BooksBarbecue
Back What I Did
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Seventy-One
  75. Seventy-Two
  76. Seventy-Three
  77. Seventy-Four
  78. Seventy-Five
  79. Seventy-Six
  80. Seventy-Seven
  81. Seventy-Eight
  82. Seventy-Nine
  83. Eighty
  84. Epilogue
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Extract from To Keep You Safe
  87. About the Author

But a couple of days later I had come home from a difficult shift at work and had found Jack and his dad very proud of themselves. There had been a sudden death on the ward and dealing with the traumatised relatives had been upsetting. I was in no mood to find the clean kitchen I’d left now covered with mess: powered plaster-dusted surfaces; wet plaster-smudged faces and my unread Marie Claire laid out as a half-arsed attempt to protect the table. They’d mixed the plaster-of-Paris in my favourite kitchen jug and hadn’t bothered rinsing it, so the now dry plaster coated its insides. But reddened with achievement, Jack sat on his dad’s lap and they both held up the rubbery, liquid plaster-filled mould like it was something amazing.

And instead of forgetting about it, they seemed obsessed with it. They prodded the foul-smelling thing with interest every minute, Jack asking his father over and over: ‘Is it ready yet?’ and then it became every hour, and all I could think of was the trauma of the time of death being called and then the new widow screaming. Then, when nobody helped me trying to tidy the table for tea, I lost my temper and that was that.

Two days later, I went shopping. When I came back, I was annoyed to find them painting, the table a mess again, and Jack’s school uniform too, but the result was beautiful. It’d come with little plastic paint pots and now Peter Rabbit was the right shade of brown, with white-and-black eyes and little blue coat.

‘Jack did it all himself!’ his dad said, and paint-smudged Jack grinned.

‘It’s lovely. Very well done.’

‘No, Lisa, I mean Jack really did paint it all by himself!’ He beamed at his son and stroked Jack’s heavy fringe out of his eyes. ‘I mean he did every little bit of it and I just watched!’

And it did look good but the next day it looked even better. Jack, who’d never really made anything, saw the whole project through and finished it by opening the final pot and giving it a coat of varnish. It gleamed and sat in the prize spot in the middle of the kitchen table for a month, until I finally wanted my fruit bowl back and put the Peter Rabbit in Jack’s room.