8. Nadia

1.8 Dopo cio poco vid’io quello strazio

‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone’; that’s what my granddad always said to me. I never really understood what it meant before. I always thought it was about sinning, and a warning not to sin; that you could never commit any action in life because it would somehow expose you as a sinner.

Now I think I understand better what he meant by it. I think he meant, ‘don’t judge.’ The sinning is irrelevant – everyone sins. What makes a person nice or kind or good to be around is if they aren’t judgmental of people. We have judges to be judgmental. I learnt that with this whole affair with Sam. I could have saved myself an awful lot of trouble if I’d just let the judges and the magistrates get on with it rather than trying to sort him out myself. Hand him over, that’s what I should have done. I’m only his parent; what do I know about anything? If they do something wrong, or if you judge it to be wrong, don’t try and sort it out yourself. Tell on them, report them to the police. Let the justice system swing into action.

You see, it’s even stupider than it sounds. I can’t sit here and not make a judgment about the way my kid acts when he takes drugs then goes and slashes the neck of a thirteen year old girl and then comes home and tells me to put a wash on even though it’s half one in the morning and the neighbours are all asleep. But that’s how God would have it, isn’t it? Or Tony Blair? Or whoever it is who’s in charge these days. You just let them all run wild and pay a fortune in taxes to hand the problem over to some institution. I don’t get it. I don’t.

7. Kate

Inf. 7. Mal dare e mal tener lo mondo pulcro

Kate:

Lovely soft peak.

His undivided attention at Shibden Mill, telling me technical stuff about photography.

“That was very nice,” he said over dinner, referencing early that morning, wanting me to know he’d enjoyed it. Reached over in the car for another go.

Laughing all the time, especially at the Greek Turkish/Turkish Greek; with the bar manager at the Inn on the Bridge; with Georgie.

But horrible when he was drunk later that first night.

He didn’t open up much.

How fragile he looked, coming down the stone steps.

Wonder if him feeling so ill was a coincidence, or him needing a bit of love. Or keeping me distant.

Snoring. Baby talk: cup of tea.

Stroking his hand as he fell asleep.

He slept so much: that makes me feel he trusts me.

That he packed in loads of work before so he could come.

That he came at all.

I feel totally in love with him today. Feel like a tornado has gone and I want it back.

“See ya, Toots,” he said, launching himself up the hill in a rocket.

Jesus. I don’t remember it sending me insane like this.

He came, he came. I can’t believe he came.