don’t fall behind on their studies. I guess that’s the benefit of private schools.’
‘You’ll need to talk to the tutors about a plan for them to return.’ said Camille as she jotted down more notes but didn’t look up.
‘Yep, and talk to the children about it too,’ said Charlie as she wondered how she would broach that subject.
The door opened and in came Millie carrying a struggling Wriggly.
‘Wriggly needs a nappy,’ stated Millie, plonking the dog momentarily onto Charlie’s lap before he made his escape.
‘Come here, sweetheart,’ said Charlie, lifting Millie onto her knee. Millie snuggled into Charlie’s shoulder and stared at Camille.
‘So who do we have here?’ asked Camille, her business-like approach lost at the sight of the beautiful child with pouting lips.
‘This is Millie,’ said Charlie.
‘Ah, Amelia Alexandra Cobley,’ said Camille, checking her notes.
‘Th-b-th-sssssss,’ said Millie, blowing a magnificent raspberry at Camille.
‘Be nice,’ whispered Charlie in Millie’s ear and she instantly put on a beaming and slightly scary smile. Camille sat back a little. ‘How do you think the children are coping?’
‘I think the phrase is as well as can be expected.’
Camille nodded, ‘Any drastic changes in behaviour? Anything you need help with?’
‘Testicles,’ said Millie and Camille’s eyebrows shot up. Charlie inwardly cried.
‘Testicles! Testicles!’ chanted Millie happily.
Thankfully, Camille hadn’t seemed too shocked by Millie’s inappropriate chanting. She arranged to visit the following week and also to talk to each of the older children, to understand their wishes. Charlie saw Camille out and returned to the living room. She flopped down on to the sofa next to Millie.
‘How did you think that went?’ asked Charlie.
‘Testicles!’ said Millie.
‘Precisely,’ said Charlie.
Charlie was sound asleep when the phone went. She hated it when the phone rang in the middle of the night; it was usually a wrong number. Charlie didn’t have a landline in her room so it meant she would have to get out of bed and go downstairs. She tried to move an arm but realised that it was dead and trapped underneath a sleeping Eleanor. It seemed Eleanor had rolled that way, having been squeezed out by Millie, who was taking up an inordinate amount of room by sleeping in a star formation. This was not going to be an easy habit to break. Charlie pulled her arm from underneath the sleeping child and removed the weight from her feet that was in the form of a snoring Wriggly. That was another habit that needed to stop too, she thought, as she went downstairs on autopilot. The caller was persistent, so Charlie decided it was worth making the effort to answer it.
‘Hello?’ she said wearily.
‘Thank the Lord. I only had one call and I thought your mobile might be off so I called the house phone and you did pick up. Thank you, thank you,’ said a high-speed Fleur.
‘Uh, Fleur, it’s…’ Charlie looked at the clock ‘ten past two. What do you want?’
‘Um, I need you to come and get me, or I can get a taxi to yours, if that’s easier,’ said Fleur hurriedly.
‘Fleur, talk sense. What’s going on? Are you okay?’
‘Kind of yes and kind of no.’
‘Fleur!’ barked Charlie, her patience worn through already.
‘I went to Rob’s digs and I slashed his tyres, but their neighbourhood watch is really very good so they called the police, who arrested me. I’m in Harold Hill police station and I can’t ring Ma and Pa – they’ll kill me and I don’t think a taxi would risk taking me home as it’s quite far and I don’t have any cash. So I called you and the nice policeman says I need to wind up the call.’ Her voice was getting faster and faster, like someone declaring all the terms and conditions on a lending advert.
‘You prize idiot. Get a taxi here. I’ll pay for it, but you’re paying me back,’ and Charlie put the phone down because, if
‘You’ll need to talk to the tutors about a plan for them to return.’ said Camille as she jotted down more notes but didn’t look up.
‘Yep, and talk to the children about it too,’ said Charlie as she wondered how she would broach that subject.
The door opened and in came Millie carrying a struggling Wriggly.
‘Wriggly needs a nappy,’ stated Millie, plonking the dog momentarily onto Charlie’s lap before he made his escape.
‘Come here, sweetheart,’ said Charlie, lifting Millie onto her knee. Millie snuggled into Charlie’s shoulder and stared at Camille.
‘So who do we have here?’ asked Camille, her business-like approach lost at the sight of the beautiful child with pouting lips.
‘This is Millie,’ said Charlie.
‘Ah, Amelia Alexandra Cobley,’ said Camille, checking her notes.
‘Th-b-th-sssssss,’ said Millie, blowing a magnificent raspberry at Camille.
‘Be nice,’ whispered Charlie in Millie’s ear and she instantly put on a beaming and slightly scary smile. Camille sat back a little. ‘How do you think the children are coping?’
‘I think the phrase is as well as can be expected.’
Camille nodded, ‘Any drastic changes in behaviour? Anything you need help with?’
‘Testicles,’ said Millie and Camille’s eyebrows shot up. Charlie inwardly cried.
‘Testicles! Testicles!’ chanted Millie happily.
Thankfully, Camille hadn’t seemed too shocked by Millie’s inappropriate chanting. She arranged to visit the following week and also to talk to each of the older children, to understand their wishes. Charlie saw Camille out and returned to the living room. She flopped down on to the sofa next to Millie.
‘How did you think that went?’ asked Charlie.
‘Testicles!’ said Millie.
‘Precisely,’ said Charlie.
Charlie was sound asleep when the phone went. She hated it when the phone rang in the middle of the night; it was usually a wrong number. Charlie didn’t have a landline in her room so it meant she would have to get out of bed and go downstairs. She tried to move an arm but realised that it was dead and trapped underneath a sleeping Eleanor. It seemed Eleanor had rolled that way, having been squeezed out by Millie, who was taking up an inordinate amount of room by sleeping in a star formation. This was not going to be an easy habit to break. Charlie pulled her arm from underneath the sleeping child and removed the weight from her feet that was in the form of a snoring Wriggly. That was another habit that needed to stop too, she thought, as she went downstairs on autopilot. The caller was persistent, so Charlie decided it was worth making the effort to answer it.
‘Hello?’ she said wearily.
‘Thank the Lord. I only had one call and I thought your mobile might be off so I called the house phone and you did pick up. Thank you, thank you,’ said a high-speed Fleur.
‘Uh, Fleur, it’s…’ Charlie looked at the clock ‘ten past two. What do you want?’
‘Um, I need you to come and get me, or I can get a taxi to yours, if that’s easier,’ said Fleur hurriedly.
‘Fleur, talk sense. What’s going on? Are you okay?’
‘Kind of yes and kind of no.’
‘Fleur!’ barked Charlie, her patience worn through already.
‘I went to Rob’s digs and I slashed his tyres, but their neighbourhood watch is really very good so they called the police, who arrested me. I’m in Harold Hill police station and I can’t ring Ma and Pa – they’ll kill me and I don’t think a taxi would risk taking me home as it’s quite far and I don’t have any cash. So I called you and the nice policeman says I need to wind up the call.’ Her voice was getting faster and faster, like someone declaring all the terms and conditions on a lending advert.
‘You prize idiot. Get a taxi here. I’ll pay for it, but you’re paying me back,’ and Charlie put the phone down because, if
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