Page 2

Chapter Two

“ M ummy!” Dottie shouted from the classroom door. Philippa smiled. She wondered at what age she would go from being called ‘mummy’ in an excited voice to becoming ‘mum’ in a more sullen one.

“Dottie, how are you doing? Did you manage to get your volcano sculpture finished today?” she asked, grabbing the rucksack her daughter had dropped unceremoniously at her feet.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “It’s drying over there in the window. Look.”

“Ooh, yes,” said Philippa, “I can see it in the corner there. What a fantastic achievement. Well done.”

“Thanks,” said Dottie. “I think it looks good, but Hardev says it looks like an exploding toilet.”

Philippa gave a wry smile, remembering the cheeky boy well from her experience supporting Dottie’s class on a school trip.

“Ignore him,” she said, “he’s definitely not looking at it from the right angle.

” Philippa looked back at the sculpture, and decided never to admit to thinking it did look very slightly like an exploding toilet.

“That’s what I told him, but then the teacher told me to be quiet,” sighed Dottie.

“I expect that was because you were talking too much,” said Philippa, taking Dottie’s hand and leading her from the playground.

“But I couldn’t just let him say that about my volcano,” huffed Dottie. “What’s for tea?”

“Er, well,” hedged Philippa, “it’s a surprise.”

“Ooh,” said Dottie, her eyes lighting up. “Pizza?”

Philippa immediately regretted her tactical error.

Tea would indeed be a surprise – not least to her, as she didn’t know what she was going to throw together that evening.

But calling it a surprise had raised Dottie’s hopes to the realms of pizza.

She usually tried to limit pizza to once a week, but she didn’t always succeed.

“Well, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?

Now, tell me about what you did in PE,” said Philippa, mentally going through the cupboards in her kitchen.

She wondered if she could smuggle the lonely tin of chickpeas into something her wayward child would actually eat. She wasn’t convinced.

They walked home slowly, Dottie regaling her mother with stories of her attempts to play hockey.

Philippa thought back to her own school days, and her pride at making the hockey team.

She smiled, remembering the team captain, a girl who, she could see now, she’d had a massive crush on.

She shook her head. Why on earth hadn’t she realised sooner?

But when she looked down at her chattering child, she knew she couldn’t regret the path her life had taken. She wouldn’t change her daughter for the world, and she would never have had Dottie had she not met and married Paul.

As they neared home, Philippa cracked and pulled Dottie into the supermarket.

“Ok,” she said, leading her to the refrigerated section.

“Choose the pizza you want.” Surely having two pizzas in a week couldn’t do the girl too much harm, especially after a day of running around the school field with a stick.

“Yay,” cheered Dottie, rushing gleefully towards the shelves to make her selection.

At least the pizza and garlic bread Dottie had picked out didn’t require much by way of cooking. They sat together at the kitchen table, as they had done so many times before, just the two of them.

“Do you miss Daddy?” asked Dottie, taking Philippa by surprise.

“Er, well, that’s an interesting question,” said Philippa, unsure how to answer. Paul had spent most of the last five years working in the Middle East, only coming home for a few weeks here and there. “I suppose we both got used to him working away a lot, didn’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Dottie.

“And as you know, things have changed now between me and Daddy,” continued Philippa, rehearsing the key points she always reminded her daughter of – key points she had agreed with her ex-husband, and even provided in writing to Dottie’s class teacher to ensure consistency of message. Philippa was nothing if not thorough.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Dottie through a mouthful of garlic bread, “you don’t want to be married anymore but you’re still friends and it’s… Definitely. Not. My. Fault. You’ve both told me a hundred times.” Was there the hint of an eyeroll there?

Philippa laughed. “Sorry. Although I am glad you’ve remembered all that.”

“Well of course I have,” dismissed Dottie with a toss of her hair. Philippa considered what the teenage years might hold in the years to come, imagining a fifteen-year-old Dottie. She shivered slightly. “I’ll tell you what I miss, though,” said Dottie, bringing Philippa out of her thoughts.

“Please do,” she said, putting on her most understanding face, and setting down her knife and fork so as to demonstrate that she was paying full attention.

“I miss there being chocolate spread in the cupboard. Daddy always used to buy it, and you don’t.” Dottie fixed Philippa with a hard stare.

“Ah,” said Philippa, both surprised and relieved at the harmless nature of the confession. “I hadn’t realised that. I don’t eat it, so I didn’t notice it had run out.”

“Well,” said Dottie, wafting her fork in the air, “it ran out last Tuesday. That’s ten days ago. Ten days ,” she said, organising her face into a pleading expression. “Ten days I’ve been without chocolatey sustenance.” She pursed her lips.

“I hear you,” said Philippa. “Loud and clear.” She mimed a salute towards the child and smiled. “I will buy some tomorrow, and I’ll ensure we have a constant supply from now on.”

“Thank you,” said Dottie. “Can we watch Ghosts after tea?”

“Of course, darling,” said Philippa. This had become their routine. They had watched every episode of the BBC sitcom numerous times, but it had become comfort viewing and a good way to round off the day together.

“Good,” grinned Dottie.