June 2001 (Sophie is 2 days old, Deborah is 34)

She was a small scrap of humanity when I first met her, resting peacefully in her father’s hand, flanked by two shy, but proud brothers and barely a few days old. I glanced admiringly from a distance, little knowing the part I would come to play in her life and that of her brothers.

August 2002 (S is 14 months old, Deborah is 35)

The next time we meet I am seeking refuge with her family on a camping trip in Cornwall. That first morning she crawls around the restricted floor space, while her mother, frying pan, bacon and eggs in one hand, fights bravely with the other hand to keep the wind blown tent from touching the gas stove. I watch, again from a distance, wrestling with a severe storm of my own.

November 2002 (Sophie is 18 months old, Deborah is 36)

Arriving well before time, I find the boys eating their tea in the living room. Sophie looks at me with indifference from her high chair. Soon the military operation of the evening will be put into place; each member of the family leaving quietly through a different door at a different time. I meanwhile engage the enemy in a game and for a short while all goes well, until the realisation dawns that we are alone.

Every trick, fake surprise or toy fails to pull her from the wall, which she doggedly faces for the next 30 minutes. Finally I admit defeat and decide its bedtime. So I carry a kicking and screaming child up the stairs, desperately hoping that the neighbours will refrain from calling the police, in order to report the horrible crime that must be taking place in the house on the corner.

January 2004 (Sophie is 3 years old, Deborah is 37)

By my next visit I am an honorary member of the family, an extra auntie, an irritating older sister. I am new to my role and therefore tread carefully. A family weekend at Centre Parcs will allow me to observe. It is better this way. Since following our previous encounter, Sophie keeps her distance.

“I want to run mummy!” she announces, as I walk with her mother through the forest towards the leisure area. Off up the path she goes, but this is no childish heavy footed, a leg at each corner run. This is elegant. She stretches out with confidence, holding herself upright, strong legs, graceful arms and she runs. Oh my God! She runs. An athlete emergences.

March 2005 (Sophie is 4 years old, Deborah is 38)

A cautious ease has now entered our relationship, as I have spend more time with her family. This particular night Sophie and I are left alone, as the rest of the family go off to the theatre. There is a change. No military operation required this time. We are engaged in a game and the family is dismissed with indifference. We play theatre, with Sophie taking all three main roles – a king, a princess and a jester. I am general dog’s body and compare for the evening. To high acclaim and rapturous applause Sophie enters stage left, the kitchen, and proceeds to perform her story with three distinctly different characters, each with there own unique voice and gestures. I sit back and watch astounded by the little person standing in front of me, who begins to show me more of her future.

The evening continues with great success, until the thorny issue of bedtime approaches. On this we disagree. A brief altercation occurs in the kitchen, which results a time loop: a kicking and screaming child is carried to her bedroom. As I wait outside for her to calm down, the screaming changes pitch and I know something unforeseen has happened. Opening the door, I find a small, frightened person standing in a small puddle of liquid. After much coxing and persuasion, she is cleaned up and in bed. Fortunately without the wet slippers she had determinedly insisted on wearing. I am dismissed from her room. “Go away, go away!’ she sobs.

I retreat to the living room. An hour later her mother rings to check all is well. I make my confession as to the disastrous down turn in the evening.

“But are you alright?’ her mother asks.

“Fine!” I reply.

“Well that’s alright then.”

I have jumped into and out of Sophie’s family many times since those early days. I have gleefully irritated her brothers and am beginning to watch them grow into men. I have wrestled Sophie to the ground, made great art out of newspapers and watched countless videos. I have watched future things emerge in the present and sought to make a difference.

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