Free Rock a Bye Baby by Mia Dolan Page B

craziness because she wanted to know the truth – a truth – about her mother. She’d had no picture in her mind until now. There was no photograph in a silver frame sitting on the mantelpiece. What had her mother looked like? Had she really worn a red dress with small brass buttons?
    He shook his head like the fool he was, drooling, eyeballs popping, neck hanging forward at an awkward angle. How ugly he was. He looked like a tortoise warily emerging from its shell.
    Questions buzzed like wasps around Marcie’s head.They blinded her to her calmer self. They brought about a temper and strength that she didn’t know she had.
    She grabbed the shoulders of his greasy shirt, the cotton feeling gritty in her hands. Her eyes blazed and her hands had balled into tight fists.
    ‘Did you meet my mother, Garth? Think! Did you really see her? REALLY see her?’
    She was aware of how tense she’d become – and how loud.
    Her shout had unsettled Garth. She wasn’t aware of that either or how terrifying a picture she presented. Neither did she see the alarm in his eyes or the quivering of his jowls. It wasn’t until he began to shake like a man on the verge of a fit; only then did she realise.
    ‘Garth! I’m sorry.’
    She let go of his shirt. She wiped her hands down her skirt.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.
    Garth’s shaking lessened into an all-over shiver. He blinked as though he’d just woken up. His shoulders slumped and his spine seemed to curve as though in minutes he’d aged years.
    ‘I’d better get home for my tea. Beans on toast,’ he said thickly. ‘Beans on toast.’
    Once the old gate had creaked shut behind him, she went back up on the roof. It didn’t matter thatthe midges were biting her arms or that the sun was still hot enough to burn her face. There was a lot of thinking she needed to do. Most of all there were questions she needed to ask.
    It wasn’t until teatime that she had the chance to ask the only person who would know whether what he’d said was true.
    Her grandmother was sitting outside the back door knitting when she finally climbed down from the roof. Annie was playing with some water at the bottom of a galvanised bucket and chuckling as though it were the best game in the world.
    The clicking and clacking of the knitting needles slowed or sped up in response to Rosa Brooks’s swiftly moving fingers, the sound echoing between the rank of houses and the factory wall on the other side of the back lane.
    Mouth dry and mind confused, Marcie settled herself on the back step. She stared silently at the chicken run where the young cockerels were pacing up and down in anticipation of food.
    Finally turning away from them she looked at Annie. Annie was only a baby. How much would she remember of being a baby?
    Her grandmother’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘You are thinking something?’
    It came as no surprise that her grandmother wasreading her mind and knew she was having deep thoughts. That’s the way she was. People said she had the gift to look into people’s lives, their problems and their futures, and give them sound advice. There was also the small matter of being able to communicate with her deceased husband, Marcie’s grandfather.
    ‘I was wondering,’ Marcie began hesitantly. She took hold of the chubby fingers Annie offered her. ‘I was wondering if Annie will remember being a baby or even a small child.’
    The needles stopped clicking. She felt her grandmother’s dark eyes scrutinising her.
    ‘She will remember little.’
    The eyes continued to scrutinise. Marcie chose not to meet her grandmother’s steadfast gaze, but turned away when she felt a prickling sensation run down her spine.
    ‘How did Garth enjoy the chickens?’ asked her grandmother.
    It seemed an odd thing to say seeing as they’d been discussing Annie.
    ‘He said he remembered the garden being different, something about a tree and a seat …’
    Marcie’s voice trailed away. Her intention had