Chapter Twenty #2
‘I did,’ he said warily, clutching the spiral jotter to his chest as if someone might rip it from him. ‘Please may I be allowed to carry on writing my novel, Miss? I am enjoying it very much.’
Miss Squirrel and I exchanged a look that said, isn’t he just adorable in his earnestness, before she crouched down to his level.
‘Absolutely, Hugo,’ she said. ‘I am not one to stand in the way of creativity and if the spirit moves you to write then you must write.’
‘Eschewing the delights of Kerplunk,’ I said as the boys walked into the school hall where breakfast club was held. ‘Must be serious.’
‘Indeed,’ said Miss Squirrel with a smile.
‘Maybe we have a budding Shakespeare on our hands? I’ll see if we can find another time today for him to carry on if he wants to.
We can be flexible with his lessons, especially at this time of year.
The build-up to Christmas is often a bit frantic and for a boy like Hugo, one who generally prefers quieter activities, it can be a little overwhelming.
I’ll have a word with his form tutor…’ She tapped her finger against her lip thoughtfully.
‘We could maybe use the garden room once they’ve put the Christmas tree up in there, or one of the spare music rooms. Leave it with me. ’
I walked back to the car and on the drive into work I considered Miss Squirrel’s comments.
The structure of the school day for my nephews was a million miles away from Layla’s experience ten years ago at a state primary, and I thought it unlikely that any children being educated outside the turreted glory of Warminster House would have either the opportunity or the incentive to develop their creative-writing skills in quite the same way as Hugo would.
‘Do you think we should run a creative-writing competition?’ I asked David, as I hung my coat on the peg in the back office.
‘For kids, I mean – although, maybe one for adults too? I bet the Bellingham writers would enter.’ I was thinking about the local writing group who advertised on the community noticeboard.
A few of their members were regular library users.
‘Ye-es,’ said David. ‘Although what would they win? You can’t really have a competition without some sort of prize, and the library finances are a bit tight at the moment, to say the least.’
‘Hmm, okay. Good point. Maybe just for the children to start off with then? Layla would have entered any competition when she was little just to win a certificate and a bar of chocolate. We could stretch to that, surely?’
David agreed and we brainstormed ideas while we opened up for the day.
He seemed quite keen by the end of our chat and even said he’d call up some of his old contacts from the publishing world to see if he could get a children’s author to present the prize to the winner.
I mentioned it to Hugo later that evening and he was beside himself with excitement.
Having completed his Christmas story, he was keen to move on to something new.
‘I’m afraid we probably haven’t got time to start a new novel tonight,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get things ready for the Nativity rehearsal tomorrow. Maman said we needed a box for your frankincense. Lawrence, do you need anything?’
Lawrence wasn’t sure so I consulted the itinerary, which was now quite tattered but I felt this indicated to Jaqueline that it had at least been well used and not left ignored in a drawer, or thrown in a bin, which is what I’d been tempted to do at the start.
‘Only two days until Maman and Daddy come back to collect you,’ I said, pointing at where Saturday was marked on the sheet of paper.
I saw a flurry of conflicting emotions cross Hugo’s face and then felt bad for secretly hoping that he preferred staying at our house than he did being at home.
All children prefer the excitement of the unknown every now and again.
Staying in different beds, having the cats to play with and a bit of leniency with the usually strict timetable made it easy for me to step in and be the fun aunt for six days, so it was an unfair comparison to make – but as with all things relating to my brother it was hard not to turn it into a competition.
I briefly entertained a fond notion of Rich turning up at school next week and Miss Squirrel saying, ‘Oh! What happened to Aunty Hattie? The boys had a whale of a time with her. What a wonderful aunty she is, so connected with her nephews,’ etcetera, etcetera.
I didn’t know how I felt about the boys going home either.
I would really miss them, but perhaps I wouldn’t miss the associated workload.
Reaccommodating my eighteen-year-old daughter for reading week had been a breeze in comparison to the logistics involved in accommodating two small boys, partly because Layla was mine and therefore I had a good idea of her requirements, but partly because she was eighteen and therefore able to decide when she needed to go to bed, able to bathe herself, wash her own clothes (theoretically), make her own breakfast and drive to work unassisted.
I had completely forgotten how exhausting it is looking after children under the age of ten.
One thing that that doesn’t appear to change with age, however, is that obsessive male need for hobbies that consume vast quantities of time.
Where Hugo had adopted the life of a novelist with a Dickensian zeal, Joe had shown a similar zero-to-a-hundred approach to his golf, albeit over a period of weeks rather than hours like his nephew.
Unable to hit a ball around the green due to current weather conditions and general lack of daylight hours, he’s taken to working on his swing with a private golf instructor at the club, working on his putting technique with a ridiculous little contraption he’s set up in the sitting room or spending hours and hours sitting in front of YouTube tutorials about Rory McIlroy’s chipping style.
And when he’s not doing any of that he’s up at the driving range, firing balls into the great unknown with Steve.
‘We’ve been invited to a Christmas drinks party at Steve and Carol’s,’ he said this evening, having spent the afternoon at the aforementioned driving range while I was working, then collecting the boys, then arranging dinner, then preparing Nativity props.
‘That’s uhm – that’s nice,’ I said. ‘When is it?’
‘Next weekend. Don’t worry, it won’t interfere with us collecting Layla.
I checked on the calendar. That’s the weekend after,’ he said, inordinately pleased with himself for remembering to look at the calendar and simultaneously narrowing my options for making any excuse as to why I wouldn’t be able to go to a drinks party with a bunch of hideous people.
I’d managed to avoid seeing the golf wives in person ever since the social although I had seen more than enough of Felicity and Tiggy during my occasional forays into Facebook.
Felicity generally sticks to complaints about bin collections, potholes (particularly on the access road to Waitrose – our thoughts and prayers are with her at this difficult time), and the perennial problem of dog fouling.
Again, the neighbour’s dog comes in for some hefty criticism although it’s not clear whether she has any proof of guilt other than the comparative size of canine (not pictured) and stool (which she had helpfully laid a ruler next to for scale).
She also regularly mentions ‘people’ (I think perhaps the same neighbours) who park their cars on grass verges near her house without due care and attention, and the lack of even basic services for Damon, her ex-student son who continues to loiter at home with no clear life plan, which Felicity attributes to his undiagnosed ADHD, autism, anxiety, dyspraxia, dyscalculia and dyslexia.
The fact that she has managed to get him NHS appointments with two specialists in the past month who have both disputed any diagnosis other than general inertia and apathy is apparently outrageous and worthy of several what is the world coming to?
/ what happened to our once great nation?
/ bring back the good old days of the family doctor posts (#BrokenBritain #WhereIsTheCare #LostGeneration). She is an extremely angry woman.
Tiggy’s posts continue in a fashion diametrically opposed to that of her disgruntled friend.
Where Felicity feels roundly hard done by and is convinced that malign forces are constantly working against her, Tiggy is always keen to point out how #Blessed and #Grateful she feels to have, amongst other things, such high achieving and talented children, such a flawless complexion and naturally perfect body, and such a beautiful home.
Obviously, she doesn’t say this directly, but every post and public reply is bursting with humblebrag. Here are a few of my recent favourites:
Finally managed to restore some order to the Orangerie today! The trouble with so much original glazing is it takes an eternity to clean, especially with a house full of grubby teens! #WouldntHaveItAnyOtherWay
This was accompanied by a photo of their UPVC conservatory, which looks suspiciously like one of those elongated estate agent pictures they use to make a box room appear more sizeable.
DS (Darling Son, for the uninitiated – I had to google it) continues to get offers from all his top university choices!
Why am I not surprised with those predicted grades?
! (laughing emoji). Thoughts of course are with those who are still waiting to hear about their own DCs.
(Darling Children) #ToughCompetition #Prestigious #SoProud #GrowingUpFast
So thrilled that DD (Darling Daughter – I’m sure you’ve got this by now) was selected to represent her school at a renowned arts and crafts exhibition.
Artisans of all varieties were in attendance, and many commented on the exceptional quality of DD’s sculptural work.
I don’t know where she gets it from! Although, as my lovely friend Martha said, children who grow up surrounded by beauty and creativity will often carry that through to adulthood.
#GiftedChild #Creative #FestiveCrafts #LocalCommunity #LocalTalent
This one was accompanied by a photo of Tiggy’s daughter jostling for position with a younger child as to who could hold their painted finger-moulded clay pot closest to the camera at Neasden Village Christmas Market.
Back from wonderful hols in St Lucia – managed to catch some much-needed sunshine and feeling very rested.
Now back to the daily grind! (eyeroll emoji, laughing emoji) #Rest&Relaxation #Escapism #LoveTheCaribbean #MyHappyPlace (accompanied by endless photos of Tiggy in her bikini emerging from azure waves or staring into the middle distance as the sun sets)
Back in the gym today – no rest for the wicked!
Seriously though, research indicates that we women need to increase our levels of exercise as we approach a certain age.
It’s still a little way off for me but I’m doing my best to get into good habits early!
#WomenWhoWorkout #WomensHealth (Selfie in gym mirror of Tiggy in her active wear lifting a pink dumbbell, hair loose around her shoulders, laughing at her own crazy renegade behaviour)
Thing is, I’d much prefer to limit my contact with these women to a bit of quiet Facebook judgement but there are times in all our lives when we must socialise with people we don’t really like very much.
And this may be another of those times. I suppose there’s a chance that Tiggy and Felicity won’t be at the drinks party, and maybe Carol on home turf will be a bit calmer, who knows?
Either way, it’s Christmas, and as my husband pointed out, it’s very nice to be invited.
#SoBlessed.