Page 3 of The Fall-Out

Then I heard the thud of footsteps outside the bedroom, the rattle of the latch and the thump as the opening door rebounded off the wall.

‘Daddy, Toby says he needs a poo.’ My daughter’s voice pierced through the half-light.

‘Why’s Daddy making that noise?’ her brother demanded. Next to me, Patch muttered in his sleep and pulled a pillow over his head.

‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’

TWO

Half an hour later, I was in the thick of what felt like a normal morning. Patch was in the shower. I was spreading toast with peanut butter (Meredith) and strawberry jam (Toby), making sure not to use the same knife for both even if I’d wiped it (okay, licked it before showing it back in the jar) in between, because I knew a hunger strike would ensue.

I’d already put my coffee in the microwave twice to warm it up, and still not drunk it. I still hadn’t checked whether my purple dress fitted (or even still existed – there was a very real chance it had been sent to the charity shop months before) or I had any intact tights. The window of opportunity for my own shower was narrowing at speed, and I’d said goodbye to any prospect of giving my hair a decent blow dry.

‘Okay, breakfast.’ I plonked one plate in front of each twin and took a sip of my coffee – lukewarm already.

‘Can’t I have Coco Pops?’ Meredith asked, looking mournfully at her toast.

‘No, you can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they’re full of sugar.’

‘Why?’

‘Because otherwise they’d taste like cardboard.’

‘I want cardboard,’ announced Toby.

‘Well, you can’t have it. I’ve made you toast and jam and anyway cardboard isn’t food.’

‘Why?’

Teeth gritted, I put my coffee back in the microwave. Upstairs, I could hear the water still running – clearly Patch was having one of his mega-showers, involving exfoliating his face, shaving with a cut-throat razor and putting a treatment on his hair before nicking my hairdryer to style it.

‘Can we have Peppa Pig on the tablet?’ Meredith asked, sensing weakness.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s upstairs.’ And once I go upstairs, I don’t intend to come down again until I’m showered and dressed in whatever I can find that fits.

‘Why have we got to go to Granny’s?’ asked Toby, for the millionth time.

‘Because Mummy and Daddy have to go to a funeral.’

‘What’s a funeral?’

I sipped my coffee, wincing as it burned my lips. I felt like we’d done the careful, age-appropriate explanation a million times before, but with four-year-old twins, stuck-record territory was familiar to me.

‘It’s when someone dies and all the people who love them get together to say goodbye to them.’

‘Like when Daddy goes to Aberdeen?’ asked Meredith.

‘No! Nothing like that at all, because when Daddy goes to Aberdeen he always comes back, doesn’t he?’

Two pairs of wide, dark eyes, identical to their father’s, gazed at me, then Toby said, ‘When’s Uncle Andy coming back?’

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