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‘I’m so sorry Molly is late,’ I finally say, watching as Molly picks up a blue block. ‘We had some unexpected news and?—’
‘Blue is stewpid. Brown is the best!’ a boy suddenly shouts. ‘Ms Martin, Molly is ruing our tower.’
‘Excuse me.’ Ms Martin turns away from me and points at Molly and the boy.
‘Sam,’ she says firmly, ‘don’t you dare shove a block near Molly’s eye.’
‘Sam you’re mean!’ Molly shouts. ‘You’re so mean.’
I like brown,’ Sam shouts back, pushing Molly. ‘Brown, Brown, Brown.’
I gasp as Molly falls onto her bottom and begins to cry. Ms Martin and I hurry over to the table. Ms Martin speaks to Sam as I help Molly up and give her a cuddle.
‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ I ask.
‘He pokeded me. Did you see?’ Molly points at Sam. ‘I tolded him brown was yucky?—’
‘That wasn’t very nice of Sam,’ I say, ‘but, you have to make more effort to share, Molly. It’s everyone’s tower and everyone gets to pick their favourite colour.’
‘But I like blue and green,’ Molly says.
‘And Sam, quite obviously, likes brown,’ I say.
‘But, brown is yucky!’
‘Molly. That’s enough,’ Ms Martin cuts in.
The children at the table stare at the commotion and my face reddens and I very much feel I’m intruding in Ms Martin’s classroom.
‘You like blue, Sam likes brown. Okay? And we’re all going to be friends now,’ Ms Martin says.
Molly looks at me; I nod and smile trying to reassure her.
Ms Martin claps her hands suddenly and all the children instantly give her their attention.
‘Okay, boys and girls, play nice and quietly. I’ll be back in a minute,’ she says. ‘I’m just at the door so I’ll see if there’s any funny business.’ She points her finger at Sam. And then at Molly.
Ms Martin guides me to the door and I walk beside her feeling like one of the school children.
‘Appointments with parents are usually scheduled for after school,’ she says when we step onto the corridor. Her kind eyes sweep over me and I can sense her concern. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Erm, I’m not sure.’ I shake my head, suddenly realising how confused and scared I really am.
SIX
CHARLOTTE
Toilet water splashes over the top of my bright-green rubber glove and trickles down my arm on the inside of the sleeve as I sweep the toilet brush around the loo in the main bathroom. I put the brush back in the wobbly chrome holder and peel off the gloves as quickly as I can. I toss them angrily into the sink, rinse my hands and sit, exhausted.
I’ve been cleaning the bathroom for at least an hour. The smell of bleach is making me light-headed but I’m not sure what else to do. I keep replaying Molly’s teacher’s comments from this morning over and over in my mind.
‘Kids are emotionally stronger than we give them credit for,’ Ms Martin said. ‘Molly is a clever little girl. She will understand. In time, she will.’
Ms Martin meant well. I’ve no doubt. But her words cut through me like a blade. I left quickly after that. I knew I couldn’t keep it together much longer and I didn’t want Molly to see me fall apart. She was so content among her school friends after the initial squabble with Sam. She was giggling as I walked away.
But now I’m alone all I can think about is Molly. And those damn words,Molly will understand. Because, Molly won’t understand. Sheabsolutely will not. Christ almighty, she threw a tantrum two weeks ago because I told her that even Santa can’t bring a real, live unicorn. How can she possibly understand that her big sister has cancer?
I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about how this would affect Molly sooner. My first thought was about how Gavin was coping, or not coping, with the news. Immediately after, I thought of Kayla. Poor Kayla. Beautiful, lovely Kayla. Then my thoughts seemed to drift organically towards Heather. One mother to another. I seemed to automatically slip myself into her shoes. They were uncomfortable and terrifying, and I quickly shook them off, distraught. But, I forgot Molly. How could I possibly forget my own daughter? She might be just four years old, but she has a big heart and this news is going to crush it. For the first time, ever, I have no idea how to protect my child.
