‘Aunt Sophie!’
Michael and Grant have grown since I saw them last year. They’re still small but they have far more to say for themselves and they do it loudly.
‘Hi! How are you both?’ I ask. They’re wearing matching red jumpers and jeans. If Grant didn’t have a freckle on his nose, it would be impossible to tell them apart.
‘Fine,’ they say in unison.
‘Were you at the afterschool club?’
‘Yeah,’ Michael replies. ‘Grant got in trouble for farting next to Emily.’
I’d like to think Grant will grow out of that, but the chances are slim. I’ve yet to meet a man who doesn’t find farting hilarious.
‘Boys, you can play with the dogs until dinner’s ready. Bonus points if you can find Nancy’s ball. I misjudged a throw, and it vanished.’
‘Why are your kids nice but everyone else’s are terrible?’ I ask as they run out to the garden with the dogs.
‘My kids are also terrible,’ she replies. ‘You’ve just taken the time to get to know them. Can you pass me those peppers?’
‘What are you making?’
‘Beef stir-fry,’ she replies. ‘I think we’ve finally moved past the effing fajitas.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Grab me the noodles from the cupboard on the left, will you?’
She begins to slice. ‘You know, you really must get over this “kids are annoying” phase, Sophie,’ she continues. ‘No one is forcing you to adopt them, babysit them or even play with them, but they exist in the world. You’re beginning to sound like one of those old spinster witches who curse children and puncture their ball with your big pointy finger if it comes over your fence.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
She chuckles as she calls Michael and Grant to help set the table. In a rush to get back to their Xbox, there’s no attention to detail. Cutlery in the wrong places, napkins left in a pile, salt and pepper shakers balanced precariously against a spoon. Naomi drags them back through to do it properly.
Dinner is excellent, even though Marco isn’t here to serve us. I hope his next guests tip him handsomely. Philip has made a shortcrust apple pie and that alone is worth the visit. I’ve spent the past week eating with company and I don’t relish the thought of going back to eating alone every evening. I’ve become sociable again and vow to eat out with company at least once a week. Being a work-focused hermit is no longer an option.
Chapter 54
At 8.15 a.m., I awaken to the sound of Philip yelling about cheese and pickle sandwiches and why on earth is Grant wearing his socks when they’re far too big and he has a drawer full of his own. I hear Naomi announce that Nancy is a good girl in a ridiculous voice before the door slams shut five minutes later. I wait for the car to start and rumble down the drive before dragging myself out of bed. I’m not sure I could handle the morning chaos that they’re obviously used to. At home I barely speak to a single soul until I get into the office.
I look at my bedhead in the mirror. Going to sleep with my hair wet wasn’t the smartest move. I look like Severus Snape. Time for another shower.
I don’t wash my hair again, I just apologise to it for the night-time neglect and flatten it with water. I use Naomi’s vitamin C facial scrub from Lush for a second time. It makes my face squeaky and I’m fine with this.
Downstairs I take a banana from the fruit bowl and demolish it while I load the dishwasher. I might be useless at keeping my own kitchen clean but it’s the least I can do while I’m here. I also grab a handful of Honey Cheerios from the box to snack on while the kettle boils.
The July sun is just starting to warm the air as I take my coffee out into the garden. I think my stress levels would be a zero if I had access to this every day. I’m glad I came. Coffee and a fistful of Cheerios makes everything better. With no one around, I find myself admiring the greenery, sniffing the flowers and running from a bad-tempered wasp before saying hello to the chickens, who completely ignore me.
‘Got milk and bread!’ I hear Naomi yell from the kitchen. I didn’t even hear her come home. I make one last futile attempt to converse with the chickens before I head back inside.
‘My kitchen is tidy!’ she informs me, like I wasn’t the one responsible for it. She begins unpacking a small bag of shopping on the kitchen table.
‘Sleep well?’ she asks. ‘Hope we didn’t wake you.’
‘Not at all,’ I lie. ‘Barely heard a peep. And I slept like a log. Those pillows are amazing.’
She seems delighted that her guest has no complaints. ‘You want some toast or something?’
Before I can respond with a very loud, ‘Please, I’m starving,’ two slices are already in the toaster.
