Page 6 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Can you pretend you didn’t hear that?’ he whispers, his body tensing up.
‘I’ve been called worse.’ I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. It is what it is. Just don’t call me by your bitch ex-wife’s name again and I’ll try not to call you Tom. I look him in the eye.
‘Can I also be a complete dweeb and keep my socks on?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘It’s February. I’m keeping mine on too.’
2
G, Can you do me a favour and check in on my mum? I’m in South America at the moment and she keeps forwarding me messages about cartels and how I can get beheaded and sold for my organs. Just go and have a cup of tea with her or something?
I’m passing through Venezuela and it’s frigging ace here. Like, the heat is filthy, I get through about ten T-shirts a day so I smell. I don’t think you’d fancy me much with my body odour. I’m digging the music here, there’s an amazing new-wave/Latin-reggae thing going on and there’s such an eclectic, cool vibe of people. Tell my mum it’s all good.
T x
I am not sure what this school form is for but I have to put my marital status on it. I thought this was about school lunches? Oh no, it’s vaccinations. I’m glad I didn’t write that we’re not keen on the chicken curry in the comments. It’s not even curry. It’s a stew, according to Cleo, and the rice is not to standard. I scan down the categories on the website. Well, I am widowed but also single. Where is that option? And yes, I am white but the kids are not. How do I put that in? I might just put us all under the ‘MIXED, OTHER’ bracket. It’s not half wrong.
‘Mummy, where are my shoes?’ Maya asks me. She’s dressed herself this morning so the tights sit in ripples around her ankles where she’s not pulled them up properly. She also has crusty bits of milk or possibly drool around the sides of her mouth.
‘By the back door. I gave them a good clean and brush last night.’
Maya walked through dog poo yesterday on the way home, which made for an eventful moment when I was crouched on a grass verge trying to clean her shoes in the rain. There is a special place in hell for people who let their dogs crap within a hundred metres of a school. She hugs my midriff and goes off to find her shoes. This is Maya’s first year in school but she’s a summer baby so she’s always felt tiny, especially because she scampers everywhere like a gnome. I notice she has handfuls of toast crusts in her palms.
‘Where are they going?’ I ask her.
‘For the birdies. Grandpa says the birdies and the squirrels like them,’ she tells me. I smile. Dad did say that and, with Maya so desperate for a pet, this seemed like a good way to attract wildlife. That said, knowing Maya it’ll probably attract an urban fox that she’d try and domesticate. I’d most likely find it tucked up in a laundry basket one day and he’d then eat my face. I watch as she puts on her coat and shoes and skips out onto the grass, throwing bread in the air and calling out for birds to come get their breakfast, looking confused that they don’t descend from the sky immediately.
Distracted by the doorbell, I leave the littlest to make her bird friends. I sneak my head into the living room to see if Cleo is ready. Of course she isn’t. This one is two years older than her sister so has a more relaxed take on her mornings, thinking the time constraints suddenly don’t apply to her. She likes a leisurely piece of toast with her cartoons and to recline on a sofa with her hand propping up the side of her head.
‘Half an hour until we leave…’ I say, clapping. ‘Chop-chop…’
‘Hmmm…’ she replies. ‘I never get why you say that. It sounds violent. Like if I’m not quick then you’re going to chop my head off.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t but I don’t know what the school may do…’
‘Someone’s at the door.’
‘I know.’
I go to answer it, clearing the mail from the doormat, and the person behind steps over the threshold animatedly. I hope I know this person otherwise Hermes are getting an angry email.
‘Grace! Oh my! Come here!’
I hug back tightly, smiling broadly.
‘Joyce. What on earth are you doing here? It’s eight in the morning.’
‘Best time of day, roads are empty.’ She stands back to study my face and then looks over my shoulder as Cleo cranes her head around the door.
‘Aunty Joyce! Hello!’
‘Oh… Cleo, come here and give me a cuddle. Look at you! Why aren’t you ready for school?’
‘She’s easing into the day,’ I reply. Cleo comes over and hugs her tightly.
‘Where’s Maya?’ Joyce asks.
‘Outside, trying to persuade birds to be her friends.’
