crying.
‘Mum, please,’ Davey said. ‘I want to be upstairs, with everyone else.’
‘Look,’ Cath said, opening the door to the dining room, ‘I think it’s bigger than your room.’
Cath dropped the kids off at school and nursery, then went back home and lay down on the bed. She was exhausted, no wonder she’d made such a stupid error. She thought of the children as Davey and Lola now, but clearly their original names could still come out under pressure. She was aware of some early warning signs – shortness of breath, a hollow sensation at the back of her head – that meant she was starting to get overwhelmed. If left unchecked, these could lead to ‘the wiry feeling’. She couldn’t describe it any more clearly than that. It was as if the nerves in her body, particularly in her arms, were made of thin metal wire, the sort you get inside pipe cleaners, and the wires were lifting up inside her, straining towards the surface of her skin, threatening to burst it open.
She’d explained it to Gina’s mum, Fay, years ago – she’d just been a young kid then, fifteen or sixteen. ‘Anxiety,’ Fay called it, and suggested various coping strategies, including breathing exercises, focusing on a small task, visualisation and having a bath. But nothing soothed the wiriness down as successfully as Cath regaining control of a situation. Like that time when she was so worried about little Libby going home and not getting the treatment she needed. Cath stepped in when no one else was willing to, had taken charge, and the wiriness had tamped right back down. Or what about when Darren, no, don’t think about Darren.
Another of Fay’s suggestions, which sometimes helped, if the wiriness wasn’t too far advanced, was to sleep it off. Cath tried that now, falling asleep quickly and luckily not having any dreams. When she awoke forty minutes later she felt refreshed, the feeling little more than a fading tingle now. She updated her notebook with some more details about Josie next door, Liam’s wife. She’d been chatting to her this morning. Josie was thirty-three – she mentioned this twice – and asked Cath how old she was when she’d had Davey. Cath locked her notebook away, then called round for Minette, inviting her to come for a swim. Exercise sometimes helped, too.
‘You were so clever to find out about this,’ Minette said, as they took Tilly into the crèche at the leisure centre. A smiling young woman in a brightly coloured jumper distracted Tilly with a Fisher Price activity centre, so that she didn’t even notice Minette leaving. ‘I can’t believe it’s so cheap. I’ll be here all the time now.’
Despite having lived here for only six weeks, Cath knew considerably more about the local facilities than Minette. She’d told her about the baby-friendly café in the North Laine, and the weekly film screenings you could take under-ones into. She’d also introduced Minette to the exciting possibility of getting your hair done while someone looked after your kid. There was a lot to admire about Minette, but she was sometimes a bit wet. Ha, good one, Cathykins, cos she was currently soaking, doing that fancy front crawl with the proper breathing on each side. Cath moved up and down the pool with her slower, more splashy crawl, breathing randomly every three or four strokes.
Afterwards they sat with coffees in the leisure centre café. Cath put her stats into her phone. ‘Twenty lengths, not too bad. Got to build up to thirty.’
‘You’re doing well.’
‘It ain’t fast but I get there in the end,’ Cath said. ‘But hey, you’re a really good swimmer. You should do the triathlon with me.’
Minette shook her head. ‘I’d love to help you with fundraising. But I can’t do the actual race. I don’t like cycling.’
‘I don’t either. Go on, we could train together, it’d be a laugh.’
‘I got a bit put off bikes when my friend Ros broke her wrist.’
‘Oh yes, I remember you
‘Mum, please,’ Davey said. ‘I want to be upstairs, with everyone else.’
‘Look,’ Cath said, opening the door to the dining room, ‘I think it’s bigger than your room.’
Cath dropped the kids off at school and nursery, then went back home and lay down on the bed. She was exhausted, no wonder she’d made such a stupid error. She thought of the children as Davey and Lola now, but clearly their original names could still come out under pressure. She was aware of some early warning signs – shortness of breath, a hollow sensation at the back of her head – that meant she was starting to get overwhelmed. If left unchecked, these could lead to ‘the wiry feeling’. She couldn’t describe it any more clearly than that. It was as if the nerves in her body, particularly in her arms, were made of thin metal wire, the sort you get inside pipe cleaners, and the wires were lifting up inside her, straining towards the surface of her skin, threatening to burst it open.
She’d explained it to Gina’s mum, Fay, years ago – she’d just been a young kid then, fifteen or sixteen. ‘Anxiety,’ Fay called it, and suggested various coping strategies, including breathing exercises, focusing on a small task, visualisation and having a bath. But nothing soothed the wiriness down as successfully as Cath regaining control of a situation. Like that time when she was so worried about little Libby going home and not getting the treatment she needed. Cath stepped in when no one else was willing to, had taken charge, and the wiriness had tamped right back down. Or what about when Darren, no, don’t think about Darren.
Another of Fay’s suggestions, which sometimes helped, if the wiriness wasn’t too far advanced, was to sleep it off. Cath tried that now, falling asleep quickly and luckily not having any dreams. When she awoke forty minutes later she felt refreshed, the feeling little more than a fading tingle now. She updated her notebook with some more details about Josie next door, Liam’s wife. She’d been chatting to her this morning. Josie was thirty-three – she mentioned this twice – and asked Cath how old she was when she’d had Davey. Cath locked her notebook away, then called round for Minette, inviting her to come for a swim. Exercise sometimes helped, too.
‘You were so clever to find out about this,’ Minette said, as they took Tilly into the crèche at the leisure centre. A smiling young woman in a brightly coloured jumper distracted Tilly with a Fisher Price activity centre, so that she didn’t even notice Minette leaving. ‘I can’t believe it’s so cheap. I’ll be here all the time now.’
Despite having lived here for only six weeks, Cath knew considerably more about the local facilities than Minette. She’d told her about the baby-friendly café in the North Laine, and the weekly film screenings you could take under-ones into. She’d also introduced Minette to the exciting possibility of getting your hair done while someone looked after your kid. There was a lot to admire about Minette, but she was sometimes a bit wet. Ha, good one, Cathykins, cos she was currently soaking, doing that fancy front crawl with the proper breathing on each side. Cath moved up and down the pool with her slower, more splashy crawl, breathing randomly every three or four strokes.
Afterwards they sat with coffees in the leisure centre café. Cath put her stats into her phone. ‘Twenty lengths, not too bad. Got to build up to thirty.’
‘You’re doing well.’
‘It ain’t fast but I get there in the end,’ Cath said. ‘But hey, you’re a really good swimmer. You should do the triathlon with me.’
Minette shook her head. ‘I’d love to help you with fundraising. But I can’t do the actual race. I don’t like cycling.’
‘I don’t either. Go on, we could train together, it’d be a laugh.’
‘I got a bit put off bikes when my friend Ros broke her wrist.’
‘Oh yes, I remember you
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