Waiting and Boredom: 2013 365 Challenge #231

Medi-ted in case of injuries

I took the children to the Farm today to use up a few parenting hours and to return the favour to my husband for my morning off yesterday.

We turned up to find it was Teddy Bear’s Picnic weekend. For the first time in ages we didn’t have the kids’ bears in the car and no picnic (mouldy bread – bad housewife!) The same thing happened last year.

Luckily, as also happened last year, my rubbish tip of a car revealed two soft toys in its cluttered depths and we were saved the expense of having to buy one.

The lucky teddies got to bungy jump, raft across a pond to the pirates and even zip wire from the top of the Mill House.

Hiking Ted and Zippy bungy jumping

Despite a distinct lack of communication amongst the staff and plenty of (mostly) patient waiting it was a great day. I’ve noticed that we parents are worse at waiting than the children. I found myself tutting at the slowness of some of the events and I wasn’t the only one. Yet the Farm does the event for free and it’s done by enthusiastic Rangers whose normal duties run to horse grooming and pet feeding, not going up in a cherry picker to drop teddy after teddy on the end of a piece of elastic. (Though they looked like they were having fun!)

I wonder why, as parents, we tut at standing in line even if our children are happy? Do we need constant entertainment more than they do?

There’s a virtue in boredom, especially for children. Mine are at their most creative and cooperative when I refuse to get out of bed in the morning or I ignore them in the bath so I can read my book. I feel guilty, yet they happily invent a game involving a jug, some bubbles and the creation of poo pie (thankfully not real).

When I first met my husband, and for too many years afterwards I’m ashamed to admit, I would berate him for laziness for just sitting. Although he would assure me it was valuable thinking time I would chafe at it, having been brought up to see it as sloth. My father liked to be busy and ensured we all followed suit. If we weren’t vacuuming or sweeping we were idle.

Zipwire ted (look for the little dot in the middle!)

I can only rest if I’m reading. I rarely even walk the dog without writing my post as I am now. Yet I’ve discovered the importance of silence. I’ve learnt that the busy waters of my mind settle when left undisturbed, and deep thoughts rise from the depth.

For too long I worried about entertaining my children, making sure they had the right educational toys, the right activities, the right correcting input from me. Now I’ve learned they do better without all that. They fight less and make up quicker. They invent incredible games that only require a little advice from me (One at a time on the slide! After the third cracked head.)

I’ve been dreading school because Aaron will lose his partner in crime and I’ll be expected to fill the gap. But I’ve decided not to sweat it. He should also learn to sit and be at peace, to entertain himself, to be happy in his own company.

Meeting Baloo the bear

I used to think a first child got all the solitude, and never understood why I – as the second child – was happier in my own company than my sister. But now I think that, in the formative years from three to five, I was alone: my sister was at school for those three years. Whereas, for those formative years, my sister had me. Only a baby but company nonetheless. Someone to fetch and carry for, run around after, laugh with. Much as my daughter has had her brother, the never-ending playmate, and he only gets me. Poor sod.

Thankfully my daughter is pretty good by herself, though not often given the chance by an adoring brother. She will read stories, play with her dolls, make many colourful things out of pipe-cleaners and tissue paper. My son, so far, is not one for his own company.

Hopefully they’ll both learn new life skills when my daughter starts school in a few weeks. And Mummy can carry on reading her book!

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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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Claire gazed into the gloopy mud, mesmerised as much by the sound as the sight. It looked like a giant vat of simmering soup; grey and reeking of rotten eggs. She’d tried to be impressed by the walk through the geothermal reserve, but it really did stink. All around her, steam rose from patches of muddy water, like a never-ending bog of eternal stench.

The Pohutu Geyser had been impressive. Thirty feet of water shooting into the sky against a backdrop of blue and green, like a fountain on steroids. The effect was rather spoiled by the heaving mass of tourists all around. Even though she was one of them, it was hard not to hate the chattering crowd of picture-snapping visitors that cooed over the sights and exclaimed against the smell.

The seven days since she’d started the bus tour felt like a month. So many sights and activities crammed into each day, there wasn’t time to process them. She longed to sit still and let it all sink in. Trying to absorb all the new experiences was like trying to memorise the phone book. Lovely as it was to squeeze the whole country’s key attractions into a few weeks, she wondered if maybe less was more.

A trilling noise from her pocket pulled her attention away from the hypnotic mud. She tried to calculate what time it was back in the UK, hoping it might be another text from Conor. Now and then over the last few days she’d found herself texting him the odd snippet from her travels; as if telling one person about them, as opposed to entertaining hundreds through the blog, made it more real.

Claire as you have not responded to my counter offer in the last fortnight I have to assume you are declining it. I must say I am disappointed and I think you’re making a mistake. I require the return of your laptop, phone and car. Julia will deal with the details. Carl.

Claire leant back against the railing and processed the words. Any temptation to accept the counter offer had evaporated with her fight with Kim and the subsequent need to get away and find a new future. Still, hearing that particular door clang shut unnerved her. What if Conor also rescinded on the job offer, while she gallivanted around expensive tourist haunts twelve-thousand miles away? She’d already failed to get funding from Roger. One by one the options evaporated, leaving her stranded.

My car too. My little Skoda. I can’t believe they’re going to take that back. It will probably end in a scrap yard.

In desperation, Claire tapped out a response to Carl, trying to buy herself some time.

Apologies for the lack of communication, I have been forced to take an unforeseen leave of absence. Would appreciate having the option to purchase the car from you at a reasonable cost. Will be in touch when I return to the UK. Claire.

She hit send, wondering if Carl had a single cell of goodness in him, or whether he would now have the car scrapped just to spite her.

At least I swapped phones already and had the sense to make sure the blog is in my name.

It was small comfort. Despite the heat emanating from the steaming pools, Claire pulled her jacket tighter and longed for a Starbucks.

***

Pretty Dog, Waggy Tail: 2013 365 Challenge #217

My beautiful girl

We’ve had a crazy weekend. Apologies if the Claire posts have been short: I should have done some writing prep last nursery day, instead of re-doing my website. Hindsight is a wonderful thing!

Saturday wasn’t meant to be so manic. (Can’t even remember what we did Friday, except we went swimming quite late!) Anyway, for Saturday I wanted something to fill the morning, to stop little man getting too excited about a birthday party at 3pm. So we took our dog, Kara, to our local Farm, for a kids’ dog show. A bit of a laugh, because she’s not trained and is quite scruffy. We didn’t even brush her, though she’d had a bath after rolling in fox poo!

When we arrived at the Farm, there were dogs everywhere. It was like taking Kara to a social. Lovely. We entered her for Prettiest Girl (Prettiest Bitch, but we reworded it for our under-fives!) and Waggiest Tail. Thanks to a marvellous body harness, the kids were able to walk her round, despite her weighing twice what they do. She was amazing! She didn’t jump or pull or try to play too much. Thankfully we’ve taken her to the Farm a couple of times before, so the goats and cows and bunnies didn’t distract her.

I held the lead with my daughter for the Prettiest Girl. And Kara won! I couldn’t believe it. We won a free grooming session with a mobile grooming parlour called Dapper Dogs. (I did wonder if she won because she’s the dog that most looked like she needed a free groom! Hehe). I got the impression that some of the more serious entrants were a bit put out by our victory. But it was a Kids’ Show. There were only a couple of child handlers there, so that many have helped too.

Isn’t she pretty? 🙂

Then we entered Waggiest Tail, and my husband let our son hold the lead by himself. Which of course produced tears from my daughter. So we entered her for Best Young Handler. Kara came second in Waggiest Tail (I’m not sure she had the waggiest, but she was certainly the happiest dog!) I was a bit embarrassed by that point.

Then we went on to Best Young Handler. I stayed in the ring, in case of emergencies, but my four-year-old daughter walked our 28kg Labradoodle round the ring by herself with ease. She had a piece of cheese in her hand and every time Kara got distracted, she waved it in front of her nose. I was the proudest Mummy/Dog Owner in the world! She came second (I thought she should have won!)

Of course then we had to stay for Best in Show (despite needing to leave because of the toddler party). I knew we wouldn’t win, because the judges were two of the people I talk to most when we visit the Farm. They couldn’t give us anything really. Just as well, because I think my daughter was starting to feel invincible and kept saying, “This is just too easy!”

It was a great experience. I felt bad, because our untrained scruffy dog shouldn’t have beaten the other beautifully trained, beautifully groomed pedigrees. That said, it wasn’t our dog that started a scrap in the Prettiest Girl competition, or growled at the other dogs. She was on her best behaviour and even remembering it makes my heart swell with pride. Well worth the exhaustion that had us like zombies yesterday! It just goes to show, you have to be in it to win it! 🙂

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Claire read the email and felt the blood seep from her face. The glimmer of light that she’d been following for four crazy days fizzled out and left her in darkness. She read the words again, hoping to see a different meaning the second time.

Claire

Many thanks for your email indicating that you would like to accept my proposal of writing a column on the hostels of New Zealand. Unfortunately we have had a rethink and now feel this is not the most appropriate time to run the story. Our readers are considering holidays in hot countries and, as it is winter in New Zealand, it is unlikely to appeal to them.

Please do feel free to submit to us any articles that you produce and we will, of course, consider them alongside our other freelance writers.

I’m sorry I cannot be of more assistance in this case. Enjoy your stay in New Zealand, I understand it to be a beautiful country.

Regards

Roger

“Bastard.”

Claire felt the blood rush back to her face in anger, and then in mortification as she realised several people had turned round at her outburst. She ducked her head and fought the tears welling up her throat.

It’s only been a fortnight since I told him I couldn’t do it. How can he have changed his mind in a fortnight? And now what the hell am I going to do.

She thought about the price of her airfare, about the opportunities she’d given up by leaving the country without talking to Carl or Conor. I could be sitting on a beach in the Maldives, instead of stuck in this stupid hostel spending even more cash on food.

That was the big surprise. Claire had thought it would be cheap, travelling in New Zealand. But it was just as expensive as the UK, except now Carl wasn’t paying her bills.

So far she’d only left the supersized hostel to buy tea and milk. There wasn’t much need to go anywhere else, with the lounge and the bar on site.

I’m getting over my jet lag. That’s all.

When she had ventured outside, she’d felt like a child visiting New York for the first time, gazing up at the skyscrapers and blocking her ears against the noise. She knew Auckland was the largest city in New Zealand, but somehow she hadn’t expected it to feel like a city. The hostel was full of posters of things to see and do, like jump off the Sky Tower, or visit the harbour. Just seeing the posters made her want to hide under her duvet.

I need a hut on a beach and some peace and quiet. The sooner I get out of here the better. But how to do that, with no car? She felt immobilised by her lack of transport. I never thought I’d miss my little Skoda.

Her trip to the visitor information had been even more overwhelming: So many young people who knew what they wanted to do, from hitch-hiking or biking round the country to catching a lift with a stranger going in their direction. There was information on getting a job, on jumping off high places and swimming with large animals. Nothing that says, ‘Hey, new scared person, this option’s for you.’

Claire thought about her words. Am I scared? Really. After everything that’s happened this year. She sat up straighter in her seat, and looked again at the people around her. Seems like I have two choices. Make some friends or make a plan.

A thought tugged at Claire’s memory. Something she felt she had been told, or read about. Something important. Closing her eyes, Claire inhaled deeply and tried not to concentrate on the memory. At last it bubbled to the surface. A bar. A Kiwi. A driver. Of course! The Magic Bus.

Claire shut her iPad case and got to her feet. Friends, that was tough. She didn’t have a good record with friends. But now, at least, she had a plan.

***

Why I love Walking the Dog: 2013 365 Challenge #215

Gorgeous summer evening

As I wrote this post on my phone I thought I’d list the reasons why I love walking the dog.

1. Me time. Time to write my blog (like now). Time to get to the end of a thought uninterrupted. Life slows down.

When the kids have been chattering all day or we’ve been for a sensory-overload swim (like tonight, with the excitement of my 4yo daughter learning to dive, do underwater rolls and swim on her back all in one session), the fields are a balm to my nerves. All I can hear is the cry of the kites and the whisper of the wind through the ripe oilseed rape. It sounds like the sea.

2. Seasons. It’s too easy to ignore the changing of the seasons, but walking the same field every day I see the trees both bare and decked in green, the fields yellow with wheat or brown with ploughed soil. It reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins, particularly my favourite poem The Windhover. The penultimate line is: “Sheer plod makes plough down sillion | shine”.

The stream, willowbrook

3. Senses. Walking through the fields awakens the senses: Not just sight, but the touch of wind on my skin, or even the stench of the sewage works we walk past. In the autumn there are blackberries to taste, and always the sounds of the insects, the kites, the river, even the planes, cars, children laughing, the goat head-butting its shed, sheep bleating and an endless chorus of bird calls.

4. Weather. Hot winds, icy winds, snow, rain, hail, thunder, muggy heat, cool evening breeze, hot sunny days buzzing with flies. Twenty minutes of weather to keep me grounded and help me with my writing (many Claire posts feature the day’s weather.)

5. Community. Like going to the park with my kids, I meet fellow dog walkers some evenings. Our dogs play and we chat about the weather (we’re British, what else). As with the parents in the par,k I only know the names of the little ones, but we’re still friends. I wave if I see them in town. For someone who doesn’t have many friends and finds it hard to socialise, my dog gives me a sense of belonging.

6. Nature. I’ve seen rabbits, hares, foxes, deer, muntjacs, water voles, fish, kites, swallows, swooping starlings, ducks, herons, swans. The best of British wildlife can be seen round this one field.

Kara in the river

7. Vicarious pleasure. Right now Kara is running through the grass, tongue lolling, tail wagging. She’ll jump in the river for sticks or chase (but never catch) wild bunnies. And the whole time she’s grinning.

She runs to feel the wind in her ears and the ground beneath her paws. At home she’s often nervous, anxious, worried. She gets told off for being a dog, for barking at the postman or jumping on the kids. Out here she can be herself (within reason – I do try to prevent her rolling in fox poo, although I failed this evening!). She trots along like a winning entrant at Crufts and it’s her time to shine.

8. Sunsets. I know that’s also weather, but it deserves a separate category. The sun is currently shining on our house like the fingers of God, and the sky is every colour of blue, indigo, violet. I’ve tried many times to paint it, but Nature is a better artist than me.

Our house is in the middle

9. Exercise. Even though I run after the kids all day, I don’t get enough exercise. Actually, walking at the slow pace I need to to write this blog probably isn’t making much difference, but it gets the legs moving. Since damaging my knee rowing last year it’s all I’m up to.

10. Home. I can see my house for the whole walk. Even on the 45 minute one I can see it most of the time. These are my fields (well, they’re not, thankfully. It’s a hard life being a farmer). I grew up three miles away. I love my house, my village, my family, my landscape. It’s quiet and placid and it suits me perfectly.

I miss the mountains and oceans of former homes, former lives, but this one fits me like a comfortable pair of shoes. And when the late evening sun hits the trees and fields just so, like now, it’s the most beautiful place on Earth.

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“Excuse me, Ma’am, have you used these in the last six months?”

Claire peered at the man behind the desk and tried to make sense of the question.

“Um. Yes? They’re hiking boots. There wouldn’t be much point having them if I didn’t use them. They’re bloody heavy for a start.” The words spilled from her mouth unchecked, and she flushed. Great, now the guy’s going to get arsey. Just let me through, for pity’s sake. She waited for the man to frown, or tell her off. Instead he grinned.

“Sorry, I know: it’s crazy as. I have to ask. They’ll need disinfecting before you can have them back.”

“You’re confiscating my boots because they’re muddy?” Claire frowned. “They’re boots; they’re meant to be dirty.”

The man laughed, not unkindly. “It’s to stop the nasties getting in. They sprayed the plane too, right?”

Claire stared at the man and slowly shook her head. “I must have been asleep.”

“Ah, that’d explain it. Well, no worries, we’ll have these back in a jiffy. You just sit tight and someone will shout when they’re done.”

He gestured to a row of plastic seats and Claire had to bite down a stream of swearwords threatening to spill forth. I’ve been sitting for two days. I want a shower, a cup of tea in a proper mug, and a bed. To myself. She stomped to the seat and perched on the edge, trying not to dwell on the humiliation of waking up nestled against Darren’s shoulder, or the image of the small patch of drool she’d left on his top.

An hour later the same charming Kiwi called her name and handed her a bag containing her germ-free boots, with a smiling, “Cheers!”

Claire couldn’t help smiling back. “At least they’re clean. Thanks.”

“No worries.” The man gave a nod, and turned back to his work.

The smile was still in place as Claire headed out to find the bus meant to take her into Auckland and the central backpackers. She had no sense of what time it was, but the air felt warm and a hazy sun was visible above the airport buildings. Somewhere in her muffled thoughts was the idea that she should stay awake until nearer bedtime, to beat the jet lag.

Bugger that.

Claire felt like she’d seen most of Auckland by the time the minibus dropped her outside the central hostel. She’d decided to stay for a couple of nights, largely because there was a bar on site, meaning she could eat and sleep for a day or two without effort. There had been too much time to think, on the flight, with only abridged movies and cardboard food to distract her. She was desperate for the blank bliss of proper horizontal sleep.

I guess I should get in touch with Roger, tell him I seem to have taken him up on his offer. It didn’t seem that important, now she was here. Maybe I can just have a holiday.

Reaching her room, Claire forced her limbs to walk the extra steps to a free bed by the window, grateful there were no bunks to climb. Through the glass she could hear the sound of a jack hammer in the street below, throbbing in time with the headache that had plagued her since Singapore. She hoped the noise wouldn’t keep her awake.

Stopping only to drop the rucksack off her shoulders and chuck her purse on the bed, Claire fell forwards and lost herself to oblivion.

***

Mogs, Dogs & Neds, Guineas, Goats & Chucks; All Purrfect Pets! (therealmrsball.wordpress.com)
Is It Cruel Not to Walk Your Dog? (humanrescuesdog.com)
EASY DAY, JUST WALKED THE DOG! (106/365) Wheat Belly Diet (4/30) Total KM (85/150) (curtislee1987.wordpress.com)

Fewer Beans: 2013 365 Challenge #203

The Time You Have (In JellyBeans)

A while ago someone posted a great video on Facebook to do with how we spend our lives. They took 28,835 jelly beans and showed how many of them we spend on sleeping, eating, watching TV.

The message is that there aren’t many beans left for the important things, and to use your beans wisely. It’s a vivid message and I’m glad I watched it (I rarely watch videos on facebook or blogs because I get too much screen time and prefer the written word for my downtime).

What made the beans message stick, however, was a comment hubbie’s Aunt left on the post, when I shared it. She said that’s why she feels guilty when she doesn’t walk the dog, because dogs have fewer beans. That phrase has wedged firmly in my mind.

Our little Kara as a puppy

Our poor dog spends much of her life trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. Mostly it’s me telling her to lie down and relax even though I’m rushing round the house and she thinks she needs to keep me company (we got her as a puppy when I was heavily pregnant and I called her to me a lot, to make sure she wasn’t chewing anything, so she thinks her job is to follow me round like a ghost.)

Or the kids will send her away before calling her back a dozen times and then complain when she accidentally whacks them with her tail.

Labradoodles are smart dogs (and get easily bored, unfortunately). Ours can count: when there are two adults minding the children she immediately asks for a walk because she knows that’s when it can happen. So then she gets told off for being clever, and for (rightly) reminding us she hasn’t been out. When I’m working at home I have to close my laptop quietly if I get up to make tea because, if I shut it with a snap, she jumps up thinking it is time for her walk. The same goes for coming downstairs in a jumper, or saying “Right!” (all cues she recognises. And for goodness sake never say “Daddy’s home!” unless you want to unleash chaos.)

Lady of the manor!

She gets told off for begging while the kids have their tea, then is fed scraps from the table. She’s allowed to chase rabbits in the fields but not the bunnies at the farm. She’s allowed to dance with Mummy but not to jump up at strangers. And often, when the kids are finally in bed, and she gets her fifteen minutes of quality bean time, the last thing I feel like doing is taking her for a walk.

But, even before my Aunt-in-law’s comment, I made a commitment to walk her every day. I don’t always manage it, and it’s usually the same boring walk (she hates the car). But now I do it willingly. Partly because it means I can tap out my daily blog in my phone, as I’m doing now. And partly because I hear in my head all the time, “She has fewer beans”.

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Claire scrawled her name in the ‘out’ section of the visitor book and turned to face the man who had come to escort her from the building. Conor reached out to shake Claire’s hand and there was a flicker of a wink and the suggestion of a smile. His hand felt warm and smooth in hers and she was surprised to discover his eyes shone like green glass. Sensing her scrutiny, the man laughed, revealing unnaturally white teeth.

“See anything you like?”

Aware of the blush rushing up her neck, Claire dropped her gaze down to her bag on the pretence of searching for her keys, letting her heavy hair fall over her face.

Clearly one for the ladies, she decided. Mr Cheeky was right. Or maybe Mr Smarmy. In no danger of falling for his charm she was, nonetheless, grateful for his support throughout her ordeal.

Jason, or Mr Mean, as she preferred to think of him, had earned his moniker during the hour-long interrogation. Everything from her marketing qualifications (limited), tourism credentials (non-existent), Myers-Briggs profile (forgotten), reason for changing jobs (undisclosed) and recent history (blagged) had been torn apart and challenged.

The remaining individuals had thrown out one question each on cue but Claire surmised that they were there for aggrandizement purposes only. Except Conor, head of marketing and business development and her potential line manager. His questions had been thorough and relevant and sometimes too acute for comfort. It seemed, like now, that he liked to put her on the spot to see how much he could make her blush.

“Thank you for showing me out.” Claire flicked her hair away and shone her coolest smile. No need to give a man like that encouragement.

“It was my pleasure.”

Claire shivered. Even the most innocent statement sounded like a come-on. His words lit an unexpected fire in her belly, and she gritted her teeth. Glaring at him through narrowed eyes, Claire turned and headed for the door.

“Wait!”

Claire looked back, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t you want to know what happens next?”

The eyebrows shot up further. “What happens next? Jason interviews a man, who clearly will be more suited for the role, and I carry on with my life?”

Conor frowned at her words. “Is that what you think? That he gave you a hard time because you’re a woman? And I thought you were smart.”

She turned again and didn’t stop when he called for her to wait a second time. She heard his footsteps as he strode after her and fell in step with her as she walked across the small car park. She stopped before she got to the Skoda, some part of her unwilling to give the man more ammunition.

Facing him, she waited for him to speak.

“He gave you a hard time because you’re by far the best candidate for the role, and if something looks too good to be true it usually is.”

Claire felt a pulse throb in her temples. How long had it been since anyone told her she was good at something? She couldn’t remember.

“If I have my way, he’ll hire you. We need someone like you to bring some life to the company.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair, as if unsure of what to say. “Look, I’m sorry you had a tough time. You have to understand, this is a new organisation. There’s a limited budget and no strategy. But I see huge potential. Jason, Tim, and the others, they’re public sector workers. They came over from the Council to set up this venture. They’re bean counters, regulation enforcers.”

Taking a breath, Conor rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, except you’re the only person to walk in here and get what we’re trying to achieve. Purbeck is an amazing part of the country, with beaches to rival the Continent. But people came here as children, and stayed in caravans with their gran. They see it as old-fashioned, out-dated. It needs an injection of life, of world experience, to show people what it can be. Look at Swanage. I came here when I was a kid. There was life. Now it’s practically an old-people’s home. We need you.”

Claire looked round the car park, unsure what to think. Conor’s passion surprised her. She had taken him to be a salesman, in for the quick buck.

“I need time to think about it. Besides, I’m not sure you’re right. Jason didn’t strike me as the type to take a chance on someone.”

“He’ll come round, leave it to me.”

He gave her a grin that made him look about twelve, then, with a half-wave, he headed back into the building.

Claire stood for a while, deep in thought. When she was sure he was gone, she paced to the Skoda and hid herself inside.

***

Sticky June: 2013 365 Challenge #173

Summer skies

Trying to write my Claire post today, it was hard to remember what the weather was like back in April.

It’s hot and humid here, with a promise of summer storms. I thought; What I need is a seasons dictionary, like the emotion thesaurus. So today’s post is dedicated to a freewrite on June in all its sticky glory. It is the summer equinox after all.

By the way, I reserve my copyright to the idea of a seasons dictionary, if it doesn’t exist already! Ha ha.

Seasons. June

Sticky with life, the hedgerows spill over with nettles and cow parsley, messy and exuberant. Yellow oil seed rape paints every field in luminous colour. The sky, high and hot, is the hue of murky water after a watercolour is finished. Clouds promise rain. Bees buzz in a range of pitches, their busy sound adding to the heat and exhaustion. Trees heavy with leaves, their glory days of spring colour over.

A sense of waiting. Waiting for the storm, humidity rising. Sticky sweat trickling down into the bra and between the shoulder blades. Children hot and cranky or laughing too loudly as they run through the fountains or play in the water.

Dog pants, running slow and heavy-footed. Pheasants call their two-noted cry in the distance while, nearby, the intermittent song of the sparrow, blackbird and thrush fills the silence. The brash beep beep of a reversing tractor cuts through the peace, a reminder that, somewhere, despite the heat, people are working hard. Flies swim and swoop in the heavy air, irritating the skin and blocking the way.

The ground is hard beneath my boots, waiting for the rain. My steps startle a bird and it flies abruptly from the undergrowth, the wing-beats quick and loud in the air. Sheep sit motionless, even their short shorn locks too hot for comfort.

Trees heavy with leaves

Everywhere abundant life, busy and quiet, eager and waiting, living, growing. Winter a distant memory, but an ever present threat. Grow, now, while there’s sunlight, warmth and water. Grow and keep growing.

The pods hang on the oil seed rape plants. Soon the flowers will blacken and die. The plants will die and yield their crop. The corn is still green. Farmers hope for a better harvest. One not drowned by relentless rain. Thinking the words seems to bring the promised downpour. Heavy drops splat into dry soil & sizzle on hot skin. One drop, two.

Footsteps quicken, heading for home and shelter. The dog wants to stay in the river, in the cool. Home now. Your coat is waterproof, mine is not. That smell of rain, wet dust and the scent of flowers as the drops release their fragrance. A breeze comes with the rain, cooling sticky skin. The rain is fresh. Footsteps slow. Let it rain.

Remember the washing on the line and speed up again.

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Claire drove past the sign and smiled. “At last, I’ve left the country! What a shame it’s only the border from England to Wales, rather than, say, France into Spain.”

The small sign with the red dragon was the only way Claire knew she had crossed into Wales. The road wound on ahead of her, just the same as she had been driving on since leaving the hostel. Welsh countryside stretched around her in a myriad of green hues. Her destination was Brecon, the namesake town of the Brecon Beacons that nestled at their foot. Claire had skimmed through the town’s website before leaving Kington, and had decided it would be the perfect place for lunch.

Before long, Claire could see the spire of the Norman Cathedral heralding her approach into town. She checked her phone: There was just time for a wander before her appointment at the Llangorse Activity Centre.

Claire experimented with the unfamiliar Welsh word, putting her tongue to the roof of her mouth in an attempt to repeat the clu of the Ll sound. After three or four attempts she decided to make sure there was no need to ask for directions.

Gazing around her at the pretty shop fronts and historic buildings that made up Brecon, Claire realised she was trying not to dwell on her afternoon activity.

Come on, Claire, don’t be such a baby. You’ve done this a few times now. It keeps the lovely Jules off your back and provides plenty for the blog in the way of high-adrenalin activity.

She shivered and felt an ache in her tummy, a sensation she realised brought with it a memory of Josh.

Claire closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and stepped forwards.

“That’s it, Claire. Well done. Try opening your eyes, the view is amazing.” The deep voice ended in a chuckle, as Claire’s face remained scrunched up.

Wind whistled past her face, brushing tendrils of hair away from her sweaty brow. Prising open one eyelid a fraction, Claire looked ahead. Some way beneath her, approaching fast, was a wooden platform with several people standing on it. Behind it she could see the blur of blue that indicated the presence of the lake, and two more wires zagging off to the right and down the hill.

Blood pumped in her ears, blocking out the whoosh of the wind and the cheers of encouragement from below. Despite her closed lids, perhaps through a change in the air, Claire sensed something looming up ahead. Before she could open her eyes, tree branches surrounded her face and she slid to a halt. Hands reached out to unclip her from the wire, before leading her forwards to clip her onto the next one.

Not again. Claire had done one zip wire before, as part of the Tree Trek. One was a challenge, for someone terrified of heights.

“How many have I got left to do?” Claire could hear the wobble in her voice. Get a grip, girl.

“You’re on your third, so you’ve still got a dozen left. Awesome, right?” Claire felt the enthusiasm emanating from the guide in waves, and resisted the urge to push him off the platform to the ground 20 feet below.

Swallowing the metallic taste in her mouth, Claire nodded feebly and managed one more nod when the guide gave the signal to ask if she was ready to go again.

Yes, go on, get it over with.

Scrunching her eyes shut once more, Claire felt the platform fall away behind her, and let gravity do the rest.

***

The Wonder of Sleep: 2013 365 Challenge #166

Walking the dog

Life has been good recently.

With an extra half day of childcare to get on top of the housework, and lots of lovely feedback on my next book, I’ve been feeling unusual sensations: Confidence. Enjoyment.

The sun has been shining and it felt like summer in my heart, if not always outside the front door.

Then I started to struggle with sleep. And the school debate reared its head, so the sleep got worse. Now, for three nights in a row (at least, I’ve lost count) I’ve been woken every two hours, and everything’s gone to pot.

Spot the dog!

Last night I went to bed on a large glass of wine, hoping to sleep through. All it meant was the two-hour shifts of sleep left me groggy and unable to get up. I broke. Low and behold, my life reverted to what it was before. Crying before breakfast, shouting before morning snack. Unable to concentrate, unable to smile.

My family are amazing. Hubbie and kids were full of sympathy and cuddles. When I sobbed in Tesco because my Clubcard vouchers had expired, Amber said, “It’s alright Mummy,” before I’d even managed to apologise. I think maybe seeing the difference for themselves, seeing that it isn’t just words when I say, “Sorry, Mummy’s tired,” has made them take the tears and shouting less to heart.

Enjoying the evening sun

Doesn’t stop them being little monkeys of course but you can’t expect miracles from preschoolers.

So now I’m yawning and stumbling my way round the field with the dog, trying to smile at the sun but really praying for bedtime and a night where my lovely family don’t take it in turns to wake me.

On the plus side, I didn’t cry when I got back to the car this afternoon, with two tired and cranky kids, to find a scribbled note under the wiper that said, “You have a flat tyre.” I didn’t shout at hubbie when I rang him and he said, “Oh yes, that went flat when I borrowed your car last week, just pump it up, it’ll be fine.”

There’s something to be proud of on the darkest of days. Night night.

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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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“This isn’t a trek; this is just taking the bloody thing for a walk.” Claire looked up at the creature trying to eat her hat. “Cut it out!” The llama smirked at her down its long nose, and chewed insolently.

Claire caught sight of Maggie, her expression somewhere between amusement and disapproval. She held her finger to her lips and Claire looked round guiltily, realising there were children in earshot.

She tugged on the lead and the animal trotted on behind her, like the twisted off-spring of a dog and a giraffe.

The children laughed and giggled, as they walked the llamas along the country lane. At the front, a guide chatted about the local plant and animal life, although the children paid little attention. Maggie paused to let Claire catch up.

“Not what you were expecting?”

“Well, no. I went pony trekking in the New Forest. I was on the pony, not pulling it along behind me.”

“This is for the children, not you! They’re only 8 and 9 years old. Grooming and walking a llama is just their level. Plus we don’t have to worry about the health and safety paperwork if one of them were to fall off! Anyway, the fun comes later.” She threw a cheeky glance at Claire, who felt a heavy feeling in her stomach.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because you were bored and wanted some company, some fun? Admit it, you’re having fun?”

Claire shook her head, her lip stuck out in a pout.

“Now you look like a nine-year-old.” The women laughed. “So, where to next, Claire?”

“Ironbridge Coalport, wherever that is.”

“Ah, that’s over in Shropshire. Lovely. Visit the Blist Hill Victorian Village, it will give you something different to write about on that website of yours. You can go for a ride in the horse and cart, if you’re tired of walking!”

With a nod, Claire tugged the lead of her llama and followed the giggling children back for lunch, wishing that Maggie could come with her to her next hostel. There was something infectious about the woman, something warm, that made her happy.

“Come on, Miss Carleton!”

Claire looked over her shoulder at the girl behind her and resisted the urge to swear. She gripped the rubber handles tightly in sweaty hands and willed her creaking knees to try harder. I will not lose to a nine-year old. She glanced over at the blonde-haired girl to her right, who was giggling so hard she didn’t hear the instruction to go.

Pulling hard on the handles, Claire bounced the space hopper along the grass towards the marker. Behind her she could hear her other team mates yelling and urging her on. Her thighs burned. I’m going to kill you, Maggie. She couldn’t see the woman, but she knew she was grinning, just as she had been when she volunteered Claire to take her place in the races.

I’ve seen her tramp along the road quicker than I could run. Playing the old-age card, so that I have to endure sack races and space hoppers: That’s just low. She scowled, but somewhere deep inside a sensation bubbled. Claire didn’t need to analyse it, she didn’t want to. Maggie would be too smug.

The feeling bubbled up higher, until the words were in her mind.

This is fun.

***

A Good Day: 2013 365 Challenge #156

Keep up brother

I had a great day with the kids today.

I think that has to be said, to off-set the bad days. If you’re going to be honest about your failures you have to celebrate the successes. This wasn’t a super-mum day full of craft and baking, but a good parenting day.

A good parenting day (for me) is when the kids have had three meals that would pass an Ofsted Inspection (the UK authority that grades nurseries and schools, and insists no chocolate in a packed lunch box).

A day when the proportion of outside time to TV is at least 2:1 (we had three hours in the park this morning and another hour this evening, including a bike ride).

Taking Baby Annabelle for a ride

A day when littlest Martin has slept (okay, so he weed on the sofa but that was my fault for letting him sleep past the hour in order to pack away the shopping delivery and play a bit with my daughter).

A day when I’ve talked to (and listened to) real live friends more than I’ve read blogs and Twitter.

A day with no tears and plenty of hugs and minimal shouting (no shouting is unrealistic for the sleep deprived).

A day that started with remembering to brush teeth and ended with finally getting both children’s hair washed (I won’t admit to how long it’s been because I honestly don’t know. I’m guessing swimming doesn’t count.)

And, finally, a day when I didn’t get cross with hubbie for arriving home an hour later than suggested by his ‘I’m leaving now’ text message. Even though he got mobbed by the kids and dog and had to disappear immediately for some quiet time. I’m managing to walk the dog while writing this and even remembered to shove dinner in the oven on the way out.

All in all a good day. Let’s mark this and remember.

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“Will you have a hen night, do you think?”

Claire looked over at Kim with one eye-brow raised, a forkful of pasta halfway to her mouth.

Kim shook her head, her mouth full of Carbonara. When she could speak, she said, “No, what’s the point? You’re the only real friend I have. If I go out with the theatre crew they’ll expect me to get wrecked, and I can’t exactly tell them why it’s orange juice all the way.”

“You haven’t told them you’re pregnant?” Claire’s voice rose in surprise.

Kim shook her head again, more emphatically. “Lord, no. Remember what I said, about the Director being less than impressed? He’s already made some smart comments about me laying off the cakes. If I tell him I’m pregnant he’ll give the role to the understudy.”

Kim’s face twisted, as if her pasta was suddenly soaked in lemon juice. “Silly, jumped-up cow, she’d just love that.”

The girls laughed, but Claire felt heat rising from her stomach. “I think it’s outrageous. If Carl tried to sack me because I fell pregnant, I could take him to court.”

“So, it’s okay to try and force you to resign by making your life miserable, but sacking you unfairly would be illegal?”

Claire gave a wry smile. “Trying to make me resign is illegal too. It’s called Constructive Dismissal.” At Kim’s searching look, Claire nodded. “Yes, I spoke to an employment lawyer. I wanted to know where I stood. I do have a case against him, but it comes at a cost.”

Kim tipped her head to one side in mute question, her mouth too full to talk.

“You get a reputation, if you rock the boat like that. And it’s an incestuous industry. Oh, no one would ever say anything, but it might make it harder to get another job, if word got out.”

“Really? Now, that’s outrageous.”

Both girls chewed their food and sat considering the difficulties of their separate careers.

“Makes you think our grannies had it right, when they stayed home to raise the kids.” Kim’s face was thoughtful, and Claire wasn’t sure if she was serious or not.

She has to be joking. Spending all day with nothing but a couple of ungrateful brats for company and no money to call my own? Reliant on a man to feed and clothe us all. No, thank you.

“What will you do, once you’re on maternity leave? I’m guessing you don’t get maternity pay?”

“I’m self-employed, so I get statutory. Which actually works out not far off the pittance I’m being paid currently. It will be tough, though. I wonder if I could make some money as a live model?” She struck a pose, and they both giggled. “Or maybe the baby will be cute, and I’ll get her registered with a model agency.”

“Her?” Somehow giving the baby a gender made it all too real.

“Hopefully. I have this strange feeling it’s a girl. We find out in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait.” Her face lit with excitement, and Claire had a strange sensation that her friend was slipping away from her.

We’ve lived completely separate lives; different schools, different careers. This isn’t going to change our friendship. It’s just another alternative life choice, that’s all. She’ll still be Kim, even when she’s a mother.

The words rang clear in Claire’s mind, but there was something about the look on her friend’s face that gave rise to doubt. Motherhood was such a definite thing. A school could be changed, a career-path altered. But, once you became a mother, that was something you were forever.

A shiver ran down Claire’s neck, and she put her fork down on her plate, no longer hungry.

***

Finding the Words for Wonder: 2013 365 Challenge #131

Walking Kara across the fields

Walking the dog is my escape and at the moment it’s a glorious one. The fields are full of oil seed rape, which normally gives me horrific hay-fever but this year doesn’t seem to be affecting me (famous last words!).

The trees are laden with blossom, which the wind drives down across the ground like snow. The trees are newly decked in summer glory in a hundred shades of green. The sun throws shadows across the hard ground as the branches dance in the breeze. Across the sky flocks of clouds skip and frolic like new-born lambs.

It makes me want to be poetic, lyrical. To write beautiful prose extolling the virtues of the British summer countryside. I search my sleep-deprived brain for words more succinct than “Wow”. They’re hard to find, in the foggy space that has become my interior landscape.

Beautiful British Countryside

It reminds me of when I was a second-year university student and I pulled all-nighters (sometimes all-weekers) surviving on Diet Coke, Marlboro Lights and Frosties (a sugar-laden cereal for the non-British readers). I’d stumble into our communal kitchen in our dingy, dirty, run-down mid-terrace, and pump my more-awake housemates for better language:

“What’s another way to say ‘Stalin was pissed off?'” or “What’s that word, you know, the one that means the um, whatdoyacallit, Army, er took over the, um, took over from the people in charge.” (The answer is Coup, if you understood the question).

Why is it that language is the first thing that goes when you’re tired? My children always say, “Mummy you’re tired,” or “Mummy, you’re all full up,” when I get their names muddled up. The irony is my mind is often at its most creative when I’m exhausted. If only I could find the words to describe it all.

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“How’s Sky? I hoped she’d be here. I miss her like a lost limb.” Ruth’s quiet voice filled the room.

“She’ll be in shortly. I rang Mum when you woke up. She’s missed you, too.” Claire watched Ruth’s complexion turn from deathly white to just pale and felt her own pulse steady in relief.

“Sounds like you guys had too much fun for her to want her boring old Mummy. Every time I spoke to her you were off somewhere new.”

Claire didn’t miss the bitterness in her sister’s voice. “That’s because I had no idea what else to do with her. I’m not good with kids like you. And the endless chatter and questions, my goodness it could drive a person loopy!” Claire stopped, realising it sounded too much like she was criticising her niece. A quick glance at Ruth’s face reassured her,.

“I know, it can be a bit relentless, especially in the holidays. That’s the problem when there isn’t another parent to share the load. I don’t mind too much, though. She’s good company.”

Claire thought about Ruth bringing Sky up alone; the bond they must share. It also brought to mind Sky’s meeting with her father in Norfolk. When the hell am I going to break that news to Ruth? Something must have shown in her face because Ruth tried to sit up, a frown creasing her translucent skin.

“What is it?”

Claire hesitated, not feeling comfortable lying to her sister but unsure how to get past the question. Ruth held her gaze, her eyes sparkling bright against her ashen face. As the tension stretched between them, Claire became aware of the chemical smell in the room from Ruth’s chemo, overlaid by the scent of perfume. The overhead light buzzed at the edge of hearing, as irritating as a fly.

Ruth inhaled and Claire tensed, waiting for the repeated question. A sound tip-tapped at the edge of her hearing and she recognised the rhythm of running footsteps. She turned to the door just as the handle rattled. All tension drained from the room as Claire jumped like a teenager watching a Stephen King movie.

“Mummy, Mummy.” Sky called through the door, trying unsuccessfully to release the handle. Claire stood to open the door, but relaxed back on the bed as it swung inward and Sky came barrelling into the room. Claire’s mother stood in the doorway, dark circles visible beneath her eyes in the lurid hospital lighting.

Poor Mum, she must be exhausted. I’ve only had Sky for ten days and I’m beat. She’s been looking after Ruth and Sky for weeks.

“Come and sit down, Mum.” Claire patted the bed next to her. It was the only free space in the room.

“Thank you, but I’m going to head back home and make sure your father is okay. Has Robert arrived yet?”

“Yes, a few hours ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see him, he was out there talking to the doctors.” She jerked her chin at the corridor behind her mother.

Her mother shook her head and shrugged. “Robert will be off somewhere finding out all the details I’ve missed.” Her voice was a mixture of rancour and relief. Robert had that effect on people.

Claire looked over to where Ruth and Sky lay cuddled together on the bed. She wondered if she could risk leaving them for long enough to take a shower and find a fresh outfit in the car. Unusually her mother seemed to sense the dilemma. Catching Claire’s gaze, she smiled wearily.

“Go on. Get cleaned up. I’ll stay for a while and make sure Sky doesn’t wear Ruth out.”

A lump pushed up into Claire’s throat and she swallowed hard against it. Not trusting herself to speak she stood up and headed for the door, rubbing her mother’s arm as she walked past.

Striding down the long white hallway, looking for the exit, Claire felt like someone searching for the way out of a labyrinth.

***

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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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:

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.

***