our lives forever, although neither of us knew it at the time.

16

15 to 10 Days

Dora

‘Papa told me everything. I love Louis very much, too. That’s why Papa let me come back to the changing room with you. You know he didn’t believe you. He knows when I’m not feeling well, because I make a big fuss. I’m a rubbish actress and I hate people who lie. So does Papa. I think you needed to cry – it’s not good to bottle all that up, it had to come out. Papa always says to me, “Isa, sweetheart, it’s better to show your feelings and look stupid, rather than keep things inside you.” I think he’s right, and that’s not because he’s my father, OK? Oh, and, actually, I hate sweets. I know, it’s weird – everyone likes sweets. I guess I’m just not like everyone else.’

I sat up and dried my tears. I was gobsmacked by this incredibly mature monologue. In a few sentences, this little girl had just revealed an amount of information that my brain was struggling to process:

1. She’d spoken of Edgar as Papa.

2. She knew Louis.

3. She’d referred to herself as Isa.