Daniel was pale and silent in the back of the car.
For some reason this morning, when we pulled up and I handed him his schoolbag, I tried to hug him. He resisted, but I noticed
he was trembling. He wouldn’t make eye
contact. He sloped off, eyes downcast,
dragging his feet through the school gates.
I had been bringing him to the school since the parent
teacher meeting. If his mother tried he
would lie on the ground and scream. I was the authority parent, the tougher
one. The look of hopelessness in his stricken face didn’t cause me to
falter. When I commanded him to get in
the car he would get in. When he walked
through the gates of the school without a wave I would pull off. I would arrive at work at usual. I would attend my meetings as usual. Maeve, or indeed Daniel, were not to know that
I’d hardly eaten since I’d taken on this task.
His face came between me and even my morning coffee. Tea and a little toast in the canteen at
lunchtime was all I could face.
I wondered how we three were going to face the excesses of
Christmas. How would we behave? What
would we talk about?
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