‘Um…’ Mum flashed a panicked glance at me. ‘Your birthday is in February.’
‘Yes. February the tenth. But you didn’t give me a present yet.’
‘Isla.’ I took her hand and moved forwards, key ready to open the door. ‘We talked about that. We didn’t send Grandma a present, either.’
‘Did we send her a card?’ she asked as Mum stepped back so we could go inside without having to squeeze past.
She’d been back for twenty-four hours, and I still hadn’t touched her.
‘No. We didn’t know where the boat would be that day.’
‘Post people can’t deliver a letter to a boat.’ Finn bumped against Isla as they took their shoes off in the pristine hallway. ‘What are they going to do – swim out to find it?’
‘They could drive a postman boat!’ Isla retorted. ‘Why do you think everything I say is wrong? And stop bumping me. That hurt from where I fell on the grass!’
Oh dear. The tension was already rising. Isla’s cheeks had flushed, and her fluttering eyelids were sending out SOS in Morse code. Having welcomed potential disaster into my home,the only way I could defuse it was to behave as if everything were perfectly lovely and I couldn’t be happier.
‘Why don’t you show Grandma your Lego while I fetch drinks and a snack?’ I said, purposefully directing them to the recently tidied living room, rather than the still shambolic kitchen.
‘I’ll help,’ Mum offered.
‘No. Thank you.’ If I smiled any harder, my face would crack.
For the next hour I sat simmering in an armchair while Mum worked her magic with my children. Alongside the games and genuine interest in Finn and Isla’s lives, she told vibrant stories about fascinating faraway places and interesting encounters with all sorts of people and strange animals.
It was captivating and infuriating at the same time. Seeing what my children had missed out on, while unable to resist enjoying at least something of their delight at experiencing it now.
‘We need to get on with dinner,’ I said, eventually. ‘School tomorrow and we have a schedule to stick to.’
‘Mu-u-u-um,’ Finn whined. ‘Surely we can forget about the chart for one night?’
‘Remember what happened last time you tried that?’ I asked. ‘The Roman picnic?’
‘Are you staying for dinner?’ Isla asked Mum.
‘I’m sure she’s very busy. Maybe another time.’ I stood up, making it clear that this wasn’t up for debate.
‘Oh.’ Mum was fiddling with her shirt again. ‘I thought… well. Nicola said I could only stay at hers for one night.’
‘Haven’t you found anywhere else?’ Bigley was a small village, but there were a few B & Bs in the area, and, failing that, Sherwood Forest had caravan parks. Hardly any worse than a sailing boat.
‘I just assumed… I mean…’
I turned to Finn and Isla. ‘Toby’s working in the garden. Can you go and ask him if he wants any dinner, please?’
‘Isla’s turn,’ Finn said automatically.
‘I asked both of you to go. Now, please.’
I waited until they’d grumbled their way down the hallway, then turned back to Mum.
‘You seriously assumed you were staying here?’
Mum fiddled with a strand of hair, a gesture Nicky always did on the rare occasion she felt nervous. ‘Well… I hoped you wouldn’t mind.’
‘For how long? Are you going to ping-pong between me and Nicky until you decide to run off again?’
‘It’s hardly outlandish, staying with your children when you come to visit.’
