Taking advantage of Effie-free time, I set out to buy clothes and shoes I need. Effie is allergic to all types of shopping. It’s bliss to try on things without the backdrop of my daughter’s moans and groans. I’m careful to be back outside the venue five minutes before the deadline. Again, the other mothers stand in their groups, ignoring me. Then happy little faces emerge, each proudly displaying their painting talents to their mothers: ducksin various shades of yellow, a couple in white, several in pink, and one in black from head to tail.
“It’s a corm’rant.” Effie offers the explanation without being asked. Which is an indication of how often she’s had to explain it already.
“A cormorant?” I repeat the correct pronunciation back to her. “How lovely!” I look at the gothic monstrosity she’s handed me and quickly decide it can live in the bathroom, out of sight for the most part.
Unusually, Effie slides her little hand into mine as we set off walking home. She doesn’t chatter or skip or swing our conjoined hands and I don’t force her to talk. I’m aware she’s just had two hours of constant stimulation, and she probably needs some quiet time.
It’s as we get to familiar streets, Effie breaks my heart. “Why don’t I have any friends?” she asks.
“You have Max,” I point out, careful not to stop, to make a drama out of this moment. “He’s your friend.”
“At school. Why does no-one like me?”
Parenting puts you on the spot a lot. Wishing I had the internet, a childcare expert, or even Rob around, I venture, “Do you like them?”
Effie considers, her head on one side, her lips pursed. Then she wrinkles her nose and says, “They’re silly. They don’t want to know things.”
“Not everyone is lucky enough to find the people who like the same things they do at infant school. But never forget, there are people who adore you. Gran and Gramps, Dana, Fiona and Max. And most of all, your dad and me. I think you are the most special person in the universe.”
She walks on. After a moment, she sighs. As our home comes into view, she drops my hand and runs forward. Conversation over. I just hope I’ve said enough.
But even as I carefully find a space for the cormorant on the crowded bathroom counter, I’m thinking about what Effie said and how I can help her. Contrary to appearances, Effie isn’t a loner. She might prefer to play alone than fake interest in other children’s games, but she still needs social interaction. Her interests align more closely with those of boys, but boys her age don’t want to play with girls.
While I was never the queen bee at school, I also never lacked for friends. And I found them without too much effort on my part. People liked me. It was easy. The same at university. Although all those ‘ride or die’ mates from college soon dropped away when I had to bring a squalling baby to every meet up.
I can understand Effie’s problem, and I now have far more sympathy for the non-conformists in my past but I’m at a loss to find a way to help. If I were a stay-at-home mother, I would make friends with other mums who would ensure their kids played with Effie. But that option is out.
Despite all of my fretting, in the end the only thing I can think of is to look for some clubs for her to join. But half an hour of trawling the internet results in a blank. While there are drama and music clubs galore, it seems odd bods who are intensely interested in the world have nothing.
Not for the first time, I regret I’m an only child and Effie doesn’t have a host of cousins to join in with and to love her in turn. I don’t really want to bring Effie up as an only child either, but it can’t be helped.
Except Anders’s proposal sneaks into my mind. Effie could have a sibling by the end of the year. Someone she could lavish her love on and who would adore her in return. She’d be their beloved big sister.
No! I can’t believe I’m even considering it. I’d be better off giving into Effie’s pleas for a dog. A dog would give her the emotional support she needs, but we are gone from home forlong hours. It wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone ten hours a day and doggy daycare is expensive.
The solution to finding a friend for Effie doesnotlie in procreating with Anders, no matter how enticing my subconscious thinks the required sex might be.
Not for the first time when raising Effie, I’m out of ideas.
I’d meant to spend my lunch break quizzing Nur, who has two children of her own, for advice on helping Effie make friends but when I drop into the seat opposite her, the first thing out of my mouth is, “I’m thinking maybe I should start dating.”
Nur leans back, a speculative look in her eyes. Her hijab today is black, and it gives her this whole wise elder vibe, although she’s only five years older than I am. “Steve would be a good choice,” she says. “They fancy the pants off you.”
She looks toward Chloe, who is quick to agree. “Even I’ve noticed. Their eyes follow you every time you leave the room.”
“Aagh!” I groan. “I know, but…” I halt, not wanting to appear shallow.
“But what?” Nur is going to make me say it. “Steve’s a really nice person.”
“I can’t get past the man-bun,” I admit. “Or the ponytail.”
“Tsk,” Nur says. “Looks change. Especially men. They get all jowly and paunchy. No point in choosing an Adonis. He’s still going to look like Norm fromCheerswithin a decade.”
“Who’s Norm fromCheers?” Chloe asks.
Nur considers for a moment. “Okay. Jackson Lamb inSlowHorses.” Chloe’s face reflects her horror. “In fact, he’s a very good illustration. Check him out inJFK. And I rest my case,” Nur continues.
“Even so, the hair is just not doing it for me.” I shrug. You either feel attraction or you don’t.
