. what else . . . I expect you’re full of questions?”
She said the last in a slightly hopeful tone, though I wasn’t completely certain whether she was hoping I would prompt her or hoping I’d say no.
“I did read the email,” I said, though in truth, since the document was about fifty dense pages, I’d only skimmed through the pages. “But it’ll be brilliantly helpful to have a printout of course—it’s always so much easier to flick through a physical copy. It was impressively comprehensive. I think I’ve got a handle on everything—Petra’s routine, Ellie’s allergies, Maddie’s . . . um—” I stopped, unsure how to phrase what Sandra had called her daughter’s explosive personality. It sounded as though Maddie was quite the handful, or could be.
Sandra caught my eye and saw my predicament, and gave a little rueful smile that said, Yup.
“Well, yes, Maddie really! Rhiannon is staying at school this weekend for end-of-term celebrations. She’ll be coming home next week, and I’ve sorted out her lift and everything so you’ve nothing to worry about there. What else . . . what else . . .”
“I don’t think we completely sorted out when you’re leaving,” I said tentatively. “I know you said in your email that you had the trade show coming up next week—when does it start, exactly? Is it next Saturday?”
“Oh.” Sandra looked taken aback. “Did I not say? Gosh, that was a bit of an oversight. That’s the . . . um . . . well, that’s the only issue really. It is Saturday, but not next Saturday, this one. We leave tomorrow.”
“What?” For a moment I thought I hadn’t heard properly. “Did you say you’re leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeess . . . ,” Sandra said, her face suddenly uncertain. “We’re on the twelve thirty train, so we’ll be leaving just before lunch. I . . . is that a problem? If you’re not confident about coping straight out of the box, I can try to reschedule my early meetings . . .”
She trailed off, and I swallowed.
“It’s fine,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t completely feel. “I mean, I’d have to hit the ground sometime; I really don’t think it’ll make much difference whether it’s this weekend or next.”
Are you mad? a voice was screaming inside my head. Are you crazy? You barely know these children.
But another part of me was whispering something very different—Good. Because in a way, this made things considerably easier.
“We can play it by ear,” Sandra was saying. “I’ll keep in touch by phone—if the children are too unsettled, then I can fly back midweek perhaps? You’ll only have the little ones for the first few days, so hopefully that’ll make the transition a little bit easier . . .”
She stopped again, a little awkwardly this time, but I was nodding. I was actually nodding, my face stiff with the effort of holding in my real feelings.
“Well,” Sandra said at last. She put down her coffee cup. “Petra’s already in bed, but the girls are through in the TV room watching Peppa Pig. I don’t want to delegate my last bedtime with them to you completely, but shall we do it together, so you can get a feel for their routine?”
I nodded and followed her as she led the way through the darkened glass cathedral towards the concealed door to the TV room.
Inside the blinds were drawn, the floor was still carpeted with scattered Duplo and battered dolls, and two little girls were curled up together on the sofa, wearing flannel pajamas and clutching soft, worn teddy bears. Maddie was sucking her thumb, though she took it swiftly out of her mouth as her mother came in, with a slightly guilty jump. I resolved to look that one up in the binder.
We perched on the arms of the sofa, Sandra fondly ruffling her fingers through Ellie’s silky curls while the episode wound its way to the close, and then she picked up the remote control and shut down the screen.
“Oh, Mummeeeee!” The chorus was immediate, though slightly half-hearted, as if they didn’t really expect Sandra to acquiesce. “Just one more!”
“No, darlings,” Sandra said. She scooped up Ellie, who wrapped her legs around her waist and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “It’s super late. Come on, let’s go up. If you’re very lucky, Rowan will read you a story tonight!”
“I don’t want Rowan,” Ellie whispered into the crook of her mother’s neck. “I want you.”
“Well . . . we’ll see