12
Tiny Indentations
It was only to be expected she should want her own space. They were no longer children, after all, and were not joined at the hip.
Her mother had humoured her, setting an extra place at the table, a pillow and blanket on the floor by her bed. When these things stopped Harley did not seem to mind.
‘He is there,’ she had insisted. ‘If he isn’t, why are there footprints?’
‘That is where the grass has grown in clumps,’ her mother said, or, ‘That is where worms have dislodged the soil beneath.’
There was always an answer, and it never involved Harley.
‘Well, it is a shame you do not see him,’ she said, exasperated. ‘I can do no more to help you.’
‘They could see you if you let them,’ she said to him later.
‘Parents can be blind to what is happening in front of them
