She squeezes my fingers. ‘I know you will.’
I’m not sure either of us believe I can.
10
Climbing Rose Cottage, St Aidan, Cornwall
Confusion, daisies and home truths
Tuesday
As Tia and I make our way back to town, it’s as if every cell in my body is jangling and on high alert, and by the time we get to the shop, I’m more awake than after my freezing-cold dip in the harbour.
When I get home again after taking Angel and my Tuesday dogs for a run along the sands and collecting the kids from school, I’m still too wired to stop, so I make a large batch of cupcakes and a giant bowlful of vanilla buttercream. It’s only when I stand at the kitchen island and give the piping bag every bit of my attention that the thoughts zipping through my brain about Salvador and his crisis finally slow down.
On the upside, at least my immediate problems with Lando are over. If I hang on in there with this one, we might find a way through this, too.
‘You’ve got that line between your eyebrows again, Mum.’
I look down to see Nemmie standing at my elbow, and she’s giving me a hard stare.
‘If I eat enough cupcakes, my stress lines will melt away.’
Nemmie herself then frowns. ‘Isn’t vanilla what you save for the worst stuff?’
I sigh because she’s right. ‘We’ve had a lot of chocolate lately, that’s all.’
She’s still staring at me. ‘Have we got a family catastrophe?’
I give a shrug. ‘It’s baked halloumi and roasted vegetables for dinner. What does that tell you?’
She hesitates. ‘That you’re trying to make up for all the sugar we’ve had over the weekend?’
I shake my head. ‘That it’s a normal Tuesday and everything is a-okay.’
Nemmie sniffs. ‘It’s not okay that Uncle Salvador’s gone belly up though, is it?’
My eyes snap open. ‘Excuse me?’
Zara pipes up from the sofa. ‘Fineas Barton in Year 6 said that’s why his blue car was haunted.’
Dale digs Zara in the ribs. ‘Not that kind of haunted, durr. It was possessed.’
Nemmie shrugs. ‘He owes money right, left and everywhere. Tommy Edgar’s dad’s in big shit too. And Willow Calvert’s.’
I blow out a breath. ‘Can we find another way of saying that that isn’t swearing?’
Nemmie protests. ‘It’s not my swear, it’s Tommy’s.’
It’s late for crisis containment, but I’ll try anyway. ‘You already know you shouldn’t believe everything you hear at school; rumours can be notoriously unreliable.’
I’ve never talked to Nemmie in baby talk, and I’ve also never tried to shield her from adult concepts and always been open to questions. Mum always maintained that open discussion normalised what other parents might have run a mile from, much to the shock of our friends. I can still see the expression on Lando’s face the day one of us mentioned some local teenager we knew giving someone a blowie in a bus shelter, and Mum using the opportunity to remind us about consent, that you could get STIs from oral sex too, and that on balance sex indoors was preferable because it was likely to be more relaxed, fulfilling and comfortable.
I put down my piping bag and rinse my hands, but Nemmie’s still going. ‘Uncle Salvador took Nan’s money too and now she’s got to sell the house.’
My mouth drops open. ‘What?!’
She’s looking past my head to the windows. ‘If it really is all fine, why has Nan taken baby Flo to the top rose garden?’
