Chapter 21
‘Sounds like a pretty normal day in mothering land to me,’ says Faye, when I’ve finished telling her about my disastrous day. I’ve managed to sneak away from the children for a few minutes to call her and it’s such a relief to hear her friendly non-judgemental voice. ‘How’s Amy now? Has she been sick again?’
‘No, she seems fine. I probably shouldn’t have let her have an energy bar for lunch.’
‘And what’s happening with the washing machine? Is it still beeping? Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, don’t worry, I’ve wedged all the dirty laundry around the machine and it’s muffling the sound.’ I sniff my top. Even though I’ve changed, I still smell of vomit. ‘I feel sticky and sweaty and disgusting. I’ve failed at everything today.’
‘Are your children alive?’ Faye asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Has the house burnt down?’
‘No.’
‘Then you haven’t failed.’
‘Do you think I’m finding this parenting stuff hard because I don’t remember how to do it?’
‘No, it’s just hard sometimes. I imagine doubly hard if you don’t remember anything,’ says Faye. ‘They can send a man to Mars, but no one’s solved the problem of how to get a child dressed, fed and out of the house without someone losing their shit.’
‘They sent a man to Mars?’ I ask, astounded.
‘They did, and a woman, and a gerbil called Spacey McCheeks.’
‘I haven’t even had time to make myself a coffee. I’ve failed to do any of the washing. I can’t even remember if I’ve been to the loo today. I don’t think I have – I don’t think I’ve done a wee in eight hours.’
‘Lucy, your child is ill, Sam is away, these are the days you just need to survive.’ Faye pauses. ‘You’re sure you don’t want me to come over? I could bring you some lavender tea.’
‘No, honestly, I just need two minutes to sit down and—’ I stop talking, startled by Felix looming over me with a half-empty box of crayons.
‘Amy ate my crayons,’ he says, brow creased in fury.
‘Sorry, Faye, I need to go. Crayons have been consumed.’
Felix and I stand over Amy in the living room, where she sits in a nest of broken crayons.
‘Do you think she’ll poop the rainbow now?’ Felix asks flatly. His tone makes me laugh, and I see a small smile play at the corner of his mouth. Together we put away all the puzzles and toys Amy has pulled down from the lowest shelf.
‘I’m sorry today was so crazy. I’ll be better tomorrow. I’ll get up really early.’
Felix shrugs, he seems more annoyed about the crayons than anything else.
‘What’s the opposite of eating? Is it “not eating”， or is it being sick?’ he asks me.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, confused by this complete non-sequitur.
‘I think it’s being sick. What’s that beeping?’
‘It’s the washing machine. I can’t turn it off.’
He heads towards the laundry room and I follow with Amy.
‘I’m not letting you out of my sight, you little tornado of havoc,’ I tell her, gently pushing a finger to her nose. She grins up at me angelically.
Felix pulls down the barricade of clothes and shows me a button on the side of the machine. He holds it down for the count of three and finally, silence.
‘Wow. That easy, huh?’
Felix gives me an ‘It was nothing’ shrug. I slump down in the monumental pile of laundry.
‘I’m not very good at this, am I?’ I say quietly.
‘You’re doing okay,’ Felix says, lowering himself down into the laundry pile beside me. Then I feel his arm around my shoulders, Felix is hugging me. My son is hugging me. I have a son. The lightness of his small arm around my shoulder stirs something inside me, a new unfiltered affection for him, breaking over me like a wave. I don’t want to move or say anything because I don’t want him to stop.
‘Real Mummy finds it hard too. Sometimes she goes outside and shouts at the vegetables when she doesn’t want to shout at us.’
I don’t know whether this nugget of information is reassuring or disturbing. Passing him my phone, I say, ‘Come on then, show me these websites you want me to upload your drawing to.’ A promise is a promise.
Felix takes the phone, his face beaming. He taps away, then hands it back to me. ‘This is the best one, the site Molly’s dad said to use.’ He points to the website he’s opened, Arcadefind.co.uk. ‘It’s for people who collect these machines from the olden days.’ He hands me back the phone and I scroll through the subject headings. ‘Wanted; replacement red joystick for Donkey Kong arcade machine 412’。 There are some incredibly niche requests on here. Maybe Felix is right. Maybe someone on this site knows where I can find that wishing machine.
It only takes a few minutes for me to create a profile and a post on the site’s ‘looking for’ page.
USER: WishingFor26
LOOKING FOR: Vintage Wishing Machine
DESCRIPTION: Coin operated, 10p to flatten and inscribe a 1p coin with ‘Your wish is granted’。 Yellow neon lights, plays a tune that sounds like ‘Camptown Races’。
SIGHTINGS: Newsagent’s on Baskin Road, South London, sixteen years ago.
Once I’ve created the post and uploaded Felix’s sketch, I show it to him. ‘It’s a long shot. We shouldn’t get our hopes up,’ I tell him firmly. I’m telling myself, too.
‘Someone will see it,’ he says confidently. ‘Someone will know where it is.’
At a muffled wail from behind us, we both turn to see Amy with a pair of leggings over her head. Pulling them off, I give Amy a goofy smile. She giggles and reaches for my face, grasping my cheeks like they’re Play-Doh.
‘What do you think the princess of the laundry room wants for tea?’ I ask, getting to my feet and taking Amy with me.
‘We both like fish fingers,’ Felix says, following me out of the laundry room.
‘Okay, fish fingers it is. I can probably manage that.’ Then, because Amy’s huge eyes are staring at me expectantly, I cover my face with the leggings. ‘Oh no, the octopus has got me!’ I cry and Amy squeals with delight as I mime being attacked by the leggings. ‘Quick, Captain Felix, the princess of the laundry room is in trouble, she needs a boat!’
Amy claps her hands, transfixed. Felix shoots me a confused scowl.
‘Captain, we don’t have long. The princess can’t swim!’
There’s a plastic laundry basket behind him, and grudgingly he pushes it towards me with his foot.
‘You’ll need to do it, Captain, the octopus has got me in its clutches,’ I yell dramatically, putting Amy down and miming a fight with my legging-clad hand.
Felix walks slowly across to us, picks up Amy and plonks her in the laundry basket, rolling his eyes at me as he brushes his fringe away from his eyes. But I sense a glimmer of interest, so I step up my performance and go all in, channelling all my drama experience, which consists of playing Sheep Number Five in my primary school nativity play.