Page 3 of Every Day of My Life

“But if he doesn’t bring me a treat, I get to pick a card.”

“Us, too!” a pair of lads said in unison.

Oliver looked at the collection of MacLeod spawn and sorted them into ages and potential for mischief-making out of habit. He supposed Patricia was well into her seventh year and her next older brother, Robert, a trio of years older than she. The eldest, Ian by name and early teens by age, was leaning back against the range, warming his backside and smiling in understanding. Oliver had seen that one indulging in a little swordplay with his father, though, and suspected he might be worth keeping an eye on as well.

“I’m afraid I neglected to pack either,” he said, pulling himself back to the matter at hand. He’d made a point of bringing a hostess gift for the lady of the house on each of his visits, but cards containing Useful Skills to Know had been a spur-of-the-moment idea for the brood that first weekend. “I could make up a handful now, if you like.”

“Actually, we have something for you,” Patricia said, pulling him over to the table. She held out an envelope toward him. “I found it on the front steps, but no one had knocked which told me it was a secret.”

Oliver could only imagine.

“Are you going to open it?” Robert asked.

Oliver could bring to mind half a dozen unpleasant things he would rather have been doing besides opening what he was certain would be a continuation of the indignities he’d already suffered so far that day, but Patricia had pulled him down onto the stool next to her and patted his shoulder.

“If it’s a quest, I’ll help you.”

It was hard to argue with a seven-year-old prepared to hoist a sword with him, so he nodded his thanks, then opened the envelope that indeed had his name scrawled on it and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Dearest Oliver, welcome to your holiday! Because we love you so very much—hugs and kisses!—we’ve planned the whole fortnight for you. A tailor-made routine of self-care awaits you, perfectly designed to refresh and restore. Attached to each carefully curated task is a set of points which, as they are earned, entitle you to other new and exciting indulgences!

He was going to end them all. One by one, slowly, cheerfully, and painfully. He set that thought aside as something to be enjoyed later, then continued on.

What delights can I expect?Clever you for asking, but let’s not spoil any surprises! Today, content yourself with meditating for a quarter hour, supervised. If you accomplish that, you’ll receive further instructions in the morning along with a book in which to record their accomplishment.

Do the tasks properly. Don’t cheat on the maths. A prize for being good in school—perhaps a car that runs—will be yours when you’ve finished.

XOXO

He took a deep breath. In fact, he took several. It didn’t help one bloody bit.

“What does it say?” Patricia asked.

“It’s a list of things to do,” Oliver said pleasantly. He said it pleasantly because he’d been asked by a child and growling might have frightened her.

“Fun things or chores?”

“Fun things,” Oliver managed.

“Will you have anything for doing them,” Ian asked, “or are they just exercises in strengthening character and stamina?”

Oliver exchanged a glance with Elizabeth that needed no words to accompany it. If both those lads—and likely Patricia as well—hadn’t heard that same phrase from their father a dozen times a day, every day, from the moment they’d managed to make sense of the words being spewed at them, he would have been very surprised.

“I believe there might be a prize involved,” Oliver conceded.

“Which kind?” Robert asked, getting up and walking around the table to peer over his arm. “Wait… a car of your choice?” Robert looked at him, his young mind seemingly reeling at the very thought. “What sort, do you suppose? A Jaguar? An Aston Martin? Nay, aBugatti?”

Very likely a used Fiat with a chipped Ferrari medallion glued to the arse-end of it, but perhaps that didn’t need to be said.

“I don’t think they’ve narrowed it down yet,” Oliver offered.

“And what’s that part at the end in those strange-looking letters?” Patricia asked.

Oliver squinted—he couldn’t deny that he might need more sleep on occasion—and took a moment to untangle the words cut from various supermarket circulars. Unoriginal, but a bit alarming all the same.

“It says,” he said, “that the process must begin again if at any point there is failure to adhere to the programme as outlined.”

The two younger spawn nodded wisely. Oliver looked at Young Ian and had an eye roll and a smile in return, something with which he heartily agreed.