So what the numbnuts am I doing here? Idiot.
We pass by Leo’s front door. A lovely, modern wooden thing. Not like our dirty white plastic, flowery-patterned glass monstrosity. I allow myself to stare at it for a moment. It’s his actual front door. He’s probably home… I mean, I don’t know but…probably. Just the thought that he might be makes my stomach thunder-crack into a thousand tiny, beautiful, vomiting butterflies.
Oh, for the love of God, stop it.
CHAPTER FIVE
When we finally get home, I haul Noah’s bags through the front hall and remind Noah to “shh” in case Mum is asleep.
“I know!” he shouts back.
I’m about to shush him again when I hear, “It’s OK, guys, I’m up!”
Mum’s in the living room. I can’t see her yet, but already I know she’ll be lying on the sofa in her checked pajamas, listening to Radio 4, dozens of weight-loss-company-branded food wrappers scattered around her.
Noah runs in ahead of me, yelling, “Mummy! Mummy!” before launching himself on to her.
I follow after him. She’s wearing her pajamas with the stripes rather than the checks, but other than that I had the picture spot on. Still, the sight makes me smile as I flop down on the sofa and cuddle up to her just as Noah’s doing. There’s plenty of her to go around, and for a moment we’re just one big bubbly warm ball of squidge.
“Aww, I missed you guys!” she says, throwing her thick arms around us and drawing us closer to her until her brushed-cotton-clad boobs are squashed up against my face.
“Aww, Mum!” I complain. I can’t breathe all that well, but actually it’s oddly comforting.
I always feel sorry for people with thin mothers. Slender, minimal-chested, angular women may be what the catwalk prefers, but what use are they when all you need is a warm, bosomy, healing Mum-hug? I guess it’s just whatever you’re used to, but I’ll take my soft and cuddly mum any day of the week.
Even if it does mean an awkward faceful of tits every now and again.
“Anyway, how could you miss us?” I say, easing myself out of her boob folds. “You only saw us last night, crazy woman.”
“I know, I know, but these night shifts, they seem to go on forever, you know?”
“I know,” I say. “You on again this evening?”
“’Fraid so, darling. That OK?”
“Yeah, of course. How was work last night?” I say.
“Oh, you know, same old. Oh, except…” Mum starts laughing at her own story before she tells it.
“What?” I say, already laughing a little myself, even though I have no idea what she’s about to say, but I love Mum’s funny stories. Her eyes light up and she always starts talking really quickly, like I do most of the time, and she does the voices brilliantly.
“So this ritzy woman came in with some serious ‘waterworks’ issues,” she says and starts laughing hysterically.
“Mum, I’ve gotta say, as punchlines go, that’s not your best.”
“No, I know, bless her—but I had to get her to give a urine sample, and she took one look at the little bottle and said, ‘Are you seriously expecting me to channel a tsunami into a pipette?’ So I explain that even if she can catch some of the downpour, that’s good enough for us, so she tuts and waddles off to the bathroom and returns ashen-faced. When I ask what’s wrong, she says, ‘There’s something you should know. I had my vitamins earlier. And it may have had a slight effect on my…output.’
“And then, I swear to God, the tube of wee she hands me was glowing bright yellow and I couldn’t resist it so, in my best Yoda voice, I said, ‘Peed a lightsaber, you have.’”
Mum and me both lie back on the sofa in hysterics as Noah looks on a little confused, but chuckling along indulgently anyway.
“And what did she say?” I manage to get out.
Mum’s still laughing so hard, she can hardly get her words out. “I don’t know—I had to duck down behind the nurses’ desk to hide my laughter while Sue took over!”
“Well, it’s good to know you take your nursing responsibilities so seriously, Mother!”
“I know, I’m terrible, but you’ve got to get through the nights somehow, right? Especially as I really do miss you guys so much. How’re you both doing?”
Her tone has changed a bit now, and she’s not laughing. I wish she wouldn’t worry about us; we manage just fine.
“We’re OK, aren’t we, Noah?”
“I’m starving!” yells Noah. “What’s for dinner? What’s for dinner?”
Mum makes a noise that’s part groan, part sigh, part laugh; a noise that means, “I’m exhausted, but I’ll do this because I love you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make something,” I say.
“Do you mind, sweetie?” She’s clearly relieved and settles back down on the sofa, with Noah scrambling all over her.
“Its fine,” I say, walking to the kitchen.
The math homework can wait till later.
After we inhale some fish fingers and baked beans in front of the TV, Mum gets ready for work and I get Noah in the bath.
“Have you ever seen a chimpanzee in the bath?” he asks as he gets in.
This is completely out of the blue. We haven’t been talking about chimpanzees. We haven’t watched any TV shows about chimpanzees. We’ve been living in a totally chimpanzee-free environment, but this seems to be how Noah’s four-year-old mind works. Totally randomly.
“No,” I say, “I’ve never seen a chimpanzee in the bath.”
“Me neither,” he says wistfully as his little round belly disappears underneath the bubbles. “Can I have a cookie when I get out?”
And I wonder if the whole cute chimpanzee question was just a way to soften me up so I’d OK a cookie.
“No, it’s bedtime after the bath, Noah. Mum said no more food this evening.”
“I want a cookie.”
“No.”
“Coo-KEY!”
“No!”
It occurs to me that this exchange could go on for many hours, so I think of a way to change the record.
“Hey, Noah!” I say, like I have something really interesting to show him.
“What?” he says, trying to remain angry about the whole cookie thing, but finding it hard to hide his interest in whatever I’m offering.
“What noise does a chimpanzee make when he’s getting in a hot bath?”
“I don’t know, Haylah. I told you I’ve never seen one!” he huffs.
“No, no, it’s a joke,” I explain.
“Oh!” he says, the anger and cookie frustration fading away in an instant. He doesn’t understand jokes but loves them nonetheless. “OK…what noise does a chimpanzee make when he gets in a hot bath?”
“Ooo ooo ooo ahh ahh ahh,” I say.
Silence. Then eventually.
“Ohhhhh, I get it!” he says. “Because when the water’s hot, I make that noise and chimpanzees just make that noise anyway…so it’s funny!”
“Well…yeah. I mean, ideally you’d just laugh rather than deconstructing the joke, but yes.”