Page 82 of The Forever Gift

Finally, all three of us together in bed I close my eyes. I think all the lights are on downstairs, but I’m too content to move and I fall asleep within seconds.

THIRTY-SIX

CHARLOTTE

The next day

‘Daddy, daddy,’ Molly says, shaking Gavin awake. ‘It’s morning time.’

‘No, Molly.’ Gavin grunts, reaching for the duvet to tuck it closer to his neck. ‘It’s not morning.’

‘Yes it is!’ Molly insists, struggling to get out of our bed, which is much higher than hers. I watch sleepily as she reaches for the curtains and tugs, sliding them back a fraction. ‘See’ – she points – ‘It’s all morning outside.’

I cover my eyes with my hands, the sudden burst of sunlight blinding me. ‘Oh God. What time is it?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Molly, it’s only half six…’ Gavin says, no doubt checking his phone.

‘And it’s Saturday,’ I say, waking a little more. ‘Molly let go of the curtain. You’ll tear the hook and eyelets.’

Molly giggles. ‘Curtains don’t have eyes. You’re so silly, Mammy.’

‘C’mon, Molly,’ I croak, getting up, exhausted. ‘I’ll put some cartoons on downstairs for you.’

‘And make a dippy egg?’ Molly suggests, rubbing her tummy so I know she’s hungry.

‘Later, Molly,’ I say, barely able to function. ‘Let’s just watch cartoons first. We can have an egg later.’

Gavin sits up and rubs his eyes. ‘You know what? Eggs would actually be great. I didn’t get any dinner last night.’

‘Mammy and me eated fajitas last night,’ Molly says, rubbing her tummy some more. ‘They were yummy.’

‘I’ll come down with you,’ Gavin says, throwing back the duvet. ‘I can make us omelettes.’

‘Yay! Yay! Yay!’ Molly jumps up and down and I wish I had a fraction of her energy at this time of day.

‘No. Wait here. We need to talk,’ I say to Gavin.

‘Is everything okay?’ he asks.

‘No. Not really,’ I say, trying to hide how pissed off I am in front of Molly.

‘Do you not like omelettes?’ Molly asks. ‘We can have dippy eggs. And then you can be happy.’

‘Later, Molly,’ I say, taking her hand. ‘It’s just cartoons now. Eggs later.’

‘Do curtains really have eyes, Mammy?’ Molly asks as we’re walking down the stairs.

‘What?’ I laugh. ‘No, Molly. Of course they don’t.’

‘But you said…’

‘I suppose curtains do have eyes, Molly. But they are called “eyelets” and it’s what the rail goes through.’

‘Eye-lights,’ says Molly slowly, and I ruffle her hair.

I open the sitting-room door to find the lights and TV on.

‘It’s magic,’ Molly says, and I don’t tell her otherwise.

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