And I was fascinated by her. Her, and her perfect pottery, and her unseen family.
Claire
I drop Mackenzie at school ten minutes late.
Mackenzie’s been at the same school since she was five and in grade 00, but now she’s in grade 1, so they have to wear a uniform. While most of the girls were excited about it, Mackenzie was appalled. She’s what my mother calls an ‘idiosyncratic dresser’, and what I call a ‘great, big mess’. Either way, after two years of expressing her individuality, she doesn’t like the conformity of a school uniform. So now she’s transferred all her originality onto her hairstyles. She has fly-away blonde hair like mine, and it’s difficult to execute her ambitions. This morning she wanted a French plait. I was quite proud of my effort, but she burst into tears because of the lack of a ribbon. Apparently ‘everyone’ knows a ‘real’ French plait has a ribbon threaded through the length of it. So, while she sobbed, I had to search for a ribbon in regulation school colours before undoing the plait and starting again.
She was still sobbing by the end, at which point I took ten deep breaths, told myself to find my Zen, and then screamed at her to get in the car. Which she did, muttering about how much she hated me, her hair, and, above all, the ribbon.
And now we are late, and Mrs Wood has to pause her morning greetings to the class as we walk in. Mackenzie hugs and kisses me effusively, as if nothing has gone wrong with our morning. Mrs Wood walks me to the door, apparently keeping the whole class silent with one glare. I wonder if she could teach me that skill.
‘Late arrivals are very disruptive for all the girls,’ she says to me at the door, and because I can’t bear being in trouble I spend the next three minutes charming her while the class silently waits, and by the time I leave I’ve volunteered to help with the cake sale next week. Mackenzie winks at me as I go, so I wink back and feel good for a moment.
In the car, I pull my Moleskine diary out of my bag. I know I should be all digital by now, but I love beautiful stationery. My diary is where it belongs, between my Lou Harvey make-up bag, which I keep for emergencies, and my pencil bag filled with different pens, because having something beautiful to write with always helps me think. I examine my pens, and choose my favourite black fineliner, which I bought from the shop Julia told me about down the road. But when I flip to the date of the cake sale, I see I’ve already committed to a meeting at the hotel I do PR and events for, to talk about their autumn functions.
I send a quick email to the hotel from my phone, asking if we can move the meeting an hour later, and then check my diary for what’s next today. I realise I am now running seventeen minutes late for a meeting with another client – a wedding venue in Muldersdrift that has twenty-five weddings scheduled for the next three months, all of which they’re convinced they can’t do without me.
I message the woman I’m meeting, claiming a small touch of food poisoning, and promising I’ll be there as soon as I can manage. She responds almost immediately with ‘No problem.’ She’s always needed me more than I’ve needed her.
I look back at my diary. If I leave for the wedding place right now, I’ll get there about half an hour late. That’s okay, but then I’ll have to be really charming and relaxed to make up for it, which will probably make me late for the charity lunch I’ve committed to with Janice, Mackenzie’s best friend’s mother. I need to keep Janice sweet, because I want her to help me with lifts. Which reminds me that I must check that Mackenzie’s father will fetch her from school today. I try to avoid asking at the last minute, but both Janice and I will be at the lunch today, so he’s my best bet. I take a deep breath and send him a WhatsApp: Good to fetch Mackenzie today?
He responds almost immediately: Cool.
I close my eyes, holding back the tears, and take another deep breath. I breathe so deeply these days I’m probably going to sprain a lung.
There’s a knock at my window, and I open my eyes slowly. There have been several incidents of carjackings in the area recently, and that would just be the cherry on top. But it’s the mother of a child in Mackenzie’s class. I roll down my window and glue a smile to my face, scrambling to think of her name.
‘Chrissie,’ I remember just in time, ‘how lovely to see you.’
After a few minutes of excruciating small talk she asks if I could meet her for coffee to help with an event she has to plan for her older child’s class. She says she’s the class rep, but she doesn’t have my skills, and she just needs half an hour to pick my brain. I smile and open my diary again, making a time two days from now.
‘Thank you, Claire,’ she says, and I can hear that she’s really grateful. ‘You’re just so amazing.’
I smile. ‘So are you. We’ll put together a kick-ass plan between us.’
She smiles, and waves.
I send my mum a message, telling her I hate everyone.
She immediately answers: Of course you do, sweetie. That’s totally normal. My mum’s speciality is making me feel better, no matter how appalling I’m being.
As I drive to the wedding venue, I think of seventeen different ways my husband could die. I’m in a much better mood when I get there.
Julia
I met Daniel because I had a date. At pottery, I’d
