Page 51 of A Manny for Christmas

Daisy giggles. ‘You can be the donkey.’

I mock-gasp. ‘Donkey, my arse. I’m not a puny little donkey. I’m as strong as an ox, and I’ll prove it to you.’ I hold up the spatula. ‘Now, who’s having the first pancake?

* * *

When Molly surfacesa couple of hours later, she looks like a woman who’s had a decent night’s sleep for once. She’s all bundled up in a dressing gown over pyjamas, and the pinched, tired look is gone. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. Not only did I manage to pick up some of the slack this morning, but I’ve cleared up the breakfast mess and got both kids dressed. (To be fair, it was a lot easier to get Daisy’s little dungarees on her than a pair of tights.) By the time Molly appears, we’re doing Christmas colouring at the kitchen table, thanks to a quick google and a spot of printing.

Her eyes widen. ‘My, my. Who are these two, and what have you done with my kids?’ she asks as she makes her way around the table to slide her arms around their shoulders and kiss the tops of their heads.

‘Just thought I’d better earn my keep,’ I tell her sheepishly. ‘Up my game from last night.’

She gives me a small smile in between kissing Daisy’s bird’s nest. ‘Well, I’m very grateful. And pretty impressed.’

Daisy tilts her head right back so she can see her mum. ‘Max says he’s going to be our ox!’

Molly frowns and looks over at me. ‘Huh?’

‘I asked them when you guys were planning on buying a tree,’ I say carefully, ‘and they explained that it’s always been something they did with their dad, so I offered my services if you need some muscle.’

‘Ah.’ She nods knowingly. ‘I see. Yeah, I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest.’ She rubs her temple wearily. ‘It’s one more thing to think about. We should probably get around to it at some point. I don’t even know how we’d fit a tree in the car.’

‘We can use Angus’ Landrover,’ I tell her cheerfully. ‘Nothing would make me happier than handing it back to my brother full of pine needles.’

‘That’s mean,’ Toby says with a shocked look.

‘So sue me.’ I stick my tongue out at him. ‘But seriously, Mol. I can help you take care of it. It’ll be fun. We could even go today, if you like.’

The kids both inhale sharply with excitement.

‘Please, Mummy, please,’ Daisy pleads, her little fingers intertwined in prayer. She white-knuckles them and shakes them at Molly. I roll my eyes. This one certainly knows how to lay it on thick.

I laughingly catch Molly’s eye and mouthsorry. She rolls her eyes right back at me, but she doesn’t seem overly pissed-off.

‘I suppose, if Max is offering to help, then it makes sense,’ she says. ‘The farm has lots of trees for sale.’

‘Do you have decorations?’ I ask.

‘Yeah.’ Her shoulders sag. ‘They’re all stacked right on the top shelves of the garage. I think. I haven’t seen them since we moved in. Could be hard to get them down, though…’

I raise my hand like a good boy scout. ‘Consider it done. Seriously. I’ll take care of it.’

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘That would be great, thanks. I suppose we have a plan, then.’

I excuse myself shortly after and lug box after box of baubles and rattan reindeer and statues of Father Christmas dressed in burlap back through to the living room. If I read Molly’s body language right, her reticence was less about how to manage sacred family traditions that might trigger the kids and more about the sheer hassle factor.

I recognise exhaustion when I see it. A single good night’s sleep isn’t enough to combat the long-term fatigue of simply keeping the machine moving forward as a single parent. Traditions that should represent meaningful highlights in the seasonal calendar become cumbersome extra tasks on top of the relentless daily grind.

My mission today, therefore, is simple.

Take the hassle factor out of Molly’s hands and make the experience of purchasing and decorating the tree as enjoyable as possible for the three of them.

After lunch, I drive us all to the farm in the Landrover. I have to admit, Daisy looks fucking cute in a beanie with reindeers all around it and a huge white pompom on the top. It’s a little too big for her and keeps slipping down over her eyes, and she keeps on gamely pushing it back up.

She doesn’t look as cute as her mum, though. I note with extreme interest that Mol’s wearing, as far as I can tell, the exact same outfit that she wore out for her date last night.

The exact same outfit she was wearing when I told her she looked beautiful.

Hmm.

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