When we get to Granddad’s, Dad is GLOWING. I’ve made his Saturday night—and probably his life—complete. He gives me a huge hug and says, “MILLS! You’ve come to live with lads who love you. We are going to have so much FUN! I’ve made your bedroom up. Pop upstairs and put your stuff down.”
Mum stands at the front door, looking sad. The outside security light makes her look like a Doctor Who villain. She is not. She is lovely. I see her mouth, Look after her, at Dad.
Dad mouths back, Of course I will.
I say good-bye to Mum and she says something, but no one can hear anything because Dave is howling to be let out. It sounds like she’s in pain, but she’s not. She is having a major tantrum. By the time I’ve stuck my finger in to rub her head (she bites it), Mum has gone.
Luckily, Granddad arrives with a hot piece of chicken and gives Dave a gourmet snack with one of his supercrinkly old fingers. Dave goes to purr factor ten and shuts up. Granddad also gives me a piece and whispers, “Roast meat makes everything on earth happy.”
I think the chicken would disagree, but now is not the time to go vegetarian. Granddad hugs me, and I go upstairs with Dave.
Dad has done quite a good job on my new room. He has moved his bongo drums and taken out most of Aunty Teresa’s junk. There’s still her collection of cuddly toys and Sylvanian Families, though. If you move those things, she’ll go into full panic mode and have to breathe into a bag. I’ve seen it.
So there are miniature rabbits and a massive Winnie the Pooh, but I notice that there’s no actual clothing rack. “Dad—where can I put my school uniform and stuff?”
“Well, I thought you could hang it over Aunty Teresa’s exercise bike. She got it on eBay during a New Year’s sale and was going to use it every day for half an hour during Hollyoaks, but she never got around to it. It’s not forever—just till we … till we … get you something … more appropriate. Anyway, settle yourself in, Lady Mills. I’ll go and finish tea. Will the usual Dad special be okay?”
I tell him it will be fine.
It isn’t really, but he looks so happy that I don’t want to make a fuss or make him feel bad.
I put my jeans over the exercise bike, take a photo, share it, and write:
Sometimes you have to make the best of what you have. Even if that means you have to make exercise equipment into a wardrobe. #Fail
Dad won’t mind. He understands the banter. No one will see it anyway. I’m not Erin Breeler. I haven’t got worldwide followers hanging on my every word.
What I have got is chips and mayonnaise with a veggie coulis waiting for me. Not #Glam but #MyFam.