I Love a Wedding: 2013 365 Challenge #124

Gemstone Bay, Coromandel, so nice I came twice

Today I get to live one of those other lives I’ve talked about through my Claire book. Well, I lay the seed anyway.

Writing really is a great way to experience a different life: you know, the one you could have had if you’d been in possession of all the facts earlier on. Although how boring would that be? Like taking my husband to New Zealand on our honeymoon and then driving him nutty by constantly saying I did this here, or We can do that, or Let’s go see this great beach I know.

Life’s adventures need to come without a map.

Our unconventional wedding

However, since reading about YHA hostels, and how you can hire the whole building for many of them, I thought – what a missed trick. We should have done that for our wedding. There are some amazing buildings in the YHA stable and we could have easily filled the largest of them with hubbie’s friends. It probably would have been cheaper and the party could have continued all weekend.

I also wouldn’t have had a phone call the week before saying, “Your bride has been booked into my bride’s Bridal Suite.” which is not what you want to hear after six months of detailed planning.

So now I have a wedding to look forward to. I haven’t been to a wedding in ages, and if I’ve been getting a bit bored with Claire’s journey? Well, how much fun is there to be had at a hostel-based wedding? Hee hee.

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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“How many weeks gone are you?”

Kim and Claire sat watching as Sky and Jeff fought over the last hole. No words had been spoken since Kim’s revelation, but Claire wanted to reassure her friend that she had her full support.

“Sixteen.”

Claire did a quick mental calculation. Four months, already? The baby will be due in September. She shivered. Trying to hide her unease, Claire smiled at Kim. “You’re not showing. When did you find out?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Claire could hear the hurt in her voice.

“How could I? We always said we would build up our careers before we had kids. If we ever had them at all.” Something in her voice suggested maybe she hadn’t been as clear on the latter point as Claire. “Besides,” she continued, her voice low, “I needed to decide what I was going to do before I told anyone.”

Claire thought about her friend going through that decision process alone. Not alone. With Jeff.

“How did Jeff take that?” Following on from what Kim had said earlier, she imagined him pressuring Kim to keep the baby.

“He said he would support me, either way. It wasn’t planned. We always said we would get married first and see where we were then. But now…”

Something else her friend had said came back to Claire. “But now you’re getting married and having a baby.” She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but she felt Kim flinch away from her words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. My brain is still catching up.”

There was a pause, then Kim sighed again. “That’s okay. It’s taking a while for me to catch up and I’ve had longer to think about it. Yes, we’re going to get married. Jeff’s family are quite traditional and, though his mother hasn’t said anything, I know they’d be happier if the baby wasn’t born out of wedlock.”

Claire tried to imagine what her parents would think about it and realised she had no idea. Probably they would think the same and force her to have some hideously formal event at the Country Club.

“When’s the wedding? Will you have a big do?”

“We can’t afford it. Jeff’s wages are more than mine, but only just. Actually, your blog has given us an idea. We thought we might see if we could hire one of the smaller hostels and invite all our friends for the weekend. Ask them to pay for their room instead of bringing a gift. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds brilliant. There are some gorgeous buildings,” she gave Kim a cheeky grin, “and I can write about it for my blog!”

***

7 Tips to Stay Grounded While Planning Your Wedding (coffeewithemma.wordpress.com)
Jim Mullen: Plan the marriage, not the wedding (readingeagle.com)

The Well Runs Dry: 2013 365 Challenge #123

My mind is dry and dusty, like a disused Gold Mine (NZ)

Post 123. If only it was as easy as 123. I realised today that my word-well has run dry. I am teetering near the 100,000 word mark for the Two-Hundred Steps Home manuscript, and yet poor old Claire is only at hostel #26 out of 200 (well, I think it will be less than that overall, as some of the hostels are for private hire, but you get the point). I am a third of the way through the year and I still have around 150 hostels to go.

Actually, looking at it like that, there should be plenty to write about. Except this isn’t a travel journal. It’s meant to be a novel, with character growth and conflict and all that good stuff.

I’m learning, however, that it’s hard to write conflict in little chunks, particularly when attempting to make each ‘little chunk’ stand alone as a piece of writing. I’m not saying you could read a daily installment and get much enjoyment from it, without knowing the story. But you could miss a few installments and catch up. I guess it’s a bit like a soap opera, with lots of repetition to keep everyone on track.

I hate soap operas. I dislike a TV programme insisting I watch every day, or a few days a week. I find following the minutiae of people’s lives depressing. I didn’t use to. I watched Sunset Beach every day as a student, AND watched the five-hour omnibus at the weekend. But I was a student – life wasn’t really happening to me all that much, stuck day after day in the lower depths of a dusty library. Now, life happens. I don’t need to read about it or watch it on TV. I certainly find it difficult to write about it, twice, every day.

Just Keep Swimming

The diary/chatty/whatever-it-is segment of my daily posts is hard to make entertaining unless something great has happened or I chance to read a good book or interesting blog post. I’m spending so much time writing the blog I’m running out of things to write about! And poor old Claire is not getting the best of my writing skills at all. Editing every day has made my writing stilted and self-conscious.

Anyway, I don’t want to quit. I’m not a quitter, not easily. I’m just trying to figure out a different way.

This exercise was always meant to be a challenge, but also one that brought visitors to my blog and helped improve my craft. I can’t say that either aim has been a complete success! Maybe I’m not the writer I thought I was, or maybe I’m just better at locking myself in a cupboard and churning out first drafts in thirty days. Ah well, until another idea comes up I’ll do what I always do and just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

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“Over here, Jeff! Your ball’s in the grass.” Sky giggled and span round, making her skirt flare in the wind. As Jeff walked over to retrieve his missing golf ball she smiled shyly up at him, then ran forwards and hugged his leg.

“Blimey. Is she normally that forward with strange men?” Kim’s voice sounded disapproving and Claire raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not really forward when you’re six. She’s not flirting.”

“She so is!”

Claire laughed. “Are you jealous of a six-year-old, Kim? You know Jeff only has eyes for you.”

“Exactly,” she pouted. “He’s never flirted with anyone else before.”

“Kim, she’s six.” Claire stood with her hands on her hips, her head tilted to one side. Then both girls collapsed into giggles and linked arms happily.

“It’s great to see that Sky’s relaxed with Jeff. I wasn’t sure how she would be with strangers.” Claire remembered their meeting with Sky’s dad the day before. “And her life is pretty messy right now.”

Certainly Sky and Jeff had been giggling together like old friends since they’d started their game of crazy golf. It meant that she was able to relax for the first time since taking charge of her niece, and hang back with Kim. Hopefully she’ll spill the beans, with the other two out of the way.

They followed on behind as Sky tried to scoop her ball into a hole. It’s not really crazy golf, Claire thought. Where are the windmills and silly tunnels to put the ball through? She looked around at the pirates hanging from the rigging and the barrels of rum. Not that Sky seems to care. She is flirting with Jeff, little madam. Maybe that’s what you do when you’re six. I can’t say I remember. If I’d opened my eyes all wide and winsome like that at my Dad’s colleagues I’d have been sent to my room.

The sun shone down on the bright green fairway. If you call it that in crazy golf. Claire had no idea; it was her first foray into the world of the sport, crazy or otherwise. It had been Jeff’s suggestion and Sky had readily agreed, before asking the classic kid’s question, “What is Crazy Golf, Auntie Claire?”

Claire felt the weight of Kim’s arm through hers, and the wide gulf of space that seemed to separate them, despite the closeness. Maybe I am going to have to pry. After Jeff’s untimely entrance last night I don’t think she’s going to open up again. She searched her mind for a way to open the conversation without jumping to conclusions.

“How are rehearsals coming on? Do you have Puck memorised now?”

Kim nodded. “Yes, I think so. It’s been fun, and it beats some of the other roles I’ve done. At least I haven’t had to murder my way through a terrible Hull accent.

Claire thought about Kim’s last role, playing a Northern woman who worked at a fish factory and sang Tony Christie songs, and her eyes sparkled. “I thought your accent was quite good.”

“You have to say that because you’re my best friend. That woman from the paper said I was worse than Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. That is an insult!”

“Ah well, maybe you won’t have to do accents again.”

Kim lowered her head and sighed. “Maybe I won’t get a chance to do acting again.”

“What do you mean?” Claire tried to sound casual, but her heart thumped loudly in her ears.

There was silence, filled with the sound of laughter as Jeff’s ball skipped over the hole and disappeared from view. Claire tried to keep her breathing even and resist the urge to fill the void with words. Eventually the stillness was broken by a tiny sob and Claire turned to see tears streaming down her friend’s face.

“Oh honey, what is it?”

“Jeff and I… we’re going to get married.”

Claire reeled at the unexpected response. Struggling to keep up, she pulled Kim over to sit on some rocks and offered her a tissue.

“Is that a reason to cry? Why now? I thought you were going to wait until you could afford a lavish do?”

Kim nodded and gulped down more tears, scrubbing at the ones already staining her cheeks. “We were. But now…” She looked up and away, avoiding Claire’s penetrating stare. “Now everything has changed.” Kim glanced back at her friend, then sunk her head into her hands.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words were muffled by her hands, but Claire was expecting them. Even so, having it said out loud made it too real. The words that sprang into her throat were the obvious ones – How? What happened? How could you be so careless? The kind of things her mother would say, and not at all helpful. She drew in a deep breath and tried to imagine what she would want to hear, if the situation was reversed. It was hard to think, knowing the situation would never have arisen for her, and seeing in her mind also how overjoyed Michael would have been if it had.

“What does Jeff think?”

Kim looked up, eyes awash, and smiled. “He’s thrilled. Look at him,” she jerked her chin over to where Jeff was teaching Sky how to putt. “He loves kids. And it’s not going to wreck his career or his body.”

“Ah.” As if the girls had suddenly become telepathic, Claire could hear the hours of wrangling debate that had already taken place – either in Kim’s head or with Jeff. Knowing she didn’t really believe it, Claire said what had to be said. “It won’t ruin either thing: plenty of women have babies every day. Actresses, models, long-distance runners. They go back to what they love doing afterwards. Or…”

She hesitated, not wanting to suggest what might be unthinkable. The telepathic bond held strong and Kim shook her head, red hair whipping round with the movement.

“I’m not getting rid of it. No way. It would destroy Jeff, and my mother would never speak to me again.”

Silence fell, punctuated only with happy chatter and bird song. Claire reached for Kim’s hand and squeezed it tight. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, to ask. She sensed that Kim’s head was full of the same questions and that they haunted her. Remembering what it was like to live with an argument in your head for any length of time, Claire forced herself to be silent and let that be enough.

***

If You Can’t Say Something Nice… 2013 365 Challenge #121

If you can’t say something nice…

I’m constantly amazed by both the supportiveness and meanness of the online parenting community. Today was a day when I posted on Twitter the kind of comment that really meant Tell me I’m okay, tell me it gets better.

Because yesterday was month-end, and I needed to format and upload the free ebook, I didn’t get to bed until midnight. Actually I haven’t for a while as there is no time to write during the day and the kids have been going to bed a bit later since the shift to summer time (generally it means they get up later so we take the trade.) Unfortunately Amber came in at 6am this morning so it felt too short a night to survive twelve hours of parenting.

A busy morning at play and stay, a screaming child who wouldn’t sit in the hairdresser chair and a boy who shrieked every time he lost sight of his Mummy meant I was in constant tears of exhaustion by mid-afternoon. Not an unusual occurrence these, days to be fair. So I turned to Twitter for support. And found it.

My comment on Twitter generated lovely responses including a link to a great blog post: To Parents of Small Children:

If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

I felt so much better after reading it – problem shared, problem halved and all that. Until I read the latest comment on the blog from a parent of teenagers who said they hated the post for its “sheer blind arrogant silliness”.

[Y]ou might also hate it when people tell you to you enjoy every minute, (everyone says it to everyone, WE ALL had it so don’t be so uptight and melodramatic ‘it doesn’t help’ poor you)

In the spirit of fairness they did say the post was sweet and they liked its honesty, but the comment left me feeling sick to the stomach.

Anyone is entirely entitled to their opinion and I’m sure I’m just as capable of being sanctimonious and smug. In fact I know sometimes I see parents of one baby who are tired and part of me wants to say, Wait until you have two. Or Wait until they’re walking or something equally discouraging. The point is I don’t say it. Well, hardly ever, and then only as a joke to people I know. (At least I think so. Apologies if I’ve ever made another parent feel bad.) Generally, if I’m honest about the trials of being a parent it is to encourage other parents not to suffer in silence, rather than to make them feel bad.

Because even if it’s true, even if it is harder with two, what’s the point in saying it? Why do humans feel the need to share their misery in such a way? I remember when I only had one child and was struggling and a friend of hubbie’s said It never gets easier. My daughter was six months old. I couldn’t give her back. And instead of bolstering myself on bad days with the thought that one day I might just feel like it was going to get better I had this doom-laden future stretching endlessly before me.

It was already hard surviving teething and breast feeding and sleepless nights. Suddenly I had to face twenty years of pain. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, someone said It doesn’t get any easier when they leave home. Oh come on, guys, enough already.

…don’t say nothing at all

Some days, the only reason I don’t drive my car into a river is the thought that I’d leave my kids without a mother, and any mother is better than none. Facing the idea that I’ll feel like that until I do finally crack and drive that route isn’t helpful. When you’re low, and you’re turning to friendly blog posts for support and empathy, you don’t need someone belittling your experience by saying “Why do all new parents think they invented the feelings that go with it.”

So, however tempting it is to give the honest answer when someone asks if it will get better – however noble or genuine the motivation – try to resist. This advice applies to me, too. Because now I think about it, I know I’ve done it. I’ve been that person wanting to warn about the horror (although hopefully never in as arrogant or spiteful a way as the commenter I’ve quoted). From now on I’m going to try and find something positive to say, without actually lying.

As Thumper’s father teaches Thumper in Bambi, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all.”

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“Kim, Jeff, over here!” Claire put down her book and strode to the door to embrace her friend. As she grinned up at Kim’s boyfriend, she marvelled – as she always did – at just how attractive he really was. “It’s great that you were able to get a room here for the weekend. Have you eaten? How was the journey?”

“Hey, Claire.” Kim pulled back and stared with concern at her face. “You look tired, I thought you were on holiday?”

With a glance back to where Sky was watching mutely from the sofa, Claire shrugged. “It’s not a holiday, you know that. Carl would have my hide if he knew Sky was travelling with me for two whole weeks.” Besides, you don’t look so great yourself. Claire wondered whether to comment on her friend’s pasty complexion, stark against the pillar-box red hair. An odd tension between her and Jeff stilled Claire’s tongue. I wonder if they had a fight?

Kim walked over and sat next to Sky, perched on the sofa. She smiled the uncomfortable grimace of a person who has little contact with small children. “Hello, you must be Sky.”

Claire shuddered at the patronising tone in her friend’s voice. She’s six, not six-months old. Did I used to talk that that? God, do I still talk to her like that?

Sky stared wide-eyed up at Kim, but didn’t speak. Claire could sense the questions building in the tiny chest. Auntie Claire, why is your friend’s hair red. Auntie Claire why is your friend talking to me like I’m a baby. Wanting to forestall the inevitable, she went over and snuggled next to her niece on the sofa.

“Sky, honey, I’d like you to meet Kim and Jeff. I’ve known Kim since I was younger than you. When we first met she had long blonde hair, like yours. I thought she was a princess.”

As she spoke the words, two decades slipped away in an instant. She turned to share the moment with Kim, and was surprised by the expression on her friend’s face. Her attention was fixed on Sky as if an alien had wandered into the room.

She looks scared. Or, no, speculative? Don’t tell me she and Jeff are planning to have kids. Claire felt a shiver raise the hairs on her arm. The idea of Kim having a baby felt like a betrayal. Through all the years they had known each other – or at least since they finished their A Levels and went to University – they had shared an antipathy to becoming parents.

Kim might not earn the same as me, but her career is equally if not more important to her. She and Jeff aren’t even getting married until they can afford it. No, it can’t be that. She raised her eyes to observe Jeff and was relieved to see nothing odd in his expression. He leant over the sofa and looked at the game Sky had been playing on the iPad.

“Ah, Angry Birds. My nephews love that. What level are you on?” He squeezed on the seat between Sky and Kim and opened himself to the eager words pouring forth in response to his question.

Soon Sky and Jeff were deep in conversation, discussing tactics and cheats for a game Claire barely understood. She felt Kim’s eyes on her and, when she looked up, saw the slight jerk of the head that said Let’s leave them to it.

“Shall we go and make tea, Kim? I’m sure you must be parched.” She half-expected Kim to suggest something stronger. Instead she stood up and nodded. “Yes, I’m dying for a cuppa and a gossip.” Linking arms with Claire, she led her from the room as if she couldn’t get away from Jeff and Sky fast enough.

***

Admitting how hard parenting is, and recentering on the positives (frompracticetoparenting.wordpress.com)
As a mom, trust your instincts | parenting advice | instinctive parenting | Babble (babble.com)

April Finale: 2013 365 Challenge #120

A Slightly Different Format

I am so pleased to get to the end of April, from a Claire perspective. This has been a hard month for the daily blog. The 2 or 3 hours it takes every day to write the two parts of the blog, source pictures, check facts, edit, proof read and post, have come at a high cost. I know my family have been neglected, my house has suffered, my writing has suffered. If I hadn’t decided right at the beginning not to do any more editing after each post was live there is no way I would collate this month’s posts into an ebook. Some of them are so short they’re barely worth a heading. And the last two or three are reeeaaaallly long, as if making up for the overall fall in word count. Not intentionally. I think I just realised that I spent the month getting by and I needed some story to make it a stand-alone volume worth the purchase of a cover picture.

Anyway, today’s post is record length, to try and wrap up April, so I’ll keep the top half short.

There’s no cliff-hanger.

The allocation of days didn’t get me to my next cliff-hanger so I’ve tried to end on a nice upbeat note instead. I’ve also changed the front cover format to one that better fitted the photograph I decided on. That might mean a redesign of the others – all hampered by that first photo for January, which is only available in landscape!

As a small aside, if you are downloading the free ebooks and enjoying them, please do take time to rate them on Smashwords or even write a review if you’re feeling chatty. I know it isn’t award-winning literature that I’m writing – what first draft ever is? – but it would be nice to get some feedback on what has been done so far. There’s part of me that is tempted to put Claire to bed and start my new MG project instead. I could get a lot of first draft written in 3 hours a day, instead of researching youth hostels and children’s trips out!

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Claire watched Sky lean over the glass barrier and reach down to stroke a seal. Her arms were too short and she nearly toppled over into the water. Concerned, Claire stretched out a hand, but the girl had already dropped back onto her feet. Her blonde hair streamed out as a sharp wind blew in off the sea. She had tried to convince Sky to let her tie it in a ponytail, but apparently she hadn’t the knack of it.

“Mummy doesn’t pull so much. You’re hurting me!” had been her response. Claire had decided a couple of hair grips would have to do.

She reached over and stroked the soft, golden hair. I wonder when hair stops being so silky-smooth. Or maybe she’s just blessed with beautiful hair. Not like my unmanageable mane.

Trying not to attract Sky’s attention, Claire carefully scanned the sea of faces surrounding them. She knew it must be past eleven, because the seal-feeding had started. Please don’t let me down. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.

Salty spray carried on the wind stung her eyes, making them water. The smell reminded her of long, carefree, holidays.

Not that Hunstanton on a Friday morning bears any resemblance to the South of France or Miami or any of the beaches I’ve visited in the last few years. I wonder what the Maldives smells like. I bet the briny tang there doesn’t have to compete with ketchup and hotdogs, cheap perfume and decapitated fish.

Claire watched as the woman in charge of feeding tossed several bloody carcasses into the water. The seals, so cumbersome on their platforms, dived gracefully and darted forward to retrieve their food. Claire’s mind drifted back to the day before, and the conversation in the car park of Norfolk Lavender.

As much as you can’t judge a seal by how it is on land, you can’t judge a break-up by the ranting of one person. There had been a look in Chris’s eyes that had made Claire believe his version of events. Besides, I know Ruth. That’s exactly what she would do. The only reason she has let me take Sky, and isn’t ringing every five minutes, is because the chemotherapy is taking all her energy. Even so, she received text messages from her sister several times a day, wanting to know where they were and whether her daughter was happy.

I wonder what Ruth would do if she knew about the phone call I had this morning. Chris had rung before breakfast, asking if he could meet up with Sky before they left the area. While her niece was occupied watching Dora Explorer on the iPad Claire had arranged for them to meet at Sea Life. It felt safe, a place where father and daughter could talk.

“Claire!”

The sound cut through the low hubbub of the crowd and a rippling revealed Chris’s location as he made his way through the press of bodies. It took a moment for Claire to realise he was pushing a pram. Oh god, he’s bought that damn woman and the baby. What an idiot.

Her face was thunderous as the man approached. He stopped and looked up, his face beneath Claire’s, as she stood on a platform with Sky. Eyes burning, Claire looked meaningfully at the pram and then over Chris’s shoulder, as if expecting to see the woman he left her sister for lurking in the distance.

“It’s alright, Bryony isn’t here. I wanted to bring Eloise. I thought Sky should meet her half-sister.” His voice was muted, but Sky was only an arm’s reach away and she turned at the sound.

“Daddy! What are you doing here?” Her face lit like a firework then fell dark as she remembered his behaviour the day before. Chris threw Claire a glance and she flushed, before raising her chin in defiance.

“No, I didn’t tell her you were coming. What if you’d decided not to show?”

Chris nodded, accepting her reason, and reached his arms up to Sky. She hadn’t noticed the pram and her father swiftly pulled her into an embrace before waggling his eyebrows at Claire. He nodded down at the pram then signalled to say he was leaving the child with Claire while he took Sky off to talk.

Claire felt paralysed with shock. What the hell? Her eyes tried to scream at Chris. You can’t leave me with your baby, for Christ’s sake! I know nothing about babies. She wasn’t sure about him going out of sight with Sky, either, but figured if he’d left his other daughter behind he was unlikely to abduct Sky.

As he carried Sky away through the huddle of people craning to watch the seal feeding, Claire stared down at the pram and swallowed the taste of sick swimming in her mouth. I need coffee. The café is by the door. If I wait there I’ll see if he takes Sky out the building.

Reluctantly, Claire walked round to the front of the pram and looked inside. The baby was asleep, its little face smooth and perfect in slumber. You sleep on, little Eloise, there’s a good girl.

Claire gulped down the hot coffee and ignored the caffeine as it buzzed through her veins on a direct path to her brain. It was her third cup and her hands were shaking slightly, like autumn leaves rustling in the breeze. She didn’t notice because she was too busy trying to stop Eloise from shrieking. The tranquil infant resting deep within the pram had lasted as long as her first latte. She had been forced to remove the infant and jiggle her on her knee while she drank the second. By the time the third arrived, Claire was ready to pass the baby to the next stranger who glared at her, and make a run for it.

“What. Do. You. Want?” She bit the words out quietly through gritted teeth, knowing full well Eloise couldn’t respond even if she understood the question.

Claire searched through the bag hanging off the pram, hoping for a dummy or a bottle of milk. Something – anything – to silence the screaming child. She found a bottle but it looked like it held only water. Peace descended briefly as she offered the bottle to the child, but it was replaced moments later with an ear-splitting yell, as the offending bottle was pushed away. Another rifle through the bag produced a tub of powder, but for all Claire knew it was teething crystals or talc for the baby’s bottom.

How dare Chris go off without leaving any instructions?

Abandoning the coffee under the growing ire of the other customers, Claire placed the baby in the pram and wheeled it back into the depths of the Sea Life centre. She could feel people staring as she pushed the wailing child through tunnels, past tanks of turtles and sharks, and out towards the penguins. I’m an idiot. I should have agreed how long Chris could spend with Sky and where to meet afterwards. His arrival with the baby had caught her by surprise.

Eloise’s cries dropped to a gentle roar with the motion of the buggy. Claire muttered soothing words in her general direction as she searched the crowds for sight of her niece. Panic fluttered in the pit of her stomach and she couldn’t decide what she feared most – not finding Sky again or being left with the baby.

She turned a corner and saw a giant pirate ship half sunk into the sand. A woman dressed as a pirate was standing with a group of children, handing out treasure. Claire caught sight of loose-flowing golden tresses and released her terror in a rush of air.

“Sky! Where’s your father?”

“Over here,” a voice responded, and Claire turned to see Chris watching the children, his face inscrutable.

“What the hell are you doing tucked round here? You’ve been ages. Your baby has been screaming for half an hour and I don’t know how to make her stop.”

Chris looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. “Oh, I figured you’d be fine. Women love babies.” He saw her expression and his face paled. “Don’t they?”

“Not this woman, thank you very much. We’re not all earth mothers you know. I understand more about a profit and loss ledger than I do a screaming infant.”

“Oh. Better pass her here then.”

Chris reached for the crying bundle of purple skin and snot and cuddled her against his shoulder, while deftly searching through the bag for the bottle of water and tub of powder. He held the bottle between his knees and unfastened it, then flicked open the tub of powder and tipped it in. Within seconds the lid was on, the bottle was shaken and a small amount applied to the back of his hand. Before Claire had time to sit down, baby Eloise was nestled in the crook of her Daddy’s arm happily gulping down milk.

“Okay, I’m impressed.” Claire smiled at Chris, feeling her anger drain away.

“I’ve had practice. Bryony couldn’t feed Eloise herself,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “… though she wanted to. We share the load. I could probably mix a bottle in my sleep.”

“So, have you and Sky had a chance to talk? She looks happy enough.”

“Yes. And thank you. It must be fate that let me bump into you yesterday. I have missed her.”

“Why didn’t you go and visit, when you thought the cards weren’t getting through?” Claire observed his profile as his eyes never ceased watching Sky.

“I didn’t want to rock the boat. I had no idea what Ruth had told her, about me and Bryony. And how to tell her about a half-sister she probably doesn’t want?”

“Have you told her now?”

Chris nodded, then looked down. The bottle was nearly empty. Claire was amazed at how quickly the baby had drained a full bottle of milk. As the last dregs disappeared, Chris raised the baby to his shoulder and gave her a practised pat on the back. A loud burp escaped the child, much to the amusement of the children nearby.

Sky turned at the noise and saw her father cradling the baby. Claire watched her reaction, ready to step in if need be. She looked shocked, then a smile spread wide across her face and she raced up to where they sat against the fence.

“Is that your baby, Dad? Yours and Bryony’s?”

“Yes, Sky. This is Eloise, your half-sister.”

Sky reached out and stroked the baby’s face, before turning to Claire, her eyes swimming with tears.

Oh dear. She’s just found out her father doesn’t hate her, and now she has to give him up to a new sister. Angry feelings squirmed in her stomach and she felt regret swarming up inside her, accusing her of causing Sky more pain by inviting Chris here. Then Sky reached forwards and planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead. Eloise giggled.

“I have a sister! Claire, I thought it would always be just me and Mummy. But I have a sister!” And the tears streamed down her face. Shining, happy tears.

***

Is the Change as Good as the Rest? (davidjhiggins.wordpress.com)
Twelve Week Challenge (closed2.wordpress.com)
approx. 365 days later (knitreadclick.wordpress.com)

All Hail Garden Centres: 2013 365 Challenge #118

Wheels on the Bus ride at the Garden Centre

Today was saved by the humble garden centre, one of my favourite places to visit at the weekend. Strange, you might think, considering I hate gardening. But they really are fab places to take bored kids, particularly when you’re exhausted. And this morning we all were.

My decision to start limiting my son’s dummy usage (especially talking with the darn thing in his mouth) was not timed well. Sleep came in two-hour chunks last night and this morning Cranky Mummy was an understatement.

I took dummy away, as threatened, after the little darling spoke to me with it in his mouth only moments after the warning. I suffered more than he did as I had to endure an hour-long tantrum that threatened to end in vomit (as Aaron’s tantrums often do).

Amazing what you find in a Garden Centre

Vomit averted, I managed to get him dressed and into the car – one of the two places he is now allowed his dummy (as long as my willpower lasts, which may not be long.) By then any energy I had when I woke had long since vanished. So we decided to visit a new Garden Centre I had a money-off voucher for.

This was a great one, although it was further away than I realised. The entire place was under high ceilings that let in the sunshine and protected us from today’s hail showers.

There were the usual distractions – a shop selling fish (who needs to visit an aquarium?), a pet shop complete with guinea pigs, pretty flowers, ride on toys and cake – plus the rather less usual – a giant gorilla that the children sat on to have their picture taken.

There was even a TV and reading room for kids, a library for grown-ups and a park. The food was a bit pricey but it’s definitely somewhere I would take the children again. Who needs indoor play centres or trips to the cinema when you can find Nemo and Dory in a fish shop, King Kong in the flower hall, and Ice Age I on the television?

Marvellous.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Claire smothered a yawn and rubbed her hand across her eyes. She stared around blankly, trying to occupy her mind while Sky knelt to feed the goats. Twenty paces away, a man stood watching her. She felt a quiver of recognition, although she couldn’t imagine how anyone she knew would turn up at a rare breeds centre in Norfolk. Probably an old colleague; they do seem to appear in the most random places.

Her eyes felt heavy and her caffeine content was well below safe levels. Crouching down next to her niece, she tried to frame words in her head that might entice her back to the car without a tantrum.

“Would you like to buy an ice cream before we go to the hostel?” She waited, lungs full of in-held breath, while her words seeped into Sky’s consciousness. Never mind marketing, I think a career in diplomacy will be a possibility when this fortnight is over.

After what felt like an hour, Sky smiled and stood up. “Can I have one with a flake, Auntie Claire?”

Exhaling loudly, Claire pulled herself to her feet and reached for Sky’s hand. “Of course, darling, if they have any.”

She turned to lead them to the exit, but Sky remained as if stuck in quicksand. Looking down Claire saw that her niece’s gaze was fixed on a point in the distance. She followed the direction and saw the same man still staring. A shiver trickled down her skin like icy water. With the awful inevitability of a car crash, Claire could see disaster playing out before her. She tugged on the tiny hand enclosed in hers. “Come on Sky, I’ll race you to the coffee shop.”

The girl didn’t move, although the blood drained from her face until it was as pale as her hair.

Bollocks. Claire didn’t want her suspicions confirmed, but her eyes dragged back to the staring man without her volition. Of all the shitty luck. What now?

She felt Sky drop her hand and take a step forward. A breath of a voice whispered, “Daddy?” Then something seemed to break inside her, and she began to run. “Daddy!”

Watching the little girl racing across the grass, hair and dress flying out behind her, Claire felt tears building in the back of her throat. It was her turn to be frozen. She knew she should go after Sky – shield her from what might happen next – but she felt unable to move.

Sky reached the man and held up her arms, demanding an embrace. Even across the distance Claire felt the hesitation and her chest ached in pain. It seemed to free her from immobility and she ran for Sky as if the girl was teetering at a cliff edge. She reached them just as the man dropped down and gave his daughter a quick hug. He looked up at Claire’s flustered arrival and some of the tension left his face.

“It’s you. Couldn’t tell from a distance. Thought it couldn’t be Ruth. She wouldn’t be this far from home.”

Claire looked round, expecting to see the ballet teacher lurking nearby. It seemed unlikely that a man would come by himself to such a place. Wherever she is, let her stay there. Another thought lurched unwelcome in Claire’s mind. Oh god, I offered Sky ballet lessons and talked all about ballet when we were in Cambridge. Stupid, inconsiderate, idiot. No wonder Ruth doesn’t want her to have ballet lessons, when her father ran off with her ballet teacher.

Shaking away the thought as something she couldn’t fix now, Claire reached for Sky. Her father dropped his arms and stood up, his face showing relief.

“How come you’ve got the girl then?”

Claire tried to read the man’s expression. “Sky is staying with me for the Easter holidays.” She stopped, holding back the words Because her mother has a brain tumour and is having chemotherapy.

An awkward silence spread between them like mist. Sky stood gazing in adoration at her father, and Claire wondered when she had last heard from or seen him. As if in answer, Sky spoke in a trembling voice. “I miss you, Daddy. Why don’t you ever call?”

The man – Claire couldn’t even think his name without fury – looked down at his shoes and didn’t answer. Claire could see two red spots burning in his cheeks. He glanced around and behind him, as if searching for someone. His face softened, becoming younger, more gentle. Reaching down, he patted Sky gently on the head.

“I have to go, poppet. Sorry.” He said nothing more, and strode away without looking back.

Claire felt an icy pain spreading through her chest as she watched him leave. Chris. That’s his name. Stupid, fucking wanker, more like. It felt hard to breathe. Watching the departing figure reminded Claire of being dropped at school after the holidays, standing silent while her parents returned to their car. They had never looked back either.

A loud sob brought Claire back to the present. Realising she had forgotten her niece in her own reaction; Claire dropped to her knees in the mud and gathered Sky into her lap. Like a dam breaking, the little girl crumbled and dissolved into a wave of tears. These weren’t the childish screams and dry sobs of a tantrum. With shaking shoulders and loud gasping gulps, Sky cried as if the world had ended.

For her, I guess it has. Claire turned to stare in the direction Sky’s father had gone and saw him lean in to kiss a woman pushing a pram. He linked his arm through hers and bent to say something to the child deep in the buggy. Despite the busy farm bustling around them, the connection was close and private. Claire felt like an intruder.

Oh Sky, I’m glad you didn’t see that. What could make a man leave his child? I guess too many men run off and leave the woman literally holding the baby. But to start a new family, and not stay in touch with your own daughter: What kind of monster does that? Claire’s brain searched for the worst word she could think of, so bad she couldn’t even say it in her mind. That’s what he is and Sky’s better off without him.

***

“Ducks are NOT birds” 2013 365 Challenge #117

Feeding the Birds (not Ducks)

Today was one of those days when I feel I should be thinner.

I’ve never managed to shift the twenty pounds left over from having two kids in quick succession. To be fair I haven’t tried that hard. Life is stressful enough most days without forgoing cake.

Plus I have zero willpower.

The intention was to run off the calories on the new expensive treadmill we bought the month before hubbie was made redundant last October. Unfortunately, my persistent knee problem means I’ve been on it twice and now it gathers dust and torments me.

But mostly I’m okay with the Belly Flood as my husband calls my spare tyre when it spills over the top of my jeans (it’s an in-joke taken from our favourite kids show Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom where they periodically have magic jelly floods and all yell Jelly Flood loudly.)

“Arrgghh! Jelly Flood! Nanny!”

However on days like today I feel I should be thinner. It seems the whole day has been a battle: Physically – taking two kids on foot across town to a shoe shop in driving rain – and mentally – being questioned, contradicted and refused on pretty much everything I said.

The highlight was trying not to get into a scrap with a belligerent 2-year-old who insisted vehemently that “ducks are NOT birds”.

That’s a no-win argument right there.

It went on for so much of the day (every time I inadvertently said Feed the Birds instead of Feed the Ducks) that I began to question whether ducks are in fact birds. You know, like gibbons aren’t monkeys and spiders aren’t insects and a Brontosaurus doesn’t exist at all. If someone yabbers at you for long enough, and you’re tired enough, and they cry enough, you’ll believe anything. By bedtime I felt like a victim of a new kind of psychological torture. I’d have agreed that ducks are mammals quite happily to make it stop.

I feel as exhausted as I used to after climbing Snowdon, so surely I must have burned an extra thousand calories today? That would be fair, right? If only…

__________________________________________________________________________________

“Sky, it’s time to go and get lunch sweetheart. Besides, I don’t have sun-cream and you’re so fair. I don’t want you getting burnt, it’ll make your mummy cross.”

Sky looked up from the sandcastle moat and frowned. The castle was impressive, with at least a dozen towers, all surrounded by a deep furrow which Sky had tried to fill with water. The sea was too far away to begin with but now it seemed to be coming in fast.

Claire watched the waves lapping near to where they sat. “Besides, the tide is coming in.”

The bottom lip began to stick out and Claire braced herself for the tantrum that was about to erupt. She held up a placating hand and was about to launch into a flood of words to push back the torrent of tears when a siren ripped through the silence of the beach. Claire fell back onto the sand and Sky clapped her hands to her ears.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Claire looked around but couldn’t see anything to explain the noise. She swore some more, thankful that Sky’s ears were covered.

“Tis the tide alarm,” a voice called out from behind them. Claire turned to see a woman with several children in tow heading up towards the pine trees.

“I’m sorry?”

“Did ye nah see the signs in the car park? The tide comes in reet quick an if ya nah careful ya can get cut oof.”

Claire tried to decipher what the lady was saying. Her accent was heavy and northern; Claire couldn’t decide if it was Geordie or Scottish, although she knew better than to admit that to the woman. She gathered the alarm was to warn them of the incoming tide.

“Oh, okay, thank you.” She nodded at the woman and turned back to Sky, who had taken her hands away from her ears. “Time to go.”

When the bottom lip threatened to wobble, Claire shrugged and gestured at the other families leaving the beach. “It’s not up to me. I don’t want to have to swim back to the car.”

Sky laughed and looked as if she thought that would be fun. Searching her mind for ways to coax her niece back to the car, Claire remembered a place near the next hostel that she’d seen on the internet. “Would you like to go and see some animals?”

“What kind of animals?” Sky wasn’t budging but couldn’t hide the interest on her face.

“Um, wallabies? Alpacas?” She couldn’t remember what else. “Er, goats?”

Sky’s face lit up. “I like goats. We feed the goats at the Farm. Okay.” Standing up, she collected her bucket and spade, brushed the sand off her skirt, and headed up the beach. Claire watched her departure for a few moments, taken aback by the sudden change of speed. Sky turned as she reached the line of trees. “Aren’t you coming Auntie Claire? Race you back to the car!” And with that she disappeared.

“Aw, look at the wallabies, they’re so cute. Have you ever been to Australia, Auntie Claire? I want to go but Mummy says it’s too far.”

Claire’s brain ached with answering endless questions. I hoped coming here and feeding the animals might distract her for a bit. Wrong. With a sigh she tried to focus on the question. It raised unwanted memories of Josh and Fiona, who were possibly on a plane back to Australia at that very moment. “No I haven’t, although I’d like to go, some day.”

“Where have you been? Mummy says you’re always jetting off on holiday.”

Thank you, Ruth, for that gem. Claire thought about it and realised she hadn’t been anywhere Sky would have heard of or care about. I don’t think beach holidays in luxury resorts are what she means. She’d never had the travel bug before. Holidays were for relaxation and tanning opportunities. She decided it was time to change the subject.

“Look at that sheep’s horns, Sky, they’re all twisty.” She held her breath for a moment, convinced that such a ploy would never get past Sky’s knife-sharp mind. Her niece turned to observe the screw-horned sheep, then span to face Claire.

“Wow! He looks like he has helter-skelter’s coming out of his head!”

Claire exhaled.

***

Gnattish Attention Span: 2013 365 Challenge #114

Afternoon craft

I have been officially crap today. I can’t even blame the new novel as I haven’t really got my teeth in it yet. Some days I just can’t focus. Lack of sleep (Aaron was awake every two hours last night and pretty much every night for a fortnight) is the main culprit. (I hope)

Then I bury myself in a downward spiral of rubbish parenting. I check my email (not helped by having a two-day email conversation with my sister who lives in the US) and Twitter and that irritates the kids, so they get whiny and annoying. So I withdraw further and spend more time doing chores or checking things on the computer, so they get more irritating and thus it continues.

What to do though?

Summer’s Here!

I’m not someone who naturally sits still. Even when I’m writing I get up every hour and put the washing machine on or walk the dog. When the children want me to sit and watch them playing in the paddling pool I manage about five minutes and then I have to move. Today I had to keep moving or fall asleep. We went to Rhyme Time, visited the Methodist drop-in so Amber could play with her friends, got new books at the library and had the paddling pool up all afternoon. But still I sit here at bedtime feeling like I was a terrible parent today because I wasn’t ‘present’. Aaron even told me to ‘Listen!’ this morning (I say that to him all the time. His command had more effect on me than the other way around.)

Anyway, I don’t feel bad as such. There are good days and bad days and mostly the kids had fun today. It’s just I get frustrated at my inability to give the kids my attention. My sister and I have spent our two-day email conversation discussing schooling options. She took her family to America partly to enable her children to attend a free school called Sudbury Valley. We talked in our emails about homeschooling or unschooling, both options I couldn’t imagine undertaking.

One of Many Tantrums Today

I have huge respect for anyone who home schools their child. It’s definitely an area I feel (for me) is best left to professionals, not least because I have the attention span of a gnat.Too much time spent with me and my kids won’t be able to focus on anything. They’ll learn (probably have already learned) that normal behaviour is flitting from one chore to another and saying ‘just a minute’ a lot and checking emails when meant to be fetching sun cream or hats or milk or any of the other hundred demands I get in a day.

I know you don’t get to choose, but I really hope they remember the craft and the cake baking, the story reading and the trips to the zoo, rather than the let down of Mummy’s scattered attention and constant tiredness. Fingers crossed.

________________________________________________________________________________________

“Come on, Sky, let’s go get some fresh air.” Besides, ten defeats in a row at Connect 4 are more than I can stand. I’m going to have to win at some point and then there will be tears.

“But it’s still raining, Auntie Claire.”

“We won’t melt. You can wear the waterproofs I bought you. I’ve been looking online – apparently there’s a miniature railway that runs from here to a place called Walsingham –”

“Walsingham? The place with the Shrine?” Sky’s face lit with interest. “We learned about that in school. Yes, can we go? I’d like to see the shrine and say a prayer for Mummy.”

Bloody hell, where did that come from? Claire couldn’t have been more shocked if Sky had asked to strip naked and run through the streets. Actually, given her niece’s willingness to run around the hostel room naked, even that wouldn’t have shocked her as much. Ruth isn’t religious, as far as I know? Certainly Mum and Dad aren’t. She thought back to the homework Sky had shown her. I guess hers is a Church of England school.

“Of course we can go, darling. I don’t know much about it but I’m sure there will be guide books. Do you want to go on the train? We can drive there otherwise.”

Sky’s forehead furrowed in thought. “If we go on the train it will give you something for your blog, won’t it?”

Claire felt her niece’s kindness like a hammer blow. Maybe my niece isn’t a spoiled brat after all. Guilt at her previously unfounded views of the girl flushed her cheeks red. In an attempt to hide her reaction she reached over and pulled Sky into a hug. “That’s very thoughtful, sweetheart. Yes, I can write about the train ride on my blog.” Although Carl won’t think it exciting enough unless you fall out the carriage and under the wheels. I don’t suppose there’ll be much drama at a shrine either.

“Look Auntie Claire, there’s the train! I can see steam. I didn’t know it was a steam train.” She clapped her hands and stood on tiptoe to get a better look. All along the platform bedraggled parents stood waiting with bouncing children in a rainbow of overalls and waterproofs. I could do a good trade in coffee right now. Or gin.

As the train slid to a standstill next to the platform, Claire stifled a groan. Oh my god, look at it. It’s tiny. We could walk to Walsingham quicker than that thing. She shoved the thought away and took some snaps with her phone. At least it’s something visual for the blog. I wonder if Ruth would mind if I posted some pictures of Sky? Maybe I can attract a new Mummy audience? She cast another glance along the line of waiting parents. They look like they could use a laugh.

The rain drizzled to a halt as they left the station and within minutes they were bathed in midday sunshine. Claire turned her face to the window and let the rays bathe her face while Sky sat opposite her, face pressed close to the glass taking in the scenery. Every time they went under a bridge – which seemed to be quite often – she whooped in a way that Claire thought only children in TV programmes did.

She found her niece’s delight in the little things endearing. When did I last get that excited? Even a pay increase raised little more than a smile and a feeling of ‘about time too’. When do we lose that pleasure in the mundane? A strange grief for her own lost childhood swamped Claire. Maybe that’s why people have kids: so you can see the world through their eyes and enjoy it again.

Tiredness dragged at her shoulders and eyelids and the remaining days of the Easter Holidays stretched out relentless in mind. Not sure that would be enough for me. You see the evils in the world too, I bet. Worries and fears that didn’t exist before. Sod that. Settling back into her seat, Claire closed her eyes and tried to grab some rest before Sky began asking questions.

***

Using Life’s What Ifs: 2013 365 Challenge #113

My Three Darlings

Writing out some of the background for my new novel today I realised I was inadvertently writing a ‘what if’ about my own life, or one tiny aspect of my life.

I think sometimes that’s what writers do. They use their words, their imaginations to explore different lives they might have lived. Mine is a little thing that might have been huge.

I was late for my period this month: second month in a row. Now, we’re careful. We have two beautiful children and I’m in my late thirties. My first child was born at 37 weeks, the second at 35 weeks. My pediatrician friend said that trend to premature babies could easily continue.

I love my Big Sister

So, even if we wanted more children (which we don’t – only when I get occasionally broody) the risks are far too high. And I KNEW I wasn’t pregnant. I’m more likely to be menopausal, as early menopause runs in the family. But, still, you start putting two and two together and making five. I was tired, grumpy, teary and, above all, late.

The protagonist in Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes gets pregnant against the odds. These things happen. I worried.I read up about menopause at 2am on my phone. And, being me, I re-planned my future with a third child in it. I needed to be prepared, just in case. I worked out the age gap, when the third would start school. I decided it would be nice for Aaron to have a play mate when Amber starts school in September. I tried to decide whether I’d prefer a boy or a girl. I’m a writer: I wove stories.

Drove hubbie nuts.

Then I decided I ought to actually get a test and part of me was actually a bit excited (damn you, breeding hormones). I didn’t need the test, as it turned out. As if just buying it was enough, I knew before I got home that it was no longer required. In a tiny way I felt as if I’d lost a baby, even though no baby existed. Because I had made the scary future so plausible.

I wasn’t going to talk about it on the blog – it seems to come under the ‘too much information’ category. Until I started writing out my character list for the new book this morning:

George: 11. Two siblings, Ben (14) and Susie (16). George suspects he wasn’t planned. His sister tells him their mother used to say ‘I’ve only got two hands’ or ‘one of each, job done’. George feels unwanted and an outsider. Susie is academic, Ben is musical. They’re close. George likes football and computer games and being lazy.

My Little Bean

I realised, half way through writing it, that George is my imaginary third child. The things I worried about at 2am were all there: that any other children born into our family would feel left out because my two are so close in age; that Amber would remember me saying ‘one of each, job done’; that a third child would feel alienated, like my Uncle and my Mum – both the last of three kids.

The loss of my imaginary child, that hurt for a day, doesn’t hurt so much now. When I see the kids needing another play mate I do wish I had started my family earlier, so more children was a possibility. But now I can write them in to existence instead. So much cheaper and no need for cots, bottles, stretch marks, swollen ankles and endless dirty nappies. Hurrah.

________________________________________________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Rain hammered at the window as if it, too, wanted to come in and watch TV. Claire reached for the remote and turned up the volume; the dulcet tones of Rapunzel drowning out the drumming beat. She looked around the abandoned lounge, thankful that they were the only occupants.

Next to her, head propped up on one hand, Sky gazed at the TV as though it were entirely responsible for the rotten weather preventing their trip to the beach. She sighed and the noise cut through thrumming rain and Disney’s finest. Claire smiled at the grown up sound. I wonder if she’s learned that from me or Ruth?

“Do you want to watch something else?” Claire had suggested Tangled because she thought she could work with it on in the background. Lack of attention had left her blog drifting with diminishing views and comments and she knew some serious effort was required to breathe life back into it.

The last thing I need right now is Carl on a crusade to have me do another challenge. The Doctor’s Note isn’t going to hold out much longer. I don’t think surviving the school holidays without committing murder is the kind of thing Coca Cola or the YHA would want associated with their brands, however much it must be a reality for millions of parents.

Another sigh cut through her thoughts and she put down the iPad, searching for patience and a smile. Hitching it in place she turned to Sky and said in as lively a voice as she could muster after a night of bad dreams and no sleep, “What shall we do then? Coffee and cake? More homework? We could go exploring: There are lots of places other than the beach to visit.”

“But I wanted to go to the beach!” Out came the bottom lip. Claire pushed away the irritation and searched her mind for alternatives.

“I think there’s a games room here, shall we go and have a look?”

A glimmer of interest flicked across Sky’s face. I’ll take it. Claire got up and held out her hand. After a beat of hesitation, Sky took it and let herself be led from the room.

“I win, I win!” Sky hopped around gleefully as she connected four yellow discs in a row, once more cutting off her Auntie from her own straight run. Claire smiled at the elation, feeling only slightly guilty at her own cheating. Surely it’s only bad when you cheat to win? Cheating to lose – to make a child smile – that’s normal, right?

Her idle brain ran on with the idea. I wonder if I should win now and then, just so she gets used to losing? Surely losing has to happen at some point in a child’s life? Somewhere in her mind she remembered Ruth telling her about the trials of children’s parties, where everyone had to win at pass the parcel or musical statues. I don’t remember it being like that when we were growing up? Losing, crying about it, getting over it, was all part of being a kid. She looked over at Sky’s beaming grin and compared it with what she knew the alternative would be if she beat her niece. Maybe that particular lesson can wait.

“Well done, Sky. Two out of three?”

***

Introducing George: 2013 365 Challenge #111

Planting Sunflower Seeds at Sacrewell Farm

While lying in bed cursing the sore throat and stiff neck that have besieged me this afternoon, a germ of an idea planted in my mind and squirmed into the soil, like the sunflower seeds my kids planted at the Farm today.

I recently finished another great kid’s book and saw that, as with many of my other new finds, it was published by Chicken House. The name rang a bell and I realised it was the name of the publishers that were part of the competition I didn’t enter with Dragon Wraiths because the manuscript was too long.

I visited their website to see if they accept submissions and they’ve just launched the competition again, with a deadline of 1st November.

Ooh went my brain. It’s a long time to 1st November. There’s time to write something new. After all, I started Dragon Wraiths this time last year and had that finished by last November. And that was over 100k words. The maximum for The Chicken House / Times competition is 80k words. If I plan it out this time (at least a bit, I am a pantser after all) I could stay within word count.

On the Tractor Ride

Now of course this breaks all the rules of being a writer. You’re not meant to write for gain or fame but only for the love of writing. Thing is, I love writing but I need a goal and a deadline, at least to get me going. I’m proud of Dragon Wraiths and that was written for a competition (and ultimately prize money).

But I didn’t get up every nursery day and write 5,000 words just for profit (which would be a foolish aim anyway: everyone knows writers don’t make money). I wrote it to find out what happened to Leah, to find out how the story ended. But on dark days the thought of maybe winning £5000 did help keep me motivated.

So I lay in bed earlier this evening, feeling foggy and sore, and searched through my mind for a new idea. It felt a bit wrong, looking for an idea rather than waiting for one to arrive. But people who write hundreds of books must have to do that. I knew what genre at least: I’ve been aching to try my hand at a fantasy middle grade fiction since enjoying The Divide, The Extincts, Stone Heart, Shadow Forest, The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, and now Ravenwood. And, after some throwing around of ideas, I tapped out the opening scene to a new novel. One I hope might generate characters that will survive to a sequel, since my favourite books are the ones with lots of volumes around the same central characters. I like characters to become my friends. My only dilemma right now is it might involve Time Travel. Again. According to some agents I follow on Twitter, Time Travel has been done to death already. Oh dear.

Penny the Chicken eating Lunch

Is it bad, that I’m motivated by entering a competition? I hope not. I read Sally Jenkins lovely collection of short stories, One Day For Me, this morning because I couldn’t get the sequel to Ravenwood as an ebook. All of Sally’s stories were written for competitions. They’re still great. It’s accepted practice for short story writers to write for specific markets and hopefully financial gain. Why not novels? If it’s rubbish it won’t win so no one’s hurt.

Matt Haig, author of Shadow Forest, says otherwise and I respect his opinion but I hope there are grades of love versus money. Writing for love is a given or I wouldn’t have survived to episode #111 of Claire, through insomnia and flu and dearth of ideas. But bills need to be paid and everyone wants to think their novels might be read one day. Therefore, alongside trying to find new adventures for Claire, I’ll be creating George and his new world. Hopefully Claire won’t suffer (I’m actually hoping a new project will kickstart my imagination as I’ve been really struggling with Claire recently).

_______________________________________________________________________________________

“Auntie Claire, I don’t feel very well.”

Claire looked down at her niece and recoiled slightly at the green tinge of her skin.

“Are you going to be sick? Lean over the side for heaven’s sake. But not too close! I don’t want you falling in.” She looked around at the other passengers and prayed Sky didn’t vomit on any of them. Something of her reaction must have come through her voice, because a clammy little hand sought out hers. “Sorry, Claire. I don’t mean to feel poorly. I’ve never been on the sea before.”

Patting the frozen hand, Claire tried to remain calm. The white tips of the choppy waves weren’t helping. It hadn’t seemed that windy on the shore, but here in the harbour the small craft was rocked by gusting blasts that whipped the waves to froth. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. I might have known Sky would get sea sick, especially as she’s still recovering from her fever. When she remembered Sky’s amazement as they first arrived at the coast, Claire couldn’t feel it was a bad move. Her mouth had dropped into a perfect ‘o’ of wonder at the grey sea spreading out before them to the horizon.

“It’s so big,” she had said quietly, her eyes wide and staring.

The tour guide called out, interrupting Claire’s thoughts. “You can see grey seals now, if you look towards the shore. There are still some youngsters playing if you look closely. We’ll get in as near as we can.”

“Look, Sky,” Claire said brightly, “baby seals.” Sea spray soaked her skin and she knew it was frizzing her hair to an impossible mess. Snuggling deeper into her jacket, she felt Sky’s hands and face to ensure she wasn’t getting too cold.

Sky raised her head to look at the slick grey animals frolicking in the sea near the boat. Her complexion was still green and Claire hoped the distraction would help her keep breakfast on the inside. I wonder if I dare get out my phone and take some pictures for the blog. If Sky is going to throw up I might not get another opportunity. The boat pitched suddenly and she felt her own stomach lurch. I might even be joining her.

“If you look closely you can see common seals as well as grey seals. The common seals are actually rarer than the grey seals so we’re fortunate to see both today.”

The Guide’s words rolled over Claire like the sea as she focussed on getting a few snaps before another gust of wind sent her or her phone overboard. Feeling a tug at her sleeve, Claire could sense Sky trembling beside her. Tucking the phone back in the safety of a pocket, she pulled her niece onto her lap and hugged her close.

“Alright, sweetie. Just keep breathing through your nose and concentrate on the seals.”

“Here, love, give her one of these.”

Claire looked up to see a kindly face peering out through a fur-lined hood. Glancing down, she saw a pack of polo mints nestled in the woollen glove reaching out towards her.

“Thank you,” she said with real gratitude. Pulling off her gloves, she retrieved a mint and handed it to Sky. She was rewarded by seeing the distress on Sky’s face ebb slightly, like the outgoing tide.

Flashing a smile at the stranger, Claire hugged Sky close again. “That’s it, poppet. You’re being very brave. Well done.”

After a few more days with me, the poor girl isn’t going to want to see her Auntie Claire again. Somehow the thought made her sad.

***

Relentless Parenting: 2013 365 Challenge #110

Learning how to Muck Out

I don’t have many words today.

Lack of sleep, residual illness and a day with hyper children have been a recipe for spectacularly crap parenting. Plus the research I did for yesterday’s Claire post left me concerned about how much homework Amber will be expected to do, come September. It sparked an interesting debate on my Facebook page and I feel better for the welcome perspective, but when I’m low little fears become huge. Sometimes parenting seems relentless and my resilience sadly lacking.

I also managed to go to the wrong surgery for a doctors appointment about my infernal knee, and I’m scared to walk the dog in case she runs off again.

Feeding the Lambs

Looking for the positives, Amber has decided she wants to be a farmer after watching the rangers muck out the lambs for half an hour at the Farm this morning. I think that’s a much better ambition than being a show jumper (especially as she’s never ridden a horse, but happily knows that pigs make sausages and cows make burgers.) They both got to feed the lambs too, because it was raining and cold and there were about five people at the farm. A bit different to Easter week.

Amber’s Creation

We also had a great craft session in the afternoon. I managed to leave Amber to her own devices with a project rather than helping her achieve perfect results (as I normally would), because Aaron decided he wanted to decorage a dog, not a dolly. I made him a dog out of some green felt stuffed with cotton wool (Well it’s meant to be a dog anyway) but he’d lost interest by the time I finished it. Amber’s dolly looks like the result of a deep sea accident, or maybe something designed by Vivienne Westwood, but she loves it. And I’m delighted that she’s broken free and created something that looks nothing like the picture on the box. The hardest thing about Amber’s homework will be letting her do it by herself and make her own mistakes.

Mummy’s more precise version

As part of my research for today’s post I needed to find out how six-year-olds write. I browsed the great Radio 2 page for their 500-word story competition (a writing competition for children), but most were written by slightly older children. Great stories though. My favourite is Cow on a Bus: it’s read by Richard Wilson and is very funny.

Instead, for my research, I dug out an old school book of mine hubbie found during the last clear-out. I have no idea how old I was when I wrote the contents, but judging by the handwriting it must be between five and seven. This was my story including all typos, spelling and punctuation (i.e. none) – if I get a chance tomorrow I’ll scan in the page (including illustrations) for giggles.

One day there lived a little boy he was walk in the woods he met a big giant the boy said he hat a secret tell me what is it I will not tell you I will pick you up and put you in my pocket and he walked to the castle and on the way he met a bigger giant the bigger giant said what is that in your pocket a little boy the two giants walked on to the castle on the way they meta the biggest giant so far when they got to the castle they put the boy on the table and he told them the secret they all ran away and he went home and told his mummy

At least my punctuation has improved since then! 🙂 Hubbie asked what the secret was. I have no idea. I probably never did! Right, time to dredge up some energy for Claire post (it’s 11pm. Have been faffing with photos and research all evening. Tut tut.)

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked down at the painstakingly formed words, written in pencil in the lined workbook. It didn’t look like much. With a glance at her niece’s eager expression, Claire swallowed her apprehension and began reading.

One day a girl walked in the woods. She was looking for a handsome prince but only found a slimy croaking frog. I wish my fairy godmother would come and turn this frog into a prince. The fairy godmother arrived in a sprinkle of stars. I have come to grant your wish. She waved her wand but gave a loud sneeze and with a puff of smoke she turned herself into a frog. Oh bother said the fairy godmother as she hopped away with her wand in her mouth. She wondered how to turn herself back into a fairy. The princess couldn’t help because she had run away.

The fairy godmother talked to the other frog and found out it didn’t want to be a prince, it liked being a frog. The fairy frog hopped until it came across a cottage in the woods. A girl with gold hair was climbing out a window, running from the sound of roaring bears. Little girl said the fairy godmother, if you wave this wand and turn me back into a fairy I will help you escape the angry bears. The little girl picked up the wand and ran off with it into the woods. Drat said the fairy and hopped through the window. Hello Daddy Bear said the fairy frog, that little girl with gold hair has stolen my wand. Never mind that said the bear she ate our porridge and broke our chair. She is a naughty girl.

The bears and the fairy frog ran after the little girl. They found her stuck in a muddy puddle waving the wand and shouting at a slimy frog sitting on her head. Mummy Bear took the wand and turned the fairy frog back into a godmother. The fairy godmother thanked the bears and the frog and turned the little girl into a wasp. You naughty little girl, you will be a wasp until you are sorry for stealing the porridge and my wand and for breaking Baby Bear’s chair. The fairy godmother waved goodbye to the bears and the frog who didn’t want to be a prince and went home to bed.

Claire read the story and smiled. She certainly has imagination. There are full stops and capital letters too. I wonder if I should add punctuation? How much are parents meant to get involved in their child’s homework? Looking up at the expectant expression on Sky’s face, Claire decided to leave the masterpiece as it was. She hated it when Carl found fault with a presentation that had taken hours to prepare: why burst the girl’s bubble by suggesting she add speech marks? Maybe they could work on them later.

“Well done, Sky, this is very good.”

Her niece beamed and then nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m very good at stories, Miss Henley says so.”

Slightly taken aback, Claire hesitated before laughing out loud. Oh for the confidence of youth.

***