Cheerios. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked chocolate hoops.”
“Not anymore.”
“Okay.” I used my gentlest voice. “We’ll have to wait until the end of the week. When I get paid, we can go to the shop and you can pick out anything you want.”
She sighed again, picking at her breakfast. I felt like the worst mother in the world.
My fault.
Everything was always my fault when Cameron wasn’t here for her to be angry at.
It’s teething problems, I reminded myself, swallowing down my frustration.It’s normal for her to be angry. I’d been angry too. Those first few weeks, abandonment had turned my brain into a gremlin’s playhouse, the unwanted creature chewing and twisting every good memory I had with Cameron until I didn’t recognise the bitter woman staring back at me in the mirror.
Now I just felt tired. Ready to climb into my bed and sleep until the metamorphosis stage of my life was over and I re-emerged, transformed into a woman who was ready to handle her shit. Steer her own boat, or however the saying went.
At this point, I’d settle for making it to work on time.
“Am I seeing Daddy today?” she asked, picking at the hoops, one at a time.
“No, sunshine. You see Daddy every Saturday, remember?” Teddy knew she only saw her dad on Saturdays. Still, she asked the same question every morning.
Her nod was small, detached. I scrambled for a way to make it better, to put a smile on her face, no matter how fleeting. “Why didn’t you tell me about the school trip?”
She didn’t look up from her bowl. “Because we can’t afford it.”
The crack of my heart echoed in my ears.
I sank into the chair opposite, my legs giving out. No matter how thoroughly I fell apart, this shit was never supposed to touch her. Had I become so bad at hiding it?
“Hey, we can absolutely afford it,” I lied. “If you want to go, we’ll find a way.” Even if I had to sell a kidney on the black market, my kid was going on that trip. “Okay?” I urged, until she nodded.
“Ava and Emily are going, and we get to go on a boat and hunt for the Loch Ness monster.”
“For real? Then it’s a done deal. You’redefinitelygoing.” I rounded the table, burying my face into her blonde mess of curls. Breathing her in. Letting my worry melt, if only for a moment. “Now, go get dressed for summer camp.”
“Do I have time to play Lego?”
“Get dressed first, we can’t be late on the first day,” I said, right as a blender whirred to life on the other side of the wall.
The second Teddy disappeared, I flipped my middle finger, imagining Alistair Macabe could see me. “You’re not so quiet yourself, Mr Perfect.”
2
Alistair
Dear Mr Macabe
Your complaint against Miss Lang (of number 2 Croft Cottages) has once again been noted and forwarded to the resident. Miss Lang has since replied with the below message:
“Please tell Dr Macabe that if he agrees to park his petrol-guzzling monster truck in his allocated parking space, I shall make every effort to blow-dry my hair after seven a.m. It’s called a compromise.”
As this is your third complaint this month alone, might I suggest taking this matter directly to Miss Lang to see if an agreement might be met.
Kindest regards
Julia
Skye Holidays and Rental Homes
