‘In your room,’ she continues. ‘We had pillows and cushions and blankets; it was brilliant! And it stayed up for three whole days. You even slept there when Santa came.’
‘I think I remember that!’ Tom exclaims. ‘We had my football lamp inside and we watchedDuck Tales.’
I catch Kate’s eye. TheDuck Talestheme tune is genuinely one of her favourite songs. She plays it in the car. When she’s not being so damned stressed and miserable, she’s the most adorable woman I’ve ever met.
Paula nods. ‘You’re right. I’d forgotten about that, too. I must have pictures somewhere; I’ll take a look.’
‘Why did we take it down?’ Tom asks, obviously now intending to make another as soon as possible.
‘Well, we needed the cushions and pillows back and—’
‘Oh no,’ I say to Paula. ‘That’s not the real reason.’
‘It isn’t?’ she asks, side-eyeing everyone else.
‘I think it’s time Tom knows the truth about whatreallyhappened to his pillow fort,’ I respond, cutting into my Wellington. ‘You see, Tom, your big sister had a terrible cold that year. She was really sick– coughing and shivering and sneezing.’
Tom leans forwards, utterly captivated.
‘And the only place she felt better was in your pillow fort. So we all slept there. But on the last night, her sneezing was out of control. She sneezed so forcefully that she accidentally farted at the same time and blew the entire fort down.’
‘Ed!’
‘He needs to know the truth, Kate. That his sister’s fart practically blew us all into oblivion.’
Tom almost falls off his chair laughing, Gary is shaking so much, he’s turning red and Paula and Gubba howl like a couple of banshees, while a horrified Kate thumps me on the thighunder the table.
‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!’ Tom exclaims and I agree, casually going back to my dinner.
‘Only you could turn something so pure into a fart story,’ Kate says, giving in to her laughter. ‘Forever the teenage boy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the loo.’
She covers her ears as Tom starts blowing raspberries as she walks.
Kate
I’ve replied to five out of seven texts from Tara Mitchell since this morning. I’m not sure why she thinks I work on Christmas Day (other than the fact that I’m stupid enough to reply to her texts on Christmas Day). Most annoyingly, not one has been anything short of ridiculous and puerile. From items she swears he’s taken from the house without permission (including a jade face roller and a Yoni egg) to him being ten minutes late bringing back the kids, even though Newcastle is currently under four foot of snow. I know this is the job I signed up for, but I didn’t sign up to be a doormat, and between my bosses and my clients, that’s exactly how I feel.
Just email me the details and we can discuss when I’m back in the office. Anything else, please ram it up your arse.
I delete the last part and press send before hiding my phone back behind the toilet brush. I flush the loo and wash my hands to make my trip here sound authentic, though I’m sure Tom’s expecting the roof to blow off after Ed’s idiotic story. As much as I hate being the butt of a joke (no pun intended), I must give Ed credit. From pillow forts to flatulence jokes, he knows how to make memories for my little brother.
Thankfully, when I get back to the dining room, the conversation has moved on to something else.
‘No way,’ Tom sneers. ‘I hate girls.’
‘What are we talking about?’ I ask, stabbing my fork into a sprout.
‘Well, Tom got a gift from a girl in his class and Ed was just asking if she was his girlfriend,’ Gary replies. ‘It would appear the answer is a firm no.’
‘Who gave you a gift?’
‘Paige Rayner,’ he mumbles. ‘She gave me some Pokémon cards.’
‘Well, I think that was very nice of her,’ Gubba interjects. ‘Thoughtful.’
Tom shrugs. ‘I already had those ones.’
‘Not often you see girls giving presents to boys,’ Gubba continues. ‘Not in my day, anyway.’
