A Spot Of Bother

26

Katie had had a shitty week.

The festival programs arrived on Monday and Patsy, who still couldn’t spell program, shocked everyone by knowing a fact, that the photo of Terry Jones on page seven was actually a photo of Terry Gilliam. Aidan bawled Katie out because admitting he’d cocked up wasn’t one of the skills he’d learnt on his MBA. She resigned. He refused to accept her resignation. And Patsy cried because people were shouting.

Katie left early to pick up Jacob from nursery and Jackie said he’d bitten two other children. She took him to one side and gave him a lecture about being like the meanie crocodile in A Kiss Like This. But Jacob wasn’t doing recriminations that day. So she cut her losses and drove him home where she withheld his yogurt until they’d had a conversation about biting, which generated the same kind of frustration Dr. Benson probably felt when they were doing Kant at university.

“It was my tractor,” said Jacob.

“Actually it’s everyone’s tractor,” said Katie.

“I was playing with it.”

“And Ben shouldn’t have grabbed it from you. But that doesn’t give you the right to bite him.”

“I was playing with it.”

“If you’re playing with something and someone tries to grab it you have to shout and tell Jackie or Bella or Susie.”

“You said it’s wrong to shout.”

“It’s OK to shout if you’re really, really cross. But you’re not allowed to bite. Or to hit someone. Because you don’t want other people to bite you or hit you, do you?”

“Ben bites people,” said Jacob.

“But you don’t want to be like Ben.”

“Can I have my yogurt now?”

“Not until you understand that biting people is a bad thing to do.”

“I understand,” said Jacob.

“Saying you understand is not the same thing as understanding.”

“But he tried to grab my tractor.”

Ray came in at this point and made the technically correct suggestion that it was unhelpful to hug Jacob while she was telling him off, and she was able to demonstrate immediately a situation where you were allowed to shout at someone if you were really, really cross.

Ray remained infuriatingly calm until Jacob told him not to make Mummy angry because “You’re not my real Daddy,” at which point he walked into the kitchen and snapped the breadboard into two pieces.

Jacob fixed her with a thirty-five-year-old stare and said, tartly, “I’m going to eat my yogurt now,” then went off to consume it in front of Thomas the Tank Engine.

The following morning she canceled her dentist’s appointment and spent her day off taking Jacob into the office where he acted like a demented chimp while she and Patsy inserted five thousand erratum slips. By lunchtime he’d taken the chain off Aidan’s bike, emptied a card index file and spilled hot chocolate into his shoes.

Come Friday, for the first time in two years she was genuinely relieved when Graham arrived to take him off her hands for forty-eight hours.

Ray headed out to play five-a-side football on Saturday morning and she made the mistake of attempting to clean the house. She was manhandling the sofa to get at the fluff and slime and toy parts underneath when something tore in her lower back. Suddenly she was in a great deal of pain and walking like the butler in a vampire movie.

Ray microwaved some supper and they attempted an orthopedic, low-impact shag but the ibuprofen seemed to have rendered her numb in all the unhelpful places.

On Sunday she gave in and retired to the sofa, keeping the crap mother guilt at bay with Cary Grant videos.

At six Graham turned up with Jacob.

Ray was in the shower so she let them in herself and tottered back to the chair in the kitchen.

Graham asked what was wrong but Jacob was too busy telling her what a wonderful time they’d had at the Natural History Museum.

“And there were…there were skellingtons of elephants and rhinoceroses and…and…the dinosaurs were ghost dinosaurs.”

“They were repainting one of the rooms,” said Graham. “Everything was under dust sheets.”

“And Daddy said I could stay up late. And we had…we had…we had eggy. And toast. And I helped. And I gotted a chocolate stegosaurus. From the museum. And there was a dead squirrel. In Daddy’s…Daddy’s garden. It had worms. In its eyes.”

Katie held her arms out. “Are you going to give your mummy a big hug?”

But Jacob was in full flow. “And…and…and we went on a double-decker bus and I keeped the tickets.”

Graham crouched down. “Hang on a tick, little man, I think your mummy’s hurt herself.” He put a finger to Jacob’s lips and turned to Katie. “Are you OK?”

“Wrecked my back. Moving the sofa.”

Graham gave Jacob a serious look. “You be good to your mummy, all right? Don’t go giving her the runaround. Promise?”

Jacob looked at Katie. “Is your back not comfy?”

“Not very. But a hug from my monkey boy would make it feel a lot better.”

Jacob didn’t move.

Graham got to his feet. “Well, it’s getting late.”

Jacob began to wail, “I don’t want Daddy to go.”

Graham ruffled his hair. “Sorry, Buster. Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”

“Come on, Jacob.” Katie held her arms out again. “Let me give you a cuddle.”

But Jacob was working himself up into a state of truly operatic despair, punching the air and kicking out at the nearest chair. “Not go. Not go.”

Graham tried to hold him, if only to stop him hurting himself. “Hey, hey, hey…” Normally he would have left. They’d learnt the hard way. But normally she could have scooped Jacob into her arms and hung on to him while Graham beat a retreat.

Jacob stamped his feet. “Nobody…Nobody listens…I want…I hate…”

After three or four minutes Ray appeared in the doorway with a towel round his waist. She was past caring what he might say and how Graham might react. He walked over to Jacob, hoisted him over his shoulder and disappeared.

There wasn’t time to react. They just stared at the empty door and listened to the screaming getting fainter as Ray and Jacob made their way upstairs.

Graham got to his feet. She thought for a moment that he was going to make some caustic comment and she wasn’t sure she could handle that. But he said, “I’ll make some tea,” and it was the kindest thing he’d said to her in a long time.

“Thanks.”

He put the kettle on. “You’re giving me a weird look.”

“The shirt. It’s the one I bought you for Christmas.”

“Yeh. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No. I wasn’t trying to…” She was crying.

“Are you all right?” He reached out to touch her but stopped himself.

“I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Are things going OK?” asked Graham.

“We’re getting married.” She was crying properly now. “Oh crap. I shouldn’t be…”