his teachers.’
Phoebe scowled. ‘He’s not a toddler. Why does he need introducing? Can’t he just go into school on his own? That’s so cringe to be taken in by you.’
I hoped Victor couldn’t hear her. I ignored her and went downstairs. She wasn’t going to help me out on this occasion.
As I made Victor’s breakfast, the sadness that Ginny wasn’t around to reassure her son as he stepped up to yet another new challenge sat heavily in me. I stirred the eggs, offering some to Patrick as he wandered in with the newspaper. ‘I don’t think Phoebe is going to smooth Victor’s entrance into the world of school.’
Patrick sighed, as if he didn’t have the energy to expend on worrying about that particular dynamic.
And with that, Phoebe flounced in, not wearing the expensive suit that she’d persuaded us she had to have for sixth form – ‘Everyone is getting a suit and no one is getting it from Marks and Spencer’ – but a barely-there skirt and a blouse with buttons that gaped.
‘Aren’t you wearing your new suit?’
‘Not today.’
I was becoming a coward. I couldn’t face another great big row where we’d end up being late for school. Not on the first day. But I’d really looked forward to joining in with all the other mums, taking photos of the girls starting sixth form. But there was no way I was having her stand next to all of her friends in their posh suits, looking like she’d just escaped from the local pole dancing club. I had hoped today would signal the start of a new era after – contrary to everyone’s expectations – she’d done okay in her GCSEs.
The beat of time where she waited to see which way this morning was going to go was broken by Victor coming in, super-smart in a dark suit and pale blue shirt. I smiled at him.
‘You look great. Are you nervous?’
He nodded – ‘A bit’ – and scanned the kitchen table as though looking for confirmation of where he should sit.
I pointed to the place opposite Patrick and put down his breakfast. I willed Patrick to offer up something that might make him feel better about starting a new school, which was daunting for anyone but especially if your mum had been dead less than three months and you were still grappling with the etiquette of whether or not to flush the loo if you got up in the middle of the night in your new home.
Patrick did at least glance up and say, ‘I think a routine is good for everyone,’ spoilt by the little twitch of irritation that he had to pull The Times towards him to make room for Victor’s plate.
When Victor finished eating, he went to put his dirty crockery in the dishwasher, but I took it from him. Phoebe raised an eyebrow. If only she understood that I’d feel more inclined to do things for her if she volunteered to help without being nagged into it.
At the last minute, Phoebe decided she couldn’t possibly wear the new shoes I’d bought because they were rubbing her heels and ‘You forgot to buy any blister plasters.’ As the time ticked away, I ran upstairs to find her digging in her wardrobe like a dog on the scent of a long-lost bone for her old shoes that she’d been adamant that she couldn’t wear any more because they didn’t stay on.
I pushed down the frustration pulsing around my body, embarrassed that Victor was standing by the front door, everything ready. He must wonder what bloody madhouse he’d ended up in. No doubt he’d already be planning to apply to universities in Aberdeen or Plymouth.
‘Come on, love. We’re going to be late and it’s not fair to Victor.’
‘What do you suggest? Shall I go barefoot? Or shall I stay at home because I haven’t got any shoes to wear?’
The impatience drained out of me, replaced by something cold and steely.
‘I’m going to get in the car with Victor. If you’re not there in two minutes, you can walk to school. Or not go at all. Or fail your A levels completely and work in Woolworths for the rest of your life.’
‘Woolworths? What century do you live in?’
Trust me to choose a shop that had closed down over a decade ago.
I didn’t answer, just made my way to the front door, reassuring Victor with ‘Phoebe’s having a wardrobe crisis. You know what teenage girls are like.’ I ushered him out to