Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I could’ve air punched when I saw a cluster of kids still standing at the bus stop. I leaned across to kiss Mia as she gathered up her school bag, but she didn’t smile. A few weeks into high school and it was still a tough routine to get accustomed to, I guess. She’d hardly say a peep about it without prompting.
“You sure you’re alright? Got everything?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Ok, good. Have fun, poppet, see you later.”
I waved her off, beeped the horn and I finally got a lacklustre smile.
“I never want to go to high school,” Ruby announced from the backseat. “High school stinks.”
“How do you know?” I met her eyes in the rearview before I pulled away. “You might love high school.”
“Mia doesn’t.”
My hackles prickled, mother-senses on high alert. “Mia does.”
She shook her head. “Mia hates high school. She said so.”
“She did?”
Ruby nodded emphatically. Then she pointed back through the window. “That kid with the glasses, Tyler Dean, he’s mean to her.”
“Mean to her?”
“Yeah, calls her Mia-stink-a-lot. Get it? Me A Stink A Lot.” She sighed. “Other names, too. Names I’m not allowed to say.”
“She told you this?”
Ruby pulled a face. “No! She never tells me anything! She told Daisy on Skype. I heard.”
I drove down the hill and indicated into Pontrilas Primary School, pulling onto the verge since there were no spaces left. “How about you have a little think about what else you know, hey? You can tell me later.”
“And be a snitch?”
I opened her car door, grabbed her sports kit. “And be someone who answers her mum when she’s asked a question. That’s not snitching, Ruby.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, ok.”
We trudged to the playground, and my curly-haired bundle of backchat was off like a shot to find her friends. I had to practically chase her to hand over her sports bag. I took my regular position at the leafy tree, with a big-arsed smile plastered on my face and sweet little waves for the other village mums. At least I’d successfully transitioned from PJs in time for the school run today, and you could hardly even see the butter smear on my top from breakfast. Adulting win.
I sometimes wondered if motherhood was like this for everyone. Constantly feeling like a hot mess, I mean. They say you can’t judge what you see of other people and their parenthood goals statuses on Facebook. They say you’re seeing everyone else’s show reel while you’re living through the uncut edition, but seeing some of the mothers in the playground around me, I wonder. They always seem to have this shit totally nailed, and still have time for Pinterest-worthy baking projects.
Jesus, I hate baking.
I soaked in the September morning sun, my mind already zooming ahead to a hot mug of cappuccino and the latest gossip. I’d been ingratiated into the ladies’ club by my best friend, Tonya, whose friendship had been forged in steel back when we were kids, staying strong into adulthood through countless break-ups and job crises. She’d been my confidante and cheerleader through my two pregnancies and the epic break-up with Daddy Trent, too. That made us virtually blood sisters. Closer than blood sisters, since my real life one drove me insane through at least half the time I spent in her company.
The other ladies in our little coffee club were alright, not quite so close to my heart, but nice enough. Mandy, Steph, and Debbie. All local. All born and bred here.
Weren’t we all.
The bell rang to signal the end of my parental responsibilities for the school day, and my heart soared. Thank fuck for that. I was already disappearing back towards my car when a voice rang out from the outdoor sandpit.
“Jodie! Jodie! You-hoo! Jodie! Can I have a quick word?”
I toyed with the opinion of fake-deafness, but Miss Davies, Ruby’s teacher, was at my elbow before I could reach stage-exit.
“Hi,” I said. “Sure, what’s up?”
She did a little sigh, and pulled that face. The face that says your kid’s been up to no good. Oh bollocks.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said. “It’s just, Ruby…”
My heart dropped.
“…one of the other mums heard something worrying last week…”
“Worrying?”
She nodded, pulled an apologetic face and lowered her voice. “Bad words. She’s been saying bad words.”
I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “Bad words?”
I hoped for maybe a bloody or a crap. Maybe even a sneaky little shit. I mean, bad words have scale, right?
She leaned in. “Very bad words…”
Great. Just great.
I held out my hands. “I’m sorry… Ruby knows not to say bad words… we don’t say bad words in our house…”
It wasn’t really much of a lie, either. Ruby hears me swear, but not at her, not much, not unless I’ve really lost my shit. But you can’t say that to her smiling teacher, can you?