The Single Mums' Secrets - Janet Hoggarth Page 0,45
on the counter. The other two were glued to the TV, mesmerised by some tiny multi-coloured creatures whose residence was a lime green teapot.
‘Choose whatever you want,’ I said. ‘Louise, order for the other two, and you obviously. I know I’m going to have the one with spicy pepperoni.’
‘Really, Aunty Christa?’ Ted asked suspiciously like it was an underhand trick.
‘Yes, really. If you want chicken dippers as a side, you can have them.’
Ted’s face looked like he’d won a year’s free pass for Legoland. ‘Thank you, Aunty Christa.’ While he was looking at the menu, running his finger down the array of toppings and side dishes, I slipped in like Flynn.
‘You know it’s no one’s fault that Daddy died. Not yours, not God’s, not Mummy’s or Daddy’s, not the Easter Bunny. It was a terrible accident that happened out of the blue.’
He stiffened.
‘You need to stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do.’
‘But it was me,’ he said in a small voice, his finger tracing a circle on the menu.
‘How?’ I asked gently.
He gulped, then dragged a sigh up from his belly. ‘I didn’t want to go to… mini golf.’ His lip started to wobble again.
‘Ah,’ Louise said as if a light bulb had pinged in her head.
‘Daddy asked you to go?’ I wondered.
He nodded.
‘And you didn’t fancy it?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t really… like golf. I’m rubbish at it.’
‘I bet you’re not. The driving range and mini golf are very different. But it’s OK to not to want to do something.’
‘If… if I’d gone to mini golf, Daddy would… still be alive.’ He started crying. ‘But I said noooooo…’
Louise took him in her arms and hugged him tight, gently rocking him.
‘Oooh, Teddy Boy, you’ve been thinking this a long time?’ She kissed the top of his head.
‘YES! If I’d gone to mini golf, he wouldn’t have driven that way, and the lorry wouldn’t have hit him.’
I found it astounding how human nature always looked for a sliver of logic in the most random of accidents, even if it meant self-blame.
‘It had nothing to do with you, Ted. It was a complete accident,’ Louise said.
Or you, I wanted to add, but kept very quiet.
Ted nodded slowly. ‘I miss him…’ he started grizzling. ‘I wish I could play golf with him now. I wish I liked it.’
Louise bit her lip, blinking back tears.
‘Ah, Teddy Boy, one day, we can go and play, if you like?’ I suggested, rubbing his back. ‘I’m rubbish, but we can have a go. I’ll probably hit everything into the bushes, so you’ll look good compared to me.’
He nodded and turned his head towards me. ‘Can you even hit the ball, Aunty Christa?’
‘Oi! Cheeky!’ I ruffled his dirty-blond hair. ‘I’ll let you off this time, but you wait until we’re on the course. I’ll show you what I’m made of. Now, what pizza are you having? I need to order before I pass out. I’m starving.’
Louise mouthed a silent Thank You to me over the top of Ted’s head.
*
‘Come on, you two, help me clear away the leftover pizzas.’ Louise was getting Isaac ready for bed and we piled everything in one cardboard tray. ‘You can have them for snacks tomorrow.’
Gemma’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, Aunty Christa. That was the best dinner ever,’ she said. ‘I like takeaways.’
We’d eaten out of the packaging so there was minimal washing up. What plates we had used I cleaned in the sink. As I was pouring hot water over a few knives and forks (Louise had insisted on using some), my stomach executed a tricky somersault. I slapped my hand over my mouth to attempt a run to the downstairs loo, but experience told me there wasn’t sufficient time. I gagged once without result, then immediately again and the pizza made an uninvited reappearance in the kitchen sink, landing on top of the knives and forks.
‘Aunty Christa’s been sick!’ Gemma cried at the top of her lungs. ‘She’s poorly!’
‘I’m OK,’ I hissed as the waves of nausea receded. ‘I’m fine. Nothing to see here. I need to get Isaac his bottle.’
‘Did I hear right that you’d been sick again?’ Louise asked as I handed her Isaac’s bottle. She was sitting in the white rocking chair by the window, Isaac in blue stripy Peppa Pig PJs on her knee, the waning sunlight catching her hair like a pre-Renaissance Annunciation painting. The cosy room smelled of Johnson’s baby powder and lavender, exactly as it should.