Saved By The Cops.

Chapter Nine. PC Mabel Walters.

Chapter Nine. PC Mabel Walters.

Marnie awoke at the crack of dawn again this morning. To say she is having trouble settling into our new home would be the understatement of the year. We have been here ten days now, and the toddler is still as restless as she was the first night we arrived. She is also missing her Mum. She doesn’t understand, hell, I don’t understand, why this happened to her. To us. I guess the Walters curse doesn’t just end with me and my sister, and Marnie is paying the price.

“It’s okay baby, I am here,” I shout through to her bedroom, my niece/daughter needing the reassurance that someone is there for her. She probably needs some therapy, but how can a two-year-old talk about their feelings with their limited vocabulary? How is she supposed to process all these major changes in her little life?

I navigate the boxes I am still to unpack. The removal company had arrived the other day with all of our things from London. Normally I would have had these sorted within a day of receiving them, but with a clingy toddler to deal with, that has not happened. Honestly, they are doing my head in, but I may get a couple of hours tomorrow to start unpacking.

I start my first shift at the station in nine days’ time, it would be good if I could get fully unpacked by then, however, I doubt it.

Because of my impending work schedule creeping closer and closer, which I will have to navigate along with everything else, today, Marnie and I are going to the nanny’s home for a couple of hours, I am going to stay with my little one, for this first visit to help her adjust. Then, if all goes well, tomorrow I will leave her with Mel, for a couple of hours, each day after that, I will increase the time she spends there, to help with the readjustment. It was Mel’s suggestion, when we spoke on the phone last week, and I feel blessed that she seems to be on the ball with how to help kids settle into new environments.

To be honest, I almost had an emotional breakdown when I first spoke to her about what had transpired in London, and Marnie’s struggles to settle. I had been allowing the little one to sleep in my bed, when we first arrived. Mel, listened, then gently suggested that I allow Marnie to go to sleep in her own room, and head into there to settle her when she awoke crying, to help her know that she is safe in her own space. The nanny did warn me it would mean a few nights of little to no sleep for me, but would be worth it in the long run, as Marnie needs to learn how to become more independent for her emotional growth. She was not wrong, I think I have had five hours sleep, maximum in the three days I have been encouraging my niece/daughter to sleep in her own space. Spending most of the night soothing her in her own little toddler bed, rather than bringing her into mine. We also have been playing lots of fun games in her bedroom, to help her see it as a place of joy. Another Mel suggestion, and last night she went down without any issues, until around two in the morning, when the crying and asking for my bed, which turned into big sobs asking for her Mum began again. Still, I will take the small win, that after her story and song, she went to sleep happily, for the first time since we got here.

Even though I have spoken with Mel numerous times on the telephone, I have yet to meet her in person. It will be nice to put a face to the name of the woman who was recommended to me, by my new inspector at the station. Do I feel guilty that I am going to leave my new daughter with a stranger? Hell yes. But what else can I do. I need to work, to provide for us both. Yeah, the cost of living up here is half the price, if not even more so, than down south, but even then, after purchasing the house and new furniture, I don’t have enough to give up work entirely. Plus, I love being a police officer. Is it so wrong of me to want to continue doing the job I have worked my butt off to get?

“We are going on an adventure today,” I tell Marnie, as I lift her out of her toddler bed, walking her to the bathroom, and fill the tub, adding lots of bubbles, and some of her bath toys that I managed to get unpacked.

The toddler looks at me suspiciously. I don’t blame her, the last time I told her we were going on an adventure, we came here.

“We are going to play with some toys and other children. That will be fun, won’t it,” I continued.

“Mama Maaayyyble, stay” she looks up at me her big blue eyes identical to my own blink up at me.

“Yes, I will stay with you today, to play,” I smile at her, not mentioning that tomorrow it will be a different scenario.

We play with the bubbles, and barbie mermaid, which is her favourite bath toy, before I rinse her off, wrapping her in a warm bath sheet, taking her back to her room to get her dressed for the day. Hell, I could do with a shower myself, but honestly, I don’t know how I am going to manage that, as I cannot leave Marnie alone. Yes, I had one last night when she went down, but still, I prefer to have one on a morning as well. I guess I am going to have to learn to be not so fastidious in my showering habits and just have one per day now. Or get up even earlier before this little monster wakes up. However, at the moment I am so tired, I cannot bare to think of losing an extra minute’s sleep, let alone ten of them.

Once Marnie is dressed in a pair of bright pink leggings, with a long-sleeved T-shirt, which has a picture of pepper pig and George on the front, she toddles over to her big purple blob, and grabs hold of it, tucking the thing under her arm. I take her back into the bathroom, whilst I relieve myself and have the quickest wash known to man, clean my teeth, then head back to my own room, and grab myself something to wear out of one of the unpacked suitcases that lay open on my bedroom floor. Scraping my long black hair into a high ponytail, I blow out a breath, as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I have bags under my bags around my eyes. I am not much of a make up wearing person, even if I had time to sort my face out so I look less like the walking dead.

I take Marnie downstairs, and line up the small individual sized cereal boxes, for her to choose from. She instantly goes for the blue box with a tiger on the front. It is not the healthiest breakfast, but until I get my groceries, it was all the small shop directly across the road from me had. I have heard there is a Sainsbury’s not to far away, so I am going to attempt to do a big shop for everything we might need after our play date with the nanny this morning. Finished with the sugar-coated cornflakes, I grab my niece/daughters bright pink coat that is covered in unicorns and pull it on her before grabbing my own coat. It is a good couple of degree’s colder up here than back at home, yet the locals are out and about in nothing but T-shirts, and I am near freezing. To say that moving north is a culture shock is a bit of an understatement. Plus, there is this whole other language they speak. Don’t get me wrong. They are speaking in English, but they seem to have their own words for stuff, and with the thick accents it is sometimes difficult to understand what they are saying.

I had always presumed that the ‘Why Aye Man’ the people around here were known for saying was an exaggeration. But it’s not, they use it. All the time. It also means more than just Yes. It can also be a sarcastic ‘I don’t believe you’. Also very rarely do they say ‘Goodbye’, or even ‘Bye’, nope instead they say ‘Tarrar why’ oh and when they want you to go somewhere it is ‘Ha’way’ rather than come here or come on. Also, everything is ‘canny’, I think it means ‘good’ but who knows at this point. Those are just some examples of the language barrier, trust me there are more.

I lift Marnie into my arms, as we walk out of the porch, locking the door behind me, and head straight to the car, which is sitting on the driveway. There is a garage, but that is filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked. I am strapping my little one into her car seat, when I hear a cheerful.

“Morning,” shouted from across the street. A middle-aged woman, with boobs the size of watermelons, is walking down the street, two kids around seven and six, I would guess dressed in their school uniforms, running slightly ahead of her.

That is another thing that is different, and kind of weird compared to London, they are so friendly here. It is nothing for a person to say good morning, or even chat with you for a few minutes, even though they don’t know you. Hell, nobody makes eye contact with a stranger back home, let alone wish them a good morning.

“Morning,” I say to the stranger, just to be polite, but I cannot deny, it feels weird.

“Kirstie, Dante, don’t run to far ahead, wait for Nana Joanne,” the woman shouts, as the kids she is with immediately stop.

“To much in a rush for their morning kets, to take to school. Their dad will kill me, but he is at work so mums the word,” the woman I now know is called Joanne tells me with a conspiratory giggle.

I have no clue what kets are, I will google it later, but from the shouts of the girl saying she wants a Sherbert dip, I am presuming it means sweets. But who knows at this point. I smile and nod, as if I know what she is actually talking about.

“Well, tarra why,” Joanne waves at me, and I lift my hand to wave back, still a bit freaked out by the random stranger happily making conversation with me.

I let out a sigh, those kids are lucky, they have a grandmother who wants to spoil them. My heart aches as I look at Marnie, she has nobody, other than me. She will never know the love of a grandparent, much like I didn’t, and I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. I am unsure if it is for my niece/ daughter, or for myself not having that love in my life as a kid as well.