‘Hello, Gemma. What can I do for you?’
‘Hello, Grandma!’ the girls call from the back seat.
I shush them. ‘Hi, Diane. I just wondered about a letter that Eva’s teacher gave you when you picked them up from school?’
‘The parents’ evening letter?’
‘Yes!’ At least she knows what I’m talking about. ‘Do you still have it?’
‘I gave it to you, dear. Last week. Don’t you remember? You got home from work and I told you all about it. You said you’d better get on and book an appointment because they fill up so quickly.’
I actually have no recollection of that at all. ‘Are you sure it was me and not Robert who you gave the letter to?’
‘Positive. I’m not quite senile yet.’
No, she certainly isn’t. But sometimes I wonder if maybe I am.
‘Everything all right, Gemma? You still there?’
‘Sorry, yes. It’s just… I don’t remember the letter, that’s all.’
‘Well, I can assure you, I did give it to you.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve just got so much on my mind.’
‘You’re overdoing it, Gemma.’
Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I gave Robert the name and number of that nanny. You should call her before she takes another job.’
‘Thanks. I’ll, er, I’ll speak to you soon, Diane.’
‘Of course. Goodbye, dear.’
‘Bye, Grandma!’ the girls yell.
‘Bye, dears.’
I’m preoccupied for the rest of our short journey home. How can I have forgotten a whole conversation? Diane’s right – I have been overdoing it lately. For a moment, I allow myself to think about the possibility of a nanny. Could that be the answer? It’s just that I’ve never seen myself as the type of person who would need to employ help with my children. I want to raise them myself – just me and Robert. I guess the only other possibility would be to ask Diane to help out more. But I certainly don’t want that. Maybe all these awful things that have been happening to me are a result of trying to stretch myself too thin. I’m becoming forgetful, making mistakes, becoming paranoid about things that are simply coincidences or minor mishaps. I need to create some space in my life. And in order to do that, I need temporary help.
I pull into the driveway and stay seated for a moment while the kids spill out of the car with their bags and coats, which they never seem to actually wear, especially when it’s raining.
‘Come on, Mum!’ Eva knocks on my window.
‘Mummy, we’re going to get soaked!’ Katie says crossly, mimicking my tone exactly.
I give myself a shake, leave the car and we all tumble into the house, helped along by a violent gust of wind. The front door is whipped shut with a slam and I switch on the hall light.
‘Shoes off, wash your hands!’ I cry as the girls ignore me, charging into the kitchen shouting that they’re hungry.
I follow them in and go straight to the pine dresser where the letter rack sits overflowing with ‘important’ to-do letters, including all the latest school correspondence. As the girls open the empty snack cupboard, I lift out the letters and begin rifling through the envelopes and sheets.
‘What can we have to eat, Mum? These scones have gone mouldy.’
‘I’ll make you a sandwich in a minute,’ I reply as my gaze lands on a letter from the school. Sure enough, it’s the parents’ evening letter. I put the other papers back and stare at the sheet. I need to apologise to Diane.
‘Can we have chocolate spread?’
