Lullaby Girl Read Free

ago that was. That day’s jumbled up with the rest an’ iss hard to work out what came first.
    Mrs Laird’s the one who always talks at me. I don’t know why Caroline’s here too. I think they want me to talk back. Sometimes I open my mouth an’ see ’em waitin’. Then my head starts hurtin’ an’ I have to close my eyes. My knees itch in the place where the scabs are. I wish Rhona would take me outside more. My head feels better out there.
    Caroline an’ Mrs Laird look at the papers. They whisper. Caroline leans forward, holdin’ a bit of paper, an’ says, ‘Kattee. Verstehst du mich?’
    They wait. Caroline’s lookin’ at me all super careful. I bend to scratch my leg, an’ her eyes whizz after me.
    Caroline looks at her paper. ‘Singen sie gerne?’
    Mrs Laird shakes her head. Whispers to Caroline. They look at the paper again. I don’t know what’s goin’ on.
    ‘Er du dansk, Katt-ee? Forstår du mig nu?’
    A pain goes through my head. Like someone whacked me from behind. I stand up, fast, an’ get my legs muddled up. Suddenly Caroline is in front of me. Her eyes are excited. I back away, grabbin’ my head, an’ before I know what’s what I’m on the floor. What’s hap’nin’? Why can’t I breathe right? Those words did somethin’. Iss like a magic spell. I start singin’, to make the bad feelin’ go away.
    ‘Danish,’ says Mrs Laird.
    When I’ve stopped bein’ scared they put me back on the sofa. They talk at me for a long time, but now they jus’ talk with the funny words. Readin’ out stuff. Waitin’. Writin’ stuff down. When they talk about me they don’t whisper. Iss like they think I can’t hear ’em any more.
    ‘I don’t know,’ says Mrs Laird. ‘I’m still not convinced she understands.’
    ‘Come on! That’s the biggest reaction we’ve seen in a month.’
    ‘We’re close, I’ll give you that. But no … I don’t know. I think the truth’s more subtle. That lassie’s British. You mark my words.’
    ‘She hasn’t uttered a word of English.’
    ‘Call it a gut feeling …’
    Mrs Laird puts her chin on her fist. My scabs itch. I look at the window.
    #
    I wake up to twilight an’ the sound of a bell. Far away, for ages, the bell tinkles. Chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle-ing.
    Sometimes the bell stops, an’ voices fill the silence. Other times it keeps goin’. I fall in an’ out of sleep. The voices I hear get angrier. At some point I hear shoutin’. Crashin’ noises, stompin’, an’ a door slammin’. For a while after that iss quiet. But later on the bells come more an’ more. When I wake up prop’ly, the room is bright. Rhona sits in the chair by the bed. I watch her for a while. Her face is frownin’, even though she’s asleep. The bell rings, jus’ then, an’ her eyes open.
    ‘Morning,’ she says when she sees me. ‘Or should I say goddag?’
    She looks an’ sounds exhausted, an’ she doesn’t smile. In the background, the bell keeps goin’.
    ‘That’s the phone,’ says Rhona, without breakin’ eye contact. ‘The newspapers have gone bananas for you.’
    Chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle …
    ‘Shut up !’ yells a voice, from somewhere close by.
    ‘Why?’ I whisper. A short silence. One corner of Rhona’s mouth curves up.
    ‘I knew it,’ she murmurs. ‘Your song, I’m afraid. One of the cooks filmed you and sold the video to the Daily Post . Now everyone and their dog’s calling up to tell us you’re Danish.’
    I frown.
    ‘I’m sorry, sweets. She filmed it on her phone. We sacked her this morning.’
    ‘The … cook.’
    ‘Yes.’
    I try to understand what this means. Iss hard. I don’t remember seein’ any cook. When my eyes open again, Rhona’s lookin’.
    ‘Why do you sing a lullaby, Katty? Why a Danish lullaby?’
    I look at her, an’ frown.
    ‘Katherine,’ I say.
    Rhona’s mouth opens a bit. Then she closes it.
    ‘You’re not Danish, are you?’ she says.
    I look at her,