I take Mum’s hand and stop her before she can finish that sentence. ‘She’ll be home before you know it. I’m sure of it.’
Mum leans over and hugs me. ‘You’re such a kind girl,’ she says. ‘I’m sure she’ll love that. I wouldn’t get lilies, though. She lets that weird stray cat in, and it might eat them, god knows, it eats everything else.’
Ten minutes later, Tom drags an unkempt Ed into the room, his face still faintly creased from the pillow.
‘Turns out I have the important job of taking Tom to school,’ he tells us. ‘If I’d known, I’d have packed my best suit and tie for the occasion.’
He takes a slice of toast but doesn’t sit. ‘Come to think of it, I didn’t pack anything. I haven’t been home. Sorry, Tom, I’m going to have to accompany you dressed like an actual teacher. How embarrassing.’
‘We’re leaving in fifteen,’ I tell them both. ‘Have you done your teeth?’
‘Not yet,’ Ed replies, through a mouthful of toast. ‘I didn’t pack a toothbrush.’
‘Not you,’ I laugh, before telling Tom to run up the stairs and brush for two minutes, knowing he’ll spend thirteen seconds, like every other eight-year-old.
Once we’re all ready, Ed and Tom head out the door first while I hang back and speak to Mum. I can tell she’s anxious. It’s eight-thirty and she’ll be calling the hospital while I’m out.
‘Do you want to wait until I get back?’ I ask, pulling on my coat. ‘Or I can call for you?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she replies. ‘Gary’s here in case. . . well, youknow.’
‘She’s not going anywhere,’ I reassure her. ‘Not yet. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I open the bag with my trainers in and wince.Oh, come on. . . you’ve got to be kidding me.
I get about twenty feet from the house before I want to turn back. In my rush yesterday, I grabbed two pairs of leggings (one with a hole in the thigh), a thin red jumper that’s seen better days and a white work blouse that doesn’t fit properly across the chest. Not only that, but I also lifted the wrong shoe bag. Instead of my black Converse, I brought my bright yellow and pink hi-vis trainers, which I bought with the intention of doing a night-time fitness boot camp before remembering how much I hate organised exercise. I only have my green full-length Monsoon dress coat to cover this particularly ridiculous ensemble. Ed might be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but at least he looks like a normal bloke with normal-coloured shoes. I look like I’ve been dressed by Tim bloody Burton.
I catch up to Ed and Tom, lingering behind for just a moment to appreciate how sweet Tom looks, swinging his little lunchbox while his backpack bounces with every step he takes.
‘Hey,’ I say, trying to slip in unnoticed but Ed doesn’t miss a trick. His eyes immediately lock on to my fluorescent feet.
‘Oh my. . . don’t you just love Kate’s trainers?’ Ed remarks, drawing Tom’s attention to them. ‘Aren’t they just the brightest shoes in the whole world?’
I’m aware that Ed hates these trainers. He says they’re the ugliest shoes ever designed. And that’s coming from a man who once wanted a pair of Yeezys.
‘Jessica Marlow has the same ones,’ Tom replies. ‘My teacher says you can probably see her feet from the top of Mam Tor.’
Oh, great now I’m wearing the same trainers as an eight-year-old. That’s not humiliating at all. I see Ed smirk. ‘MamTor’s only five hundred and seventeen metres,’ he remarks. ‘I’m almost certain you could see those things from space.’
‘Yes, fine, I packed the wrong trainers,’ I confess. ‘But at least I’m not wearing the same underwear.’
‘Hey, I turned them inside out,’ he replies. ‘It was either that or borrowing a pair of Gary’s old-man pants!’
Tom laughs and puts his hand in mine as we cross the street. It’s so small, it almost catches me by surprise. I clasp it tightly as we dash across, getting more than one look of disapproval from nearby parents. Obviously, I should be setting a better example, but the only car in sight was a Fiat Panda, going about 5mph.
As we arrive at the gates, a gentle wave of nostalgia laps against my brain. This used to be my primary school, long before they fixed the roof and built the extension on the back to accommodate more kids from nearby villages. I remember the large weather board outside reception, where every day one child would be chosen to place the appropriate symbols on the map of the town. There were piles of suns, clouds, lightning bolts, rainclouds, snowflakes and, my favourite, the wind faces, which had little puffed-out cheeks. I remember the hopscotch board painted yellow on the playground, the smell of school dinners, the little garden we’d all keep tidy and the vast amount of artwork displayed inside every classroom and on every corridor wall. Most of all, I remember being happy here. This is where I first met Lauren, hiding behind her mum, and wearing the most amazing pair of Lelli Kelly shoes I’d ever seen.
As soon as Tom sees his friends, he immediately drops my hand. I don’t take offence; I was eight once, too. Being eight means you’re almost nine and far too grown up for hand holding, even when you might still want to.
‘Is Mum picking me up?’ he asks.
‘I’m not sure,’ I reply, glancing at Ed, knowing that it’ll depend on how Gubba is doing. ‘Though, if she can’t, I will. I promise.’
‘Can we get ice cream?’
‘In February?’ I ask, grinning. ‘It’ll stick to your tongue and then you’ll have to walk around like that until spring. How about a hot chocolate instead?’
‘Deal!’
