Page 9 of Coming Home
Bloody know-all Kyra strikes again.The precocious child ruled the class and her word was like law that Darcy followed to the letter. Closing her eyes in defeat, Violetta span around and strutted back to the door. Arguing with a five-year-old about a chocolate reindeer seemed futile so glaring at her triumphant child, she took out her door key.
Minutes later, the spoils of war were dribbling from the corners of Darcy’s lips, the set of which betrayed utter contentment and victory.
Eyeing Little Miss Chocolate Face through the rear mirror, though the stand-off had made them late, Violetta smiled and a familiar glow of pride washed over her.
Darcy was her whole world: the reason for getting up in the morning; the person she thought about last thing at night and did her best to please and provide for; always her number one priority. Violetta was determined to follow in her mum’s footsteps because she’d set her three girls a fine example. The bar was raised high and Violetta had striven to do her best, better if that was possible.
And so far Violetta thought she had done okay with Darcy who was a good girl despite her stubborn nature. But what could anyone expect being brought up surrounded by women and strong ones at that.
Violetta often felt a bit sorry for the menfolk in the family who were in a minority. When her gran was alive it was seven against three. Rosina’s husband was a lovely bloke but outnumbered at home by three daughters and his wife. Their son was his only ally. Then there was Bern, her mum’s bit on the side as the sisters affectionately referred to him. He was a great guy who’d been part of their lives forever but resolutely refused to move out of his cottage on the edge of the forest.
To be fair Violetta didn’t blame him one bit, especially during their teenage years. What single man in his right mind would want to move into a house full of screaming girls who fought like cat and dog, made up, then fought like cat and dog again. And then there was Granny Sylvia. No wonder he preferred the luxury of going back to his cosy home for a bit of peace and quiet.
Poor Bern. Everyone knew he was their mum’s rock and had been by her side from the early days of the garden centre. Nobody had a bad word to say about him, not even Granny Sylvia but really, she didn’t have to. It only took one of her looks and you’d know.
She was like their gatekeeper, the indomitable matriarch whose mission in life was to protect her girls from the scourge of the earth (men) and the last thing she’d wanted was one moving in. On the other hand, had her mum wanted him there, Violetta was sure that’s where he’d be because if anyone could deal with Granny Sylvia, her mum could.
Just thinking about her gran made Violetta feel maudlin so she was glad when a squeaky voice in the back piped up. ‘Mummy, guess what we’re doing tonight, at Grandma’s?’
Violetta knew exactly what it was but Darcy liked to go over things. It was her way of making damn sure nobody was going to change their minds.
‘We’re going to the farm shop to get everything we need for Christmas baking and Grandma says I can go in the grotto and sit on Father Christmas’s knee again because I need to make sure he’s remembered everything on my list.’
‘Darcy, I’ve told you Santa can’t remember what every single child wants. That’s what the postbox at school is for, so you can send him a letter and you’ve already put three in! So I think he’s got the message now. The elves will make sure.’ A quick glance told her that Darcy was mulling it over.
‘But I’ve thought of an extra thing and I have to tell him.’ Her legs kicked as she spoke, her grey socks pulled high up to her knees.
‘And what is this extra thing? Don’t you think your list is long enough, you cheeky monkey?’ Violetta was having visions of a mad dash to the shops or panic trawling online for a last minute, must-have present. She was a soft touch and Darcy knew it.
‘It’s not for me. It’s for you, Mummy.’
This revelation took Violetta completely by surprise. ‘Me… what on earth are you going to ask for?’
‘I’m not telling you. It’ll be a surprise.’ Darcy smiled mischievously, which set alarm bells ringing.
‘Give me a clue… go on, just a teeny one.’ Violetta knew only too well that Darcy was rubbish at secrets and clues.
A dramatic sigh and a wobble of the head accompanied by two raised hands, reminded Violetta of Granny Sylvia. ‘Okay. Here’s your clue. You will have to kiss a boy.’
‘WHAT! Why on earth would I do that?’
Darcy giggled. ‘Because that’s what you do when you get married.’
‘I’m not getting married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.’ Violetta shook her head and pulled into a side street by the school to look for a parking space.
‘That’s what I’m asking Father Christmas for. I want my real daddy to come and find us then you will have a boyfriend then you can get married and I will have a daddy. Like Kyra.’
In one fell swoop Violetta’s morning crashed and burned. Lost for words, her heart dropped like Wile E. Coyote off a cliff. Silence descended on the car but Darcy didn’t seem to notice or care because as always she was too busy searching the cars for Kyra who right now was at the top of Violetta’s shit list.
Ten minutes later, back in traffic, Violetta switched on the radio and headed towards work and thanks to her daughter, had yet another problem pecking at her brain.
She was hurt, too. Darcy hadn’t meant to cause upset and in her sweet and innocent way would’ve thought that she was bestowing the perfect gift on her mum, and at the same time herself. But her desire for a daddy had wounded.
Violetta always held her head up at parents’ evenings and even though she wasn’t the only parent attending alone, she was acutely aware that some of them would have partners waiting at home. Same at school events. She was always manless and even if Leonora or their mum accompanied her, she couldn’t help notice the couples, the family units, especially Mr and Mrs Perfect Parents to Kyra, the best-friend-forever-from-hell. They always made a point of coming over and saying hello and they were probably only being polite when they asked if Violetta and Darcy were going anywhere nice for the holidays, before making damn sure they banged on about their hidey-hole cottage in Cornwall.
Stopping at the traffic lights, Violetta sagged against her seat, asking herself the same old questions.Will I ever be good enough? Why can’t she be happy with what she’s got? I try so bloody hard to be perfect and give her everything.
It was true. Ever since she found out she was pregnant Violetta had striven to be the best mum, even when she knew it was going to be a solo venture, even when she knew that her baby would never know who its father was. Simply because Violetta had no clue either.
