time to get ready,’ I called after her, clearing away her untouched breakfast and picking up a banana for her to eat on the way to school.
When we finally get downstairs, the front door is already wide open and Dr Marsden is talking to a workman on the step.
‘I can take a look now, or I can come back later,’ I hear the workman say gruffly. ‘But if you send me away, it might be tomorrow morning or the next day before I can come back. So it’s your call, mate.’
‘In that case, you’d better come in,’ Dr Marsden says curtly, clearly irritated.
The workman picks up a soft toolbag and steps inside the foyer. The embroidered badge on his overall says ‘The Cable Company’.
Dr Marsden turns with a start when he spots us standing behind him.
‘Freya! Sorry, dear, I had no idea you were waiting there. Good morning, Miss Skye.’
‘Morning,’ Skye mumbles without enthusiasm.
‘So where are you two off to so bright and early?’
Skye plants her feet and folds her arms.
‘Skye is at her new school for the morning and I’m off to the supermarket.’
‘Ahh, I see. Well, have a good day.’ He glances at the open entrance door. ‘Lock up as you leave, will you? I’d better get inside.’ He nods back to his apartment where the workman is currently unattended.
I step outside and I’m about to pull the door closed behind me when the postman appears at the bottom of the steps.
‘Morning,’ he calls cheerily and hands me a stack of mail with an elastic band securing it.
‘Morning . . . and thank you!’ I call as he retreats, heading next door.
I step back inside and walk over to the console table to leave the mail there, which is where everyone picks it up as they pass in and out of the building.
I leaf quickly through the stack and take the two letters belonging to apartment six. I push both letters into my handbag and leave the house, being sure to check that the door is locked securely after me.
Skye is quiet all the way to school. We walk by the church and under the bridge and join the parade of parents and children. I see Skye take in their green-and-red clothing and look down at her own leggings and floral top.
‘Your new uniform will be here next week. I can’t wait to see how smart you’ll look in it,’ I tell her, but she doesn’t react with any interest.
As everything is so new, I don’t leave her in the playground like the other parents do with their children, but take her into reception.
The office manager rings through to the staff room and Miss Perkins comes to collect Skye. She’s bright and bubbly and Skye goes off with her without causing a scene, which I feel eternally grateful for.
Outside, I slip off my cardigan so the sun can kiss my pale arms and I pull out the voucher Audrey gave me. I can just buy something nice for tea and use the discount.
My mouth falls open when I see it’s actually a credit for ￡25. I look at it, unsure whether to give it back. Yet another gift.
But I know ￡25 is nothing to Audrey. And I don’t feel like going back to the apartment to do the jobs I should have really already done.
So I carry on walking up the high street to Waitrose.
I saunter up and down the aisles, marvelling at the range and choice of high-quality brands.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t get much for my money. Amongst some staple items to get us through the next few days, I choose stuffed vine leaves and artichokes in oil for myself and some fresh-fruit kebabs and LOL unicorn-themed biscuits for Skye. Not the best use of the available funds, but still, it’s a real treat to shop there.
Afterwards, walking back, I impulsively decide to prolong the luxury. I stop at a small café I spot up a side street and order a latte, which I drink sitting in the sunshine, nestled at a tiny table outside on the pavement.
I reach into my bag for my phone just in case the school has messaged about Skye. Despite enjoying a laid-back morning, I realise I’m still feeling tense underneath because of Skye’s bad mood, and I find myself expecting the worst all the time.
I’m relieved to see there is no text, but I spot the two letters the postman gave me this morning. The first one is a letter from the