The truth was, I wasn’t coping. I felt like a small boat lost in a vast ocean, caught in fog, with a storm brewing on the horizon, and a shark circling. The worst thing was being stuck in limbo. With no official separation from Rob, I wasn’t entitled to any single-parent allowance, and my application for Universal Credit looked like it would take weeks to process.
As for moving forward with housing, my visit to the council offices had been as depressing as watchingAngela’s Ashes. I’d been put on a waiting list, but informed I could be on it for years,and even then, I was unlikely to get anything bigger than a one-bedroom flat. Not that I was fussy, I’d have taken a shoebox if offered it, but I had a son growing bigger by the day, and whilst I’d lay my head in a hovel, I wanted better for him.
Bertie’s questions had been mounting over the past week and needed to be addressed. I’d been waiting for word from Rob, but as he was still MIA, there was little I could do but tell Bertie the truth.
The sound of shouting reached me from upstairs, and I checked my watch. It wasn’t yet six, and I’d expected longer to myself.
‘Mum!’
Bertie stood at the top of the stairs, hopping from foot to foot. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m desperate for a wee, but Emmy’s been in the bathroom for ages and won’t come out. I’m going to pee my pants in a minute.’
‘Come down here,’ I said. Bertie ran down the stairs, his hand gripping his crotch.
‘Mum, I don’t think I can hold it in much longer.’
‘Quick, follow me.’ I opened the back door and pulled Bertie through. ‘There you go, pee in that flowerpot.’
‘I can’t wee in there!’
‘Why not?’
‘It will kill the plant.’
‘Fine, pee beside it. I’ll fill a bowl with water and wash it away when you’re done.’ Bertie insisted I turn my back on him while he went about his business. ‘Better?’ I asked when I heard the pop of his waistband.
‘Much.’
‘What’s up with Emmy? Is she ill?’
‘I don’t think so. She won’t come out, and I heard her crying behind the door.’
‘Right, you go through to the lounge and watch a bit of TV. I’ll see what’s wrong with Emmy.’
Once Bertie was snuggled up beneath my duvet, I climbed the stairs and gave a tentative knock on the door. ‘Emmy? Emmy, it’s Aunt Liv.’
‘Go away.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, darling. I’m worried about you.’
‘I want Mum.’
‘Sorry, Em, your mum’s on night shifts and still isn’t home. Shall I get your dad for you?’
‘No!’
‘OK, well either you’re going to have to open this door so I can come in, or I’ll have to fetch your dad.’
After a moment’s indecision, the door opened. My hand flew to my mouth at the sight of my niece.
‘Don’t laugh,’ said Emmy, bursting into loud, messy tears.
‘Shh,’ I said, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. ‘Em, what happened?’
Emmy handed me a bottle of hair dye. ‘It said it was black, but it’s turned my hair green.’
‘Isn’t green cool?’
