…’
‘They’re allowed to sit around and watch telly all day and at Christmas they get a Santa.’
I splutter with laughter. ‘Oh, Grandma would love that. She’s only sixty-six and a world authority on
Beowulf
. She doesn’t need a patronising old bloke asking what she wants for Christmas.’
‘What’s
Beowulf
about?’ Fergus asks from the back.
‘Er … I think there’s a monster in it.’
‘Yeah, but what happens?’
‘A bit like Little Red Riding Hood, is it, Mum?’ Logan enquires.
I throw him a quick sideways look. Smartarse. Bet
he
doesn’t know about
Beowulf
either. The two of them just enjoy exposing me as a fluff-brain, capable only of whisking up eggs and manning a school office – which is actually bloody complicated, what with the endless paperwork and the diplomatic handling of tricky parents.
‘Talking of which,’ I say with a smile, ‘how’s the revision going, Logan? It’s, what, three weeks till your first exam?’
‘It’s going fine,’ he says between his teeth.
‘Are you sure? Can I help at all?’
He snorts.
‘Seriously, love. I wish you’d let me. I could be a
useful resource
.’
‘I don’t think so, Mum.’
‘I’m
starving
,’ Fergus reminds me. ‘I only had a bare roll …’
‘… With a greasy stain on it,’ Logan adds. ‘That was a nice touch.’
‘I know,’ I reply, ‘and I plan to fix that as soon as I can.’ Shutting my ears to further grumbling, I turn off the main road and follow the narrow country lane towards the nearest village. ‘Isn’t it lovely around here?’ I muse.
‘’S’all right,’ Logan says.
‘I mean, the countryside. It’s so pretty and peaceful …’
‘Don’t see the point of it really,’ Logan says. ‘Anyway, where are we going?’
I pull up in front of a small parade of shops where there also happens to be a chip shop. ‘Here.’
The mood lifts considerably as, installed in a booth, we tuck into steaming platefuls of fish and chips. As we chat and giggle, eking out the pleasure of our unscheduled stop, it strikes me how lovely these unplanned events can be. You can feel as if you’re losing your children as they grow up, shunning your attempts to help with revision and regarding you as if you’re a particularly troublesome boil. Then there are occasions like this when, completely unexpectedly, you’re drawn back into being a family again. It no longer seems to matter that my own mother thinks I’m a fat dimwit or that my sole date this year recommended four grand’s worth of facial enhancements. Right now, it’s just me and my boys all happy and stuffed with delicious fish and chips.
The day improves even further as we set off back to Edinburgh and pass a farm where some pigs are copulating, at which the boys shriek with laughter. It’s moments like this, I always think, that a parent should cherish.
*
My mobile starts trilling as I let us into the flat.
‘I’ve found someone!’ Viv shrieks. ‘Am I first? Bet I’m first …’
‘You mean for our
thing
?’ I hiss.
‘Yes! Bet the others haven’t found anyone yet …’
‘Well, Kirsty called when I was at Mum’s …’ I turn towards Logan and Fergus who are regarding me with rapt interest. ‘It’s all right, boys, thank you. I’m just having a private conversation with Viv.’
‘A
private conversation
,’ Logan repeats mockingly as they slope off to their respective bedrooms. ‘Bet that’s thrilling.’
‘Yes, we’re discussing the best way to fold tea towels,’ I call after him. ‘God,’ I mutter to Viv. ‘I’ll never be able to bring a man back here with those two policing me. I’ll have to wait until Fergus leaves for uni.’
‘How long away is that again?’ she asks.
Heading for the relative privacy of the kitchen, I pull off my jacket which retains its fuggy smell from Mum’s house, mingling with the vinegary tang of the chippie. ‘Only five years. Half a decade. I’ll be forty-four by
‘They’re allowed to sit around and watch telly all day and at Christmas they get a Santa.’
I splutter with laughter. ‘Oh, Grandma would love that. She’s only sixty-six and a world authority on
Beowulf
. She doesn’t need a patronising old bloke asking what she wants for Christmas.’
‘What’s
Beowulf
about?’ Fergus asks from the back.
‘Er … I think there’s a monster in it.’
‘Yeah, but what happens?’
‘A bit like Little Red Riding Hood, is it, Mum?’ Logan enquires.
I throw him a quick sideways look. Smartarse. Bet
he
doesn’t know about
Beowulf
either. The two of them just enjoy exposing me as a fluff-brain, capable only of whisking up eggs and manning a school office – which is actually bloody complicated, what with the endless paperwork and the diplomatic handling of tricky parents.
‘Talking of which,’ I say with a smile, ‘how’s the revision going, Logan? It’s, what, three weeks till your first exam?’
‘It’s going fine,’ he says between his teeth.
‘Are you sure? Can I help at all?’
He snorts.
‘Seriously, love. I wish you’d let me. I could be a
useful resource
.’
‘I don’t think so, Mum.’
‘I’m
starving
,’ Fergus reminds me. ‘I only had a bare roll …’
‘… With a greasy stain on it,’ Logan adds. ‘That was a nice touch.’
‘I know,’ I reply, ‘and I plan to fix that as soon as I can.’ Shutting my ears to further grumbling, I turn off the main road and follow the narrow country lane towards the nearest village. ‘Isn’t it lovely around here?’ I muse.
‘’S’all right,’ Logan says.
‘I mean, the countryside. It’s so pretty and peaceful …’
‘Don’t see the point of it really,’ Logan says. ‘Anyway, where are we going?’
I pull up in front of a small parade of shops where there also happens to be a chip shop. ‘Here.’
The mood lifts considerably as, installed in a booth, we tuck into steaming platefuls of fish and chips. As we chat and giggle, eking out the pleasure of our unscheduled stop, it strikes me how lovely these unplanned events can be. You can feel as if you’re losing your children as they grow up, shunning your attempts to help with revision and regarding you as if you’re a particularly troublesome boil. Then there are occasions like this when, completely unexpectedly, you’re drawn back into being a family again. It no longer seems to matter that my own mother thinks I’m a fat dimwit or that my sole date this year recommended four grand’s worth of facial enhancements. Right now, it’s just me and my boys all happy and stuffed with delicious fish and chips.
The day improves even further as we set off back to Edinburgh and pass a farm where some pigs are copulating, at which the boys shriek with laughter. It’s moments like this, I always think, that a parent should cherish.
*
My mobile starts trilling as I let us into the flat.
‘I’ve found someone!’ Viv shrieks. ‘Am I first? Bet I’m first …’
‘You mean for our
thing
?’ I hiss.
‘Yes! Bet the others haven’t found anyone yet …’
‘Well, Kirsty called when I was at Mum’s …’ I turn towards Logan and Fergus who are regarding me with rapt interest. ‘It’s all right, boys, thank you. I’m just having a private conversation with Viv.’
‘A
private conversation
,’ Logan repeats mockingly as they slope off to their respective bedrooms. ‘Bet that’s thrilling.’
‘Yes, we’re discussing the best way to fold tea towels,’ I call after him. ‘God,’ I mutter to Viv. ‘I’ll never be able to bring a man back here with those two policing me. I’ll have to wait until Fergus leaves for uni.’
‘How long away is that again?’ she asks.
Heading for the relative privacy of the kitchen, I pull off my jacket which retains its fuggy smell from Mum’s house, mingling with the vinegary tang of the chippie. ‘Only five years. Half a decade. I’ll be forty-four by
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