“Your what?”
“For school. It’s Wear Yellow Day.”
Ah.
Right.
Emma definitely mentioned something about yellow.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “We’ll find one.”
Sophie’s face shifts immediately into pre-meltdown mode. “It has to be the right yellow.”
Of course it does.
Ruby starts crying upstairs.
Oscar groans. “Mum would know where it is.”
The words aren’t cruel. They’re factual.
That somehow makes them worse.
“I’ll find it,” I say.
I open Sophie’s drawer. No yellow.
Laundry basket? Nothing obvious. I stand there holding a pale cream cardigan and wondering if it’s close enough.
Ruby’s crying escalates.
Oscar shouts from the kitchen, “Dad, I can’t find my PE kit!”
I close my eyes for a second.
Right. PE kit. Where would that be? Cupboard? Hall? Car?
Emma’s voice floats through my head, something about washing it Sunday. Or was it Monday? I head to the airing cupboard. Towels. Spare bedding. A half-empty pack of nappies.
Ruby is properly crying now.
“I’ve got her!” I shout, even though I don’t. I’m still halfway down the stairs.
By the time I reach the bedroom, Emma is already sitting up, Ruby in her arms. I stop in the doorway.
“I was coming,” I say.
She doesn’t look at me. “It’s fine.”
It’s not angry. It’s not even sharp. It’s worse. It’s tired.
“I’ve got the kids,” I add quickly. “Sophie needs a yellow top. And Oscar can’t find his PE kit.”
Emma closes her eyes briefly.
“Yellow’s in the clean laundry basket,” she says. “Under the radiator. And the PE kit’s in the boot. I washed it Sunday.”
Of course it is. Of course she did.
