She thought about that as she tugged and wiggled. ‘I love the forest and having a garden. And no one shouting or smashing things up, of course. But I really miss the library. The librarians there let me stay as long as I wanted. Sometimes they brought me biscuits or fruit.’
‘I can’t imagine Irene Jenkins bringing you a biscuit.’
‘You might drop a crumb on a book!’ Joan said, putting on a snooty voice.
‘Disgraceful!’ I mimicked back, before with one final shove the mattress dropped into place. ‘There! Who knew a child could build such a magnificent bed?’
‘It’s awesome!’ Joan grinned, flopping onto it and spreading out her arms and legs. ‘The biggest bed I’ve ever seen! It’s a waste to have only one person sleeping here!’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well, you never know. But for now, I’m very happy to sleep here without someone else bothering me with their snoring and duvet-hogging.’
For now.
7
The following day, I decided to get another item ticked off the Dream List. It had to be a simple one, as I was worn out from all the bed-building the day before, so I plumped for item two: a lazy Sunday morning.
This particular dream had been fashioned from adverts presenting an idyllic picture of the utterly-in-love couple spending their Sunday morning in bed drinking coffee or pottering about in the kitchen making a lovely breakfast, then reading the paper together in romantic, companionable silence. Mine was a budget version, in that until I’d decorated the bedroom my bed was still the sofa and the best I could come up with for breakfast was a fried egg sandwich. I also didn’t have a newspaper, so had to settle for scanning articles online, which wasn’t quite the same.
What was delightful, however, was not having Mum interrupting me every two minutes or criticising me for still being in my pyjamas at midday. She liked to clean on Sunday mornings, and that meant I had to either clean too, or suffer her stream of passive-aggressive snipes.
I wasn’t sure what I enjoyed most – doing what I liked, or finally discovering what it was I liked to do. I did have to admit, as I spent a blissful hour soaking in the bath, interruption-free, that Steph was right. It would be far too easy to slip from pleasing Mum to pleasing a man, if I jumped into a relationship without taking the time to figure out how to please myself first. If the rest of the Dream List was as good as this, my only regret was waiting so long to get started.
After adding a big tick next to ‘lazy Sunday morning’ on the Dream List （now typed out on A3 paper and pinned to my office notice board）， I spent the rest of the day stripping wallpaper, blaring out music that Mum would have hated （basically, anything more recent than 2000 that wasn’t Take That or Adele）， and singing along at the top of my voice. Exhausted, but thrilled at having made some decent progress, I finally stopped once my stomach rumbles threatened to drown out the feel-good playlist, changed into clean pyjamas and went to find something to eat.
There was a note pushed through the letterbox:
This is a terrace. If you are going to spend all day caterwauling, at least learn how to do it in tune.
The note wasn’t signed, but I didn’t suppose that either Joan or Leanne would write such spindly scrawl – or use a fountain pen. Hot tears pressed against the backs of my eyes, and I slumped into a kitchen chair, hand trembling as it clutched the note. What had only minutes ago felt like glorious serenity now seemed horribly lonely and overwhelming. I felt like a stupid child playing at being grown-up, and for the first time in over a week, I desperately missed Mum.
I hurriedly unblocked her number and clicked to call. She answered after one ring.
‘Ollie!’ she barked. ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I can’t believe you blocked your own mother!’
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and prepared to go with an ‘I’m fine!’ reply, but before I could speak she carried on.
‘Honestly, this week has been a nightmare! You wouldn’t understand, not having your own child, but it’s felt as though someone chopped my arm off and hid it somewhere. Cutting off all contact, refusing to tell me where you live or if you’re okay is downright cruel. Everyone agrees! After all I’ve done, you repay me like this. For all you know I’d taken ill again and was in hospital… or dead.’ She broke off into sobs.
‘It was one week, Mum. And Karina would have let me know if anything happened—’
Before I’d finished my sentence, she’d started up again. ‘You can’t imagine how lonely I am without you. I’ve barely seen a living soul all week. Felt so awful I couldn’t face leaving the house.’