Holly simply watched for a moment, pausing in her frantic rush, to focus on committing this picture to memory. She leaned
against the door frame, enchanted as always by her boys, cross-legged in front of the TV, their soft cord trousers riding up their plump little legs. She adored the way their actions unconsciously
mirrored one another, as they always had done, leaning inwards like a pair of book-ends. All the stresses, all the compromises – all totally worth it in moments like these.
The phone pealed suddenly throughout the house, prompting a volley of grumbles from the kitchen about who could be calling at this ungodly hour. Milo had settled down to read the newspaper and
showed no sign of movement so, with a harried glance at her watch, Holly grabbed the receiver before it disturbed Bob the Builder’s big announcement or set Milo off on another one of his
spiels about telephone etiquette.
‘Hello,’ she managed, her voice sounding unusually gruff and strangled.
‘Jesus Christ, Holly, if that’s your best doctoring voice, it certainly needs some work,’ said Lizzie with a snigger.
‘Morning, Elizabeth,’ managed Holly. ‘Only you could sound this chipper at stupid o’clock in the morning.’
‘Only because I’ve been up for bloody hours! Anyway, I know you’re dashing but I just wanted to check you survived yesterday afternoon and that you’re still up for supper
tonight? I want all the gory details.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ said Holly, secretly longing to dissect the rest of her first day at work. Milo’s enquiries last night had been brief to the point of disinterest, but then,
she had been fast asleep in front of the television by nine o’clock: hardly scintillating company herself. ‘The boys are looking forward to it already.’
‘Then I shall have something entirely pointless and non-educational lined up for them to do. Speaking of pointless, will your darling husband be joining us?’
‘Lizzie!’ Holly protested, feeling disloyal for the laughter that automatically bubbled up. It was just that Lizzie had this unerring knack of putting into words exactly the feelings
that Holly would never admit to. Lizzie firmly maintained that Milo’s primary role in family life was purely decorative and Holly tried to remind herself daily that he was doing his best and
that not everyone could multi-task or prioritise on the hoof.
True, there were times, like last night, like this morning, when it grew increasingly difficult to ignore the deteriorating state of her marriage, but Holly knew that if she stopped to dwell on
it, even for a second, she would lose the momentum she relied upon to carry her through each and every day. It was all about keeping focus. Much better to focus on the things that made her happy
– her boys, her work, her friends . . .
‘Can I bring anything?’ Holly asked simply.
‘Wine. We’ll definitely be needing wine. Quite a lot of wine probably.’ Lizzie’s laugh was a little strained and Holly wished she had more time to talk, but Lizzie, like
Holly, was banking on momentum and pushed on with her plans. ‘We’ll give the kids a treat and pop on a DVD or something – you never know, we might even finish a
sentence.’
And Lizzie had a point: with everyone’s various offspring around, there wasn’t much scope for adult conversation in Holly’s home life. The snatched exchanges with the other
mothers in the Nursery corridor, or at the various children’s parties that seemed to monopolise many a weekend, often felt unsatisfying and left Holly feeling out of sync with the people
around her.
Lizzie had it right as always. What Holly fancied was a proper gossip with her friend, without the need to censor her words and cram every concept into three sentences or less. Holly had
recently decided that motherhood was a lot like Twitter – you had 140 characters to get your point across, before the next distraction came bowling along and you’d missed
against the door frame, enchanted as always by her boys, cross-legged in front of the TV, their soft cord trousers riding up their plump little legs. She adored the way their actions unconsciously
mirrored one another, as they always had done, leaning inwards like a pair of book-ends. All the stresses, all the compromises – all totally worth it in moments like these.
The phone pealed suddenly throughout the house, prompting a volley of grumbles from the kitchen about who could be calling at this ungodly hour. Milo had settled down to read the newspaper and
showed no sign of movement so, with a harried glance at her watch, Holly grabbed the receiver before it disturbed Bob the Builder’s big announcement or set Milo off on another one of his
spiels about telephone etiquette.
‘Hello,’ she managed, her voice sounding unusually gruff and strangled.
‘Jesus Christ, Holly, if that’s your best doctoring voice, it certainly needs some work,’ said Lizzie with a snigger.
‘Morning, Elizabeth,’ managed Holly. ‘Only you could sound this chipper at stupid o’clock in the morning.’
‘Only because I’ve been up for bloody hours! Anyway, I know you’re dashing but I just wanted to check you survived yesterday afternoon and that you’re still up for supper
tonight? I want all the gory details.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ said Holly, secretly longing to dissect the rest of her first day at work. Milo’s enquiries last night had been brief to the point of disinterest, but then,
she had been fast asleep in front of the television by nine o’clock: hardly scintillating company herself. ‘The boys are looking forward to it already.’
‘Then I shall have something entirely pointless and non-educational lined up for them to do. Speaking of pointless, will your darling husband be joining us?’
‘Lizzie!’ Holly protested, feeling disloyal for the laughter that automatically bubbled up. It was just that Lizzie had this unerring knack of putting into words exactly the feelings
that Holly would never admit to. Lizzie firmly maintained that Milo’s primary role in family life was purely decorative and Holly tried to remind herself daily that he was doing his best and
that not everyone could multi-task or prioritise on the hoof.
True, there were times, like last night, like this morning, when it grew increasingly difficult to ignore the deteriorating state of her marriage, but Holly knew that if she stopped to dwell on
it, even for a second, she would lose the momentum she relied upon to carry her through each and every day. It was all about keeping focus. Much better to focus on the things that made her happy
– her boys, her work, her friends . . .
‘Can I bring anything?’ Holly asked simply.
‘Wine. We’ll definitely be needing wine. Quite a lot of wine probably.’ Lizzie’s laugh was a little strained and Holly wished she had more time to talk, but Lizzie, like
Holly, was banking on momentum and pushed on with her plans. ‘We’ll give the kids a treat and pop on a DVD or something – you never know, we might even finish a
sentence.’
And Lizzie had a point: with everyone’s various offspring around, there wasn’t much scope for adult conversation in Holly’s home life. The snatched exchanges with the other
mothers in the Nursery corridor, or at the various children’s parties that seemed to monopolise many a weekend, often felt unsatisfying and left Holly feeling out of sync with the people
around her.
Lizzie had it right as always. What Holly fancied was a proper gossip with her friend, without the need to censor her words and cram every concept into three sentences or less. Holly had
recently decided that motherhood was a lot like Twitter – you had 140 characters to get your point across, before the next distraction came bowling along and you’d missed
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