Page 25 of A Manny for Christmas

I pick her up, the tights dangling from her ankles, and set her down on the faded sofa at one end of the kitchen, under the large picture window. Once she’s firmly in place, with far less chance of my inadvertently knocking her off her perch than she had on that chair, I resume my task. Toby comes and stands right next to me, so close it gives me the heebie-jeebies, as I attempt to push them up her legs with zero success.

‘They’re on backwards,’ Toby remarks.

‘Huh? No they’re not.’ I glance down. Shit. They are. I can see a tag sticking out at the front.

Fuck. I tug them off and rotate them, gritting my teeth. I’m breaking a sweat here. I shouldn’t have put my jacket on yet.

‘Do one leg at a time,’ Toby advises, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘We’re going to be late. It’s eight-oh-nine.’

‘No we’re not,’ I say automatically, but given he’s the only one here who seems to know the score, I follow his advice. This is easier. I get one leg all the way up. It’s a bit wrinkly and twisted, but still. I follow the same procedure with the other leg.

‘Good advice, pal,’ I tell him. Daisy is still slumped on the sofa. She’s now sucking her thumb and watching me distrustfully as she rubs a curl of her hair between her fingers. I get my hands on the waistband of her tights and try to tug it up under her bum. ‘Stand up for me,’ I tell her, but she wriggles, kicking her legs.

‘It’s all twisted! Argh!’

‘Ma-a-ax. We’re going to be late. We’re going to be late.’ Toby’s jumping around now, almost as if he needs to pee again.

‘No it’s not. And we’re not. It’s fine.’ I glance at my watch. Eight-twelve. I peer under the skirt of Daisy’s pinafore, unable to see much at all, and attempt to straighten up the seam on the crotch of the tights, but she’s getting more and more irate in front of me, and to be honest, I can’t blame her. ‘Hang on,’ I say through gritted teeth as I wrestle with the tights under her bloody pinafore, but she shouts.

‘No!’

And before I can react, one little navy leg lashes out and makes perfect contact with my nose.

9

MAX

‘Fuck!’ I scream for the second time that morning. My eyes are watering, and my nose is throbbing. Shit. I pull back from those vicious legs, wiping my hand over my nostrils and finding a wet trail of blood before pinching the bridge of my nose hard. Little brat. I’m trying very, very hard to keep my temper right now.

Fuck this gig. I’ll hand over my credit card and spend the rest of the festive period in Sorrel Farm’s cheapest room with room service and zero children. This isn’t worth it. No wonder the au pair ran for the hills.

Daisy’s still kicking off, tugging her tights all the way back down her legs and pulling them off her feet, and Toby’s chanting,oh no, oh no, oh nolike it’s a mantra. I can feel his anxiety radiating off him in waves as his sister writhes on the sofa. He is the only reason I’m willing to keep it together right now.

‘I’m okay, mate,’ I say through gritted teeth as I attempt to get the pain under control.

‘She made you bleed. She made youbleed!’

‘It was an accident,’ I manage. I think it was, anyway, but I wouldn’t put money on it. ‘And it’s just a bit of blood. Nothing’s broken.’As far as I know.

‘Uh-uh-uh.’ He’s practically hyperventilating, and it snaps me out of my pain.

We are getting out of this house.

Now.

‘Daisy,’ I say in my most evil tone, a tone I’d use all the time if I was a teacher, ‘we are leaving right this second. I don’t want any more nonsense from you. You’ve hurt me, and we’ve run out of time to put your tights on. If you don’t like the way I did them, ask your teacher to put them on for you.’

I turn and storm out into the hallway, my shadow Toby at my side.

‘Shoes.’ I point at his shoes. ‘Daisy. Shoes.’

She follows us out meekly and tries to put her bare foot in her shoe without opening the velcro strap. Fuck’s sake. I sigh heavily and squat, ripping the strap opening and folding it back over her tiny foot. Rinse and repeat. I hold her coat out and thread her arms through the armholes. Plonk her hat on her head. Everyone is silent. I can tell Daisy knows she’s pushed me too far. I’m still holding my nose. I rummage around in my jacket pocket and find an ancient, scrunched-up tissue. It’ll do.

I gesture to the kids to grab their bags and open the front door with the hand holding the tights and car keys and house keys.

Shit. The car’s windscreen is completely iced up.

‘Wait in the hallway,’ I order, running back into the kitchen to attempt to fill the kettle one-handed with water from the tap. I remove my other hand from my nose long enough to glance at my watch. Eight-twenty. We’ll be late, but I’m way past giving a fuck.

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