your
window.
‘Have you got time for this?’ Milo called through from the kitchen, feet up on the table and sports pages spread open.
‘Is that His Lordship I hear summoning you?’ asked Lizzie drily. ‘He’s doing well to be out of bed this early.’
Whilst absolutely true, Holly once again felt torn: her honour dictated that she should defend her husband, mention that he’d been up writing until the wee small hours, but the exhausted
mother in her welcomed the acknowledgement that help and support from Milo were in short supply. Some days she wondered whether it might actually be easier to be a single parent, before promptly
and repeatedly quashing the notion. She simply couldn’t do that to her boys. So, she did what she always did these days, and dodged the issue. ‘I’d love to chat but I really must
dash, Lizzie, I can’t be late on my second day.’
‘Quite right too – go forth and heal the sick, placate the whiney and be virtuous for the both of us. Just promise me you’re not wearing one of those tired old jersey dresses
again or I shall be forced to intervene.’
‘Good Lord, is that the time?’ deflected Holly as Lizzie hit a sensitive nerve. Holly was actually still mourning the fact that, as a GP, she would no longer get to fall out of bed
and pull on a set of scrubs every day. Okay, so she had secretly rather enjoyed going into Jigsaw with Lizzie at the end of her maternity leave last year, and picking out three stylish outfits, but
a year down the line she was still wearing those self-same outfits day in, day out – and now for work as well as play.
Biting at yet another loose thread, she conceded that a little more effort probably was required on the clothing front, but at 6 a.m. every last moment spent in bed was precious. And if she did
sometimes worry that she might arrive at work looking as though she’d got dressed in the dark, it just didn’t seem terribly professional to let on, that some days she actually had.
Lizzie’s laugh echoed down the phone as Holly hung up and started gathering yet more kit together for the day ahead. She could hear Bob the Builder heading for its exciting denouement and
knew she didn’t have long.
She grabbed the twins’ kit bags from the kitchen table and dashed into the utility room, turning her back on the sorry heap of laundry that lay neglected in the basket. ‘You’ll
still be here when I get back,’ she told it, as she filled the bags with drinks for the twins and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to the bloody
laundry now,’ she said to the contents of the fridge, as she rummaged around for a few snack-time treats.
She filled a separate plastic tub with Ben’s special homemade biscuits and unearthed some non-dairy chocolate buttons. It had been a long road to uncover the source of Ben’s allergy,
but the endless exclusion plans had been worth the effort. Of course it meant that most of his food had to be prepared from scratch, just to be sure that no dairy products were creeping into his
diet, but Holly figured that a little extra cooking was a small price to pay. Watching her miserable, screaming, snotty baby transform before her very eyes had been almost miraculous.
If only they could get to the bottom of his other issues so easily. Although it was fair to say that Ben suffered by comparison with his gregarious, over-confident twin, it was equally obvious
that Ben shied away from other people. Given the choice, Ben liked habit, routine and his twin. He was happy enough with Holly, but he only really sparkled for Tom. Anyone else, anything else, was
simply perceived by Ben as an unwelcome interruption.
Holly emerged from the utility, bags fully laden and running through her day’s To Do list in her head. The twins were now running noisy loops around the kitchen table,
Ben lagging behind as always. She’d been meaning to book him in for another development assessment, but somehow,
window.
‘Have you got time for this?’ Milo called through from the kitchen, feet up on the table and sports pages spread open.
‘Is that His Lordship I hear summoning you?’ asked Lizzie drily. ‘He’s doing well to be out of bed this early.’
Whilst absolutely true, Holly once again felt torn: her honour dictated that she should defend her husband, mention that he’d been up writing until the wee small hours, but the exhausted
mother in her welcomed the acknowledgement that help and support from Milo were in short supply. Some days she wondered whether it might actually be easier to be a single parent, before promptly
and repeatedly quashing the notion. She simply couldn’t do that to her boys. So, she did what she always did these days, and dodged the issue. ‘I’d love to chat but I really must
dash, Lizzie, I can’t be late on my second day.’
‘Quite right too – go forth and heal the sick, placate the whiney and be virtuous for the both of us. Just promise me you’re not wearing one of those tired old jersey dresses
again or I shall be forced to intervene.’
‘Good Lord, is that the time?’ deflected Holly as Lizzie hit a sensitive nerve. Holly was actually still mourning the fact that, as a GP, she would no longer get to fall out of bed
and pull on a set of scrubs every day. Okay, so she had secretly rather enjoyed going into Jigsaw with Lizzie at the end of her maternity leave last year, and picking out three stylish outfits, but
a year down the line she was still wearing those self-same outfits day in, day out – and now for work as well as play.
Biting at yet another loose thread, she conceded that a little more effort probably was required on the clothing front, but at 6 a.m. every last moment spent in bed was precious. And if she did
sometimes worry that she might arrive at work looking as though she’d got dressed in the dark, it just didn’t seem terribly professional to let on, that some days she actually had.
Lizzie’s laugh echoed down the phone as Holly hung up and started gathering yet more kit together for the day ahead. She could hear Bob the Builder heading for its exciting denouement and
knew she didn’t have long.
She grabbed the twins’ kit bags from the kitchen table and dashed into the utility room, turning her back on the sorry heap of laundry that lay neglected in the basket. ‘You’ll
still be here when I get back,’ she told it, as she filled the bags with drinks for the twins and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to the bloody
laundry now,’ she said to the contents of the fridge, as she rummaged around for a few snack-time treats.
She filled a separate plastic tub with Ben’s special homemade biscuits and unearthed some non-dairy chocolate buttons. It had been a long road to uncover the source of Ben’s allergy,
but the endless exclusion plans had been worth the effort. Of course it meant that most of his food had to be prepared from scratch, just to be sure that no dairy products were creeping into his
diet, but Holly figured that a little extra cooking was a small price to pay. Watching her miserable, screaming, snotty baby transform before her very eyes had been almost miraculous.
If only they could get to the bottom of his other issues so easily. Although it was fair to say that Ben suffered by comparison with his gregarious, over-confident twin, it was equally obvious
that Ben shied away from other people. Given the choice, Ben liked habit, routine and his twin. He was happy enough with Holly, but he only really sparkled for Tom. Anyone else, anything else, was
simply perceived by Ben as an unwelcome interruption.
Holly emerged from the utility, bags fully laden and running through her day’s To Do list in her head. The twins were now running noisy loops around the kitchen table,
Ben lagging behind as always. She’d been meaning to book him in for another development assessment, but somehow,
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