“Okay,” I say, swallowing my panic. “That makes sense. But Daddy might still have feelings about this.”
She looks up. “Big feelings?”
“Very big feelings,” I confirm. “The sort where eyebrows move a lot.”
Lucy’s mouth wobbles. “I didn’t mean to be naughty.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “You’re not in trouble. We just need to… manage the situation.”
Internally, I am already planning my funeral.
Theo is going to kill me. Not violently. Emotionally. With looks.
I pull my phone out and make the executive decision to phone the one person who might have some ideas on how to manage our middle brother.
Jasper answers on video, sunlight behind him and the distinct sound of seagulls.
“What’s up?” he asks, then stops. “Why do you look like that.”
I tilt the phone so Lucy’s fringe is fully visible.
There’s a beat.
Then Jasper loses it.
Full-bodied laughter. He bends double. Actual wheezing.
“Oh my God,” he gasps. “She’s gone full experimental.”
Lucy’s face crumples. “It’s not funny.”
Jasper straightens instantly. “Hey. Hey. No, Lu. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at Uncle Geoff.”
I nod. “Fair.”
Lucy crosses her arms. “I don’t like Uncle Jasper anymore.”
She turns on her heel and stomps off towards the sofa, flopping down with all the theatrical indignation five-year-olds can muster.
Jasper watches her go. “I’ll fix that when I see her next.”
“By existing?” I ask.
“By bringing snacks,” he says. “And pretending this never happened.”
We both know she’ll have forgotten by morning.
He looks back at me through the screen, the grin fading just enough to be useful. “Right. So why are you calling me?”
I drag a hand over my face. “I need help.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “With the hair, or in general?”
“Right now?” I say. “The hair.”
“Ah,” Jasper says, nodding slowly. “Yes. I can see how that would feel… urgent.”
“I’m not equipped,” I say. “I once cut my own hair when I was seven and Mum had to shave what was left over off. I looked like a tiny Buddhist monk.”
