Read Online In My Sister's Shoes by Sinéad Moriarty - Free Book Online
Authors: Sinéad Moriarty
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sleeping here tonight and when I come back I’ll have a sore tummy for a few days. But I’ll see you tomorrow and Auntie Kate is going to look after you today.’ She had opted for ‘tummy’ rather than having to go through the breast chat with two five-year-olds who thought that boobies were hilarious.
‘No, Mummy,’ said the twins in unison, having picked up on the tension in the room and their mother’s drawn face. ‘Don’t go.’
‘I have to, boys, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Now, be good for Kate,’ she said, then wrapped her arms round them and whispered, ‘I love you,’ into their hair as they clung to her. It was the first time she had ever been away from them for a night, and they knew it wasn’t good news. They began to cry and clung to her legs, which made her cry too. Even Teddy looked sad, sitting in his basket, whimpering.
‘Boys,’ said Mark, ‘Mummy has to go now or she’ll be late. Go back and finish your breakfast. I’ll be home to read you a story and tuck you in. Come on, now, let go of her legs.’
Reluctantly they did as they were told, but ran after their parents as they climbed into the car.
We all hugged Fiona, and as Dad clasped her to his chest, I heard him whisper, ‘You’re going to be fine, my darling girl. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.’
We waved them off, all of us fighting tears but trying to look cheery for the boys’ sake.
‘Why does Mummy look so sad?’ asked Bobby, as Fiona turned to wave.
‘Because she’ll miss you tonight, so you’ve to be very good and give her lots of hugs tomorrow when she comes back,’ I said.
‘Why will she have a sore tummy tomorrow?’ asked Jack.
‘Because…’ I was floundering.
‘Because the doctor is going to take out the bad stuff inside and it will be sore for a few days until the scar heals. Like when Bobby got glass in his hand and the doctor took it out – it was sore first and then it got better,’ said Derek.
That made sense. The twins nodded.
‘Nice one, Derek,’ I said, smiling at him. Then, turning to the boys, I said, ‘OK, come on, eat up, we don’t want to be late for school.’
‘I hate yucky porridge,’ said Bobby, turning his spoon upside-down on the table.
‘Me, too,’ said Jack, flicking a lump, which landed on Teddy’s nose. They both squealed with laughter as the poor dog leapt up in shock.
Bobby jumped down and began to chase Teddy around the kitchen, shoving his bowl under the dog’s nose.
‘Leave that poor dog alone,’ said Dad. ‘Come on, now, do what Kate says.’
Grudgingly, the twins sat down.
‘My porridge has dog spit in it,’ said Bobby.
‘I want Frosties,’ roared Jack.
‘Well, I’ve a meeting at nine, so I’ll leave you to it,’ said Dad, backing out the door as fast as he could, followed by the fastest-moving Derek I’d ever seen.
‘Thanks a lot!’ I called after them.
I heard a screech and turned back to the boys. Jack had upturned his bowl of porridge on Bobby’s head. I had been in charge for precisely six minutes.
10
Having chased the boys around the house for half an hour, trying to get them dressed, I eventually resorted to rugby-tackling them to the floor and dressed one while I sat on the other. They were none too pleased to be squashed into the carpet by their supposedly ‘fun’ aunt and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was ‘mean and nasty’.
I bundled them into Fiona’s jeep, but as we were about to drive off, Jack said, ‘ No! We can’t go till we pick our music.’
Bollox, the bloody music.
‘OK, whose turn is it?’
‘Mine,’ said Bobby.
‘What would you like to listen to?’
‘Kakosky flowers,’ he said, decisively for a five-year-old. Maybe Fiona was right and this classical-music playing was brain-inducing. I might try it myself.
I grabbed a bunch of CDs from the glove compartment and riffled through them. ‘It’s not here. Can you choose something else?’ I asked impatiently, as I
‘No, Mummy,’ said the twins in unison, having picked up on the tension in the room and their mother’s drawn face. ‘Don’t go.’
‘I have to, boys, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Now, be good for Kate,’ she said, then wrapped her arms round them and whispered, ‘I love you,’ into their hair as they clung to her. It was the first time she had ever been away from them for a night, and they knew it wasn’t good news. They began to cry and clung to her legs, which made her cry too. Even Teddy looked sad, sitting in his basket, whimpering.
‘Boys,’ said Mark, ‘Mummy has to go now or she’ll be late. Go back and finish your breakfast. I’ll be home to read you a story and tuck you in. Come on, now, let go of her legs.’
Reluctantly they did as they were told, but ran after their parents as they climbed into the car.
We all hugged Fiona, and as Dad clasped her to his chest, I heard him whisper, ‘You’re going to be fine, my darling girl. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.’
We waved them off, all of us fighting tears but trying to look cheery for the boys’ sake.
‘Why does Mummy look so sad?’ asked Bobby, as Fiona turned to wave.
‘Because she’ll miss you tonight, so you’ve to be very good and give her lots of hugs tomorrow when she comes back,’ I said.
‘Why will she have a sore tummy tomorrow?’ asked Jack.
‘Because…’ I was floundering.
‘Because the doctor is going to take out the bad stuff inside and it will be sore for a few days until the scar heals. Like when Bobby got glass in his hand and the doctor took it out – it was sore first and then it got better,’ said Derek.
That made sense. The twins nodded.
‘Nice one, Derek,’ I said, smiling at him. Then, turning to the boys, I said, ‘OK, come on, eat up, we don’t want to be late for school.’
‘I hate yucky porridge,’ said Bobby, turning his spoon upside-down on the table.
‘Me, too,’ said Jack, flicking a lump, which landed on Teddy’s nose. They both squealed with laughter as the poor dog leapt up in shock.
Bobby jumped down and began to chase Teddy around the kitchen, shoving his bowl under the dog’s nose.
‘Leave that poor dog alone,’ said Dad. ‘Come on, now, do what Kate says.’
Grudgingly, the twins sat down.
‘My porridge has dog spit in it,’ said Bobby.
‘I want Frosties,’ roared Jack.
‘Well, I’ve a meeting at nine, so I’ll leave you to it,’ said Dad, backing out the door as fast as he could, followed by the fastest-moving Derek I’d ever seen.
‘Thanks a lot!’ I called after them.
I heard a screech and turned back to the boys. Jack had upturned his bowl of porridge on Bobby’s head. I had been in charge for precisely six minutes.
10
Having chased the boys around the house for half an hour, trying to get them dressed, I eventually resorted to rugby-tackling them to the floor and dressed one while I sat on the other. They were none too pleased to be squashed into the carpet by their supposedly ‘fun’ aunt and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was ‘mean and nasty’.
I bundled them into Fiona’s jeep, but as we were about to drive off, Jack said, ‘ No! We can’t go till we pick our music.’
Bollox, the bloody music.
‘OK, whose turn is it?’
‘Mine,’ said Bobby.
‘What would you like to listen to?’
‘Kakosky flowers,’ he said, decisively for a five-year-old. Maybe Fiona was right and this classical-music playing was brain-inducing. I might try it myself.
I grabbed a bunch of CDs from the glove compartment and riffled through them. ‘It’s not here. Can you choose something else?’ I asked impatiently, as I
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