While she hadn’t been accepted for every single graduate programme she’d applied for, the three that she’d had her heart set on had all offered her a placement. She’d hoped for just one so she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face as she hurried to her bedroom, clutching the letters and their envelopes, not yet ready to share her success.

2

Claire winced as she stood on a small piece of Lego, resisting the urge to shout at Jamie to clear up his bloody mess. It was her own fault – she should never have come in barefoot. Jamie’s bedroom floor was covered in toys and she looked around in dismay.

Years ago, she’d given up the pretence of being easy-going about how much mess her children made. Why they couldn’t just take out one toy, play with it, and put it back before taking out something else was beyond her. She’d always felt most comfortable in a clean and tidy house, most likely a hangover from growing up in her mother’s home, which was always spotless – in retrospect, perhaps obsessively so. She could still remember her mum trailing after her, tissue in hand, ready to wipe, mop or dab.

It had been annoying, she remembered now, but the thought was still not enough to stop her from releasing a sigh of frustration at Jamie. But then she saw his little smiling face peeping out from his den and her irritation faded. That was motherhood right there – a revolving door of emotion. It was bedtime, just past seven o’clock according to the Gro Clock on the shelf.

‘Hurry up, Mummy! The dinosaurs are waiting!’

‘Waiting? Whatever for?’ she asked in mock surprise. As if she didn’t know.

‘A story!’

‘Well, we can’t possibly keep them waiting! What story are we reading tonight?’ she asked browsing through the bookshelf.

‘The Gruffalo,’ came the muffle of her son’s voice. Claire guessed he’d gone back into his den to retrieve whatever treasures he wanted to take to bed with him. ‘And the dinosaurs want the funny voices, like Daddy does.’

‘Do they indeed? Well, what the dinosaurs want, they will get,’ replied Claire, bending down to enter the den to try and entice him out and into his bed. She always failed though because he liked one story in his den and three in his bed. Jamie was very particular like that.

Five years.

Had it really been that long? She sat crossed-legged, the lurid plastic toys lined up in front of her and Jamie on her lap as she read out loud. At some stages, it had felt like forever, especially during the terrible twos. Jamie hadn’t been the easiest child and Claire guiltily knew she would have preferred to be navigating the complex legal system on behalf of her most demanding client than trying to reason with a screaming toddler.