Summer Daydreams Read online

  ‘Very, very much,’ I say in my best seductive voice as I ease myself beneath him.

  My lover plants soft kisses along my throat.

  Then our bedroom door bangs open. ‘I can’t sleep,’ Petal announces.

  ‘Not now, Petalmeister!’ Olly cries.

  Unperturbed about interrupting her parents’ futile attempts at romance, our child stomps in.

  ‘There’s a monster in my wardrobe and he’s eating crisps. Loudly.’

  Olly sighs, rolls off me and flops back on the bed while I stifle a giggle. Any passion that had been rising ebbs away.

  ‘I need to get in bed with you. Now.’ Petal bounces onto the bed and pushes her way between us. When she’s barged us both out of the way, she settles down in the middle. For a small person, she takes up an awful lot of room.

  The dog, clearly feeling left out, has broken free from the bounds of the kitchen and pelts up the stairs and leaps onto the bed too.

  ‘Oh, Dude!’

  Petal is never likely to have a baby brother or sister if things carry on this way.

  In a weary tone, Olly asks, ‘Think you could cope with studying and a job and this?’

  As I try to ease Petal’s elbow out of my ribs and move my leg so the dog doesn’t give it pins and needles, I think I could. If I wanted it enough.

  Chapter 9

  I work solidly for four hours in Live and Let Fry. The queue is never less than ten deep. I am a lean, mean, chip-dishing-out machine.

  Frankly, I’m lucky my eyes have stayed open. Petal has to be the wriggliest child in Christendom. I don’t think either Olly or I got more than a couple of hours of kip. She’s got sharp elbows and sharp knees and uses them to good effect to get more room. Oh, the joys of parenthood. The only good thing is that she doesn’t fart quite so much as the dog.

  At the chippy, we close the doors at four – our new regime until Phil can find an extra member of staff to take us right through until six when the evening shift normally starts.

  Sitting at one of the newly painted tables, I have a much needed cup of tea and a small helping of chips. Phil comes and sits opposite me with the same.

  ‘I still can’t believe how fantastic it looks in here,’ he says.

  ‘Thanks, Nell.’

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ I tease. ‘You’ll be making me so big-headed I won’t want to work here.’

  He stirs a couple of spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, despite the fact that Constance is always nagging him to cut down.

  ‘Did you think about what I said?’ he asks with an overcasual air. ‘About art college or something?’

  ‘I did.’ That makes him sit up in surprise. ‘I took myself down to the college and got a brochure on their art courses.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Phil now looks quite pleased with himself. ‘Anything interesting?’

  I take the brochure out of my pocket, open it at the wellthumbed page and push it towards him.

  ‘I’d like to do an art and design foundation course,’ I confide. ‘I had a word with Olly and he thinks we’d be able to afford it. Not this year, obviously, but maybe next.’

  At that, Phil frowns.

  ‘It’s two and a half grand, Phil. We don’t have that kind of cash lying around.’ In all honesty, we don’t even have two and a half quid lying around. ‘This year’s course starts in two weeks, which is way too soon. But now that I’ve got a plan, we can start saving towards it.’

  ‘Let me lend you the money.’

  ‘No.’ I dismiss the suggestion with a wave of my hand. ‘You can’t possibly do that.’

  ‘I can.’ Phil puts his hand over mine.

  ‘How would you get the money?’

  ‘Look at this place,’ he says. ‘The takings are going up every week. I can manage it.

  I chew anxiously on my fingernails.

  ‘Don’t waste another year, Nell. Do it now while you’re fired up. Wait a year and there’ll be all kinds of reasons why you can’t do it. Bite the bullet. Now.’

  ‘They only had two places left when I spoke to them. They might have already gone.’

  Constance and Jenny come and sit down with us. Constance sighs and kicks off her shoes with a grateful sigh. ‘I bet even Ronald bloody McDonald isn’t as busy as this.’

  Phil grins. ‘I’m just telling Nell that she should go to art college.’

  ‘Wow, Nell,’ Jenny says. ‘That’d be cool.’

  ‘It’s a scary amount of money,’ I point out.

  ‘But it would get you out of here. No offence, Phil,’ she adds hastily.

  Phil rolls his eyes. ‘None taken.’

  ‘You deserve to do well, girl,’ Constance offers. ‘Look at this place, at what you can do. You can hardly call it a dump, Jen. It’s like a palace.’ My friend pinches one of the boss’s chips. ‘He’s right, love. You’ve got a real talent. Don’t waste it here.’

  Now I’m racked with indecision. I’d agreed with Olly that I’d wait, but something inside of me has started to burn and I want to break out now while I have the chance. For the first time in my life, I feel passionate about doing something. It thrills me and it frightens me. Could this be how ambition feels? I suck in a wobbly breath. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Phone the college,’ Phil insists. ‘See if they’ve got a place left. If they have, then it’s fate or whatever that stuff is that you women know all about.’

  A frisson of excitement sweeps over me. ‘Shall I?’

  ‘Go on,’ Phil urges. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  ‘Just do it. Just do it. Do it, do it, do it!’ Jen sings in the style of The Black Eyed Peas.

  Constance gives me a nudge. ‘Go on, Nell. I wish I’d had the chance when I was your age.’

  And do you know, that’s what does it. As much as I love Constance, would I want to be in her shoes? Do I still want to be working in a chip shop when I’m coming up to retirement? I’m thirty next year. That’s not getting any younger in anyone’s book and maybe I should be getting a move on.

  Mind made up, I take my mobile out of my pocket. Phil reads out the number from the brochure as I punch it in with trembling fingers. They answer within seconds, instead of it going to voicemail or something, and I should take that as a sign too. I speak to the woman on the other end realising that I’m babbling. Moments later I hang up. Phil, Jenny and Constance all stare at me, holding their breath with anticipation.

  ‘They had one place left,’ I say. ‘I’m in.’

  They go crazy and cheer and kiss me and hug me. Phil hugs me the hardest. Our eyes meet. ‘Thanks,’ I say to him. ‘Thanks so much. You don’t know what this means.’

  ‘I do,’ he assures me. ‘Just make me proud, Nell. That’s all I ask.’

  I’m in. My head’s spinning. In two weeks I start my new Art and Design foundation course. In two weeks I start my new life.

  Chapter 10

  Olly stares at me open-mouthed. ‘I thought we agreed that we’d wait until next year?’

  ‘But Phil offered to lend me the money,’ I remind him. ‘I can do it now.’

  We’re sitting on the steps by the duck pond opposite St Mary’s Church. We’re enjoying some quality time together as a family – grabbing a guilty hour before I’m back on shift again at six. The intended visit to Mount Ironalot will have to wait. Crumpled clothes will be de rigour again for the week.

  It’s a beautiful, sunny day in downtown Hitchin. The sky is blue and cloud free. But the air is cool today and I pull my cardigan around me. Normally, Olly would put his arm round my shoulders, but he doesn’t.

  Petal is busy bossing the poor, unfortunate ducks about and doling out bread to those she thinks are well behaved enough to deserve it. Even the dog is out with us and is trying to pretend he’s cool about the ducks, but I know that he’s secretly longing to give one just a little chew.

  ‘What’s the rush?’ Olly asks.

  ‘Why wait?’

  We descend into silence.

  ‘St
ay away from the edge,’ Olly warns our daughter as she waddles after a duck. ‘I just thought we’d make such a big decision together, as partners. I can’t help feeling hurt that Phil, Jenny and Constance seem to take precedence.’

  ‘It was a spur of the moment thing. I got caught up in their enthusiasm,’ I confess. ‘It felt nice to have them cheering me on.’

  ‘Are you saying I don’t?’

  ‘Why are we arguing about this? I feel really lucky to have got the last place, really lucky to have friends who care enough to want a better life for me, for us.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Olly concedes. ‘Of course, you’re right. I just feel a bit excluded.’

  I lean against him and, finally, his arms slip round my waist. ‘It wasn’t intentional. It was simply how it happened.’

  Olly sighs. ‘I’m stoked for you. Really I am. I’m just worried about how we’ll pay Phil back, worried about the extra work involved, worried that it will change us.’

  ‘I can go along with the first two,’ I tell him, ‘but why would it change us?’

  He shrugs. ‘These things do.’

  ‘Not if you don’t let them.’

  ‘I want to do everything I can to support you,’ Olly says.

  ‘I’ll take on some extra work so that you can cut back on your shifts.’

  I don’t like to admit that I haven’t quite worked out how we’ll pay Phil back yet. Maybe we can give him a bit each month and then pay off the lump when I land myself a fabulously creative and extravagantly paid job at the end of the course. It’s something I need to discuss with him, but my boss is so excited that I’m going that he won’t even deal with the nitty gritty of the finance.

  ‘It’s this little lady I’m concerned about,’ Olly continues. ‘What will we do with her?’

  ‘I’m taking a course, Olly. At the local college,’ I remind him. ‘I haven’t signed up for NASA’s astronaut training programme. It’ll be a breeze.’ I think, famous last words, even as I say it.

  ‘You’re right. I’m probably overthinking it.’

  ‘I want our daughter to be proud of us.’

  ‘I know.’

  At that moment Petal lifts her skirt above her head and bends over, displaying her rugby player’s legs and spotty pants to the world.

  Olly puts his head in his hands. ‘She gets that from you.’

  ‘Petal!’ I call out. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m showing the ducks my bottom,’ she shouts back. Clearly, she’s not quite so concerned about making us proud of her.

  Chapter 11

  Day one of my new life as an art student. I got up mega-early in order to leave myself hours of calm and collected preparation, so I can walk into my college in a Zen-like state ready to absorb knowledge like a sponge.

  Petal sicking up in the bed is not a good start. ‘I’ve got a poorly tummy,’ my daughter complains.

  I lift her and take her into her own room, wiping her down with a warm flannel, changing her sicky pyjamas for clean ones and settling her in her own bed. Then my daughter promptly throws up down herself again and I repeat the process once more. After that I go and chivvy Olly out of our bed.

  ‘I’m not feeling that great myself,’ he moans.

  He does look a little peaky but I’ve no time to be sympathetic to man-illness now. Has he actually been sick? No. I’m afraid that Olly will just have to get on with it.

  ‘Take her temperature regularly,’ I instruct. ‘If she doesn’t look like she’s getting any better by mid-morning, call the doctor.’

  ‘You’re still going into college?’ he asks.

  ‘Of course.’ That shouldn’t even be a question. What else can I do? I bite down my impatience. ‘I have to, Olly. How can I miss my very first day?’

  He groans and sways a bit. Now I think he’s putting it on. ‘How can you leave us?’

  ‘I’ll call Constance. She’ll come up and sit with you for a couple of hours.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. I swear he’s putting that croak in his voice. ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘It’s probably just a twenty-four-hour bug,’ I assure him. I rack my brain to remember what we had for dinner last night and whether I’ve poisoned them both by giving them something to eat that was past its sell-by date. But we just had oven chips and fried eggs, so I think I’m in the clear.

  Stripping the bed, I put on clean sheets while Olly has a shower. I grit my teeth as much groaning emanates from the bathroom. By rights, it’s me who should be in there now. This was my master plan. Instead, I carry the sheets downstairs to put them in the washing machine, but when I eventually reach the kitchen, a bloodbath awaits me.

  ‘Oh, no. Not today! Dude, what’s happened?’

  The dog bounces up and down, so pleased to see me and, therefore, puts more bloody footprints on the kitchen floor. On the work surface, the biscuit jar is up-ended and there seem to be more than a few missing. It seems that Dude’s attempts to have a biscuit frenzy also led him to upset the knife block and judging by the blood trail, it looks as if he’s cut his paw on one of the knives. Bending down to examine it, I get licked all over my face for my trouble.

  ‘Oh, Dude. Look at you.’ Manhandling my pooch, I manage to see that the cut doesn’t look too bad in relation to the amount of blood he’s managed to daub round the kitchen. More licking interspersed with whimpering.

  With a new J cloth, I bathe his paw and conclude, thankfully, that it doesn’t need stitches. A vet’s bill on top of everything else would finish us off. I’ve had to spend a hundred and fifty quid on the list of required materials to take in with me to college – something I perhaps should have expected, but hadn’t.

  I tie Dude to the back door handle with his lead, while I set about mopping the floor with disinfectant and wiping down all the surfaces that have been customised with red paw prints. By now, according to Plan A, I should be sitting down to watch a relaxing ten minutes of Daybreak with my cup of tea and my bowl of Lidl muesli. Fat chance.

  When I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen, I throw the dirty sheets and the two sicky pairs of Petal’s pyjamas into the washing machine before realising that I ran out of washing powder yesterday. I’ll have to pop out in my lunch hour to get some. I release Dude from the door handle and feed him, then I find a bandage in the first aid drawer, which is always wellstocked due to Petal’s propensity for walking into things, falling over them, having them drop on her from a great height. I wind it round Dude’s paw knowing full well that it will be chewed off in five minutes flat.

  I quickly make a sandwich – no disasters there – so that I can cut costs by avoiding the student canteen. Then, with the frantic realisation that time is running out, I dash upstairs to run round the shower.

  Olly is back in bed and Petal is beside him. ‘We’re going to stay here,’ he tells me. ‘Until we’re better.’

  Marvellous, I think uncharitably. Bloody marvellous.

  In the shower, no hot water left. Typical. All thoughts of an impressive hairdo, a quirkily different outfit suitable for an art student and maybe even some slap, go completely out of the window. Instead, I pull back my hair into a ponytail, bite my lips a bit to make them red and then throw on whatever’s to hand that looks clean.

  I blow a kiss to Olly and Petal. If they have got something contagious I should try to keep my distance. ‘Love you both,’ I say. ‘I’ll phone when I can, to see how you are.’ Olly groans and Petal bursts into tears. ‘Don’t go, Mummy,’

  she sobs. ‘Don’t go.’

  That’s my heartstrings twanged to breaking point. I rush over to cuddle her, taking her in my arms and pressing her against my chest. I’m a terrible mother for even thinking of leaving her.

  ‘Go,’ Olly croaks. ‘You’re going to be late.’ So I am.

  ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ I promise Petal and she wails some more.

  With the sound of my daughter’s crying ringing in my ears, I belt out of the house, leg it down
into town like a thing possessed and fly through the doors of the college at a speed that Usain Bolt would be proud of. But nothing can disguise the fact that I’m late, late, late. And on my first day, too. I could weep.

  Without too much fuss I’m pointed towards my classroom and dash in there, still out of breath and panting in the style of Dude. Everyone else is in there, sitting down, looking bright-eyed and attentive, ready for action. I already feel that my morning has seen enough action to be going on with. All eyes swing towards me.

  An elderly, pinch-faced woman stands at the head of the class. She looks as if she feels that life has dealt her a mean hand. She’s immaculately dressed, stylish but with an individual edge. She also doesn’t have a hair out of place. The sharp glance at her watch tells me that my tardy arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed.

  ‘Good morning,’ she says crisply. ‘So glad that you were able to join us.’

  Chapter 12

  The rest of my week does not get any better. Nor the week after. Nor the week after that. I race home from college every night at five o’clock, say hello to Olly and Petal and then race out again to get to my shift at Live and Let Fry by six. By the time I finish at ten o’clock and the entire population of Hitchin is filled with chips, I am on my knees. Then I rush home to take over from Olly, while he goes off to do his night shift at the pizza factory. When he’s not making high-end, boxed pizzas, he swaps his beloved sixties gear for a black T-shirt and ripped bondage trousers and sets off – hair gelled into mountainous, and possibly lethal, spikes – to do the punk gig that he bagged at a local bar. The brief peck on the cheek in the kitchen as we hand over the baton is the closest we get to a sex life.

  During the short window of time after closing Live and Let Fry and before I collapse into bed with exhaustion next to my darling daughter, I’m also supposed to be wonderfully creative with artwork to take in for the next day. It’s fair to say that my meals of late have been largely chip-based.