We are the Glampions!. Daisy Tate

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      ‘Your cough sounds revolting.’

      ‘Love you too, Emms.’

      ‘Ow! Don’t pull my hair.’

      ‘Don’t slap me!’

       Cough. Cough.

      ‘They’re not going to be happy with your bloods today.’

      Izzy flicked Emily’s arm. ‘Quit being so freaking negative. As the one with cancer I am familiar with how this works.’

      Emily flicked her back. ‘It’s not the same this time. You’ve seen the scans. So don’t act stupid.’

      ‘You’re stupid.’

      Flick.

      ‘No you are.’

      Flick.

      ‘Ladies? Is everything all right here?’

      Charlotte and Luna sat back and admired their handiwork. One extra-large, extra-squidgy lemon drizzle cake decorated with a blue wave (fondant), a surfer (Lego) and a pig (Moana Adventure Collection).

      ‘Do you think she’ll like it?’

      Charlotte pulled Luna in for a one-armed squeeze. ‘I think she’ll love it.’

      ‘What if she can’t eat it?’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll give it a try. It’ll keep for a couple of days if she’s not up to it today. We’ll make her a fresh one if it takes longer than that.’

      Charlotte had, of course, prepared for that option. Since the New Year’s revelation that Izzy suspected her breast cancer had returned, Charlotte’s bedside reading had shifted from book club to cancer survivor memoirs. She’d steered away from the books where the women died in the end as she wasn’t quite up to facing that option. She’d also become a bit of a voyeur on the breast cancer patients’ forums as Izzy point-blank refused to enter ‘that sort of community’. Between that, looking after Luna, Poppy, and doing the odd farm-shop consultancy, she’d barely had time to obsess over CheekyLawGirl’s Instagram updates on Baby Mayfield.

      Sorry.

       Olive.

      She only wished the children would stop calling the infant ‘the pit of despair’. It was difficult to keep a straight face.

      ‘Charlotte?’ Luna moved the pig so that it, too, was riding on the surfboard.

      ‘Yes, love?’

      ‘Thanks for letting us move into the house.’

      ‘Of course, darling. We love having you here, Poppy and me. Jack, too, of course. When he’s home.’

      Luna gently patted her on the arm as if the tables had suddenly switched and that the whole reason they’d moved in was for Charlotte’s benefit. She flashed Charlotte a bright smile. ‘I’m going to check Mummy’s vomit bins are ready.’

      Charlotte tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat as Luna and her billow of hair ‘Crazy for Swayze’ danced into Oli’s repurposed office. Jack had been furious when they’d cleared it out for Izzy (no stairs, en suite, very practical for a woman going through chemotherapy). She knew it was difficult but, quite frankly, cancer trumped philandering fathers who wanted their almost ex-wives to sell the family home.

      As it was, Charlotte was still wrapping her head round the fact that Luna was the seasoned caretaker of the two of them. Luna had been eight when Izzy had gone through her first round. She would’ve been seven, but Izzy had delayed the treatment so that she could send Luna to a surf camp. Wouldn’t go in the end, Izzy told them with palpable pride. Luna had insisted on staying and helping the local hospice workers. Saw me through the worst of it. Helped remind me what I was doing it all for.

      Charlotte thought of her own mother’s quick and fatal journey through lung cancer. Into hospital one day with what they thought was pneumonia, and, bar the cigarette breaks, out eight days later in a casket. Swift, brutal, and utterly of her own making. A line of thought that suggested Charlotte had yet to forgive her mother for looking after herself so poorly.

       Anyway.

      She briskly set about tidying up the kitchen for another round of cakes. She was experimenting with some gluten-free Italian-style Easter cakes to try out at Sittingstone. Lady V had begun loudly expressing her doubts as to whether or not ‘the girl’ would be returning from her maternity. Charlotte was confident she would, but the last person she’d leave in the lurch was Lady Venetia. Particularly with Oliver dropping increasingly persistent hints that his mate would buy the house any time. The new house he’d upgraded to must have cost much more than anticipated. Shame. It looked as if Oli would have to work that little bit harder for a bonus this year.

      With things as they were – Izzy’s treatment finally under way, Poppy settling into the local grammar school and Jack back to his fractious why is this all happening to me self – she wasn’t going anywhere. She hadn’t been blind to the spike in film and game downloads on the family Apple account during his ‘Dad weekends’. Or the rather expensive noise-cancelling headsets. All of which, at Hazel the Lawyer’s recommendation, she documented in a little notebook. She was particularly proud of the graph she’d made to monitor Oli’s hint-dropping about the house. It seemed to spike with each of CheekyLawGirl’s mentions of #desperateforananny or #MaternityLeaveForever.

      There was, it turned out, a pinch of time in every day for Instagram.

      A picture of several women holding up infants and Buck’s Fizzes slid into view. #BabiesWhoBrunch.

      As if on cue, a text from Oliver pinged in. Hello, love. Any chance you’d join me for lunch at The Four Feathers next week? Would love a bit of a catch-up. x Oli

      The Four Feathers? Oliver only took her there when he’d well and truly stuffed something up. Goodness. He really must want to free up some cash. She was about to answer that she was very busy, but thank you for the kind offer, when the crunch of gravel on the drive drew her attention.

      Izzy’s van with Emily at the wheel and a raging Izzy in the passenger seat pulled to a halt.

      Oh, dear.

      ‘Darling! Your mother’s back a bit early. What do you say we put that posy of sweet peas in her room after all?’

       Freya Burns-West

       15 Canter Lane

       Balham, London SWX 14XB

      9 April

      Dr William Clarke

      Headmaster’s Office

      Thamesbank Comprehensive School

      11–27 Oakbank Road

      Barnes

      London SW13

      Dear СКАЧАТЬ