Spencer Bear Comes To Stay: 2013 365 Challenge #315

Spencer Bear’s photo shoot

Our daughter was given the class bear to bring home this weekend. In the pouring rain on Friday night I viewed his arrival with less than elation. Carrying an umbrella over his head to keep him dry on the trek to the car, I wracked my brains for something he could do during his stay.

We were introduced to Spencer Bear at one of the parent meetings, and were shown his diary full of photos and stories. Easy, I thought, plenty of examples to follow. Wrong. In his bag was an empty diary, two story books and the bear. No instructions or guidelines.

Oh my, such responsibility! Our diary entry will basically set the tone for the year. Make too much effort and we raise the bar for everyone. Put in a shabby effort and it will be the first thing people see everytime they open the diary.

Spencer at the park

We didn’t dare take him to Ikea: imagine if he got lost. We watch Peppa Pig; we’ve seen the Teddy Playgroup episode where the bear gets misplaced! I couldn’t take him to my mother’s in case he came back smokey – I’m not going to be the parent that sends a smokey bear back to school.

In the end we took him to the park and I snapped enough photos to fill the entire journal. I’ll have to winnow it down to two or three. Then I’ll have to decide whether to print them on paper or take a disc to the shops and get proper photos printed. Do I write the journal or get my daughter to do it? Make it funny, entertaining, poignant? I’m the classic over-thinker – not giving me instructions is just plain cruel.

As we’ve reorganised our house today, and unplugged the printer and computer as part of the chaos, I haven’t actually done anything to take into school tomorrow. I’m going to use it as the perfect excuse to keep the bear’s diary another day and get some tips from the teacher. Add it to the list of things I never knew would create stress when I became a parent!

P.S. Came downstairs this morning and darling hubbie had plugged in the computer. I love that man. Pasted ten pictures into a document and added a short note about going to the park. Printed it out, took it into school and asked the teacher if it was okay. When she realised the explanation page was missing from the diary she was furious! LOL. Wouldn’t want to be the poor soul who was meant to put it there! She seemed happy enough with our effort, though, so I borrowed a glue stick and job done. One less thing to worry about.

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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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“It’s for sale you know.”

Claire turned to face the woman who had spoken, unsure if she was addressing her or someone else. A lined, smiling face greeted her and grinned as she made eye contact. Then the woman gestured at the dining room around them, which was bustling with people getting breakfast.

“The hostel; it’s for sale. Such a shame, don’t you think?”

Claire nodded, tempted to turn back to her food. Then she remembered it was her job to gather information, and she wracked her brain for a response.

“The one at Salcombe is closing down, too. I guess it’s quite hard to run a business that’s meant to offer low cost accommodation in these old buildings. They must take some upkeep.”

“Oh yes,” the woman said, nodding emphatically. “Just fixing up my sixties semi costs a fortune, I can’t imagine what the upkeep on an old Georgian pile like this would be. Pity though. We’ve been coming here for years. It’s a bit spooky, but my grandsons like that.”

She gestured towards a gaggle of teenage boys gathered around the end of the table, stealing food from each other’s plates and shoving each other off their seats.

“There are bats, too, did you know? In the attic. Haven’t we all got bats in the attic though, dear?” The woman flashed another toothy grin. Claire smiled. It was hard not to like the garrulous old lady, and admire her for being there with her grandchildren.

“Isn’t it hard? Hostelling with children?” Claire thought about her conversation with her brother the night before. “I have my nephews joining me in a few days and I admit I’m a bit nervous.”

“You don’t have children of your own.” It was a statement, rather than a question. Claire shook her head.

“How old are your nephews?”

“Ten and twelve,” Claire said, flushing as she remembered getting it wrong on the phone.

“They’ll be no bother; it’s a good age. They’re not quite teenagers, so they’ll still bide you a bit. Make sure you wear them out and keep them fed: that’s the trick with boys.”

She emphasised her point by stabbing some sausage with a fork and popping it in her mouth. She looked thoughtful as she chewed, and Claire felt unable to turn away. When she was free to speak, the woman continued. “What will you do with them? Are you staying here?”

“No, I’m actually working – researching tourism in Cornwall – so they’ll have to tag along with me. I wasn’t expecting them you see; my brother called last night.” Claire stopped abruptly, unsure why she was telling this woman all her troubles.

The woman nodded knowingly. “Family: guaranteed to drop you in it.” She laughed at Claire’s expression. “Isn’t that what you youngsters say?” She continued to laugh, although whether at Claire’s surprise or her own joke wasn’t clear.

“What do they like doing, these nephews of yours?” she asked, when she’d stopped laughing.

Claire shook her head. No point hiding the truth. “I have no idea. I barely know them. They live in Geneva.”

The woman gave her a shrewd look. “And children aren’t really your thing? No, don’t feel bad or deny it. Motherhood isn’t for everyone. I have three boys, love them to bits. But if you’d given me a girl I’d have been stuck. No idea what to do with girls. Boys are easy; just make sure they know you’re boss.” She chewed another mouthful and Claire watched, mesmerised.

“They’ll probably be into those silly computer games. Make sure their Dad packs them and you keep them charged. Always useful for a bit of peace and quiet. I’m not one of these fuddy duddies who thinks they’re bad. Here in Cornwall, though? You’ll want to take them to the beach. Let them get mucky, take them swimming, enrol them in a surf school. That’ll give you plenty of time to get your work done. My daughters-in-law, they all work. Wasn’t the done thing in my day, but if that’s what they want, who am I to naysay them? Means I get to spend time with my boys.”

She looked fondly over at the teenagers, who had finished eating and were now wrestling on the floor with much yelling and punching. Claire shuddered. Suddenly her time with Sky – even the tantrums – seemed simple by comparison.

The woman looked back and seemed to sense Claire’s fear. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine. Just think; after a week or two you get to give them back.” She gave her an arch look. “And it’s different when it’s your own. Don’t let your nephews put you off having babies. I’ve seen the hardest nut cracked by a helpless infant placed in their arms.” She lined her knife and fork up neatly on the plate and stood up.

“I must be going. Now these have been fed they’ll be up to all kinds of mischief until they use up some energy. Good luck, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, with genuine gratitude.

Once she was standing, Claire could see the woman was tiny; five feet tall if that. She seemed frail, like a strong wind would knock her away. She tottered up to the writhing pile of boys, a smile on her face.

“Right, you lot,” she said, her voice firm and carrying. “Up you get.” The writhing didn’t stop, and she put one hand on her hip. “Now!” Her voice rang out through the room, and the boys jumped to their feet, towering over the tiny woman. They hung their heads and chorused, “Sorry. Grannie.”

The woman turned to Claire and winked, then led the boys from the room.

Ikea Ideal Day: 2013 365 Challenge #314

Ikea, Milton Keynes – photo by Ian Paterson

Family Martin woke up grumpy today. We’re all still adjusting to the new normal, particularly poor hubbie who is feeling squeezed between work and the children, with no time for him. We had promised the kids a trip to an indoor play centre, but we weren’t in the right frame of mind.

When hubbie is low, spending money acts as a pick-me-up so, as we’ve also been promising the kids new wardrobes for ages, we decided a trip to Ikea might be in order. It tends to be a momentous family outing, because it’s miles away and the children aren’t used to car trips over an hour. I loaded up the iPad with TV shows, chucked in some snacks and off we went.

Ikea on a Saturday is a crazy idea, but we went with a plan. After twenty minutes waiting for a parking place, and another twenty minutes queuing for the obligatory meatballs, we happened to mention to the children about the crèche, not thinking for one minute they’d entertain the idea. They cry going to nursery, after three years of going, so dropping them with strangers seemed unlikely.

Happy crèche

They were keen to try it, though, so we booked them in and spent the half hour wait letting the darlings pick the colours of their wardrobe doors. Amazingly they then went into the crèche without a fuss. Hurrah.

Oh my goodness what a difference! I can’t imagine trying to design, order and pick the twenty-odd components required for their units with them competing for our attention. As for getting through the market hall without, “Mummy I want… mummy look… mummy can I…?” Instead our bag only contained a couple of stocking fillers and the usual tat hubbie and I couldn’t leave without. 🙂

The best part was going to pick them up after the hour and seeing two happy smiley faces. Free childcare (which I get very very rarely) and happy kids, what more could you want? When I collected them, daughter said, “Mummy, I don’t want to do crèche again.” Ah well, it was fab while it lasted!

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Claire cupped her hands around the mug of tea and gazed out the tall Georgian windows at the view. After the bustle of her busy day, it was good to stop and rest her throbbing feet. With a belly full of food and the aroma of hot tea drifting up to her, she felt her face relax for the first time in hours. The Eden Project had assaulted all her senses in good ways and bad, and her mind still wrestled with her Gift Aid idea, wondering if it was possible to take it further than a mere suggestion. There seemed such merit it, her brain wouldn’t let it lie.

When the phone rang, she didn’t realise immediately it was hers. Glancing around the dining room, she flushed as she saw people looking her way. She grabbed the phone from the table and held it to her ear, shielding her face with her hair.

“Hello?” Her voice came out in a hiss.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Robert? No, of course not. How are you? Why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

“Can’t a man call his sister without it being the end of the world?” Robert said defensively and Claire smiled. It was clear he wanted something.

“Maybe not every brother, Rob, but definitely you. You never call me unless it’s to tell me off.” She remembered the last out-of-the-blue call, after a photo on her neglected blog, and her smile grew wider.

“Yes, well, that’s not why I’m calling. I haven’t spoken to you in a while, that’s all. I wondered how you were getting on. And Ruth, of course.”

“You could call Ruth yourself.”

“I did, actually, but she was just heading out to some meeting at church of all places.”

Claire’s smile dropped as she wondered what her sister was doing going to church on a Wednesday evening. “Was she taking Sky?”

“No, Sky’s with her dad, can you believe? Apparently he’s moved back nearby and sees her twice a week.”

Claire felt genuinely glad that Chris had decided to move nearer to his daughter. She didn’t want to get into that particular discussion with Robert, though. They were unlikely to see eye to eye about it.

“That’s good,” was all she said. “If you spoke to Ruth you know more about her than I do, I’m afraid. We talked a week or ten days ago, but all she had to say to me was about the church, too. I do hope she’s not getting caught up in some cult.”

“In England? Really, Claire, you do come up with the most fanciful things.”

She heard the hesitation in his voice and she imagined him realising that criticising her wasn’t the best lead in to a favour. She was about to tease him some more when her work idea came into her mind.

“Actually, brother mine, I have an concept to run by you. How easy would it be to set up a national scheme to allow gift aid to be taken easily? It only needs to have details like a person’s address and tax eligibility, but it would need to be read by a chip and pin machine or have a barcode or something.”

There was a pause and she could almost hear her brother’s financial brain whirring. “That would be quite straight forward,” he said eventually, “but you’d need someone financially motivated to set it up. Who would benefit?”

“The charities, I guess. Quicker entry time, more gift aid collected.”

“That wouldn’t be enough. Unless each charity were to subscribe, or members paid for their card, who would fund it?”

“What about British Tourism?”

“Hmmm. Possible. Marketing, that’s the key. Being able to use the list of names to market to, or having the card sponsored by a major partner. Interesting idea. Who came up with it?”

“I did.”

“Well, well done sis. It has merit. Let me know if you need financial partners, I can put the word out.”

Claire beamed. If her brother thought the idea had merit, then it wasn’t too daft to put in her report.

“I will. So, why are you really calling?” She decided he’d been too helpful not to put him out of his misery.

“Ah, yes. I have a favour to ask. I was going to ask Ruth, but she didn’t give me a chance and, on reflection, you may be the better person.”

“Come on, Robert, spit it out.”

“Er, can you take the boys for a few weeks in the summer?”

“What?” Claire sat up straight, wincing as her chair legs scraped on the floor. “Why?”

Her words were greeted with silence. Claire waited for her brother to speak, fear twisting at her stomach as she wondered what his next words might be.

“Francesca and I split up. A few months ago, actually. The boys are in a boarding school, so it hasn’t been a big deal. But it’s the long vacation now. Francesca’s having them for half the time, but they’ll be with me for three weeks.” He took a deep breath, and his next words were nearly a wail. “I can’t have them on my own for three weeks! I have to work. And, besides, what do I know about looking after adolescent boys?”

“And I know so much more?” Claire blurted out without thinking.

“Well, you’re a woman; these things come naturally.”

Claire thought about her time with Sky, and snorted. “Not so much.”

“So you won’t take them?” His voice was accusing. Then, in a defeated tone, he added, “I guess I’ll have to ask mother. Or Ruth.”

Good luck with that, Claire thought. She tried to imagine travelling round with her nephews. Would it be so much harder than having Sky? There would be two of them, so wouldn’t they entertain each other? And they were older than her niece.

“How many weeks are we talking exactly? And when?”

“Claire, you’re an angel.”

“Wait, I haven’t said yes. I’m just asking for more information. I can’t have them for last week of July or the first week of August.”

“Oh.” He paused, then said brightly, “Well maybe I can swap weeks with Francesca. How about if I brought them to you this weekend?”

“What? Robert, no, I can’t. My boss will freak. I’m struggling to get into the hostels as it is, without needing two extra beds.”

“That’s okay, the boys can stay in a tent.”

“On their own? They’re only, what, seven and nine?”

“Ten and twelve.”

Oops.

“Even so. And surely Francesca won’t change plans just like that.” She wanted to ask more about the breakup of their marriage, but her head was spinning with the idea that she might have to look after two boys for a fortnight.

“She’ll do what I tell her to; I’m paying her a handsome settlement for her to live in an apartment and get her nails painted.”

So, not an amicable split then. Oh dear.

She thought about her nephews, caught in the middle, shuffled from pillar to post. She thought about them stuck at her mother’s house for two weeks, while her dad wrote his novel and her mum went to WI meetings.

“Alright. I’ll take them. Two weeks though,” she added quickly, as Robert filled the airways with his dignified gratitude. “And they bring a tent.” She thought about how expensive the Eden Project had been, and mentally multiplied it by three. “And you pay for all their accommodation fees and the like.”

“Yes, yes of course. I’ll speak to Francesca, and I’ll call you with the details.”

As Claire disconnected the phone, she wondered what on earth she had agreed to.

***

IKEA Nanny Banned Commercial (parisrenovation.wordpress.com)
design at dinner time: the new trendig range from IKEA (thelifecreativeblog.com)
IKEA 365 Campaign (neilperkin.typepad.com)

Ikea and Family: 2013 365 Challenge #56

The School House Hostel, Dargville NZ. More colourful (and less comfortable) than a UK YHA!

Our strategy for survival today was to take the kids to Ikea. I don’t know why we thought that was a good idea on a Sunday but there you go. Ikea was heaving. I spent a large amount of time hiding in one of the kid’s rooms watching the kids pretend to go to sleep.

My hubbie’s Auntie and Uncle live near our local Ikea, about an hour away, so the day was made special by a lovely catch up and some cake. All topped off by a visit to grandma and grandpa on the way home. It was nice to have a day with a plan instead of sitting home and moping. Hopefully it will give us all strength for nursery drop-off tomorrow which has become tortuous recently (both kids sobbing). It makes me sob too because, even though I am working I’m not earning money and it’s hard to justify them getting so upset. Except we all need time apart and generally, once they’re settled, they have a great time doing craft and playing with their friends. Still I’ll be glad when one of us is earning some money. It isn’t going to be me anytime soon, certainly not with Dragon Wraiths. I knew it wouldn’t sell easily without marketing but no one even took up the free download coupon offer! Ha ha. Back to querying agents for sure!

The front cover for Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume 2

On the Claire front, I have been very disappointed in Beth and Chloe. They were introduced into the story to help Claire bond with women, but they were too giggily, too loud, too young maybe. They soaked her on the kayak trip and excluded her at the hostel, almost causing her to lose Josh’s friendship too.

I wonder if Claire needs to meet someone new to travelling so she can have a sense of superiority. Not in a smug way – I think she’s beginning to learn her lesson on that front – but to show her that she has learned something on her journey already. She needs a buddy to support her while Ruth is sick and with Josh it’s complicated.

Alternatively she needs to befriend an older woman who can mother her and impart advice. Claire is the baby in her family and is used to coming last and not being heard. Her mother is distant and unemotional. Claire could meet a surrogate mother (maybe even a couple?) who will teach her what family love should look like.

I am actually planning a few days ahead for the first time – only because I’d quite like to end ‘Volume Two’ (i.e. February) with a bit of a bombshell. I’ve already done the front cover for the February Volume (did I mention I rather like designing covers?) and I think it would be good to have a hook so anyone reading it is drawn back to the blog. The first volume just reached 100 downloads today (yippee!) so I know the ebooks are worth the effort. It’s tough though because I find the idea of selling myself hard and I don’t want to do things just to get readers. Still, everyone loves a bombshell, right?

I’ve also discovered that I really want to take my family to stay in a YHA hostel. All my research has shown me what great buildings and locations are on offer and how much more appropriate it is as accommodation for us than a hotel. Being able to cook breakfast and dinner and have sofas for the kids to jump on. Besides it would be great research! I’ve yet to convince hubbie so I’m thinking of taking the kids on my own – get a feel for what Claire might experience if she ends up hostelling with Sky.

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Claire caught her lower lip between her teeth and let herself into the dorm room. She had hoped for a private room so she could get her head straight and concentrate on Ruth, but the hostel didn’t have any left. At least it’s a single-sex dorm. Her last conversation with Josh rang through her mind. Men are more trouble than a room full of creative directors.

Peering round the door Claire thought for one hopeful moment that the room was empty. Then she heard strains of David Grey playing quietly and the happy bubble popped. Pushing the door wider she scanned the room, relieved to see only one bed with obvious signs of occupation. A grey-haired lady sat crossed-legged on a lower bunk writing in a journal of some description. The music was coming from an iPad on the bed next to her.

At least she isn’t a twenty-something Swedish girl. She doesn’t look like she’ll come stumbling in at 2am reeking of vodka.

The woman raised her head as Claire closed the door behind her. Her face lit up with a warm smile and Claire felt herself smiling in return. “Hi, I’m Claire.”

“Maggie. Pleased to meet you.” The woman nodded down at her iPad. “Will the music bother you, shall I turn it off?”

Claire’s eyes widened at the unexpected politeness. “No, it’s fine. I haven’t heard David Grey since I was a student. It’s rather nice.” She headed for the bunk tucked in the corner and kicked off her shoes. She needed to put something on her blog, even if just a paragraph, and knew she needed to get onto it before sleep dragged her down. Her eyes felt like a horde of partygoers were bouncing around inside them and prodding at the walls with their beer bottles.

Staring at the blank page Claire tried to remember what had happened that day. The kayak seemed a lifetime ago. All that resonated was the call from her sister and the implications. Without stopping to let her subconscious talk her out of it, Claire decided to write from the heart. Isn’t that what Josh told me to do. He’s a man of hidden depths. Maybe I should listen to him. David Grey’s voice swept through her, the words tugging at her stomach. “Life in slow motion somehow it don’t feel real, Life in slow motion somehow it don’t feel real.”

She began to type.

Life in Slow Motion

I am sitting in Grasmere hostel listening to David Grey. The lyrics Life in slow motion, somehow it don’t feel real are resonating deep in my gut.

A hostelling life is a life lived in slow motion. Some days I don’t move more than ten miles from hostel to hostel. The highlight of my day is a smile from a stranger. I have left the speeding motorway of city life and I feel as giddy as if I’ve stepped too quickly off a travelator at the airport. I went kayaking this morning and watched, bemused, while larger-than-life girls splashed water at each other with their paddles. I found myself seeking a quiet corner of the lake to absorb the sound of bird song and admire the reflections of the hills broken apart by ripples.

Since starting this adventure I find I walk more slowly, breathe more deeply, sup my Earl Grey tea with appreciative pleasure. This blog is meant to record the excitement of a life lived outdoors; the thrill of hiking, biking, abseiling and rock climbing. What I hadn’t appreciated until today was the simple joy of silence. Having received some bad news I was grateful to climb into my basic little car, drive along quiet winding roads and let my mind be still.

Claire read through what she had written, unsure whether it made sense, fearful that it made her seem like a hippy. Her eyes itched with tiredness and unshed tears. The music had moved on from Life in slow motion to From here you can almost see the sea. The haunting melody took her back to university days – battling hangovers and fatigue to churn out essays so that she could go party with her friends. Back then she hadn’t appreciated David Grey, he sounded far too maudlin, but her flat mate had been a fan. Now, lying back on her hostel bed staring at the underside of the bunk above, she felt serene. A nagging thought that she was losing her mind whispered in her ear, but not loud enough to keep her from sleep.

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Lincoln Longwools, Illness and Ikea: 2013 365 Challenge #37

Aaron posing for the camera

We are a house of ill. Son has a temperature of 38.8C (I think that’s around 102F), daughter screams every time we go near her with her medicine and I’m coughing like a seal every thirty seconds.

The only option today was to divide and conquer. That’s what we call it when we take a child each. One is so much easier than two because you only have to follow one rambling non-sequitur laden conversation instead of two. So husband took daughter to Ikea (lucky them!) and I took my son to Sacrewell Farm.

Running for the muddy puddle

Followers of this Blog will know I love our local Farm. I call the feeling I get when I’m there Farm Calm. Today was no different. Despite a hacking cough, an icy wind, and a tired and poorly boy we managed a lovely two hours under blue skies. Aaron was even brave enough to feed Humby Keith – a Lincoln Longwool Ram with a very loud baa.

It was just as well we went early as it has been snowing/sleeting/hailing/raining all afternoon.

A happy boy at the Farm

Husband came back from his road trip with the usual Ikea extras – a new ball for the dog (she loves the soft footballs they sell but does tend to chew them up), cutlery, some gadget for the wardrobe and chocolate. He did at least also come back with the expedit unit he went for!

A more surprising thing he came back with was a thought for something to do with Claire.

“She should take part in Race for Life”.

Humby Keith with the loud baaaaaa

Great idea. It fits into her personal growth nicely so will definitely plot that in for May or whenever it happens wherever she is at that point! That’s if I’m still writing the story by then.

The daily blog is definitely taking its toll. I am trying to remember we are a house full of illness and flux, with husband’s lack of job sending ripples across everything else. It feels like me spending 2-3 hours a day on the laptop is the root cause of the kids’ tantrums and anxiety but it’s probably as much to do with none of us knowing where we are on any given day. Hopefully things like my son’s terrible Separation Anxiety (I can’t leave the room at the moment without him screaming) and daughter’s feelings of being unloved will improve when we can put some structure back in their lives.

I hope it happens soon for all our sakes, especially Claire’s!

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Claire looked at the flashing phone, trying to decide whether to ignore it. She and Josh had left for Ninebanks, the next hostel on Claire’s list, early that morning and the journey had been swift and painful. Since their brief conversation about photos the night before Josh had done little more than utter monosyllabic sounds like a sullen teenager. They had booked another twin room and Josh hadn’t made a single suggestive comment about the double bed that formed the bottom of the bunk. When he pulled on his boots and muttered something about going for a walk Claire waved him off with all the relief of a mother on the first day of term.

The phone continued to flash silently, dragging her eye from the accusing stare of the iPad. She reached over to check who was calling and saw only the word International. Her heart plummeted. The only person she knew that went overseas was Michael. Well he can just sod off. Stalker. She reached to hit reject but made a sudden decision to connect the call. If I don’t face him sooner or later I’m going to need a restraining order.

“Hello?”

“Claire?” Harsh tones boomed down the phone and into her brain. She ignored the surge of disappointment that it wasn’t Michael and took a moment to place the owner of the angry voice. She hadn’t heard it for a while.

“Robert? Long-time no speak, brother mine. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“This is not a social call.”

Claire tried not to laugh. Her brother sounded like a posh TV detective come to arrest the pretty protagonist. “Then why are you calling? You never call, is your Skype broken?”

“I did not want to risk Francesca overhearing my conversation. It is not for sensitive ears.”

Has he taken to perusing Gothic novels? I thought I was the one reading bad literature to pass the time.

Suppressing a sigh Claire settled back as best she could in the uncomfortable chair and gazed at the flickering of the wood-burner. When it became clear Robert was not going to add any more she inhaled through her nose and asked the obvious question.

“What isn’t for sensitive ears, Robert? And since when was Francesca sensitive? Judging by some of the stories she told on that hen do you made me go on she could give Frankie Boyle a run for his money.”

“I have no idea who Frankie Boy is…”

“…Boyle.”

“And I don’t appreciate being interrupted, thank you.”

“Robert you’re my brother, not my father.” Claire fought against the teenager she could feel rising within and lost. “Just spit out whatever stupid reason you have for calling and get out of my head, I’m trying to work.”

“Ha! Work. Is that what you’re calling it? Debauching with strangers, singing and dancing drunk in a bar, hanging upside-down from trees flashing your flesh for the world to see. It is not what I would call work. Nor is it the behaviour I expect from a member of my family. I have a position to uphold and you posting half-naked pictures of yourself across the Web – on LinkedIn! – is the outside of enough.”

Claire hit mute on the phone halfway through her brother’s rant so she could laugh without restraint. Tears streamed down her face. She was hiccupping with mirth when he finished and she was forced to turn the sound back on. In her mind she saw the picture that had got her brother so upset. The one Josh had taken of her the day before on their double hike of Hadrian’s Wall. After Josh had climbed the wall and posed for the camera she had found herself needing to go one better. School-girl gymnastics came to her aid and she’d managed to shimmy up the sycamore tree and hang from one of the branches like it was an A-Symmetric bar. Her coat had obeyed the laws of gravity and she recalled a few inches of frozen flesh creeping out into the chill winter’s day.

Eventually Claire stopped snorting tears and managed to compose herself enough to respond to her brother. She could imagine his increasing wrath at her laughter but that only whipped the flames hotter.

“Is that why you called? To tell me off like a first year caught skiving class? I had a hard enough time following in your prim and prudish footsteps at school Robert. You are not going to rule my life from Geneva. If my blog offends you don’t read it. Who, besides you, is going to know we are related? My name isn’t even on the blog.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies. What the hell does Sally’s Cat mean as an author’s name anyway? Mother tells me this is your job now and that you’ve left AJC. Sounds like a suicidal career move to me.”

“I’m amazed Mum got even that much right for all she listened while I was there. I haven’t left AJC, they’re still paying me my normal salary. Not that it’s any business of yours. I am working on an assignment to promote healthy living on behalf of the YHA and Coca Cola. If I’m managing to have a bit of fun while I do it it’s more than you’ve ever managed in your entire Head Boy career.”

She heard the rush of air as her brother sucked his breath in through his teeth. Her mouth spread wide in an unholy grin. She loved getting under Robert’s skin. It was so easy yet so very satisfying. She waited for him to speak, picturing his face contorting as he tried to respond without swearing.

“If you have nothing else to add Robert I’ll say goodbye. My blog isn’t going to write itself. I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to go to Gaol or down a Lead Mine to explore the locality. I’ll be sure to keep my clothes on either way. It is winter here after all.”

Robert muttered a barely-civil farewell and hung up the phone.

Well if I’ve managed to irritate Robert I must be doing something right.

Claire closed down her blank blog page and brought up “Things to do in Ninebanks”. Mentally she reworded it “Things to annoy your eldest sibling”.

That shouldn’t be hard.

***