sweet-tempered Rachel was scowling and hopping from foot to foot impatiently.
‘Mum, the party is in an hour and I have to change,’ she complained, flinging her bag into the back and climbing in.
Jo looked at her. ‘Party?’
‘Tracy’s party!’ The child exclaimed. ‘Did you get her birthday present?’
‘No, love, sorry, I forgot.’
‘Oh, Mum!’
‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll stop off at the newsagent and get a card and give her the money.’
‘But why can’t we get the DVD she wanted? I told her I would.’
‘There’s no time, Rachel,’ Jo snapped, feeling increasingly frazzled. ‘She can get it herself with the money.’
Rachel said nothing but sighed dramatically to ensure her mother knew that she was not impressed. ‘Are my pink jeans ironed?’ she asked after a moment.
Jo thought of the pile of dirty laundry still sitting by the washing machine. ‘No, I didn’t get a chance.’
‘Oh, Mum, what am I going to wear?’
‘You have plenty of nice clothes. Why on earth is she having a party on a school day, anyway? Don’t you have homework?’
‘Not much and the party will be over by six, I’ll have plenty of time.’
‘Well, don’t expect to watch any TV this evening.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘Not another word,’ Jo warned, ‘or you won’t be going to the party at all.’
She let Rachel go to Tracy’s house alone. She didn’t have time to change and put on make-up and she wouldn’t dream of facing the girl’s perfectly coiffed mother looking like this. Rachel skipped off down the road with her card and, looking at her watch, Jo realized that it was time to pick up Di; she hadn’t even had a chance to grab lunch yet. She’d buy a coffee at the petrol station and have it in the car on the way. The Crunchie she bought to go with it was a necessity, she reasoned, and quite probably less calories than a sandwich.
Di was also in a strop and barely opened her mouth all the way home. When Jo asked her for help checking out keep-fit websites, she muttered something about a project and disappeared up to her room. Some project, Jo thought, as moments later the ceiling began to vibrate with her daughter’s music. She hung the clothes out on the line, reloaded the washing machine and carried the basket of ironing into the living room. After she’d set up the board, plugged in the iron and switched on the TV, she put on the kettle, spooned coffee into a mug, her eyes drifting to the jar of cookies. She was standing watching Come Dine With Me , salivating at the creamy dessert they were all tucking into and absently ironing one of Greg’s shirts when Di reappeared.
‘What’s for dinner, Mum?’
It was going to be a nice roast chicken but Jo had forgotten to put it in the oven what with all the running around. ‘Fish fingers and chips.’
Di scrunched up her face. ‘Again? I really want to cut down on chips, Mum, I’m getting fat.’
Jo watched in disbelief as her daughter pinched her tiny waist. ‘You are not remotely fat!’
‘I will be if I keep stuffing my face with chips. Here, Mum, you look tired, let me do that.’
Jo’s eyes widened in delighted surprise. ‘Are you sure? Have you finished your homework?’
‘Yeah, all done.’
‘Ah, thanks, darling; you do your daddy’s shirts so much better than me, he always says so. I’ll see if I can rustle up something a bit healthier although we’ll have to wait for Rachel to get back. She’s at Tracy’s birthday party and I doubt she’ll get fed much over there; everything is white in that house.’
‘Mad, isn’t it?’ Di grinned and swapped places with her mother. ‘I’m starving; maybe I’ll have a couple of cookies to keep me going.’
‘Oh, I think Rachel finished them before she went out,’ Jo lied guiltily. ‘Anyway, I thought you didn’t want to get fat?’
Di pulled a face. ‘Very funny.’
‘Sorry. How about I get you a couple of custard creams and make you a nice cup of
‘Mum, the party is in an hour and I have to change,’ she complained, flinging her bag into the back and climbing in.
Jo looked at her. ‘Party?’
‘Tracy’s party!’ The child exclaimed. ‘Did you get her birthday present?’
‘No, love, sorry, I forgot.’
‘Oh, Mum!’
‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll stop off at the newsagent and get a card and give her the money.’
‘But why can’t we get the DVD she wanted? I told her I would.’
‘There’s no time, Rachel,’ Jo snapped, feeling increasingly frazzled. ‘She can get it herself with the money.’
Rachel said nothing but sighed dramatically to ensure her mother knew that she was not impressed. ‘Are my pink jeans ironed?’ she asked after a moment.
Jo thought of the pile of dirty laundry still sitting by the washing machine. ‘No, I didn’t get a chance.’
‘Oh, Mum, what am I going to wear?’
‘You have plenty of nice clothes. Why on earth is she having a party on a school day, anyway? Don’t you have homework?’
‘Not much and the party will be over by six, I’ll have plenty of time.’
‘Well, don’t expect to watch any TV this evening.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘Not another word,’ Jo warned, ‘or you won’t be going to the party at all.’
She let Rachel go to Tracy’s house alone. She didn’t have time to change and put on make-up and she wouldn’t dream of facing the girl’s perfectly coiffed mother looking like this. Rachel skipped off down the road with her card and, looking at her watch, Jo realized that it was time to pick up Di; she hadn’t even had a chance to grab lunch yet. She’d buy a coffee at the petrol station and have it in the car on the way. The Crunchie she bought to go with it was a necessity, she reasoned, and quite probably less calories than a sandwich.
Di was also in a strop and barely opened her mouth all the way home. When Jo asked her for help checking out keep-fit websites, she muttered something about a project and disappeared up to her room. Some project, Jo thought, as moments later the ceiling began to vibrate with her daughter’s music. She hung the clothes out on the line, reloaded the washing machine and carried the basket of ironing into the living room. After she’d set up the board, plugged in the iron and switched on the TV, she put on the kettle, spooned coffee into a mug, her eyes drifting to the jar of cookies. She was standing watching Come Dine With Me , salivating at the creamy dessert they were all tucking into and absently ironing one of Greg’s shirts when Di reappeared.
‘What’s for dinner, Mum?’
It was going to be a nice roast chicken but Jo had forgotten to put it in the oven what with all the running around. ‘Fish fingers and chips.’
Di scrunched up her face. ‘Again? I really want to cut down on chips, Mum, I’m getting fat.’
Jo watched in disbelief as her daughter pinched her tiny waist. ‘You are not remotely fat!’
‘I will be if I keep stuffing my face with chips. Here, Mum, you look tired, let me do that.’
Jo’s eyes widened in delighted surprise. ‘Are you sure? Have you finished your homework?’
‘Yeah, all done.’
‘Ah, thanks, darling; you do your daddy’s shirts so much better than me, he always says so. I’ll see if I can rustle up something a bit healthier although we’ll have to wait for Rachel to get back. She’s at Tracy’s birthday party and I doubt she’ll get fed much over there; everything is white in that house.’
‘Mad, isn’t it?’ Di grinned and swapped places with her mother. ‘I’m starving; maybe I’ll have a couple of cookies to keep me going.’
‘Oh, I think Rachel finished them before she went out,’ Jo lied guiltily. ‘Anyway, I thought you didn’t want to get fat?’
Di pulled a face. ‘Very funny.’
‘Sorry. How about I get you a couple of custard creams and make you a nice cup of
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