I peered over, trying to keep some distance. “Shit, you’ve got headlice!”
CHAPTER 5
CLAIRE
The weekend was christened Nit Gate and would forever be remembered as the time when everyone blamed everyone else’s kids for spreading head lice around but actually no one really cared because this was life and we just had to carry on with the sheep dipping.
It was also the source of my worst hangover since the day after my wedding, and that wasn’t a metaphor. I loved champagne. Like really loved, as in, I had no valve that could be turned off when I’d had enough, I just kept on pouring.
So my head was pounding, even when I got home from the tour of the secret room to be met by my four offspring who seemed intent on revolt, on the doorstep, just as it started to rain.
“Dad says it was your decision we couldn’t have internet access after seven.” Eliza folded her arms and looked exactly like me, if I was her age and knew everything there was to know still. “He said we needed to speak to you.”
I saw my wonderful husband in the hallway, biceps bulging and shaking slightly as he laughed at my current predicament. Those biceps were the reasons for child numbers three and four,because like champagne, I wasn’t much good at saying no to him either.
My daughters, however, I had no difficulty in using the word no.
“Yes, it is my decision, supported by your father, to ensure that after seven you either read, socialise or sleep. The internet is off for all of us, unless your father or I need to work, which is how we afford the parasites I birthed.”
“Mamma, what’s a parasite.” That was Orla, who more than likely knew what a parasite was and was just trying to test my patience further.
“You could Google it, just don’t try to do it after seven.” Oh the irony I’d learned from my step-mother, my wickedly short tempered and perfectly pragmatic step-mother. I’d learned parenting from her, which was why I was in sort of possession of four independently minded, empathetic when they wanted to be, intelligent, confident young women.
Killian referred to them as his little women, which made me want to lecture him and mount him like a pony at the same time, which was standard if I was feeling generous. I didn’t plan to have four daughters and I wasn’t sure which fairy godmother I’d pissed off because four lots of oestrogen, some of it almost teenaged, was not fun.
Eliza looked furious, which was quite entertaining. “You’re depriving me of my rights. I should be able to go online when I choose.”
I smiled, the prettiest smile I could manage given I had a marching band currently performing through my cerebellum.
“When you have your own home and you’re the one who’s paying the bills, you can make the rules.” I blustered my way through my own front door, Eliza hot on my heels with her mini-mes behind her.
“That’s not fair!”
“Life’s not fair, sweetie. I think that when you have children they should come with a separate bank account so parents don’t have to take out a second mortgage on tickets for a singer whose name sounds like a bird - ”
“How can you not remember her name? She’s like the best person ever - ”
“In your opinion.”
“She is. It’s fact.”
“Your fact, maybe. But there is no evidence that she is indeed the best person ever. In fact, there is no criteria for such a thing as ‘the best person ever’, so your claim is irrefutably false.” I paused at the bottom of the stairs, sitting on them and pulling off my sandals which were another bad decision.
“Mum, I’m ten. Why are you arguing with me like I’m opposite you in court?” Eliza tried to make herself look wide eyed and younger than she was, an Aunt Ava technique I was completely immune to.
“You want to make the decisions around here, like the internet and what time it’s on, you have to debate like an adult. Use the ‘I’m a child’ explanation – totally valid as you are a child, and you make my point for me. The internet goes off at seven.” I rubbed my feet wondering why I’d chosen today to torture them. “I’ll consider adding half an hour every birthday.”
“That means Orla and Quinn will be really young and have the same time as me. I don’t think that’s fair.” Eliza glanced at her father who just smiled.
The bastard had clearly left this for me to deal with as a form of torture.
“It isn’t fair, so your dad can set up separate profiles. Seven o’clock until you’re thirteen and then you get an extra half an hour as a birthday present until you’re seventeen.” That sounded reasonable enough to me.
“What happens at seventeen?” Eliza looked at me warily.
“No restrictions. But you have other responsibilities by that age, like keeping yourself alive by yourself, so the internet may be more useful than just stalking random popstars.”
“She is not a random popstar. She’s the most creative, talented singer we’ve seen in generations - ”
