“Leonie.” She smiles. “Lovely name. Unusual.”
I take one of the chairs at the same table with her daughter. “Dad chose it for me.” I have to swallow the splinter of pain that comes with the words. Mum apparently had wanted to call me Diana after the princess, but Dad insisted. He could be very assertive when he wanted, not the loser doormat guy horrible Howard called him.
I shake my head to banish the memory and notice Haneen’s eyes on me in a long, perceptive glance.
“How do you know the professor?”
The unexpected question makes me answer honestly. “I don’t, really. It’s just that I found out…” I catch myself before saying too much. “We’re sort of related.”
“But he didn’t know you were coming.” She guesses.
“No.” I try for a casual laugh. “Seems stupid now, just turning up unannounced.”
She gets busy making the tea, pops two slices of bread into the toaster, then ladles porridge into three bowls and brings everything to the table.
I’m cold and hungry and have had nothing apart from petrol station coffee near Swindon, so although porridge has never been a favourite breakfast, I accept it. The tea is just the right strength and warms me up nicely but the wonder is the bowl of fluffy, creamy and delicious porridge. It loosens me up and pushes back my confusion and worry so much I find myself relaxing and even chatty.
“Hello, Henrietta.” I start with the little girl. “That’s a very nice jumper.”
She looks at me with big eyes then down at the red and cream jumper, smoothing a little hand down the pattern of strawberries on its front
“Do you like strawberries?” I try again, a very lame question.
Kids must hate the meaningless things adults ask when trying to be nice. And Henrietta doesn’t answer. She just looks at me, then at her mother.
“My daughter doesn’t always speak, particularly to strangers. She’s a selective mute.” Haneen says this very matter of factly as if she’s had to explain it many times. “But when you get to know each other, she’ll speak to you.” She offers me hot buttered toast and refills my tea mug.
“She’s shy?”
Haneen kisses the top of her daughter’s head with so much love. “No. Just left over from a difficult past. Her father was…difficult.” She says the word difficult as if it’s code for something much worse.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly. “I understand.”
“You’re wrong. I do have to tell you because it’s important. People assume just because she doesn’t speak that she doesn’t hear and they don’t watch what they say. She’s very bright and catches everything.”
Despite the serious comment, Haneen sounds gentle and sweet.
“, and. Just be yourself around her. Sooner or later she’ll decide if she can trust you.”
The girl’s eyes flick between me and her mother, big blue-green eyes. Actually, blue with green at the centre like a pool. Now that I notice, they’re exactly the same as her mother’s.
“The professor doesn’t always follow a schedule.” Haneen brings us back to the original subject. “He might be back in a week or two then again he might be back tonight. And he rarely switches his phone on. I can text him but it’s anyone’s guess whether he’ll see the message anytime soon.”
“But he lives here?”
“Oh, yes.” She nods emphatically.
Encouraged by her openness, I ask. “What does he do?”
Again, Haneen seems to consider me before answering. “He’s researching the history of this house.”
“Is there a B&B in the village? Or somewhere I might be able to book a room while I wait for his return?” I cross my fingers under the table, hoping she can direct me somewhere cheap.I don’t mind paying for B&B, but not if I’m just twiddling my thumbs while the person I came to see is in Ireland.
Why, oh why didn’t I check before coming here?
Because I thought telling someone I’m his daughter wasn’t the kind of thing you do over the phone.
“There’s only the Caradoc Arms.” Haneen answers. “They have rooms.”
