Page 22 of A Manny for Christmas

Got it. I roll the culprit between my fingers. It’s Lego—a tiny square block that’s fucking lethal. I pat the floor, on the search for more of the same. Toby’s still sobbing, and I feel like the worst kind of monster, waking the kid up with such a scare, even though it’s his own fucking fault for not tidying up his Lego.

‘It’s okay, buddy.’ I slide my feet across the floor in the hope that this technique will dislodge any blocks lying in wait without my standing on them. ‘It was just your Lego. You okay? Sorry to wake you so suddenly.’

I make it safely to the bed and switch on his bedside light. He’s disorientated, and the sudden bright light doesn’t help. He covers his eyes with his hands.

‘You scared me.’

‘I know. I’m so sorry.’ I ruffle his dark hair. It’s insanely soft. ‘I didn’t plan it that way, believe me. Your mum’s at work today, remember? I’m taking you to school. You want to go take a leak and get yourself dressed?’

Molly has assured me Toby can dress himself, and his uniform is neatly laid out at the end of his bed, complete with one of those naff fake ties that comes on a circle of elastic. I hope Molly’s right. I suspect Madam will require my full attention when I wake her.

‘Huh?’

‘Take a leak. You know, do a wee. Go pee-pee. Whatever you say.’

‘Do a wee,’ he mutters, giving me a weird look as he crawls down the bed, kneeing his ironed shirt before clambering over the end of the bed to get down. Maybe that’s the only way to get to the door without standing on fucking Lego.

‘Good man,’ I call after him. I give the floor a quick once-over and dispose of two more rogue Lego blocks before venturing down the hall.

That could have gone better. One down, one to go.

I push Daisy’s door all the way open. Her room is better lit, thanks to a gently rotating night light that sends a pattern of rosy-hued stars cascading over the walls. I eye the floor suspiciously—all seems clear—and make my way over to the bed. It’s tiny and crafted from white wood, its inhabitant even tinier. She’s snuggled under a pink-and-white gingham duvet, surrounded by an assortment of soft toys, her golden curls a soft halo around her.

She looks serene. Fragile. And positively angelic.

To anyone who didn’t know better, that is.

I put a tentative hand on her shoulder and give it a little shake.

‘Daisy.’

Nothing.

‘Daisy, love? It’s morning time.’

Still nada.

Excellent. I stroke the soft apple of her cheek with one finger.

‘Come on, Daze. It’s time to wake up. Time to get up for school.’

She shifts, her eyelids fluttering, and groans.

We repeat this process several times with little advancement beyond the groaning stage. I’m relieved when Toby appears in the doorway in just his pyjama top, tiny todger hanging out. Nice. I assume he abandoned the bottoms in the bathroom.

‘Any idea of how to wake your sister up?’

‘Mummy says you just have to be determined. And not be scared of her.’

Mummy clearly has a bigger pair of balls than me.

‘Right. Thanks.’ I put a hand on each shoulder and kind of half-shake, half-massage her. ‘Come on, Daisy. We need to get up for school.’

‘Don’t wanna get up,’ she slurs. We have not yet progressed to the open-eyed phase of our morning.

‘I know, love. It’s miserable. But the kitchen is nice and cosy, and we’re going try out the heated car seats, remember?’

One eye opens.

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