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I smile at the thought.
Time to start my homework.
Run, doll.
Hide.
And don’t ever, ever look under your bed.
Silver
Age eleven
I have to stay with Mum this weekend. I don’t like it.
She takes me to parties and brunches and makes me wear dresses and sit with her friends’ children.
I want to stay with Papa and listen to his friends. They’re cool people – Papa
’s friends, I mean.
They own the whole country.
Papa says no, that the Conservative Party doesn’t own the UK; they just govern it. And the only reason they do that is because they gained the people’s vote.
I don’t care. They’re cool and they own the country in my mind. They know a lot of stuff about stuff, and they make me feel so important when I help our housekeeper bring them tea. Papa always asks about my opinion and lets me read his favourite books.
When I grow up, I’m going to be him. I’m going to stand in front of many people in the parliament and defend my beliefs.
Mum is also in the Conservative Party, but she’s from the loser faction — or that’s what Frederic, Papa’s right-hand man, says. He tells me Mum is from the faction who nominate a leader who never wins the internal elections.
Being members of the same party should’ve given my parents a reason to stay together, but they somehow managed to find a way to disagree, even while having the same general beliefs.
Anyway, Mum’s friends aren’t cool. They’re snobs and frequently make me feel like I need to walk the line around them.
Papa’s friends are way better.
But this weekend, I have to go to Mum’s. I asked Papa if I could stay with him, but he says she’s my parent too.
If I don’t go, Mum will come and pick a fight with Papa all over again. Mum doesn’t shut up — at all. She made the divorce and the custody process so messy, I still have nightmares about it.
But she’s my mum, and I don’t like seeing her alone. For three years, I tried bringing her and Papa together again by suggesting we have holidays together, but they always, without fail, ended them with a fight. It’s like they look for opportunities to argue.
I guess I can survive the weekend.
But first, I need to get ready. That’s why I’m sitting in the park alone. I wore my navy blue dress with matching flats and I have my hair loose, falling down my back.
One hour until I have to meet Mum’s friends for lunch.
I can do this.
I sit cross-legged on the bench and place my hands on my knees. I’m meditating. It’s a trick Helen taught me to use when my thoughts are all over the place.
Helen is way better than my mum in being quiet. She listens to me and does my hair and gives me gifts. She taught me tricks to make better tea and she lets me be with her when she’s baking.
If her son, Cole, wasn’t a pain in the arse, maybe I would’ve spent this hour with her instead of being alone.
I don’t like boys in general. They act like pigs, are annoying, and don’t let others be at peace.
