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‘It’s peas, Poppy. Not ruddy cyanide. She’s been raging for a full twenty minutes!’ I rub my forehead. ‘I’ve tried all the techniques. Empathy. Listening. Just being there. Nothing’s working! I almost want to go in and apologise for trying to nourish my child but that’s obviously ridiculous. So instead I’m running her a bath.’
Suddenly a loud sniff comes from just outside the bathroom door. Then a toe, a knee and eventually Lila’s sullen face appear.
‘Here she is!’ Poppy enthuses.
Lila pads over to me and clings to my knees. ‘I’m sorry for calling you a stupid cheese face, Mummy,’ she says and I scoop her up in my arms even though she’s getting so big now.
‘I didn’t know that you did call me that, sweetheart.’
‘Maybe I didn’t,’ she pontificates before jumping back down and pirouetting down the stairs. And just like that, the tantrum is over. ‘Auntie Poppy’s taking me to Sainsbury’s!’
Supermarkets hold the same kind of wonder for Lila as a winning lottery ticket might the rest of us. She loves them. Fruit and veg section? A dream come true. Snack aisle? Don’t even. She once broke out into song in the bakery lane of our local Morrisons.
‘Yup,’ says Poppy. ‘We’re going to get a treat for pudding.’
‘Shall we do your bath first?’ I suggest.
‘Can I go to Sainsbury’s in my pyjamas?’
‘Sure, why not, if Auntie Poppy doesn’t mind?’
‘I think that’s an amazing idea. Might put my PJs on too,’ Poppy says.
We get Lila through the bath and she’s all wrapped up and in her pyjamas, when Poppy cocks her head and studies me. ‘You look like you’re off to chair a board meeting on a Saturday. Where are you going, by the way?’
Right. Now is the time to tell Poppy about Joe. Yikes, I think, feeling surprisingly nervous. Will I pull it off? I distract my daughter with some TV time and motion for Poppy – who is still looking decidedly displeased about my cropped trousers and plain black T-shirt combo – to join me in my bedroom.
‘I’m going on a date,’ I whisper.
Poppy, wide-eyed, has taken hold of my shoulders in excitement.
‘I’ve, um, actually started seeing someone,’ I continue, heart racing. I hope this sounds genuine. Mark and I got together at a time when a diamanté-encrusted BlackBerry was the height of sophistication and the entire dating landscape seems to have changed so much since then. I’ve watched Love Island and I can confirm that I am a dating dinosaur.
‘SOPHIEEEEEE,’ Poppy’s booming voice reverberates around the room. ‘W. T. F? This is huge. Is it Kenny? I need information.’
‘Of course it’s not Kenny!’ I tut. ‘I’m still mad at you for setting me up on that app.’
‘Oh cut the bollocks, sis,’ Poppy says impatiently. ‘Sophie’s happy as she is, Sophie doesn’t need a man, et cetera. Only it turns out I was right, doesn’t it? Because one day after I got you on Date My Sibling and you’ve met someone!’
She’s going to be impossible after this.
‘Okay, calm down, Cupid.’
‘I need details immediately,’ Poppy demands.
‘His name’s Joe and we met at school pick-up,’ I say in one quick exhale.
‘You picked up at pick-up? That’s adorable. Hang on … Joe? The hot Irish widower?’
‘Poppy!’ I scold. ‘You’re being extremely reductive there. Joe is a good-looking father of Irish decent and, um, yes, his wife died. He also has a son in Lila’s year at school and …’ I cast around for things I know about Joe, ‘he likes pizza, the theatre and Benedict Cumberbatch so he’s much more than just a “hot Irish widower” thank you.’
There’s a long pause as my sister folds her arms.
‘Pop? I take it you’ve met him?’
‘Yes, a few times at the school gates.’ She frowns. ‘I’ve always thought he came across as a bit aloof? The mums flirt with him a lot and I can’t tell if he loves it or hates it. He’s sort of unreadable?’
I cover a snort at the accuracy of this. ‘He’s actually very amiable.’
