his kid. You always will be.’
‘But I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. And if I want to give her another chance and it all goes pear-shaped, then I’ll deal with it.’
I wanted to explain that it wasn’t that simple. That it would still be us who had to pick up the pieces of whatever mess she left behind. I knew it was pointless, though. And that what I really needed to do was to make him feel listened to.
‘Look, if you decide you do want to see her again, I’ll talk to your dad,’ I said. ‘I can’t promise I’ll change his mind but I’ll talk to him.’
‘Why would you do that?’ asked Josh. ‘You must hate her. She’s Dad’s ex, after all.’
‘I don’t hate her,’ I said. ‘And even if I did, love is always more powerful. I want you to remember that.’
‘As stepmums go,’ said Josh, ‘you’re really not that bad.’
I smiled at him. ‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
* * *
The knock on the door came early the following morning. Chris was in the shower so I scrambled out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown and hurried downstairs.
I could hear whistling. It was the postman. He always whistled. I guessed he liked conforming to stereotype.
I didn’t even look at the name on the box he handed me until I got it inside. Written on it in thick black marker pen was ‘Matilda Bentley’. I racked my brains, trying to think of any competitions or giveaways Matilda had entered, although I knew sometimes these things took ages to be sent out.
I put the box on Matilda’s place mat and went back upstairs to grab a shower while Chris got dressed.
‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ I called as I went into Matilda’s room afterwards and drew back the curtains. ‘There’s post for you downstairs. A box with your name on it.’
That was all it took. She was up and out of bed in record time. I followed her downstairs. Chris was already in the kitchen making breakfast.
‘Morning, Daddy,’ Matilda said, before picking up the box and shaking it. ‘I don’t know what it is.’
‘The normal practice,’ said Chris, ‘is to open it and find out.’
Matilda picked at the tape without success.
‘Here you are,’ said Chris, fetching some scissors and scoring along the tape.
Matilda opened the box. Her gasp made me turn round sharply. She lifted up a large puppet of a girl with long brown hair, a smiley face and wearing a stripy top and jeans.
‘It’s me,’ squealed Matilda. ‘It’s like a puppet of me.’
‘Wow, that’s great,’ said Chris. ‘Who’s sent you that?’
I knew straight away. I’d barely met the woman but I somehow knew it was the sort of thing she’d do. I walked over to the table and looked inside the box. There was a card at the bottom. It said, ‘Sorry, hope we can still be friends. Lydia.’
I handed it to Chris. He read it, shut his eyes for a second and shook his head.
‘What is it?’ asked Matilda, reaching up to see the card.
‘It’s from Josh’s mum,’ I said to her.
She took the card from my hand, examining the writing, tracing Lydia’s name with her finger as if to make absolutely certain. All the time I was watching her face, seeing her weigh it up in her head; how much she loved the puppet against how she felt about Lydia. For a moment I thought it might be in the balance, she might be aboutto throw the puppet back in the box and say she didn’t want it. It was only a moment, though. And then she took another look at the puppet, put her arm inside and walked the cloth legs along the floor. Her face lightened. She had made her decision. Although, really, what she didn’t know was that the decision had been made by the person who sent it.
‘I love it,’ she breathed. ‘I absolutely love it. I’m going to call her Amy.’
Josh came into the kitchen. ‘Hey, cool puppet,’ he said.
Matilda rushed over to him. ‘It’s from your mum,’ she shrieked. ‘She sent it to me to say sorry. I’m calling her Amy.’
Josh looked
‘But I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. And if I want to give her another chance and it all goes pear-shaped, then I’ll deal with it.’
I wanted to explain that it wasn’t that simple. That it would still be us who had to pick up the pieces of whatever mess she left behind. I knew it was pointless, though. And that what I really needed to do was to make him feel listened to.
‘Look, if you decide you do want to see her again, I’ll talk to your dad,’ I said. ‘I can’t promise I’ll change his mind but I’ll talk to him.’
‘Why would you do that?’ asked Josh. ‘You must hate her. She’s Dad’s ex, after all.’
‘I don’t hate her,’ I said. ‘And even if I did, love is always more powerful. I want you to remember that.’
‘As stepmums go,’ said Josh, ‘you’re really not that bad.’
I smiled at him. ‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
* * *
The knock on the door came early the following morning. Chris was in the shower so I scrambled out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown and hurried downstairs.
I could hear whistling. It was the postman. He always whistled. I guessed he liked conforming to stereotype.
I didn’t even look at the name on the box he handed me until I got it inside. Written on it in thick black marker pen was ‘Matilda Bentley’. I racked my brains, trying to think of any competitions or giveaways Matilda had entered, although I knew sometimes these things took ages to be sent out.
I put the box on Matilda’s place mat and went back upstairs to grab a shower while Chris got dressed.
‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ I called as I went into Matilda’s room afterwards and drew back the curtains. ‘There’s post for you downstairs. A box with your name on it.’
That was all it took. She was up and out of bed in record time. I followed her downstairs. Chris was already in the kitchen making breakfast.
‘Morning, Daddy,’ Matilda said, before picking up the box and shaking it. ‘I don’t know what it is.’
‘The normal practice,’ said Chris, ‘is to open it and find out.’
Matilda picked at the tape without success.
‘Here you are,’ said Chris, fetching some scissors and scoring along the tape.
Matilda opened the box. Her gasp made me turn round sharply. She lifted up a large puppet of a girl with long brown hair, a smiley face and wearing a stripy top and jeans.
‘It’s me,’ squealed Matilda. ‘It’s like a puppet of me.’
‘Wow, that’s great,’ said Chris. ‘Who’s sent you that?’
I knew straight away. I’d barely met the woman but I somehow knew it was the sort of thing she’d do. I walked over to the table and looked inside the box. There was a card at the bottom. It said, ‘Sorry, hope we can still be friends. Lydia.’
I handed it to Chris. He read it, shut his eyes for a second and shook his head.
‘What is it?’ asked Matilda, reaching up to see the card.
‘It’s from Josh’s mum,’ I said to her.
She took the card from my hand, examining the writing, tracing Lydia’s name with her finger as if to make absolutely certain. All the time I was watching her face, seeing her weigh it up in her head; how much she loved the puppet against how she felt about Lydia. For a moment I thought it might be in the balance, she might be aboutto throw the puppet back in the box and say she didn’t want it. It was only a moment, though. And then she took another look at the puppet, put her arm inside and walked the cloth legs along the floor. Her face lightened. She had made her decision. Although, really, what she didn’t know was that the decision had been made by the person who sent it.
‘I love it,’ she breathed. ‘I absolutely love it. I’m going to call her Amy.’
Josh came into the kitchen. ‘Hey, cool puppet,’ he said.
Matilda rushed over to him. ‘It’s from your mum,’ she shrieked. ‘She sent it to me to say sorry. I’m calling her Amy.’
Josh looked
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