Why is everyone so suspicious of my invoicing today? I’m a businesswoman doing business things. I bet Alan Sugar doesn’t have to put up with this crap.
‘Well, today I did. Anyway, how was your day?’
She shrugs. ‘We’re doing badminton in PE and I’m really rubbish but home economics was cool. We made scones.’
‘Amazing! Did you get to bring them home?’ I ask, then notice the crumbs on her cardigan.
‘The thing is…’ she begins.
‘Yes?’
‘Annabel burned her scones, so I gave her two of mine and then I got hungry waiting for you to come home so I ate them. Sorry!’
‘It’s alright,’ I reply, ‘I had one in the café earlier, anyway.’ A complete lie of course, but I don’t want her to feel guilty. It’s bad enough that she comes home to an empty flat after school, the least I can do is not moan about a scone. ‘I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.’
I turn on the oven to preheat while I pull the pizza and some seasoned potato wedges from the freezer. Not exactly the most nutritious meal I’ve ever thrown together but it’ll have to do.I’ll make a meal from scratch tomorrow, I tell myself,one consisting entirely of organic, corn-fed, free-roaming vegetables.In reality, I know I’ll end up taking one of the lasagnes from the café home and heating it up. I sigh as I spot the breakfast dishes from this morning sitting in the sink and make another mental note to start insisting Charlie helps out more. I’m not talking cleaning the house from top to bottom, but rinsing a bowl and spoon isn’t breaking any child labour laws.
As the food cooks, I whizz around the flat with the hoover, throw some washing into the machine, bleach the toilet and set the table while I mentally run through the ironing I’ll do after dinner and factor in time to help Charlie with her homework. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t want to scream at the banality of it all, but I never do. What would be the point?
Once a week, I let Charlie eat in her room, but tonight she’s sitting with me at the table, playing with her pizza crusts and telling me about her day.
‘Before I forget, I have drama club tomorrow, so you’ll need to pick me up at half five.’
‘Is there a tidying-up-your-stinking-room club, you could join?’ I ask. God, this pizza tastes like cardboard.
‘Very funny. I’ll tidy it after my homework.’
‘Good. It smells like there’s a dead body in there… Are you not liking mushrooms this week? If you’re not going to eat those, give them here.’
She hands me her plate. ‘Mushrooms are weird, I’m not a fan. No idea why you like them so much.’
I happily add her little pile to the top of my pizza. ‘What homework do you have?’
‘Maths and history. I might need help with maths.’
I tell her it’s no problem, but I know I’m going to have to google every question she’s unsure of. I hate maths. To me, maths is for orderly people who make their beds every morning and own a Dungeons and Dragons–themed chessboard. Having a daughter in high school only reminds me of how little information I’ve retained since I attended myself, mainly because I’ve never had to use most of it. Any person who says they frequently use Pythagoras’s theorem is a liar.
At 10pm I knock on Charlie’s door to say goodnight. She’s sprawled out in bed with her headphones on, her face highlighted by her phone screen. Surprisingly, her room is now at least thirty percent tidier.
‘Night, honey.’
She takes her headphones off one ear. ‘Dad texted earlier to see if I want to go and watch thatHarry Potterspin-off film at the weekend.’
‘That’ll be fun!’ I reply enthusiastically.
‘Fun for people who likeHarry Potter, maybe,’ she responds. ‘I’ve suggested we seeBohemian Rhapsodyinstead so he’s now checking to see if it’s age appropriate. It’s 12A! I’m fourteen!’
‘I’m sure he’ll say yes.’
‘I doubt it. He’s freakishly into wizards. I honestly don’t know what you saw in him!’
‘Lots, as it happens,’ I tell her. ‘He was extremely funny, he was clever, handsome and I loved him very much! You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.’
‘I guess,’ she replies. ‘He’s just soooo annoying sometimes.’
‘And that too,’ I reply, with a wink. ‘Listen, sweetie, being annoying doesn’t make him a bad dad. It just makes him a dad. One who loves you a lot. And if he doesn’t take you to seeBohemian Rhapsody, I will. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
