After we’re stuffed from too much pizza and ice cream, Mum takes us to the park to feed the ducks. The sun’s come out a bit. The tree leaves are beginning to bud. Ducks jostle for the scraps of pizza crust we throw into the water. Rain makes quacking sounds until a mallard takes a fancy to her and follows her around the pond. We laugh and laugh, and I start thinking this is the beginning of it all – the beginning of us acting like a real family – until Mum’s phone rings and she rushes off to answer it in secret.
Rain stops quacking and throws the rest of the crust she’s holding on the ground.
‘Want to play on the swings?’ I ask her. I don’t want the phone call to mean anything, and if I can convince Rain everything is fine, maybe it will be.
‘Nope,’ she says. She finds a bench and sits on it. I plonk myself next to her and wait for Mum. I thrash my legs violently whenever a duck gets too close. They’re cute when you’re throwing food at them, but when they’re surrounding you and pecking at your feet, it’s sort of horrifying.
After ten minutes, Mum steps out from behind an oak tree. She sits between us on the bench.
‘I’ve got to go to London tomorrow afternoon for an audition. It’s an American casting director I met in New York. He’s in London for the weekend. This could be a big break for me. I know it’s a huge ask, Apple, but could you be in charge until I get back on Monday morning?’
I lash out at a duck and almost kick it in the head. It spits at me and waddles away. Mum titters. I don’t. And neither does Rain.
‘You’ll be gone overnight?’ After everything we talked about this morning and after the fun we’ve had this afternoon, I thought things might change. I so badly wanted it to be different from how it was. I wanted everything to be better.
‘I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll get an early train and be back home by eight. You won’t miss another school day.’
But Mum’s got it all wrong. I don’t care about school. I just want her to care about me going to school like any other normal mother.
‘Can’t you get a late train home on Sunday evening instead?’ I ask.
‘Roles go to the people who have time to schmooze and that can mean cavorting into the early hours. It’s a petty business.’ She squeezes my knee. ‘Apple, I promise this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I’ve spoken to Gina and she’s going to pop in to make sure you’re all right. She’s going to help with the weekdays from now on too. OK? Please say it’s OK. Please.’ Her face is a picture of worry, and I don’t want to be the reason for it. I want her to be happy. I want everyone to be happy.
‘You should go to London,’ I say because part of me wants to believe it really will be the last time and that if I say yes, everything will be better.
But a bigger part of me knows it won’t be any different after Monday. It won’t be any different at all.