Lifesaving for Beginners

a T-shirt with some band on the front I’ve never heard of, a cardigan that goes down to her knees. In spite of the cold, her feet are bare. She looks so young. I bet she gets asked for ID all the time. I did too, when I was that age. I bet it really pisses her off.
    I say, ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I just left Dublin and . . . I kept going.’
    Faith says, ‘It’s Christmas Day.’
    ‘I know. I’m sorry. I got delayed. All the flights . . . with the snow . . .’
    ‘It’s not a good time.’
    There’s almost a feeling of relief. When I realise she’s not going to let me in. I won’t have to come up with something else to say. Some explanation. Something that might make everything seem all right.
    I say, ‘I’m sorry,’ again.
    Faith says nothing. Her hand is on the latch. She wants to close the door. I want her to close the door. But, instead, I hear Minnie’s voice in my head. She says, ‘Strap on a fucking pair, would you?’
    ‘I was fifteen when I had you.’
    Faith says, ‘I know.’
    ‘I was . . . very young and . . .’
    Faith says, ‘We were all fifteen at one time or another. Not everyone does what you did.’
    My teeth are chattering with the cold. There is snow on my eyelashes. I blink it away. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
    ‘Sorry’s not much use to me.’
    ‘I know.’ I don’t say sorry again because she’s right about that. I see Faith looking at me, waiting for me to say something that she can relate to. Something that she can understand. There’s nothing. I’ve got nothing.
    She pulls at the neck of the T-shirt and that’s when I see it. The pendant that Ed bought for her, flashing silver in the pale light of this day. It’s been a long day. The longest day, maybe. But I feel the unfamiliar tug of hope when I see the pendant. That has to mean something. Doesn’t it?
    All of a sudden, Faith says, ‘What do you want?’
    It’s not rude, the way she says it. It’s curious. Like she really wants to know. I sense an opening here. An opportunity. I have to be careful with it. Make it matter. I don’t think there’ll be many of these. I don’t deserve many.
    ‘I want . . . I’d like us to be friends.’ Friends? Why did I say that? It sounds so bloody twee. Is it even true?
    Faith says, ‘Friends?’ Like she thinks it’s twee as well.
    I decide to stick to my guns in spite of a feeling that’s spreading through me. It’s not a good feeling. It’s a combination of hopelessness and foolishness. Despite this, I say, ‘Yes. Friends.’
    Then she says, ‘Are you friends with your mother?’
    And I have to say, ‘Not really.’
    The feeling – the hopeless, foolish feeling – has reached my perimeters. It’s all over the place. I ignore it. I say, ‘But . . . maybe . . . since we’re a bit different . . . maybe that means we could be friends.’
    Her fingers tighten round the latch. ‘I have enough friends, thank you very much.’
    That’s when I say, ‘I don’t. I’ve hardly any, actually.’ I say it like I’m just realising it. I am just realising it. I’m realising a lot of things.
    ‘Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?’
    ‘No, of course not. It’s not something that’s bothered me before. I never thought about it. I don’t think about much, to be honest. Nothing important anyway.’
    A man appears on the doorstep. Maybe fifteen years older than me. Balding, swollen around the middle, exhausted-looking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being look so spent. He smells of curry.
    He looks at me and says, ‘Oh,’ and even though we’ve never met, he knows who I am. Immediately. I don’t have to explain.
    He turns to Faith and says, ‘Faith, love, would you let the poor woman inside the door, at least?’ I’d say he’s her father. Her adopted father. Adoptive? I’m not sure of the correct terminology, which seems wrong.
    I say, ‘No, not at all. I don’t want to intrude. I just . . .’
    Faith says, ‘You just what?’
    I have never felt more like walking away in my life, and there’s no better woman for walking away. Let’s face it, I’ve walked away from all sorts. I have never felt less like talking but, somehow, I manage to say something. ‘I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all. I think.’
    ‘You think?’
    The man says, ‘She’ll catch her death, love. She’s not dressed for these temperatures. Look at her hat, for the love of God.’
    Automatically, my hand reaches up to