happened.’ He shuffles his revision cards and takes off his glasses.
‘I don’t know what to do, Steve. I’m not sure I want to get involved.’
‘We are involved. They’re your family.’
‘But I didn’t choose that family. I chose this one. You and the girls.’ I look at Steve in his dog collar and try to remember what he used to be like in his overalls. I feel
tears wash my eyes and I’m not entirely sure why.
‘I’ll have a word with Martin if you think that’ll help,’ Steve suggests. ‘Otherwise, you’re right, there’s not a lot we can do for now.’
‘He won’t take a blind bit of notice. I’ll speak to Rachel’s teacher though. Get her to keep an eye on him.’
‘Rachel’s teacher?’
‘They’re going to be in the same class.’
‘Well, that’s a God-incidence for you.’
‘A what?’
‘A God inspired coincidence,’ Steve beams. Life is simple for him these days. He hands over his worries to God whereas I gather mine all around me like a class of small
uncontrollable children. ‘Stop fretting, Vick. It’ll work out. Trust in the Lord.’ Then he pats my hand and it is a real struggle not to let the tears fall.
Thoughts for the Day: Should I go on a counselling course? Or should I go into therapy? And just what is an epiphany exactly?
January 20th 1978
I hate school. Mr Harris, my teacher, has grease marks on his trousers. They must come from his hair, which looks like it would catch fire if you got near it with a match.
Only one more year at this dump and then I will be going to another dump. Martin is at the Grammar but I didn’t get put in for the eleven plus because I am not brainy like him. It is so
unfair. I work much more than the lazy slug but he always gets ‘A’s. Even when I try really, really hard, the best I get is a ‘B’.
Heidi goes to a private school because her Dad is a financier, whatever that is. Heidi met Martin at a public speaking competition. Martin’s team won of course. Heidi said his speech on
the rules of cricket was inspiring. She is a big fat liar. Martin told her she looked like Olivia Newton-John. He is a big fat liar too. Heidi looks more like Dolly Parton. I wish someone would
tell me I look like Olivia Newton-John. I look more like Leo Sayer. With a brace.
But I shouldn’t call Heidi a big fat liar because I like Heidi. She is nice to me and smiles a lot and last night she helped me with my French homework. I have no idea why I need to
learn French. Mum and Dad will never take us to France. They never take us further than Worthing or Weston-super-Mare. Heidi is going to Egypt for her next holiday. She is going to see the pyramids
and the Sphincter. I wish I was Heidi.
Chapter Nine: Monday January 7th
Packed lunches. For Jeremy and Rachel. Not for me as I still have a few months reprieve until Imo hits her first birthday and I return to teaching. Not for Steve who no longer
has to eat his sandwiches in his van. He comes home these days. Which is nice. Usually. Though sometimes I’d like to sit down and watch The Little Mermaid DVD with Olivia in the hope
of twenty minutes shut-eye, instead of listening to how the diocese works and feeling guilty for not being as enthusiastic as Amanda about the new prayer books.
Guilt. Must have caught it off Claudia. I can feel it snapping at my ankles like the Jack Russell the children are always nagging us for. Guilt at the extent of my joy that Rachel and Jeremy
will be out of the house for six whole hours. No American Idol. No monosodium glutamate. Back to CBeebies and rice cakes (unsalted). And guilt because this is Olivia’s first day
at playgroup and apart from buying her a pair of shiny inappropriate shoes I haven’t prepared her for stepping out into the world without me. And now I have to step outside. Into the garden.
The shed.
‘I’m staying in here, Auntie Vicky,’ Jeremy mutters as I try to coax him out, his father having disappeared to work.
‘I don’t know what to do, Steve. I’m not sure I want to get involved.’
‘We are involved. They’re your family.’
‘But I didn’t choose that family. I chose this one. You and the girls.’ I look at Steve in his dog collar and try to remember what he used to be like in his overalls. I feel
tears wash my eyes and I’m not entirely sure why.
‘I’ll have a word with Martin if you think that’ll help,’ Steve suggests. ‘Otherwise, you’re right, there’s not a lot we can do for now.’
‘He won’t take a blind bit of notice. I’ll speak to Rachel’s teacher though. Get her to keep an eye on him.’
‘Rachel’s teacher?’
‘They’re going to be in the same class.’
‘Well, that’s a God-incidence for you.’
‘A what?’
‘A God inspired coincidence,’ Steve beams. Life is simple for him these days. He hands over his worries to God whereas I gather mine all around me like a class of small
uncontrollable children. ‘Stop fretting, Vick. It’ll work out. Trust in the Lord.’ Then he pats my hand and it is a real struggle not to let the tears fall.
Thoughts for the Day: Should I go on a counselling course? Or should I go into therapy? And just what is an epiphany exactly?
January 20th 1978
I hate school. Mr Harris, my teacher, has grease marks on his trousers. They must come from his hair, which looks like it would catch fire if you got near it with a match.
Only one more year at this dump and then I will be going to another dump. Martin is at the Grammar but I didn’t get put in for the eleven plus because I am not brainy like him. It is so
unfair. I work much more than the lazy slug but he always gets ‘A’s. Even when I try really, really hard, the best I get is a ‘B’.
Heidi goes to a private school because her Dad is a financier, whatever that is. Heidi met Martin at a public speaking competition. Martin’s team won of course. Heidi said his speech on
the rules of cricket was inspiring. She is a big fat liar. Martin told her she looked like Olivia Newton-John. He is a big fat liar too. Heidi looks more like Dolly Parton. I wish someone would
tell me I look like Olivia Newton-John. I look more like Leo Sayer. With a brace.
But I shouldn’t call Heidi a big fat liar because I like Heidi. She is nice to me and smiles a lot and last night she helped me with my French homework. I have no idea why I need to
learn French. Mum and Dad will never take us to France. They never take us further than Worthing or Weston-super-Mare. Heidi is going to Egypt for her next holiday. She is going to see the pyramids
and the Sphincter. I wish I was Heidi.
Chapter Nine: Monday January 7th
Packed lunches. For Jeremy and Rachel. Not for me as I still have a few months reprieve until Imo hits her first birthday and I return to teaching. Not for Steve who no longer
has to eat his sandwiches in his van. He comes home these days. Which is nice. Usually. Though sometimes I’d like to sit down and watch The Little Mermaid DVD with Olivia in the hope
of twenty minutes shut-eye, instead of listening to how the diocese works and feeling guilty for not being as enthusiastic as Amanda about the new prayer books.
Guilt. Must have caught it off Claudia. I can feel it snapping at my ankles like the Jack Russell the children are always nagging us for. Guilt at the extent of my joy that Rachel and Jeremy
will be out of the house for six whole hours. No American Idol. No monosodium glutamate. Back to CBeebies and rice cakes (unsalted). And guilt because this is Olivia’s first day
at playgroup and apart from buying her a pair of shiny inappropriate shoes I haven’t prepared her for stepping out into the world without me. And now I have to step outside. Into the garden.
The shed.
‘I’m staying in here, Auntie Vicky,’ Jeremy mutters as I try to coax him out, his father having disappeared to work.
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