‘I’m so lucky, Babs.’
As she pulled the blanket up over Sasha’s legs, she asked why.
I was happy to explain. ‘Cos I’ve got two little birdies to look after me.’
Babs looked down and ruffled my hair while Isaac marched on ahead, clearly not wanting to be seen with a girl. ‘What do you mean, birdies?’
‘I saw a picture in a book at Sunday school of a bird and under its wing was a little chick and it made me think of you and Willow’s mum. You’re Mrs Finch and that’s a bird, and so is a Robin.Ithink Jesus has sent you both from heaven to put me under your wings and take care of me, because Jesus is kind and good and loves everyone even little girls with naughty mummies.’
At this, Babs stalled for a second and looked at me in a strange way, like I’d made her happy and fed up all at once. ‘What makes you think your mummy is naughty?’
‘Bella Young told me. She said her mummy won’t let her play with me cos my mummy is a dirty lady and has been naughty with lots of men. I’m not bothered cos I don’t like Bella. She’s nasty, and I s’pose Mummy is a bit dirty cos she never washes the pots and swears at my dad down the phone which isverynaughty. But she’s still my mummy and I love her. Like Jesus tells us to do.’
Babs didn’t reply straight away, and instead put her arm around me and gave me a squishy hug then said, ‘Well, me and Robin are here anytime, so if you’re a bit fed up, or anything like that, all you have to do is ask us and we will pop you under our wings, just like this.’
Babs kept her arm around me all the way to the gate and has done ever since which is why now it’s my turn to look after her, and Robin too. Because in their own ways they both need as much help as they can get.
When we moved in here and I was six months pregnant, I thought it was a sign – that the name Swallow’s Nest Cottage was telling me I’d found my place. I was a little bird and here, I could make my nest.
Babs came round and helped me get it all spick and span. I loved it, having her here, yakking away while she wiped sawdust from inside the cupboards, then helped me stack the new pots and pans, and basically showed me how to look after a home.
I’d only ever lived in halls at uni, or in shared student houses so I had no clue where to begin in a huge house. My mum is still a waste of space and wasn’t the best role model so Babs is my surrogate parent. I adore her.
I remember telling her she should write a book, for dorks like me but that bloody Mrs Hinch beat her to it which is really annoying. It was my idea to take her on as my housekeeper and we pay her well over the odds. I refuse to call her my cleaner because she’s much more than that and was a godsend when I had Max and the baby-blues gripped me. And again when Mimi came along.
See, that’s what I mean. There’s always been something, some bloody issue in my life that I couldn’t cope with, things that most people breeze through but oh no, not me. And as much as Babs and the doctor assured me it wasn’t my fault, I blamed myself, my past.
I loathe me. Flaky Gina Morgan who has to have a meltdown, make a bloody mountain out of a molehill. God, I annoy myself so much.
I totally get why I’m this way. It’s because I have never felt worthy, that I’m from an underclass. Each time I achieve something or find a happy place, I expect the worst. For it all to go wrong. Which is where the control thing comes in.
You see, while I was at school, St Mary’s to start with, Babs was a dinner lady and managed to spread her wings across the canteen. She always made sure I got seconds. Food wasn’t a high priority for Mum – lager was – so I developed a cunning way of never being hungry. After school, I’d scavenge something at home, and then wander round to see Babs or call for Willow and if they asked had I eaten, I’d say no. I always got a proper tea there.
When me and Willow went to secondary school, Robin always sent plenty in a big butty box for us to share. Even when Willow struggled with her maths and they got a tutor in to make sure she passed her GCSEs, guess who was sitting opposite, soaking up what I could, making the most of another freebie.
Yes, it did make me feel ashamed, and as I got older I had to put up with bitchy comments from people like Bella Young and her cronies about me being a bit tubby – my devious ways were starting to take their toll. Otherwise they’d mention my slutty mum, our tatty house, or my shoes that lacked the correct label. Bella always found something to shame me with.
Bella was one of those girls who had it all. Lived in a gorgeous farmhouse on the outskirts of the village, had two ponies, a holiday home and parents who were able to indulge her every whim. That girl followed me through life like a curse and whenever I turned round she was there, all through school and then college.
I thought I’d never shake her off, but I did because I had something she didn’t. Brains and ambition.
I also had Robin and Babs, and their charity, because that’s what it was, but given kindly in a way that made me feel loved and welcome, especially when I stayed at the vicarage, which in my teenage years was a lot.
Willow and I were inseparable. Days out with my dad dwindled when he found himself a girlfriend, and Mum spent her weekends ‘entertaining’. I couldn’t wait to get out of our scruffy, smelly, pit of doom house.
I loved being in the vicarage because the kitchen walls were painted yellow, and everyone sat around the table to eat and talk. Even Willow’s older brother, Cris, was nice, very shy, and especially timid around his dad who insisted on calling him his full name, Crispin. Poor sod. Thank goodness Robin got her way naming Willow.
I was a bit scared of Edmund at first as I was never really sure where him being the vicar, who often looked solemn and ever so important, ended, and a dad and husband began. He was always pleasant enough to me in front of people, even though after hearing a hushed conversation I realised he was being fake.
‘Are you sure she’s not going to be a bad influence on Willow? We all know about her mother and howshebehaves.’
Robin tutted. ‘She’s seven years old and very sweet. She couldn’t possibly be a bad influence; and anyway, where’s your Christian responsibility? Really, Edmund, what would the boss think? Now wash your hands for dinner and be nice to our guest. Humility won’t kill you.’
Tears stung my eyes, and I hated my mum so much. From that moment on I was determined to prove to Edmund that I was a good girl.
Now I look back I think he tolerated the intrusion because it suited his job description, made him feel benevolent. I was the lost sheep that he allowed into his home, but it was Robin who was the true good Samaritan. It’s weird isn’t it, how as you get older you start to see someone differently and a person you kind of worshipped, you grow to despise.
Putting The Reverend Mr Hilyard, practised narcissist and fake, aside, I always think fondly of my time with Willow at the vicarage. And being a member of the church community, being part of a clan, having somewhere to go and belong was a gift. Me and Willow kept the Brownie-Guide law, helped arrange flowers at weddings, rose through the churchy ranks and got our own cake stall at the summer fete. We even helped Robin tend the graves of people who didn’t get visitors anymore.
