A Doggy Tail: 2013 365 Challenge #109

Storm Clouds

Had a slight altercation with another dog walker today: It made me realise how little we know about other people’s stories and how hard we have to fight to remember that.

We’d only just got in the field and I let Kara off the lead as normal. She’s not great at recall but we know most dogs round here – she either plays with them or runs up to say hello and runs back. Occasionally she embarrasses me but she’s not the only naughty dog and as she approaches strangers on her belly I never worry too much.

Today we met a woman walking with I guess a teenager holding a dog on a lead. A small dog, maybe a beagle. I didn’t get close enough to see.

Gorgeous Skies

Kara ran off before I realised there was someone there (my head is still a bit foggy). I thought initially it was just the poodle Kara doesn’t like and she’d come straight back. It wasn’t, she didn’t, and before I could call, the girl had run off crying into the field, dragging the tail-wagging dog with her, while the woman flapped at Kara to shoo. Anyone who knows dogs knows that’s just an invitation to play. True to form Kara lay on her belly, wagging her tail and grinning, and after some screaming from me and more flapping from the woman she ran back.

I should have stayed to apologise but I was part embarrassed, part furious, and decided the girl’s obvious fear was sufficient excuse to clip Kara’s harness on and leg it.

I took the other path, under the storm clouds, and was rewarded for my crime with a drenching. My initial reaction was rage that the woman had hit out at Kara, and irritation that they would walk somewhere where dogs are generally off lead.

My Over-zealous Softie

When I calmed down I felt awful. Mine was the mistake and I should have stayed to apologise. Kara’s a big dog compared to a beagle and if the girl was scared of dogs I would hate to add to that fear. I should have had Kara under closer control until I knew the field was empty. I don’t know their story. For all I know the girl was conquering a fear of dogs by owning a little one and Kara bouncing up might have done untold harm. Or not. Unless I meet them again (and pray to God I don’t) I’ll never know.

But my ranty words on Twitter in the initial aftermath are still there and the truth remains that Kara is still a fairly disobedient dog. My anger, I realise, came from knowing I was to blame and for not considering their story, their situation. That sucks.

At least I can stand here, in this nice remote field, and watch Kara’s joy as she runs for the sake of running. She’s already forgotten the incident. We can learn a lot from our canine friends. [Written on my phone while walking the dog.]

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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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Sky looked up from the game she was playing on Claire’s phone and tilted her head like a sparrow. “Auntie Claire, will you help me with my homework?”

Claire looked over at her niece in surprise. “Homework, at your age? I don’t think I had homework until I went to secondary school. What would I have been? Eleven?”

Sky looked blankly at Claire. “We get reading and spelling and sums. Not during the holidays though.”

With a flush of guilt Claire realised she was relieved not to have to teach spelling. Without Spellcheck I wouldn’t have a clue. Why bother sending your child to school if you have to teach them when they get home?

“So, what homework do you have for the holiday? Your Mummy didn’t say.”

“I forgot to tell her. I have it here.” Sky pulled her bag onto the bed and rifled through the contents, eventually retrieving a crumpled sheet of A4 paper.

Claire took it and smoothed the creases out before reading the contents.

For your Easter Homework please choose one of the following two options.

1. Build an Easter Garden. Research which flowers grow well in pots and tubs using the internet and non-fiction books. Read about the Easter Story, including the events leading from Palm Sunday to the Resurrection and consider the symbolism of ‘growing things’ at Easter time to represent new life.

2. Write a story using your imagination. Plan it with a story mountain so you know it has at least five parts to it (beginning, build up, problem, resolution, ending). Try to start each part of your story in a different way (action, description, speech). Maybe try to rewrite a traditional Fairy Tale. Don’t forget capital letters and full stops (some of you are also using paragraphs, commas and speech marks).

Claire closed her mouth and gazed at the sheet. What the..? She’s SIX. I don’t even know the Easter Story from Palm Sunday. Never mind how we’re going to grow an Easter garden and carry it around in a Skoda. And what the hell’s a story mountain? Inhaling deeply through her nose, Claire looked up at the guileless gaze of the pixie girl sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her mind felt foggy, like it did when Carl plonked an unexpected project on her desk or moved a deadline.

“Er. Okay. Which, um, which one did you fancy doing, Sky?” Not the garden, not the garden, not the garden.

The pixie face split wide in a smile. “I thought we could write a story. You do writing for your job: I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t write fiction, sweetheart, but I’m happy to help you write your story.” It is her homework: I just have to facilitate it. I hope her imagination is better than mine. And she knows what a story mountain is. I think Google might become my friend. She sat on the end of the bed, the homework sheet hanging from her hand.

“Can I do the fairy tale thing? I thought of a story. What if a Fairy Godmother got hiccups or kept sneezing and it made her magic go wonky? What if she tried to turn the frog into a prince and turned herself into a frog instead?”

Sky giggled and bounced up and down on the bed. “Then she wouldn’t be able to do any magic because she couldn’t hold her wand. Or maybe she could hold it in her mouth but then she’d sneeze again. Or hiccup. And become, um, a butterfly. Yes. No. She could become a pumpkin. No, a bird. A magpie. And she could…”

Claire listened to Sky’s imagination spilling out into the monochrome hostel room, filling it with colour and life. If I had ideas like that I would have more followers on my blog. Or I wouldn’t have to be here at all: I’d have made Director without jumping through Carl’s stupid hoops.

Thinking about Carl’s involvement in her current situation made Claire’s temples ache. It’s probably time I came to a decision about Carl and his stupid assignment. She looked at Sky, scrabbling through her bag to retrieve a blue workbook and sparkly pink pencil case.

First things first. Carl can wait. I have to help the next Roald Dahl create a masterpiece.

***

Today Was Doggy Heaven (charliespaniel.wordpress.com)
Breed Profile: Beagle (muttsonthemoveah.wordpress.com)
Doggy Door (harobedretsiger.wordpress.com)

Homework Idea Sources:

Scatty and Battered: 2013 365 Challenge #108

Wind-battered Bamboo

It’s looking like my darlings won’t be going to nursery tomorrow, as littlest Martin still has a temperature of 102F and eldest Martin looks like an extra in a zombie movie. Unless they magically recover over night I’ll have to keep them both home: meaning another four days without a break.

We’ve lost about £1000 to this flu virus, between lost wages and missed nursery sessions. Never mind a week of shoddy blog posts and a house full of grotty, snotty temper.

The weather has warmed to a balmy 19C (66F) but a relentless wind blows until we feel as battered as the shredded bamboo in the garden if we venture out.

I realise that many parents never get a break. And some parents have grandparents down the road who can help. Everybody has it different. My parents get back from holiday late tomorrow (I have to remember to collect the dog and buy milk and bread at some point) but I’ll be as welcome as the Flu virus if I turn up before the kids are healthy! Can’t blame them. Who’d want to come back from a fortnight of sun to get sick?

In the mean time we battle on through the tears and the grumps and the boredom and try not to inflict our germs on the world. I took them to the garden centre today, knowing it would be deserted and we could be fairly confident that we wouldn’t be coughing within a metre of anyone (the guidelines, apparently). I’d like to be more than a metre from the coughing too, I have to admit. A week of little sleep and a sore head means my nerves are a bit frazzled. I feel like Mrs Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply, but, unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters

“Don’t keep coughing so Kitty, for Heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty fretfully.

I'll Huff and I'll Puff and I'll Blow the Roof Off

I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff and I’ll Blow the House Down

Poor Amber apologised for coughing earlier when I let slip some grump about the syncopated rhythm of the two of them. Bless her heart.

I grew up in a house where noise was forbidden (boiled sweets and crisps were sucked, music was rarely played, chattering frowned upon) and I try really hard not to recreate that environment, even though such an upbringing has made me just as sensitive to noise as my father.

At least I have Jane Austen’s words to keep me in check. Which they do. A lot. Who wants to realise they’re turning into Mrs Bennet? (The longer I’m a parent the more I have sympathy with the woman and I’m sure that could never have been Jane Austen’s intention!)

Ooh look, another rambling blog post managed. I’m slightly amazing myself at my ability to keep up with postaday despite the headache and the tiredness. A bit like churning out essays on virtually no sleep. Unlike my essays though, I don’t think my posts are going to get inexplicably high marks as a result of sleep-deprived genius (it happened rarely, but it did happen! One tutor threatened to reduce my A grade when I confessed the essay was written at 2am in two hours. I thought that should have made the grade higher!) The rambling diary bit I can do, but what on earth am I going to do with Claire? Hmmmm.

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The sound of knocking dragged Claire from deep slumber.

“Just a minute.”

She rubbed sleep from her eyes and swung her feet out of bed, glad sharing with Sky had ensured she’d worn her pyjamas. As she reached the door, Claire wondered who came knocking in a hostel where she knew no one. Maybe the baby’s mother wants the thermometer back. I guess people with babies get up early.

Unlocking the door, Claire peered round and met the cheery gaze of Peter, the hostel manager.

“Good morning, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He frowned, but it didn’t diminish his smile for long: a mere cloud scudding past the sun.

“Er, I guess. What time is it?” Claire brushed her hair back from her face, dreading to think what she must look like.

“It’s just gone ten o’clock. Sorry to disturb you. The lady next door is leaving today and wondered if she could have the thermometer back? There’s a Pharmacy in town where you ought to be able to purchase one, should you wish.”

Claire nodded and turned to retrieve the device. She handed it into Peter’s waiting grasp, unable to find any words.

“How is little one this morning?” He peered instinctively past Claire into the room, then seemed to realise how intrusive that was and averted his gaze.

Swallowing in an attempt to moisten her parched throat, Claire gave a shrug. “It was a long night.”

Peter nodded and Claire wondered if he had children. Maybe this night-time experience was some parenting rite of passage that all had to endure. Her head pounded as if she was the wrong side of a heavy night. How do parents do it? At least I get to give her back after a fortnight.

“If you need something to entertain little one today, they have Easter activities at Holkham Hall. Face painting, Easter egg hunt, that kind of thing.”

A tiny voice called out from the ragged pile of covers on the bed. “Will the Easter Bunny be there with my eggs?”

Claire laughed. “You seem brighter, Sky. Would you like to see the Easter Bunny?” Please let there be a bloody bunny.

“Say Cheese, Sky: let me take a photo for your Mummy.”

Sky leant against the brown rabbit in the Victorian gown and shone a wide smile. Her eyes glittered with latent fever and Claire hoped whoever was under the bunny costume didn’t catch her niece’s germs. Surely there are enough cold viruses wandering round at an event like this?

Claire looked around at the painted faces of happy children; the egg-shy game; the clusters of families eating ice cream, and felt a strange sense of belonging. Normally she’d run a hundred miles from such an event. Especially on April Fool’s Day. I guess I’m the fool today, shaking hands with a giant bunny and wandering around with a sick girl whose face is covered with painted tulips.

As Sky skipped over and hugged Claire’s legs, before showing off the chocolate egg in her hand, Claire felt a smile stretch her tired face. She yawned, then laughed as Sky yawned too.

“Let’s go find the coffee shop. Auntie Claire needs some caffeine.”

***

Am I Still Contagious? (everydayfamily.com)
When to Keep a Sick Child Home (everydayfamily.com)
Writing and Work Ethic (www.lulu.com)

The Power of Perspective: 2013 365 Challenge #107

My Sleeping Angels – Holding Hands

Were it not for the tragic events that happened in Boston yesterday this would probably be another ranty post about the horrible day we’ve had; how I’m sick of (what I now take to be) Flu and sky-high temperatures, flushed cheeks, pale husband and endless snot.

How I want to lie in bed and be ill and feel sorry for myself. Or else yell at everyone for the fact that it has to be me that’s last person standing, even though I’m barely able to remain upright. How my head feels like a vice is clamped to it and there are nails through my sinuses. How the kids have gone from whiny-cuddly to mad energy and back as quickly as the clouds blowing over our house.

All those things are true.

My Precious Boy

But, when I logged on this morning, and read about the horrific events that ended the Boston Marathon, none of that mattered any more. My sister and her family live close to Boston. Thankfully they’re all fine. How many families are not fine, though? How many families wish the worst they had to deal with was a flu virus, some back ache and shivering? I made the mistake of clicking on Twitter photo links without fully understanding what had happened. I saw images that will haunt me because I tend to shield myself from horror. The bane of a writer’s life (and a parent’s life I guess) is far too vivid an imagination. Those could be my kids. My husband. My family.

The posts that have helped today (all listed below) are the ones that don’t talk of revenge: they talk of making a difference. We can’t necessarily help the families across the pond who are suffering. But we can help people around us. Begin small. I tried to keep my temper today and look after my family, grateful that they are mine to hold. Tomorrow I will look wider. Try to help someone near me, even if it’s buying a Big Issue or donating to a homeless shelter. We can all make a difference, we can all turn our back on hate and bring good to the world. Of course we want the people who did such a thing to be brought to justice, but hatred breeds hatred. There is enough darkness in the world: we must strive to find and bring forth the light.

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Claire reached for her phone and blinked until she could focus on the time. 4.07am.

“Urgh, seriously? Surely it must be morning already?” Her voice, made rough by dryness, sounded strange in the silence. She felt around until her hand clasped the bottle of water by the bed. Once the sand-paper in her throat was soothed, she rolled over and slid a hand onto Sky’s brow. It burned. The girl’s hair was matted and damp with sweat and Claire resisted the urge to find her hair brush and restore the bird’s nest back to its normal glossy mane. Tangled hair is the least of my worries.

Rolling back over, she felt on the bedside table for the in-ear thermometer the woman in the room next door had lent her for the night. I have no idea why someone brings a piece of kit like this on holiday, but I’m extremely grateful. Taking care not to wake Sky, Claire slid the thermometer into her niece’s ear and pressed the button. The green light flashed bright in the near-dark and the beep – signalling the reading was ready – echoed loudly.

Sky twisted her head away and coughed. Claire held her breath, praying she would go back to sleep. The girl shifted restlessly, kicking at the sheet wrapped around her legs. At last she was still and Claire felt able to shine her phone at the thermometer to take a reading. 38.8C. She knew from reading the NHS website that anything over 39 was cause for concern. Claire sank back against the pillows and tried to think. Her own head felt muggy. Please don’t let me get sick too.

A quick calculation informed her she could give Sky more Calpol if she wanted. But that would mean waking her up, even with the handy syringe the lovely lady with the baby had lent her. My first stop tomorrow is to a chemist. There’s obviously a reason why mothers carry such a well-stocked first aid kit with them. I wonder why Ruth didn’t provide one? A mental image of the last time she saw her sister flashed into her head.

Poor Ruth, she wasn’t thinking much of anything. Besides, I don’t suppose they venture more than ten miles from home. From what I can gather she and Sky have never been on holiday. Shifting up, so she could sit against the headboard, Claire thought that was probably wise: Travelling with children was nerve-wracking and Ruth was a nervous parent at the best of times.

Something stabbed deep beneath Claire’s ribcage, like cramp. She analysed the pain and realised it was guilt. They probably couldn’t afford to go on holiday, from what Sky has told me. I never realised things were so tough. Her planned trip to the Maldives seemed like an unholy extravagance. When this is over, and Ruth is better, I’m going to take my sister and niece somewhere nice. Warm and Sunny. Five-star. Room service. She looked at the sleeping child. Medics. Baby sitters. A fully-stocked bar.

***

Marathon Monday 2013: We Always Come Together (anniecardi.com)
Boston Marathon Bombing Reveals the Best in People and a Dark Side to Twitter (warriorwriters.wordpress.com)
After Tragedy (teatincture.wordpress.com)
The Boston Bombing and Butterflies (culturemonk.com)

Smiley, Happy People: 2013 365 Challenge #106

Watercolour Painting

We’re so not. Smiley happy people that is. But I’m tired of depressing titles. I’ve had lovely comments today, on Twitter and here on the blog (and from random shop assistants, including one who suggested I put a cut onion by my bed.) I don’t want to be morbid and talk about our paltry cold: it’s just I have nothing else to say and, well, a daily blog is a daily blog, headaches and sneezing and all!

You see, it turns out the Martin girls were just a day behind the boys. Having soothed Aaron all night, applying milk, drugs and hugs, his fever broke at 5am. I was hopeful that meant a nursery day for them and a day’s rest for me. Then Amber walked in all flushed and her temperature measured 38.8C (101.8F). I could just about bring myself to send a child who no longer had a fever, but not one still burning up. No nursery for them then.

Sleeping Bunnies

I struggled through until 11am, determined not to succumb, especially after being mean about hubbie yesterday. But boy oh boy, my throat’s on fire and no drugs are touching the headache. Sorry hubbie, I should know by now to be more sympathetic. I always get a cold bad if I’ve been dismissive of his pain. I managed to steal an hour in bed while hubbie cooked lunch (well, put a pizza in the oven!) and then slept in Amber’s toddler bed with her in the afternoon. Must buy her a big-girl bed.

Thank goodness Daddy was home today and able to pitch in. We all managed to muddle through, although I had to pull a few tricks out of my ‘how to survive to bedtime with preschoolers’ box. Out came the emergency sticker books and watercolour paints. On went the Sleeping Bunnies song on You Tube. Favourite dinner of mash and gravy was cooked.

I nearly broke when they refused to watch TV mid-afternoon (my attempt to get them to sleep as neither will admit to needing a daytime nap) but Daddy stepped into the yawning hole of pain. Walking the dog nearly finished me off, but here I am at half past nine, tucked up in bed with only my Claire post between me and sleep. Needless to say it might be a short and random one today! Night Night.

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Claire sat watching the moody green fairly flit across the screen with a growing sense of unease. Her face was dark with doubt as she looked down at the hot bundle snuggled against her on the sofa, hoping to see the girl’s eyes closed. They weren’t. Sky’s feverish gaze was fixed to the small television, watching as Tinkerbell threw a jealous tantrum at Peter Pan’s flirtatious behaviour.

I don’t remember this movie being so misogynistic. Look at those stupid mermaids vying for Peter’s attention. They can swim under water for heaven’s sake, what do they need to fight over a man for? I wish I knew how much a girl of six understands? This is meant to be kids’ entertainment but it’s no better than putting Eastenders on – all jealously and revenge and evil bastards.

She went through the other movie choices and mentally reviewed their suitability as bedtime material. Bambi? No, now is not the time to discuss mothers dying. Claire shivered. Little Mermaid: about a girl who gives up her voice to be with the one she loves. Not a great role model. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White: Both wait to be rescued by a handsome prince. Silly girls. Aladdin? Man uses lies and trickery to win the girl. I think not.

She sighed, feeling as if some childhood dream had been wrenched away. What did I watch? The Rescuers? That was about mice, no sappy princesses there. Watership Down? I suppose that was a bit dark and spooky. Better than these though: These movies are not helping little girls grow up to fend for themselves.

She spotted one she hadn’t seen before. Tangled. Ah Rapunzel. I wonder if this is the one with the frying pan. Claire waved the box where Sky could see it and the girl perked up.

“Yes, that one, put that one on.” She threw a scornful glance at the television, where Peter Pan and the Lost Boys were pretending to be Red Indians while Wendy stood grumpily by.

“This movie is stupid. That silly fairy needs to grow up and Wendy needs to smile more.”

Claire looked down, shocked, at her niece’s sharp invective. Maybe I don’t need to worry about her after all.

***

Snot Funny: 2013 365 Challenge #105

Bouncing at the Park

Apologies: rant ahead.

Goodness me when the Martin boys do ill, they really go to town. Daddy has barely left bed all day and littlest Martin has been fighting a temperature of 39C (102.2F). He at least has mostly maintained his sense of humour, unlike the rest of us. Shame he seems to also have developed the art of projectile sneezing.

“I’ve got snot,” has become today’s catchphrase.

I just hope they’re well enough for nursery tomorrow. Daddy’s already decided he’s off sick – a great start to Week Two of working with no sick leave – and I’m desperately in need of a break so I can be ill.

I made the mistake of going back to bed during the Grand Prix this morning, figuring Daddy had it covered, only to be woken by a piercing scream an hour later because Daddy wouldn’t get the kids some chocolate milk. Aaron had a dirty nappy and I went down to find Daddy asleep and the kids trying to escape into the garden. Thank God the back door was locked because if the gale force wind that’s swirling round today had caught the door one of them might have lost a finger. Sometimes it’s easier to be the parent in charge than listen from the sidelines.

Pushing Dinosaur in the Swing

Don’t think I’m having a moan about hubbie. Well, not much. He is properly sick and a fetching shade of pale green. Catching a virus after working his first long full week in months was too much for his immune system. It just wasn’t helped by him going to bed at 2am Friday night because he watched a movie (that’s what Sky+ is for). I try for sympathy but I’m a rotten sick person myself and am even worse at caring for ill people. Mother Teresa I am not.

The only way I survive is to keep busy. I dragged the children to the park and the supermarket (mostly because we needed dog food and there was no way I could leave them home with Daddy). Poor kids have spent all day trying for cuddles and I’ve been saying “in a minute” quite a lot. Partly because Aaron’s furnace-hot skin contributes to my own fever and partly because being ill makes me grumpy so the kindest thing I can do is stay out of the way. I’m not a very cuddly person at the best of times. In the end we survived with lots of Calpol (kiddy pain relief) lots of TV and lots of bottles of milk.

Now how can I work all that into a Claire post? Hmmm maybe it’s time she has to deal with the joys of a sick child.

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“Sky? Wake up, poppet. We’re here.”

Claire looked over to the passenger seat, surprised to see her niece still slumped asleep against her seatbelt. Reaching over, she gently shook the little girl by the shoulder and was shocked to feel hot skin beneath her hand. Claire released her seat belt and leaned over to look at Sky’s face. The perfect pixie features were pale, with two spots of colour in the cheeks like Aunt Sally. Not that she would know who Aunt Sally was, of course. With a shaking hand, Claire felt Sky’s forehead, although she knew the girl was ill by the heat radiating from her as if she were a mug of hot coffee.

Damn: A sick child is all I need. What do I know about caring for sick children? She looked across the hostel car park at the residential brick building of Sheringham YHA. After all the beautiful places I’ve stayed in for one night wishing it could have been longer, I couldn’t have picked an uglier hostel to spend a few days in with a poorly child. Where’s the rolling green lawn, the gothic manor, the roaring open fire? I should have taken her back to the Peak District with me – I knew Norfolk was a bad idea. No wonder they don’t have a picture of the hostel on the YHA site.

For the first time since she arrived at Berwick Upon Tweed a month earlier, Claire didn’t want to even enter the hostel in front of her, never mind spend two or three days there. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t take a sick child in there, it looks horrible. But I’m not going to find anywhere else on Easter Sunday.

She pulled out her iPad, then remembered Sky had flattened the battery playing games in the car. Getting her phone instead, Claire checked which hostel they were booked into after this one. Wells-next-the-sea. I wonder if they’ve had any cancellations and can fit us in early? Can’t hurt to ask.

Claire sat with the phone in one hand, the other resting against Sky’s arm, whether to provide comfort or monitor temperature she wasn’t sure. The phone connected after the third ring.

“Wells YHA, Peter speaking.”

“Ah, hello. My name’s Claire, I’m booked in with my niece in a few days–”

“Claire, hello. You’re on my list to call.”

“Oh God, there isn’t a problem with the room is there?” Panic fluttered in Claire’s stomach. Staying in the horrible building in front of her for two or three nights would be bad enough, without having Wells cancelled as well.

“Not at all, I always call beforehand, to ensure our guests know what to expect.”

“Oh.” Claire wasn’t sure how to respond. She hadn’t heard of a YHA manager doing that before. “Well, I was actually calling to see if you had any space for us earlier than next week? Like from tonight?”

She heard the man on the phone suck air in through his teeth. I knew it. It’s Easter Sunday, of course they’ll be full. I seem to remember it’s a tiny hostel anyway. There was silence on the line and Claire hoped it was because he was checking on the computer rather than doubled over, laughing at her naïvety.

“Hello? Claire? I think you may be in luck. We had a couple leave early and I think they were due to stay tonight and tomorrow. I’m not sure about the following day – I believe you were due to join us on Wednesday night?”

Claire nodded then realised how stupid that was. “Uh-huh,” she acknowledged. “I guess we can always come back to Sheringham for that night if you can’t fit us in.”

“It’s a private room we have available – en-suite –” Claire exhaled in relief. “–but it is £49 a night. I hope that’s okay?”

I could get a hotel room with breakfast for that! But I guess beggars can’t be choosers and at least I tick one more place off the list. More importantly I don’t have to stay here. She looked at the uninspiring building outside the window, shivering at some inexplicable vibe.

“We’ll take it. My niece is poorly and I need somewhere nice for us to stay.”

“Oh dear, how old is she?”

“She’s only six.”

“Poor mite. Bring her to us; we’ll help you take care of her. Do you have Calpol?”

Claire had no idea what that was, but wasn’t about to admit it.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“Not to worry, I’m sure we’ve got some or someone staying here will have some – help little one sleep. We’ve also got a stack of Disney DVDs she can watch in the lounge if she’s up to it. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

As she hung up the phone Claire felt for the first time in her life that a guardian angel might be looking out for her. Glancing over at the flushed cheeks of her still-sleeping niece, she thought privately that she might just need one.

***

Maurice and Man-Flu: 2013 365 Challenge #104

Poorly Little Martin

Today is a day when I wish I’d done less cleaning on my last nursery day and remained a Claire post ahead. Because – although the clean house is nice – Family Martin has Man-Flu.

All of us.

We’ve never ALL been struck down simultaneously before. I’ve had to write drug distribution on the chalk board because my brain is fuddled. It hasn’t been divide and conquer so much as Divide and Survive.

Still, being the heroic one who took the kids to the Farm – after a quiet morning and some calpol meant they were too full of beans to be indoors – I got to go back to bed mid afternoon and finish my book. The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents. A marvellous book. I love Terry Pratchett. I love the sophistication of his world building and the insidious nature of his social commentary.

This children’s Discworld novel discusses morality and religion in a way that hasn’t affected me since Granny Weatherwax in Carpe Jugulum. I’m not very good at reviewing books because I can’t tiptoe around spoilers (and I hate spoilers). All I’ll say is this is a book I really hope my children read, as it approaches philosophical questions of what makes me me; ideas and beliefs, shadows and darkness, in an accessible and compelling way. It also deals with Stories: what constitutes a story, the difference between stories and the real world, including a ‘real world’ rather than ‘fairy tale’ ending. Terry Pratchett at his best.

I don’t think it gives anything away to include this quotation, which I believe encapsulates what religion should be about (as someone who isn’t particularly religious):

If there is a Big Rat [God], and I hope there is, it would not talk of war and death. It would be made of the best we could be, not the worst that we are. No, I will not join you, liar in the dark. I prefer our way. We are silly and weak, sometimes. But together we are strong. You have plans for rats? Well, I have dreams for them.

Love it.

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“Auntie Claire, look!”

Claire turned her head at the unexpected sound of Sky giggling. After an hour moaning in the car that the iPad battery was flat and twenty minutes of shoe shuffling and whining in the queue, Claire had forgotten that her niece could laugh. The decision to come to Merrivale Model Village already seemed a bad one, and they’d only been inside ten minutes.

We should have done Sea Life. I could have bought a coffee and left her to it knowing she couldn’t damage anything. If I leave her in here she’ll probably trample on the exhibits or start playing with them. Seeing her niece still waving and jiggling up and down, Claire swallowed a sigh and went to investigate.

“What is it, Sky?”

“Look!” She pointed at the scene in front of them. “That little woman is…” she lowered her voice to a whisper that probably carried to the edge of the village, “showing her boobies! See?”

Claire peered at the tiny model people. Oh god. There’s a half-naked woman being arrested at a football match. Seriously? Don’t these people know kids come here?

As if confirming Claire’s worst fears, Sky took a deep breath and said, too loudly, “why is she showing her boobies, Claire? What are the policemen doing? Did someone steal her clothes?”

Looking round wildly for assistance or guidance, all Claire could see were other parents trying not to smile. Avoiding eye contact, Claire wrapped her arm around Sky’s shoulder. “Don’t talk so loud, darling.”

“Why not?” Sky’s voice would have filled the O2 Arena.

“Other people are trying to enjoy their afternoon out, that’s all.” She hoped her niece had forgotten the interrogation about the streaker, but she was out of luck.

“Why didn’t she have a top on? Was she sunbathing? Sometimes Mummy sunbathes without her top on in the garden.”

“Um. I’m not sure. Why don’t we go and look at the train? Or the high street?” She pulled at her niece’s hand and led her away from the traitorous football match.

“Oh, look Sky, the hospital, let’s go there.”

The Whys didn’t stop: It turned out the hospital was full of realistic details, like some poor man having his leg sawn off. “Why are they cutting his leg, Claire? Is he poorly?” Then, “Why is there smoke coming from that house? Is it on fire? Why haven’t the firemen put it out?” Even the castle let Claire down. “Why does the princess have a pointy hat, Claire?” Unable to remember whether it was called a wimple or a hennin, Claire once more resorted to her stock phrase, “I don’t know, darling,” all the while cursing the quirky nature of the model village.

I guess you have to have a sense of humour to run a place like this. Claire looked at the Boggitt and Scarper builder’s sign and the Lord Help Us Hall and smiled. How much time does it take to put all these people in position? If you couldn’t have a laugh you’d go bonkers. Claire read a tiny sign declaring, “Keep off Grass, Guard Ducks Patrol this Garden, Survivors will be Prosecuted,” and laughed out loud. Maybe the sick humour is to keep the adults amused. God knows it must be boring to be a parent at a place like this. Or anywhere.

She tried to tune out the Whys, but discovered if she didn’t answer quickly enough, Sky’s voice became louder and more shrill. As the question was usually one Claire didn’t want to hear echoing amongst the milling families she had to respond swiftly and with detail. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ had apparently lost its effectiveness.

Claire felt drained and defeated, as if she’d been wrangling in a Board Meeting for two hours, rather than wandering with a six-year-old for twenty minutes. In desperation she gazed round the site, longing for something safe to distract Sky’s inquisitive mind. She caught sight of a sign and her heart lifted.

“Oh look, Sky: A Penny Arcade, why don’t we go there?”

“What’s an arcade?”

Claire thought about the rare visits to Uncle Jim when she was Sky’s age. He would take his nephew and nieces to the amusement arcades, a bag of tuppences hanging heavy in their pockets, gleaming highlights in their eyes knowing their parents would definitely not approve. They would gorge themselves on candy floss and stand at the machines for hours, feet welded to the sticky floor, the smell of cigarette smoke in their nostrils from Uncle Jim’s rolling tobacco.

With her mind and heart full of happy memories, Claire shone a sparkling grin at Sky.

“You’re in for a real treat.”

***

My Review Of Terry Pratchett’s “Wee Free Men”… (akrummenacker.wordpress.com)
Magrat: note spelling (vulpeslibris.wordpress.com)
Terry Pratchett – Wee Free Men (sffbookreview.wordpress.com)
Dodger, Terry Pratchett (booksjadore.wordpress.com)
A Hat Full of Sky Read Along, we’ve come to the end. (littleredreviewer.wordpress.com)
And Then I Read: THE WEE FREE MEN by Terry Pratchett (kleinletters.com)
[Books] I Shall Wear Midnight (geeky-guide.com)
The Colour of Magic (logosconcarne.com)
Merivale Model Village Pictures

Microwaves and Muddy Boots: 2013 365 Challenge #103

Muddy Boots

The children dragged me to the zoo today. I was like a small child when they chose it as their place to go, whining and looking for flaws in the plan:

Mummy: “Aw do we have to go? It’s raining.”

Kids: “We’ll wear our waterproofs.”

Mummy: “It’s cold.”

Kids: “Wear a jacket.”

Mummy: “We could go to the Farm.”

Kids: “We always go to the Farm.”

Mummy (in her head) Yes because it’s five miles away and serves great coffee. The Zoo is twenty miles away and serves UHT milk with its tea.

Watching the Servals

So in my new zen of organised calm I packed a picnic, sorted waterproofs, spare clothes, twenty pences for the sheep food, tissues for runny noses and a flask of hot tea. I’m so glad we went. It had mostly stopped raining by the time we arrived but the place was quiet considering it’s still the holidays – I guess because many were deterred by the weather.

It was cold.

Little man kept saying “I’ve got the shudders” (meaning he was shivering). In fact he was full of the horrors of being two today. After lunch, he zipped up his lunch box saying, “I had enough snack,” and then sobbed when I stood up, relieved I could finally go for a wee. “But my hungry,” he bawled as I dragged him to the portacabin containing the Ladies.

We had words.

“I sad cause my boots are muddy”

In the end I gave in and got a fruit pouch out for him.

Then he kept sitting down on the floor in his dejected pose saying things like “I sad that you won’t help me jump,” or “I sad ’cause my boots are muddy.”

Even though it’s annoying, he’s so cute and so aware of his emotions I want to gobble him up in a muddy cuddle.

Little lady was quiet. When I got home she had a temperature so that explained her tears every time Aaron wouldn’t give her a cuddle. I worry about her feelings of rejection when her brother ignores her: it doesn’t bode well for the teenage years.

The only dark cloud on the day was reading an article about how harmful the microwave can be and how it kills the nutrients in food. As I heat the kids’ milk and steam their veg in the microwave it’s left me feeling a bit like a child killer. I really should stop reading such things! Relief came from a lovely friend of mine who regularly debunks the web-rumour posts that I suck in hook and line. Apparently the microwave one is no different, as to the specifics of the article I read (I don’t know about microwaves generally, just the ‘experiment’ in the article). It’s probably still a useful reminder to use the hob more than the microwave where possible.

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“Did you enjoy your cake? We need to head off now. We’re staying in Sheringham tonight and it’s a bit of a drive. We’ll stop off at Norwich to break the journey.”

Sky pulled a face. “Why do we have to move again? I hate being in the car all the time. You don’t even have a CD player. It’s boring.”

Claire curled her hands into fists beneath the table. “Sorry, Sky. I don’t know if your Mummy told you, but I’m working on an assignment at the moment. Even though it’s lovely looking after you, I still need to work. But don’t worry: as it’s the Easter Holidays I had to juggle accommodation a bit, and we’re staying at the next hostel for a few days.”

The little face hidden beneath wisps of blonde hair grew darker and a tiny rose-bud lip jutted out. Claire no longer found it cute. Searching her brain for memories of what Sheringham had to offer, she came up trumps. “It’s near the sea. If the weather is nice we’ll be able to go to the beach.”

The transformation was instant. Sky’s head rose and her eyes sparkled. “I’ve never been to the seaside. Will there be sand? Like at the big sandpit in the park? Can we make sandcastles?”

Claire had no idea if the beaches at Sheringham were sandy, or the pebbly sort she associated with the British coast. She was pretty sure it would be more impressive than any park sandpit, even if it was covered in seaweed and rocks. Either way, now was not the time for honesty. The café was crowded and so far they had managed to have their coffee and cake without any screaming or tantrums.

“Yes, Sky, I’m sure it’s a sandy beach. I will buy you a bucket and spade as soon as we get there. Now, what do you fancy doing in Norwich? We’ll get a late lunch, as I’m sure you’re all full of cake. Shall we have a look at the iPad and see if there’s anything interesting to do?” Clearly keeping you busy is the best way of ensuring a harmonious holiday.

Claire tapped some words into the iPad and looked at the results. “Castles. Gardens. Museums. Hmmm.” She tabbed over to the map and back to the search engine. Even with her head bent over the table she could sense Sky’s growing impatience. I really should have been more organised. I hadn’t realised Sky would need entertainment as well as accommodation. I’m sure when we were kids our parents chucked us out in the garden and left us to it. When we were home, that is. Maybe siblings are useful for something.

She glanced up at Sky and felt a wave of pity for the girl, who would probably never know the pleasure and pain of brothers and sisters. At least I can make sure these two weeks are fun. Besides, it’s all great stuff for the blog. Chucking yourself off the balcony at an English Heritage Castle is probably not what Coca Cola would want as High Adrenalin activity, but mentioning all these places should help my Google rankings.

Dropping her eyes to the screen again, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. “Right, Sky, change of plan. We’ll go via Great Yarmouth and you can see the sea before bedtime. There’s lots to do in Great Yarmouth. What’s it to be? Sea Life or Merrivale Model Village?”

Sky leaned over and stared at the iPad screen, absorbed in choosing their afternoon activity. Claire tried not to look at the entry prices, knowing Carl wouldn’t consider either one sufficiently exciting to claim on expenses. What do parents do when they have more than one child? I could go to Ragdale Spa for the cost of taking a family of five on a day trip. No wonder Ruth is always complaining about being skint. You’d have to be mad to have kids I reckon.

***

Talked to Exhaustion: 2013 365 Challenge #101

Playing in the Sand

Today has been a great, if exhausting day. As it’s the school holidays we met up with friends to combine childcare and have a good old natter.

My kids were so excited they were dressed and standing at the front door by 9am. This is unheard of behaviour: normally I have to cajole them for at least an hour to get ready to go out. Shame we didn’t need to leave until 10am!

I had to spend the next hour pleading with them to play quietly by themselves while I cleaned the kitchen, knowing we wouldn’t be home until bedtime.

Our kids play so well together even though they’re 1, 2.5, 4 and nearly 5. My friend and I were able to natter for most of the day, interspersed with the kids’ chatter and fairly non-stop feeding of the troops.

Look at my car, Mummy

A slightly nerve-wracking trip to the park chasing my two on their scooters had me aching for bedtime at 2pm (my son apparently has a dare-devil streak and likes to free-wheel down the hill on a scooter he can barely control). We were revived with ice-cream.

Funny how talking all day can be exhausting though, especially when you don’t do it very often. Two days in a row? I’m practically comatose. I fed hubbie frozen chicken and Smash for dinner because I could barely lift my arms or eyes to do anything else. Even typing is using muscles that ache and plea for bed. I certainly don’t have many words left. Thankfully I’ve sketched out my Claire post for today so I can crawl under my duvet in an hour or so and recharge.

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“Auntie Claire, why hasn’t the Easter Bunny been? Couldn’t he find me?”

Claire opened her eyes and blinked them into focus. Inches from her face a little pouting mouth quivered beneath eyes full of tears. Bugger. It’s Easter Sunday. Why didn’t Ruth tell me Sky believes in the bloody Easter Bunny? I mean, who believes in the Easter Bunny? Isn’t that an American thing? The shops aren’t even going to be open today.

Trying to locate some clear thoughts in her cotton-wool brain, Claire felt an urge to pull the duvet back over her head and pretend her niece was a bad dream. The quivering turned into a wobble and Claire sensed an imminent meltdown. Conscious of the four other women asleep in the dorm, she let out a quiet groan and forced a smile.

“I’m sure he forgot you were travelling, Sky, and left your eggs with your Mummy. You can look forward to getting them when I take you home.” The wobbling showed no sign of abating, and the tears were tumbling now, running rivulets down little red cheeks. Don’t cry, please. It’s too early.

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll go to a coffee shop today and you can get a babycino and a large piece of cake.”

A calculating look crept into the tear-drenched eyes and Claire felt able to breathe. “Chocolate cake?”

“Yes, if that’s what you want. With cream and ice cream.”

The face disappeared as Sky climbed back down the ladder. Claire’s duvet clung onto her like a lover, but she knew that her niece wouldn’t sit quietly on her bed for long. Sure enough, a minute later a voice called out, much too loud. “Auntie Claire, can we go to the coffee shop now? Please?”

Claire groaned and wrenched herself free from the warm cocoon of sleep. Leaning over the bunk she hissed in as quiet a voice as would carry, “Soon, Sky, but shush please, other people are sleeping. Get dressed and we’ll go down for breakfast.”

Zoning out the muted grumbling from below, Claire sunk her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes. Moments into a beautiful dream, of lying on a warm beach towel being baked by the hot sun, Claire felt a tug at the duvet followed by arctic air ripping the warmth from her body.

“Sky, did you just pull my covers off? You selfish little brat.” The words were out before she could stop them. Claire felt the blood rush to her face as she realised how awful they sounded in the still of the room. Please god let everyone else still be asleep. Lulled by the ensuing silence, Claire figured Sky must have not heard her harsh words. Then she caught the intake of breath that signalled a brewing storm, and she tumbled down out of the bunk-bed as fast as a Marine called to attention.

Wrapping the quivering shoulders in a smothering hug, Claire stroked her niece’s hair and shushed her. “I’m sorry darling: that was unforgiveable. It’s not nice to pull someone’s duvet off when they’re hardly awake, but it was wrong of me to call you names.”

The sobs still came. Loud wracking cries echoed out through the cuddle, leaving Claire’s skin prickling in mortification.

Thank god we have a private room booked at the next hostel. The sooner we get out of here the better. Claire comforted the child as best she could, then helped her get dressed for the day.

I’m not sure I’m going to survive two weeks of this. Ruth, my dear, I take it all back. You’re a saint. I was right, too. Parenting is most definitely not for me.

***

A note about my 365 Challenge… (starchaserxoxo.wordpress.com)
365 Days Of Awesome (hopefulofwords.com)

Embracing the positive: 2013 365 Challenge #100

Quality time with Daddy

Day two without Daddy and we’re still smiling.

We met baby group friends in the park this morning and ended up spending the day with them, dividing child care and managing the various tantrums of four children aged between 2 and 6. It was rather depressing to discover that 6 can be as whiny and unreasonable as 4 – I’d hoped there was light at the end of the parenting tunnel.

At the park, my psychiatric nurse friend gave me a much needed talking to about guilt and childcare, echoing what hubbie had already said last night, to the effect that writing IS my job, even if it pays a pound a day. The kids will have to go to school so they may as well learn they have to go to nursery, and we manage the tears and tantrums. It doesn’t solve my concerns that nursery is too small especially for littlest Martin but I have to manage that by stopping off at the park on the way home and making their home days active.

It’s easier to moan than fix things and I’m awful at letting guilt excuse inactivity. However, as my husband said when he didn’t really want to get out of bed this morning: Time to grow up.

We realised last night that we’re hippies at heart but ones who like a few material possessions. And certainly hippies that couldn’t home school. So certain things in life have to be put up with. I have to put my fears of school shackles aside and embrace the positive. Not something I’m good at. But as my nurse friend wisely said: “your low self esteem came from being told often enough that you weren’t good enough. If you tell yourself often enough that you are, eventually you’ll come to believe it.”

Sounds like hard work to me but I’m willing to give it a go! Time to accept that confidence needn’t be arrogance and guilt and excessive humility are not attractive traits. Gosh, I feel like I’ve been on the therapist’s couch today. No wonder I’m tired! Embracing the positive: A good thought for my 100th post.

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“I’m bored.”

Claire looked over at the little girl on the sofa next to her. A crumpled magazine lay discarded on the floor and she stared at Claire, arms folded, bottom lip jutting out like a bad collagen injection. The pitch of her voice stabbed through Claire’s headache like a stiletto heel. Swallowing her irritation, Claire pushed a smile in place and lowered her book.

“Sorry, sweetie, have you finished your magazine? We’ll go up to bed in a while but, as we’re in a shared dorm, I thought it might be nice to sit down here in the lounge for a bit.”

Claire had no idea what she was going to do once the little girl was tucked up in the bottom bunk. She wasn’t looking forward to another battle over why Sky wasn’t allowed to sleep on top either. The idea of explaining to her sister that her niece had fallen five foot from a bunk-bed during the night was not something she could contemplate without horror.

Sky’s sulk didn’t show any signs of waning. Claire sighed, her cheeks aching from the forced smile. “What would you do at home before bedtime?”

“Mummy reads me stories, or I watch The Simpsons with her.”

The Simpsons? At bedtime? No wonder the girl has nightmares. Searching her brain for an alternative to enduring whatever banal stories Pony Magazine had to offer, Claire caught sight of a teenage girl on the opposite side of the room, engrossed in a game on her iPhone.

“What about computer games?”

Sky’s eyes lit up and then died, like a short-lived supernova. “Mummy doesn’t allow computer games. We only have one computer and she uses it for her work. She says they’re all silly games that will rot my brain.”

And watching the Simpsons won’t? I wonder about my sister sometimes. No wonder she’s so tired all the time. Aren’t games designed as free childcare?

“Well, why don’t we see if there are any apps on the iPad that your Mummy wouldn’t disapprove of? What about reading and writing ones?”

The tiny face fell. “They sound boring. Jenny has one where you paint fingernails, can we download that?” The girl scooted across the sofa and snuggled next to Claire, tucking herself under Claire’s arm. Not sure whether to sigh or smile, Claire pulled her iPad onto her lap and began searching for apps.

Twenty minutes later she returned to her book, glancing over occasionally at Sky to make sure she was okay. Her niece’s face was tight with concentration and all trace of boredom had gone. It can’t be that bad, surely, if it makes her happy? Ruth doesn’t need to know.

Retrieving her paperback she thumbed through the pages until she found her spot. Katniss was in the trees hiding from Peeta when the shrill of a ringing phone broke the silence. Damn. Turn that phone off, will you? The noise continued until Claire realised it was her phone, jangling in her pocket.

With flushed cheeks she fished it out and looked at the number. Her dinner sank to the pit of her stomach and she considered hitting cancel. Don’t be a coward. Slowly releasing a deep sigh, Claire selected answer and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” With a glance at Sky, she got up and walked over to the window. Her niece didn’t register her departure.

“Claire? Hi, how are you?”

The voice caused her dinner to start a tango in the bottom of her tummy. “Hi Michael. I’m fine, thanks.” She heard him hesitate and hoped her frigid tones would cause him to cut the call short. I doubt it. Michael must have a leather hide not to have got the hint already.

“I rang to see how you are? After the mugging and all. You haven’t posted much on Twitter recently. Not that I’m stalking you or anything,” he added quickly, as that exact thought went through her mind. “I was just worried.”

“I’m looking after Sky for a couple of weeks.” Of course, Michael doesn’t know about Ruth’s illness. It seemed strange, Michael not knowing something so essential to her life. She tried to decide whether he needed to know now, and concluded he didn’t.

“Really?” The shock in his voice made her grimace. “I thought you hated spending time with your nieces and nephews.” There was something else in his voice too. Was it hope?

“I do.” Let’s put an end to that seed before it germinates. “Ruth needed some time, that’s all, and I couldn’t say no.” She looked over her shoulder. “Besides, she’s old enough to be good company. Most of the time.”

“Children are, you know. They say the funniest things, and they make you really live life. Everything is new and fresh seen through their eyes.” His voice was soft; it made Claire shudder.

“Yes, well. It’s about time I put this little lady to bed. We’re in a shared dorm and it might take a while.”

She heard him breathe out, and knew she had offended him with her curt response. Serves him right for not knowing when to quit.

“Of course. Well, as long as you’re okay.” He paused.

Don’t say it, don’t say it. Please.

“I miss you.” And he was gone.

***

Is Low Self-Esteem Making You Vulnerable to Depression? (psychologytoday.com)
Celebrities and Sippy Cups Poppy Montgomery Talks about Mommy Guilt (everydayfamily.com)
Do you have High or Low Self Esteem? (onlyronsworld.com)
That Scary Thing Has a Name. (lettersofreconciliation.wordpress.com)
What price do you put on yourself? (imconfident.wordpress.com)
This is a childcare crisis of David Cameron’s own making | Stephen Twigg and Yvette Cooper (guardian.co.uk)

A Strange sort of Peace: 2013 365 Challenge #99

Kings College Chapel, Cambridge. Photo Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

It has finally arrived. After nearly six months, hubbie went to work today. Suit, tie, the works. He looked very handsome.

It isn’t raining, I have the house to myself. The only sad bit was dropping two sobbing children at nursery and then sobbing myself in the car. I wish I knew the answer to the childcare problem. Hubbie thinks they’ll be better if we put them in three days a week again. I’m not so sure. Besides, Amber starts school in September so it’s just going to make that harder. I think I need to take them out and put them in a preschool – more days, fewer hours. Get us used to the routine shift that school will bring and have them out the house for shorter periods of time.

I’ll miss my long days (and cover during the school vacations as all preschools close when the schools close) but maybe it’s time to grow up and accept I can’t have everything (sometimes it feels anything) my way.

Happiness is a Clean Fridge

Then of course the dilemma is finding a preschool. Amber’s best friend goes to one but I don’t like it: not enough outside space. Not suitable for Aaron. So do I split them up? Send Amber somewhere she doesn’t know anyone, after four years with friends? Stick with nursery for a few more months? Take them out entirely? Put up with the tears and tantrums, knowing they don’t really hate it? Sometimes I feel like I’ve been worrying about childcare as long as I’ve had children. It wakes me at night.

The problem is choice. I have way too much choice. Nothing dictates what days, times, locations I need my childcare to fit. I prefer Mondays and Thursdays but that isn’t rigid (although we dropped Mondays for a while and I hated it, even with having to pay for bank holidays!). My main requirements are friendly staff the children warm to, good clean facilities and space for Aaron to run. Despite the large range of nurseries and preschools around us I haven’t yet found that winning combination.

Anyway, I’m trying not to think about it any more. There isn’t an answer and it just makes my soul ache. Aside from that – and the gurgling tummy of the dog lying next to me on the sofa – I’ve had a peaceful day. I’m a person who likes space and solitude and I haven’t had much of that for far too long. Even though my routine has been the same as when hubbie is here I seem to have written twice as many words today. And I’ve cleaned the fridge. Time to walk and feed the dog before her gurgling tummy drives away my new-found peace.

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The children chased each other along the wall outside Kings, giggling and hopping on and off the grass. Claire, Fiona and Josh followed behind, sharing idle observations on all they’d seen inside King’s College, much as strangers might discuss the weather on a stranded bus. Lily kicked her legs and waved her hands from her position in a sling on Josh’s chest. The air felt too thick to breathe and the spring sunshine failed to penetrate Claire’s skin.

“So, who is hungry?” she called ahead to the children. They turned as one and hopped up and down.

“Me, me, me!”

“Come on then. I’m taking you for the tastiest Greek burger ever.” She lengthened her stride until there was space between her and the hand-holding couple. Sky stretched out her arms and jumped off the low wall into Claire’s embrace, snuggling deep into her hair. The gesture surprised Claire and she returned the hug with closed eyes.

“I love you, Auntie Claire. I’m having the best day. Thank you.” Sky flashed a toothy smile before squirming down again to play with Lucas and Sophie. Tears pricked at Claire’s eyes and she swallowed. Well, Ruth, I was never sure before, but you definitely did something right.

They lined up to cross the road. Claire glanced back but Fiona and Josh were in earnest conversation.

“Right kids, hold hands.” She looked left and right up King’s Parade, making sure there were no cars. Standing, waiting for a taxi to thunder past, she caught movement out the corner of her eye.

“Look at that dog!” Lucas yelled, dashing out in front of the oncoming car. Claire reacted instinctively, thrusting Sky and Sophie behind her and reaching out to grasp the hood of Lucas’s coat. She reached him and pulled, just as the black saloon whooshed past, raising a swirl of litter. With trembling limbs Claire swapped her hold on the hood for a clutch of a little sweaty hand.

Urgent arms took the child from her and he disappeared into a hug of hair and tears. “Lucas, what were you thinking? You know not to rush across the road like that.” Fear made the voice stern and Lucas dissolved into sobs.

“Sorry Mummy. There was a dog wearing a coat.”

Fiona stroked the boy’s hair and murmured soothing words, while Claire clutched Sky’s hand and waited for her pulse to cease its rapid beat. Josh stood jiggling Lily and shushing Sophie who had started to cry when her brother did: big wracking, gulping tears and wails of, “Don’t be mean to my brother.” Claire wondered if she had ever defended a sibling with such passion.

Eventually the tears ceased and life once more penetrated the tight group. Fiona looked up from hugging Lucas and met Claire’s eyes. Her face held a new softness and Claire realised just how beautiful the woman was. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Claire nodded, unsure what to say.

They left the narrow alleyway after their burgers, marvelling at the taste and wiping sauce from their mouths. It was early afternoon, so Claire suggested a wander along the high street, maybe followed by a coffee in the bookshop, where they could also pick up some paperbacks to ease the long journey home. She could see Sky’s eyes drooping. Another hour and hopefully she’ll sleep again in the car. It’s going to take a couple of hours to get to the hostel. Unwilling to admit it, Claire felt, nonetheless, a need to linger. To stretch out these last moments with Josh and his family, knowing they would be flying half way round the world in a few days.

All too soon, the books had been selected, the coffee drunk, the Pony magazine purchased for Sky, to keep her entertained should she not sleep in the car. They stood in the awkward silence of soon-to-be-parted friends, none wanting to start the farewells. The children chased each other round the square, running after pigeons and squealing. Lily slept in her sling, snuggled against her mum. Some unseen communication passed between Josh and Fiona, and the woman wandered away to keep an eye on the children.

Claire felt the timpani drum playing loudly in her ears as he approached: cleaner, more familiar, but with the same crooked smile she remembered from their first meeting at Kielder. It felt a lifetime ago, although she knew it was only a month, if that. She brushed her hair behind her ears and tried to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Claire.”

As he came nearer she inhaled the familiar scent of aftershave, although without the bass note of smoke. Clearly Fiona’s arrival had put a stop to that habit. Any words that might be spoken dried in her throat as he stopped in front of her and reached for her hands. She flicked a glance at Fiona, but the woman was discretely distant, marshalling a game of hide and seek amidst the empty market stalls. Josh turned to see what Claire was looking at, and misinterpreted her gaze.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother one day. You’ll make some man a lucky bastard. If you can’t see it you haven’t met the right one yet. Keep looking. If all else fails, come visit us down under. We’ll hook you up with some bonza fellas.”

She turned back at his words, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead. He dropped one of her hands and brushed her cheek, before pulling her into a crushing hug. She tensed, then melted into the embrace.

Memories of their time on the observatory platform shouldered their way into her mind. He never really fancied me: It was all an act. I reminded him of Fiona, that’s all. She realised the thought no longer made her sad. If I hadn’t, would we be friends? Would I have had half the experiences I’ve had these last few weeks? She felt tears trickling down her cheeks, dripping onto his shoulder. Her nose began to run and she didn’t want that to be his last memory of her. Pulling away, she forced the grief deep inside and shone him her brightest smile.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that, one day. I’m still not convinced about the mother thing, but perhaps kids aren’t as awful as I once thought. You have a safe trip home and take care of your family, they are very precious.” She leant forwards and pecked him quickly on the lips, before turning away. Without looking back she strode across the square towards Fiona and the children. Murmuring her goodbyes, and comforting a disappointed Sky, she took her niece’s hand and left the square, staring straight ahead.

***