Read Online Marshmallows for Breakfast by Dorothy Koomson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Koomson
Ads: Link
hoping I'd do something as normal as have an ice cream with his family to anxiety that I was going to abandon them.
“Actually,” I said, “I think I need an ice cream. I think we all deserve it.”
Two hours later, Kyle and I sat watching the children playing in a small park with swings and roundabouts. Summer, clutching Hoppy under one arm, was climbing over the roundabout. She'd dressed herself in an orange pinafore dress over a blue T-shirt and under a pink cardigan and her blue puffa jacket along with red tights, pink socks and yellow shoes. Her hair, which glittered like fine shards of jet on her head, was tucked behind her ears.
Jaxon, who had dressed himself more soberly in sand-colored trousers, a white T-shirt, black jumper and his blue-fleece jacket, was repeatedly going up and down the slide.
The four of us had spent the past couple of hours wandering around the center of Brockingham, had an ice cream in a café and then looked in a few shops before we went to the park. Kyle had managed to avoid talking directly to me the whole time. While we spooned ice cream into our mouths, he'd ignored me. When we walked down the road, in and out of shops, Summer holding his hand and Jaxon holding my hand, he acted as though I wasn't there. He avoided looking at me, except in those quiet moments when I was concentrating on something else and I would feel the weight of his gaze upon me. Scanning me, wondering if I was telling the truth. If I would follow through with my threat. I could feel his gaze, but refused to look up at him because I was scared, too. I was scared because I hadn't really thought it through when I'd said it. It came tumbling out and now I really would have to do it. I couldn't say it and not mean it. Isn't that one of the golden rules of good, consistent parenting? Say what you mean; make a statement and then go through with the promised consequences if the undesirable behavior reared its head again.
Ten minutes of silence passed as we sat on the bench. A tense silence that was starting to slip under my skin, putting me on edge. I wanted to say something. Anything to breach the divide. I wanted him to say something, even if it was to threaten me to keep my nose out of his business. This silence, it was suffocating me. In the chilly fresh air of this sunny day, I was slowly having the air smothered out of me.
“Did you mean what you said about reporting me to social services?” Kyle asked. I was so grateful to hear his voice I exhaled in relief and didn't really hear his words. Then I replayed what he said: “Did you mean what you said about reporting me to social services?” He wasn't looking at me, andthat was taking all his strength. His rigid posture showed he wanted to glare at me so was making sure he kept his line of sight fixed on the children.
Now I was in a difficult position. I couldn't say yes, couldn't say no, and “maybe” wasn't an option. “I try not to say things I don't mean,” I eventually said without looking at him. It was the best answer I had.
CHAPTER 7
T uesday morning, just shy of 6:30 a.m., I arrived at work.
I was early to make up for the day before. Monday was our busiest day, especially for me—it was the day most temps were booked for the week, and other temps who'd ended their assignments would be calling in for work. Although Gabrielle, my boss, had been fine about me not coming in, I'd felt awful. She'd had to cover for me and I'd only just come back.
Gabrielle had started her own “boutique” recruitment agency but had managed to convince Office Wonders, an international recruitment agency, to finance it. If it worked, they would consider selling franchises for boutique—small, more personalized—branches. Her entrepreneurship had come at the perfect time for me. My love affair with Sydney had turned sour a day or so earlier and I was desperate to come home. Out of the blue, Gabrielle had e-mailed me and asked if I would consider coming home to take
“Actually,” I said, “I think I need an ice cream. I think we all deserve it.”
Two hours later, Kyle and I sat watching the children playing in a small park with swings and roundabouts. Summer, clutching Hoppy under one arm, was climbing over the roundabout. She'd dressed herself in an orange pinafore dress over a blue T-shirt and under a pink cardigan and her blue puffa jacket along with red tights, pink socks and yellow shoes. Her hair, which glittered like fine shards of jet on her head, was tucked behind her ears.
Jaxon, who had dressed himself more soberly in sand-colored trousers, a white T-shirt, black jumper and his blue-fleece jacket, was repeatedly going up and down the slide.
The four of us had spent the past couple of hours wandering around the center of Brockingham, had an ice cream in a café and then looked in a few shops before we went to the park. Kyle had managed to avoid talking directly to me the whole time. While we spooned ice cream into our mouths, he'd ignored me. When we walked down the road, in and out of shops, Summer holding his hand and Jaxon holding my hand, he acted as though I wasn't there. He avoided looking at me, except in those quiet moments when I was concentrating on something else and I would feel the weight of his gaze upon me. Scanning me, wondering if I was telling the truth. If I would follow through with my threat. I could feel his gaze, but refused to look up at him because I was scared, too. I was scared because I hadn't really thought it through when I'd said it. It came tumbling out and now I really would have to do it. I couldn't say it and not mean it. Isn't that one of the golden rules of good, consistent parenting? Say what you mean; make a statement and then go through with the promised consequences if the undesirable behavior reared its head again.
Ten minutes of silence passed as we sat on the bench. A tense silence that was starting to slip under my skin, putting me on edge. I wanted to say something. Anything to breach the divide. I wanted him to say something, even if it was to threaten me to keep my nose out of his business. This silence, it was suffocating me. In the chilly fresh air of this sunny day, I was slowly having the air smothered out of me.
“Did you mean what you said about reporting me to social services?” Kyle asked. I was so grateful to hear his voice I exhaled in relief and didn't really hear his words. Then I replayed what he said: “Did you mean what you said about reporting me to social services?” He wasn't looking at me, andthat was taking all his strength. His rigid posture showed he wanted to glare at me so was making sure he kept his line of sight fixed on the children.
Now I was in a difficult position. I couldn't say yes, couldn't say no, and “maybe” wasn't an option. “I try not to say things I don't mean,” I eventually said without looking at him. It was the best answer I had.
CHAPTER 7
T uesday morning, just shy of 6:30 a.m., I arrived at work.
I was early to make up for the day before. Monday was our busiest day, especially for me—it was the day most temps were booked for the week, and other temps who'd ended their assignments would be calling in for work. Although Gabrielle, my boss, had been fine about me not coming in, I'd felt awful. She'd had to cover for me and I'd only just come back.
Gabrielle had started her own “boutique” recruitment agency but had managed to convince Office Wonders, an international recruitment agency, to finance it. If it worked, they would consider selling franchises for boutique—small, more personalized—branches. Her entrepreneurship had come at the perfect time for me. My love affair with Sydney had turned sour a day or so earlier and I was desperate to come home. Out of the blue, Gabrielle had e-mailed me and asked if I would consider coming home to take
Similar Books
