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“We should swap numbers and set up a playdate for the boys,” she suggests.
It’s so weird. I’ve never arranged playdates before, but being with Louis, I should do my bit to fit into his world, even if it is on the fringes.
“Sure. That would be nice.” It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend who’s with a guy in the club.
We swap numbers and say our goodbyes. Maybe the school run won’t be so lonely in the future after all.
Stepping out of the school gates, I ask Thomas, “How was your day?”
“Good.”
“What did you learn?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, so I walk you all the way to school for you not to learn anything? You must’ve done some work today?”
Coming to a stop at the crossing, he pushes the button.
“This morning, we did phonics, and after lunch, we did art.”
“What did you draw?”
“Louis’s motorcycle,” he boasts. “I’ll show you when we get home. It’s in my backpack.”
When the green man lights up, we cross the road and head for the park. Another rain drop hits my forehead, but instead of picking up our pace and getting home before the heavens open up, I decide to show him there are other ways of having fun.
“You know, you’ve got to be twenty-five to ride a motorcycle.”
“That’s so old, Mum,” he moans, making me laugh.
“Those are the rules, I’m afraid.”
The rain begins to fall in sheets. It doesn’t matter if we run home at this point, as we’ll be soaked through before we make it to the other side of the park.
“No one’s on the swings today,” I say.
He looks at me as if I’m stupid. “’Cause it’s raining, Mum.”
“Who cares?”
For over an hour, the rain doesn’t dampen our fun. Through the soaked clothes, and the chill starting to set deep into my bones, I would do it again, just to hear him laugh and see the joy on his face.
These are the moments that make all the crazy shit worth it, and easier to forget the last few months.
“Whatdo you want for dinner?” I ask Thomas as he colours in his book at the kitchen table.
The washing machine spins with our wet clothes, and we’re snugly in our pyjamas. The sky flashes with lightning and thunder overhead. I love nights like this with the heating on, and the lamps offering a soft glow in each room. It’s just so cosy.
“Nuggets.”
“You finished those off yesterday. What else?”
“Sausages.”
That, I can do. I set to work peeling potatoes for a side when my mother lets herself in, blowing into the kitchen like an unexpected whirlwind. Shrugging out of her jacket, she hangs it on the back of the chair.
With a curt smile for me, I continue peeling the potatoes as she fully relaxes, directing her full attention to Thomas.
