Breakfast seemed to go on for ever and ever. The porridge burned and stuck to the pot in a revolting, stinky, sticky mess while Mum was listening to a ‘really interesting’ report about the environment on the radio.
‘I could get a breakfast roll on the way to school, if you like,’ I said.
Mum looked at me like I’d threatened to murder someone.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,’ she said. ‘Do you have any idea what goes into those breakfast rolls?’
‘Rashers and sausages?’ I suggested after a while.
Mum shook her head impatiently.
‘Now you’re just being silly,’ she said. ‘And it’s so complicated, you’ll be late for school if I try to explain. So you just sit there and I’ll make some more porridge.’
I jiggled my spoon on the table impatiently while Mum slowly poured more oats and milk and water into a clean saucepan.
‘It would be much easier to make porridge in a microwave,’ I said. ‘It only takes one minute, and it never gets burned.’
Mum stirred the porridge and ignored me.
‘Oh, I forgot,’ I continued. ‘We can’t make porridge in the microwave because we’re the only people in the whole country who don’t have one.’
Mum stopped what she was doing, and then there was a big row about all the possible ways microwaves might be rotting my brain. At that moment, I didn’t really care if I got a rotten brain, just as long as I could finish breakfast and get out of there.
In the end I had to agree with Mum, just to keep her quiet.
After ages and ages, Mum put the bowl of porridge in front of me.
‘One day you’ll thank me,’ she said.
I wasn’t a bit sure about that, but I didn’t want another argument, so I just smiled and said nothing. That seemed to suit Mum who hummed as she went back over to the sink and began to wash the porridge pots.
I ate the porridge so fast that I burned my tongue. Then I jumped up from the table, picked up my lunch and my schoolbag, kissed Mum and raced out the door before she knew what was happening.
* * *
For some people, this might have seemed like a normal day – a day just like any other old day. It was the first day after the Easter holidays, I was going to call for my best friend Alice and we were going to walk to school together.
Big deal, you might think.
Walking to school with your friend?
What’s so special about that?
But it was a big deal.
It was a very, very, very big deal.
You see, Alice had been away since September. She and her mum and her little brother Jamie had gone to live in Dublin, and for seven awful, never-ending months I’d had to walk to school on my own. Now Alice was back in Limerick, and I was so excited I could hardly breathe properly.
Luckily Alice had stayed with her dad that night, and he still lived next door to me. I don’t think I’d have made it around the corner to her mum’s fancy new apartment.
I knocked on her front door, and Alice strolled out, just like it was any old day.
‘Bye, Dad,’ she called. ‘Have a nice day at work.’
‘Bye, Alice,’ came her dad’s voice from the kitchen.
Alice closed the front door behind her, and walked slowly down the path. Then all of a sudden she stopped, turned around, and raced back to where I was still standing on the doorstep. She gave me a huge hug.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I still can’t really believe it. It is so, so, so, so, so, so fantastic to be back!’
I had to laugh. I knew Alice had missed me, but she would probably never have any idea just how much I had missed her.
And now that she was back, everything was going to be perfect.
Just like it used to be.