Talk to Me, Muffin
“Don’t be scared, Muffin! It’s alright! They’ll shout a little more and calm down soon… Probably…”
Rosie hugs her faithful friend a little tighter and shuts her eyes. She mustn’t be afraid. After all, shes a big girl now. Thats what Granny Alice always says. If youre five, youre big. And everyone else treats her as if shes big now too. She even stopped crying when she gets her jabshow embarrassing would that be! But with Muffin, she can be little again, like before. Hes seen her at her best and worst. Rosies mum gave her Muffin when she was borna funny, slightly lopsided bear who became her best friend. She could tell him anything. And unlike her best friend Lucy, Muffin never ran off to snitch to Mrs Murray in the nursery. Muffin would simply look at her with his big, round eyes and stay silentbut she knew he always understood. And when things got scary, like now, Muffin was always there to soothe her. He was soft and warm. Of course, her mum and dad were family too, but when they yelled at each other like this, they werent much comfort at all. Rosie couldnt describe it, but she imagined the brambles from Sleeping Beauty growing all over their houseno one could get close, and shouting didnt get through. She didnt understand why parents argued. Grown-ups arent supposed to get upset, are they? Grown-ups should talk things outGranny Alice always says that. Though maybe adults have grown-up quarrels, not childish spats? Rosie had never seen a proper grown-up argument before, but now shes sure they exist, and theyre horrible. If even her own tiffs with Lucy made her miserable and grumpyeven left her off ice creamthen proper rows must be ten times worse.
Rosie peeks open her eyes and listens. Its gone quiet, so she knows mums gone to cry in the bathroom, and dad is sulking in the kitchen. Thats her cue. Rosie stands up from behind the bed where shed been hiding and sighs. She loves her room. Mum spent ages deciding on the wallpaper and furniture, asking Rosie what colour she wanted. Everything is perfect: the little white bed with a pink duvet, the lovely wardrobe full of dresses, shelves absolutely stuffed with toys. She doesnt want to leave this place; it feels safe. Especially during quiet moments like now. But Muffin is looking at her expectantly, and Rosie sniffs.
“I know, I know! Just a sec. You stay here, Ill go.”
She props Muffin against her pillow and leaves. Mum first. Mum is always harder. The bathroom door is closed, as usual. Rosie knocks gently.
“Mum?”
“What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
The door opens, and theres Mum, sitting on the edge of the bath, just like always.
“Whats wrong? Do you need the loo?”
“No. I want to be with you.” Rosie takes a deep breath, steps inside. She dreads this part. Mum will cry more, hug her, make promises that everything will be alright. And Rosie will cry too, not because she pities Mum, but because she knows it wont be alright. It never is. Good days are short, like Lucy saysand shes right. The brambles always grow back.
Rosie wipes her eyes and looks at her mum.
“Why?”
“Why what, love?”
“Why do you shout? If you dont love each other, maybe you should stay apart? Granny Alice says that when Lucy and I fall out, we need space so we cant argue.”
Mum sits frozen, staring at her daughter. Until now, Rosies never mentioned the rows. Mum thought Rosie was too little to notice. What could she possibly understand?
“Rosie, darling… Why would you say that? I love Dad…”
“Youre not telling the truth, Mum.”
“Rosie!”
“If you did, you wouldnt shout. Youd talk like you do with me. You dont shout at me, do you?”
Mum hesitates. How can she explain to a child that relationships are complicated? That shouting isnt always about hateor is it? Such a simple questionwhy? Yet how do you answer?
“You need to sit and think about how you behave!” Rosie pats Mums cheeks, brushing off salty tears.
“Is that Granny Alices advice too?” Mum attempts a tearful smile.
“Yes! And it works. Thats how Lucy and I made upnow we hardly ever row, except when she snitches on me to Mrs Murray.”
“Youre such a big girl now…” Mum pulls her in for a hug.
“No, Im still little. If I was big,” Rosie leans away, dropping her voice, “I wouldnt be scared.”
“What scares you?” Mum frowns.
“What if next time you and Dad shout, you both leave?”
“Leave? Go where?”
“Somewhere quiet. You cant stay where it hurts, can you? It hurts you, doesnt it, Mum?”
“It does… Waitdo you think well leave you? Is that what youre afraid of?”
“Yes…” Rosie bursts out crying again. “And then itll just be Muffin and me. If Muffin gets lost again, like in the taxi, Ill be all alone. Granny Alice says shes too old to be my mum now…”
“Rosie! Darling! Stop! Ill never leave you! How could I? Youre my little girl!”
“But when you and Dad shout, do you remember me at all?”
“Of course…,” Mums voice falters. But Rosies right. In those moments, she remembers nothing. Pain and anger block out everything, even her daughter. Where do those stinging words come from? Words that lash and burn. When did she become like this?
Mums mind wanders back to when she met Nick, in their second year at university. Shed been sprinting through the corridor, late for an exam, and crashed into a tall, slightly awkward looking guy. His glasses shattered. All she could manage was a quick, “Sorry!” before racing on.
She got a first in the exam and practically skipped down the steps afterwards, already thinking about summer, the sea, and holidays ahead.
There he was, squinting at her, smiling.
“Alright, Express Train! Are you off rushing somewhere again?”
He always called her “my little engine,” especially when she sulked.
“You puff along so funnilyI cant even be cross with you!”
All the midwives had a giggle when he cheered her on during labour:
“Dont puff, Engine! Push!”
When did he stop calling her that? When did he start shouting during arguments? When did things get so sour?
“Mum?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Are things really that bad? Are you angry with him?”
Mum absentmindedly twirls Rosies soft curls around her fingersgolden, just like her dads. When she was pregnant, shed dreamed of her baby inheriting them.
“Anything but my wispy hair! What would a little girl do with this mop?” she joked.
But it turned out perfect: a riot of wheat-gold curls and clear blue eyes. Rosie will be beautiful, Mum thinksa sharp pang in her chest. She catches herself smiling. Hadnt her own mum once said the key was to pick the right dad? Nick is a wonderful father. Rosie is his entire world. Thats itthats the problem. Rosie, not her. Jealous of her own daughter? The thought makes her shiver, but its true. It just feels so unfair. Rosie is right.
She remembers Nick coming home, barely glancing at her as he pushed past to find Rosie:
“Wheres my princess? There she is! Ive got you a chocolate baryour favourite!”
After playing with Rosie, hed stick on a film, pop on his headphones, ignoring her as she put their daughter to bed and cleared up. Even in the car, hed sing silly songs with Rosie, not listening to a word Mum said, only to make her repeat everything later. He shouted when Rosie was ill.
That first time… It was two years ago. Rosie developed a fever, Mum didnt sleep a wink, frantically battling the rising temperature. The doctor tried to reassure her, but Mum broke down, weeping with exhaustion and helplessness. Nick snapped:
“Why are you crying? Will it help her? Pull yourself together! What sort of mother are you?”
She stopped cryingnot from relief, but because something inside her broke. She felt like a failure. The world seemed to bleed to grey. Holding Rosies damp brow, she barely noticed when the fever passed. In time, Rosie recovered, and they filed it away as a bad memorybut the sting of inadequacy lingered. Was this what resentment felt like? Probably.
Rosie is still waiting, patient. Since Mum has stopped crying, its time for Dad.
“Ill be back,” says Rosie, slipping away.
“Dont cry again, alright?”
Mum doesnt reply. She sits, turning over their life together in her mind. Was it really so bad? Where was the good? There was good, of coursetheir first dates, Nicks warm gaze behind his glasses, the things he said to make her smile, their holidays, Rosies first steps and words, Mums first big contract after maternity leave. Nick even baked a celebratory cake, despite hating kitchen chores. It turned out sickly sweet and ended up in the bin. “Dont worryIll bake another. Better yet, we can keep a slice in a box for a hundred years, like on royal weddings!” He joked.
When they bought their flat, there was no money left for furniture. They sat on the floor, toasting with cheap fizz, watching their daughter sleep on an air mattress.
“Well need to have another girl now,” Nick had said, grinning, hugging Mum.
“Another?”
“Werent you planning to stop at one?”
“I dont know…”
“Well, I do! But until we can afford another room, well have to wait.”
They never did get around to baby number two. Maybe that’s for the best. The little problems kept piling uppetty arguments, pointless jibes, words that dropped between them like heavy stones, filling the space of their tiny flat with tension. Mum is startled to realise Rosie would describe them, not as stones, but as thornslong, sharp thorns straight to the heart.
Mum splashes cold water on her face. Enoughgood and bad could be tallied all day long. Rosie is right; as long as resentment lingers, nothing will ever change. They need to work things out, or part. For a moment, Mum imagines Nick gone. No one to come home in the evening, hug their daughter. A chill runs through her.
Meanwhile, Rosie pads along to the kitchen. Dad sits at the table, staring out of the window.
“Dad?”
“Rosie! Why arent you in bed?”
“Its early! And… you were shouting.”
“Im sorry.”
“Why?”
“Why were we shouting?”
“Yes.”
“I… I dont know. It just happened.”
“Are you upset with Mum?” Rosie studies her dad. She should have spoken to them earlier, instead of just clutching Muffin. When shed fallen out with Lucy, Mrs Murray made them sit down and talk everything through. Then asked, “Is it really alright not being friends?”
“Did Mum tell you she was upset with me?” Nick buries his face in Rosie’s curls, breathing her in.
“No. I just know.”
“How?”
“Because when you love each other, you hug. And when youre angry, you shout. Isnt that right?”
Nick holds her at arms length, studying his daughter.
“Youre growing up so fast!”
“Mum says that too.”
“What else did she say?”
“That she loves you. And me.”
Nicks face softens, the creases unwinding. Rosie grins, slipping off his lap.
“Im going back to Muffin, ok? He hates being alone.”
“Of course.” Nick watches her go, lost in thought. When did things start to unravel? After Rosie was born? Slowly, Mum seemed to slip away. On one hand, it was understandablebabies, responsibilities… But what happened to all the warmth that drew him in the first place? Mum was always sunshinegentle spring sunshine, not harsh or overbearing. She used to make life lighter. Thats whats missingher warmth. Even household chores became a subject for her irritation, then outright anger. He always felt wrong, always to blame. Gone was her sparkle. Mum would purse her lips at his kisses. Hed retreat, taking Rosie, minimising time with her. Stupid, really. He knew she was hurt, tried to fix things, but he always ended up starting another argument, desperate for any response. He remembers Rosies fever, remembering his own helplessness, and the shame that followed his angry words. He wanted to say sorry, but Mums eyes made it cleartoo late. The wall built of angry words grew too high to breach. He pulled away, too. In the end, all they shared was Rosie. The final straw was when, during a row, he blurted out:
“Were only together because of Rosie. Without her…”
He saw Mum freeze. Seconds before, she was shouting, but now she just looked at him, blank and cold, before turning away. Afterwards, she barely spoke to him about anything besides Rosie. He tried to reach hereven provoke more argumentsbut nothing worked. Even when she flared up, she cooled down instantly, her bitter words falling with a thud. He missed the old Alice, desperately, but she was gone. Or maybe he just couldnt see her anymore.
Nick sighs and gets up. The flat is still. The taps arent running, so Mum must be putting Rosie to bed. He gazes out at the glowing windows across the street, wondering about the lives happening behind themall different, he supposes. If Mum leaves with Rosie, whats left? An empty, echoing house, with all the meaning gone. His mind flashes to an old conversation with his mother, when he was fifteen and trying to get his head around girls.
“You need to take responsibility. Women appreciate that.”
“How?”
“Even if shes at fault, ask yourself what you did wrong. How did it come to this? Sure, sometimes its not the mans fault, but in families, it often isat least a little.”
“Why?”
“Because most women want to follow, not leadunless theyre especially strong. If shes happy and secure, so are you. Remember, women arent made of irontheyre not workhorses.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some blokes think as long as shes not complaining, shes finebut thats not true. If you never help, thats your fault. Youll learn when youve got a family and kids, more work than you can handle. If you dump it all on her, youre headed for trouble. So, give her an hours break each day, and youll have a happy home. Keep treating her like you did before marriage, and youll be golden.”
“How do I do that?”
“Before marriage, shes the best thing in the world. You treat her like delicate porcelainbecause she is. Soon enough, shell be everyday, and youll forget. But she wont.”
“But Mum, why always talk about wives and families? Im not marrying yet. Just want to work out girls!”
“All in good time. Every girl will become someones wife, one day. Right now it feels miles off, but later, youll thank me.”
He runs his hand through his hair and smiles to himself. Thanks, Mum.
Rosie, meanwhile, cant sleep. She hugs Muffin with one arm, her other arm around mums neck. Mum is long asleep, her face tired and sad. Rosie gently strokes the worry line between her browsit never used to be there. Mum sighs softly in her sleep, and the line smooths away. Rosie snuggles closer, squinches her eyes shut, and wishes tomorrow will finally be a cheerful day. Grown-ups always say that, but usually theyre just wordsshe hopes this time its true.
Of course, Mum doesnt hear her alarm the next morningits in the bedroom. She jumps up, glances at the funny kitten-shaped clock hanging in Rosies room, and groans. Theyre late for nursery. Shes likely late for work, toonot the best start, though at least theres nothing urgent until later. In the kitchen, a spoon clinks against a mug. Mum raises her eyebrows in surprise. Nick is still home? Odd. She tiptoes up so as not to wake Rosie and heads for the bathroom. Maybe Nick will leave before she finishes her morning routine, and she can avoid talking until evening.
But her luck is out. In the kitchen, Nick is at the hob, making coffee.
“Morning,” he says, and she sees hes clearly had no sleepred-rimmed eyes, dark smudges.
She opens her mouth to say something, but stops, staring at the table. There sits a homemade cake, decorated with slightly disastrous icing roses. Nick must have spent all night making it, digging out the piping bag she lost weeks ago.
Mums eyes fix on her husband as Nick steps forward.
“Im sorry, Alice. For everything. Im a rubbish husband. I was blindyou deserved so much better. You and Rosie are the best things that ever happened to me, and without you, Rosie wouldnt exist. I know I cant undo everything, but could you at least consider it?”
Mum looks at him searchingly, trying to process this sudden change. Then she steps forward and covers his mouth with her hand.
“Were both at fault, you know. Youre right thoughI do need to think. Seriously, about a lot of things.”
“Will it take long?”
“Oh, about seven months, give or take.”
Nick stares at her, stunned.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, you understood correctly,” she smiles.
Nick is just getting his head around it, when Rosie bursts into the kitchen, clutching Muffin and rubbing her eyes.
“Have you made up then?”
Mum and Dad glance at each other.
“Wow! Whys there cake? Is it alright to eat cake for breakfast?”
“Today, anything goes!” Nick hugs Alice and whispers, “I love you. Give me a second chance.”
“Only if I get one too,” Alice replies quietly, turning to Rosie. “But little girls must wash their hands before cake.”
“Im off!” Rosie pops Muffin onto a chair. “Two slices, pleasefor me and Muffin.”
“Bears dont eat cake!”
“Thats what Im here for, silly! Ill help.”
Some years later, youll find Alice hurriedly walking through the park with a pram, off to pick up her eldest from school. Little Charlie will wake at just the wrong moment, grizzling until Dad scoops him up.
“Ill see to him,” says Nick, giving Alice a quick squeeze. “Well wait for you here.”
Alice will smile and stride toward the school. From tomorrow, Rosies on half-term. Tickets are bought, bags are packed, and soon little Charlie will see the sea for the first time. Shell remember the last three yearsso many ups and downs. Their attempts to mend thingsnot all successful at first. Her two months living with Rosie at her parents flat. The hard-won reunion, helped along by Nicks mum, kindly Granny Alice. And then Grannys passing, and, later, Charlie’s birth: his first steps and words. Alice giggles to recall that “Daddy” was Charlies first word, not “Mummy.” Nick had strutted around the house ever since!
Rosies first school assemblyso serious and a bit frightened. She startled her parents by turning the colour of her hair ribbons, but she got through, walking after her teacher into the unknown, never looking back.
“Mum!”
“Rosie!” Alice scoops her up. “How did it go?”
“Best in the class! Mrs Harris says only me and Lucy are dream students!”
“Well done!” Alice hugs her.
“Wheres Dad? And Charlie?”
“In the park waiting for us.”
“Good. And Muffin?”
“Of course weve got Muffin!” Alice laughs, pointing to the pram.
Rosie breathes a sigh of relief. She did give Charlie her most treasured toybecause youre supposed to share the best things with familybut she still misses Muffin, even if she pretends not to. With Mum, she can say exactly what she thinks.
Watching her parents ahead, swapping Charlie between them, happily bickering about something silly, Rosie leans down to the pram and whispers to her old friend:
“Do you think its all alright now?”
Muffin just looks back at her with his big eyes and keeps quiet. But Rosies pretty sure she knows the answer.
