Page 34 of A Manny for Christmas

Molly was right last night.This morning is both interesting and highly entertaining. I get up at five-fifteen and have Molly’s car defrosted before she emerges downstairs, pale-faced and clearly exhausted. The look of sheer gratitude and disbelief on her face has me pledging to myself to do this every morning. I suspect it’s far too long since she’s had anyone around to take even the slightest bit of care of her. If I can make this heinously early start for her a tiny bit easier, I’ll do it.

‘You okay?’ I ask her as she’s digging her keys out from the bowl on the hall dresser. She turns to face me, and it seems to me her gaze sweeps over my snug white t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms before landing back on my face.

‘Yeah.’ She tugs at the back of her neck. ‘Just a bit of a headache.’

‘Do you still have your sinus problems?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. But I’m all right.’

‘Okay,’ I tell her. ‘Try to take it easy. And drive safely.’

‘Thanks. I will.’ Her hand moves up to massage her temple. ‘And good luck this morning. I hope it goes better today.’

I jump in the shower after she’s gone. There’s no point in trying to go back to bed now—I’d rather get a head start on our morning of fun. Molly didn’t look great. Her sinuses have always been her Achilles heel. When she’s run down or not sleeping enough, she gets terrible blocked sinuses and seriously nasty headaches alongside them. It’s shitty to hear that they’re still bothering her after all these years. I’ll have to have a think about how I can make this afternoon easier on her—maybe I can make dinner tonight.

Back downstairs, I brew a pot of coffee and allow myself the luxury of a quiet cup in the silent, cosy kitchen. I’ve definitely lucked out with my room—the considerable heat from the AGA makes its way upstairs, too.

By seven o’clock, I have a stack of pancakes ready to keep warm in the oven and a breakfast table groaning with all the spreads the kids could possibly want. I have a good feeling about this morning.

And my good feeling is warranted. Toby comes downstairs of his own accord, apparently woken by the delicious aroma of my pancakes. Daisy is sweet and sleepy when I wake her, and amazingly compliant when I remind her that all that stands between her, a stack full of pancakes and our Christmas playlist is her decision to let me dress her. I even get the tights on in only two attempts.

While the kids eat, I get another cup of coffee and a couple of cheeky pancakes down me and treat them to some exuberant dancing asLast Christmasplays in the background.

Not only are we on time, but no one has shed a tear yet (nope, not even me), and there are happy faces all round.

‘We’re going to be ten minutes early for school,’ I say, glancing at the SatNav as we pull out of the driveway. ‘That is a seriously good effort, kids. I appreciate everyone being cooperative and cheerful this morning. Are you guys happy with how things went?’

In the mirror, Daisy pats her stomach. ‘My tummy is happy.’

I snort. ‘That’s very important. And what about you, Tobes? Did you find this morning a bit less stressful than yesterday?’

‘Yeah. It was fun,’ he says, but his voice is a little listless. Maybe he’s just tired from this morning’s antics. I probably should find a sensible balance between outright war and utter hijinks.

‘What do you guys do when you get to school early?’ I ask.

Daisy pipes up. ‘We get to watch Miss Rawlins feeding Rosa.’

‘Oh? Who’s Rosa?’ I wonder if she’s a particularly tricky child who refuses to eat breakfast at home.

‘She’s our class hamster,’ she clarifies.

‘Oh. That’s pretty cool. Does she like pancakes for breakfast?’

She giggles. ‘No, silly. She eats yucky stuff from a bag.’

‘Pellets?’ I suggest.

Her brow knits. ‘Think so.’

‘And you, mate? What happens in Year Four first thing? Is it all rock and roll over there?’

Toby sighs. ‘We can do colouring or quizzes.’

‘Well, that sounds fun. No furry friends in your classroom?’

‘No.’ I watch his little shoulders deflate in the mirror. I try to catch his eye, but he’s staring out of the window through those thick glasses. I wish I could turn around and ruffle his hair. Tell him to ease up.

‘What’s the plan for today?’ I ask him.

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