‘Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…’

He climbs on top of me, strokes my hair, which is sparkling with pieces of glitter. The warmth and heft of his little body. The sound of his breath in my ear: a divine whisper.

44

‘Wake up, sleepyhead. Time for school.’

I never thought I’d be saying those words. I lean in to kiss him on his red-rumpled cheek. He stirs, a slight smile on his mouth, and I leave him there as I go into the kitchen to get breakfast ready. Today is a new day, a day filled with the same vulnerability and resolve that follows a spectacular blow-out. I don’t like how I spoke to my father; how I exposed a part of myself that isn’t safe around him. I also don’t like how I made my son feel unsafe around me.

Tommy dresses himself, and I have to admit he’s cute in his little grey slacks and jumper, but oh, those flashing trainers and the fire-engine satchel. Bite down on the inside of my cheek. We eat cornflakes and toast. I bundle the animals in the car – we’ll have a nice walk after the drop-off; isn’t that what a suburban mother is supposed to do? We pull up outside the address Maureen gave me, which is only a twenty-minute drive in thick traffic. She didn’t tell me it was some kind of a religious institution. What is it about this country and its seats of learning? A looming cross above the arched doorway – an instrument of torture, symbol of suffering; prefabs huddled closely around the chapel, hunkered down in its shadow.

Tommy jumps out, waving at us all.

‘Do you have my lunch, Yaya?’

Lunch? Oh shit, I was meant to make a sandwich, put in a drink, an apple.

‘I’ll be back with it, T. What time do you take lunch?’

He shrugs.

‘Leave it with me, ok? Go on, now, and have a lovely time. Remember to give out those party invitations!’

I’m still in the driver’s seat, the car engine idling. He nods, blows kisses to Marmie and Herbie, then hoists his ridiculous bag over his shoulder. I stay watching him until he disappears inside the door, then look down at my phone. Eight missed calls from David. I put my foot flat to the floor.

‘Time for a run, guys.’

Pull up outside the gates of the local park, and even though I’m wearing jeans and boots I hit the ground running. I leave Herbie and Marmie off their leads. Lots of stares. Do my best to ignore them but can’t resist sticking my finger up at a particularly nosy old bag. ‘Those animals should be safely at home or that dog should be on a lead.’ The woman’s words are tracking me down. I run faster. Finally I stop, hold my side, retch a little, attach the leads to the cat and dog and hobble back to the car. My shin splints are pretty acute after smacking the pavement with my boots.