Sandie Jones - First Mistake

Sophia, lets go, I call out from the hall. Livvy, wheres your homework?

She huffs and rushes off to the kitchen. I thought youd put it in my bag.

Im your mother, not your slave. And besides, youre eight now, you should be taking more responsibility. Im exasperated, though in truth, Id happily pack her school bag for another ten years if it meant I could hang on to my baby who, it seems, has disappeared within a blink of an eye. How had I lost that time?

Here, she exclaims. Have you got my swimming cap?

Olivia! Oh, for Gods sake, is it swimming today?

She sticks one hip out to the side and rests her hand on the other, with all the sassiness of her fifteen-year-old sister. Er, yeah, its Wednesday.

Run upstairs quickly, look in your top drawer. Ill count to five and you need to be back down here. Sophia, were going. Im shouting by the end of the sentence.

What my elder daughter does up there I dont know. Every day it seems to take her five minutes longer to straighten her hair, scribe the black kohl under her eye, inflate her lips with self-plumping lip gloss or whatever else it is she uses. She looks undeniably gorgeous when she does eventually appear, but is it all really necessary, for school?

I cant find it, Olivia calls out.

Were late, I shout, before huffing up the stairs. I feel a heaviness in my chest, a spring tightly coiled, as I rifle desperately through her socks and knickers. If I find it in here I say, never finishing the sentence, because Im not quite sure what Im threatening. Did you wear it last week?

Yes, she says quietly, aware of my mood.

Well, do you remember bringing it home?

Yes, definitely, she says confidently, knowing that any other response will have me blowing a gasket.

The grip on my chest releases as I spot the matte rubber cap in the back corner of the drawer. Great, I say under my breath, before adding as I run down the stairs, Livvy, you really do need to wake up. Sophia, were getting in the car.

Im coming, she shouts back indignantly, as if shes said it three times already. With her music playing that loudly, how would anyone ever know?

She skulks into the passenger seat of the car and instantly pulls down the sun visor to inspect herself in the mirror as we drive.

Havent you just spent the past hour doing that? I ask.

She tuts and flicks it back up with as much attitude as it will allow.

What time will you be home tonight? I ask, ten minutes later, as I lean across and offer my cheek. She kisses it reluctantly, which shes only just started doing again, since we struck a deal to park slightly farther away from school.

Theres a maths revision class, so Ill probably go to that, she says. Whats for tea?

Weve just had breakfast, are at least four hours away from lunch, and she wants to know whats for tea? I do a mental scan of the fridge. It doesnt look too healthy. I might be able to rustle up a pasta dish, at best.

What would you like? I smile.

She shrugs her shoulders. Dont mind. Something nice?

I pull her toward me and kiss the top of her head. Go on, go. Ill pop into Marks and Spencer if I get time.

She smiles and gets out of the car. See you, divvy Livvy.

Bye poo face, giggles her little sister from the back seat.

I put the window down as we drive past her and call out, but shes already locked into her phone, unseeing and unhearing of everything else around her. Look up, I say to her silently. Youll never know what you might miss.

Olivia and I do a light jog into school, which isnt easy in these heels. I love you, I say, as she rushes off to join a playground game of netball without looking back.

Mrs. Davies, can I have a word? calls out Miss Watts from across the playground. I purposely avoid eye contact. I dont have time for this. I look at my watch to let her know Im under pressure.

Sorry, it wont take a minute, she says. Would you like to come into the classroom?

I look at my watch again. Im running late, can we do it here?

Of course. Its just that She looks around surreptitiously, but its early enough not to have too many other parents within earshot. Its just that we had a little incident yesterday, in the playground.

My heart lurches and I can feel my brow furrowing. What kind of incident? I ask, forcing myself to stay calm.

The teacher rests a reassuring hand on my arm, though it feels anything but. Oh, its nothing serious, she says. Just a falling-out between a few of the girls. She rolls her eyes. You know how girls can be.

Was Olivia involved? I ask.

Apparently so. There were just a few nasty words bandied about, and Phoebe Kendall says that Olivia threatened not to play with her anymore. Im sure it was nothing more than playground antics, but Phoebe was a little upset by it.

I imagine she was. Olivia didnt mention anything last night. Did you speak to her?

I had a quiet word yesterday, she says, looking around again before continuing in a hushed tone. Its just that it isnt the first time that Olivia has been involved in an altercation of this type.

I look at her, trying to read whats going on behind her eyes. Oh is all I can manage.

Miss Watts leans in closer. Shes normally such a bright and bubbly child, eager to be friends with everyone, but these past few weeks

I rack my brain, wondering whats changed things. Ill talk to hersee whats going on.

Perhaps it would be useful to come in for a chat, she says, tilting her head to one side. Her condescending smile reminds me of a therapist I once had. The one who asked me to close my eyes and imagine I was lying on a deserted beach, with the sun warming my skin and the gentle waves lapping at my feet.

I hadnt gone back. Treating me like a five-year-old didnt work then, and it certainly isnt going to work now.

Id be happy to see you and Mr. Davies after school today if youre available? Miss Watts goes on.

Im afraid Nathan Mr. Davies is away on business. Hes flying back this afternoon.

Ah, okay then, perhaps another time, she says. Im sure its nothing to worry about, just something we need to keep our eye on.

Of course, I say before turning on my heels and instantly bumping into a group of girls playing hopscotch. Ill talk to her tonight.

I make my apologies to the disgruntled children as I tiptoe over brightly painted numbers on the tarmac.