Take a girl.
Take her hair. It falls down in long, straight lines of summer honey and yellow autumn. She will still plait it sometimes in the morning, for school, but by the time she comes home it will be a fine tangled sheet down her back. More often now she will let it fall over her face, across one eye, to hide her freckled paleness and a secret smile, or to attempt to conceal newly found fury and frustrations.
Take her face. All hint of baby flesh has long been stretched into sculpted cheeks and a straight nose, dotted with a thousand cinnamon freckles. One dimple pops improbably into view in the plane of her right cheek when she smiles. Sometimes when she comes back from her friends’ houses, she is wearing eyeliner and has powder dusted into her eyebrows. It still makes her look younger, not older.
Take her hands. Her thin, white fingers are quickly purpled and swollen in the cold. They move a pencil skilfully across a page, composing beautifully delicate drawings. They dart quickly over her mobile phone as she chats compulsively to her online world. They whip across a keyboard with increasing proficiency as she completes her homework. The nails are still varnished, at weekends or when she thinks the teachers won’t notice, but there is no more time for the little-girl pinks and purples of old, messily applied, the fingertips taking as much as the nails. She has moved onto cool and quirky blues and turquoises, expertly applied and carefully co-ordinated with her clothes.
Take her body. She is short and slight but has impressive strength in her thin arms and legs and phenomenal flexibility through her gymnastics-honed, muscled core. Accustomed to walking alongside her taller brother or taller friend to school, her stride has become fast and purposeful. At night she curls up sideways, neatly catlike as her hair fans over her pillow and her face relaxes into her younger self in the half light.
Take her spirit. It is independent, resilient and kind. She can be a sarcastic sister, practicing her witty wisecracks and caustic comebacks on her brothers, but unfailingly kind and sympathetic should the situation really demand it. She is empathetic and intuitive, with a mostly calm approach to life.
Take her quirks. She is teased for having no sense of direction, for being unsure which way to turn even on oft-travelled routes. I think she could probably do it if she put her mind to it, but she has no interest in working it out: her mind is on other things. She rarely gets through a meal without spilling water or dropping something absent mindedly from her fork. She loves riddles, puns and wordplay, often dissolving into helpless giggles at her own jokes. She hates making decisions, however small and will often be paralysed with indecision over what to wear or whether to wash her hair or not, wanting someone else to make the decision for her. She loves anything containing golden syrup or salted caramel, whether it be actual foodstuffs or sickly smelling rubbers or scented candles.
Take her friendships. A few, close friendships are especially important to her but they fall in different circles – from primary school, from secondary school, from gymnastics, older family friendships. Sometimes a friendship Venn diagram situation arises, where girls from different circles start to overlap but it causes her emotional stress to be responsible for the mix and she prefers to see them separately. In twos and threes, there is giggling, dancing, conspiratorial heads together on secret missions. She is generally a follower, not a leader, happy to fall in with others’ plans.
Take her twelve years, eleven months and three and a half weeks. Take my wonderful daughter and find her on the brink of her teenage years.