Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

that, the two of us got talking, and over a period of a week or so at the school gates, I got her story in return. It was more prosaic than mine but no less tragic. Her husband was knocked down and killed by a lorry while cycling home from work the previous winter. We have this mutual connection, this shared sense of loss; different stories with a common thread. I didn’t overthink it. If she was there, we would chat. Through Jane, I got to say hello to a few of the other mums, and I am no longer such an outcast. I have to admit it’s nice to have someone to say hello to and pass the time of day with when you are waiting for the children to emerge, as the school gate can be a lonely place for outsiders.

Of course, I haven’t entirely got to grips with it all yet. I’m getting there, almost exclusively courtesy of TSP. She has been my guiding star since I went to see her with Luke that first weekend after my mother visited.

More than that, TSP has been my all-around lifesaver. She’s been amazing. It hasn’t merely been sorting out a school for Luke and putting me in touch with an immigration lawyer she knows. It has been a hundred small things in between that all need to be done with her ever-helpful lists.

It means I have two women in my life. One physically so and the other more ethereal. Everything Lauren has given me, in the form of notes I come back to again and again, has taught me so much. I love hearing her voice inside my head and imagining her there in the room with me. That said, there isn’t a replacement for someone who you can sit with, who can answer your questions; someone you can pick up the phone to and who knows what you’re going through. It makes all the difference, and it pains me deeply to think that Lauren didn’t have that. With TSP, it’s like having an expert on tap.

When TSP opened the front door the first time I took Luke to see her, she stood back. She looked at the two of us as we were framed in her doorway, like subjects in an artist’s sketchbook. She mouthed ‘oh my god’ and had that ‘I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing’ look on her face.

Rather than turning up cold, I did have a change of heart and called her before I went around to give her fair warning of what was about to happen.

‘You don’t mind if I say I don’t quite believe it, do you?’ TSP asked.

‘No, go ahead, as I don’t either,’ I said.

‘It’s weird, people tell you something, and you can hear what they’re saying, and yet the words make no sense until you see it… and even then. Even now I should say. You know what it’s like, don’t you?’

‘I know it’s like stepping into an alternate slash parallel universe slash time travel or slash something,’ I said.

‘Yes, exactly, or something like that. Hello, Luke, I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is TSP, and I’m your daddy’s friend.’

TSP bent down and held out her hand. Luke was holding onto my hand, and he lifted his free hand and held it up to TSP who beamed back a huge smile at him.

‘I like your name,’ Luke said.

‘Why thank you. I can’t tell you how excited Georgia is about getting a new friend,’ TSP said, standing again and talking directly to me. ‘She doesn’t quite understand where Luke has come from, which means you might get the odd five-year-old-inspired question. She keeps asking me, “But Mummy, where did Johnny get a boy from?” and “Can we get one as well”,’ TSP says.

‘You’ve already got one?’ I prompted.

‘Yes, but Dan is not quite two, and all he does is totter around a bit and often falls over. He doesn’t speak much, and Georgia wants a more advanced and interactive version that she can offer proper direction to. It’s very frustrating for her when she’s trying to boss Dan around and he falls down.’

Inside TSP’s tall Victorian three-storey house we turned into the sitting room. Georgia was sitting watching Peppa Pig on the TV as her little brother played on the floor, pushing a wooden fire engine across the rug. As we entered, Georgia jumped up and stood, as if inspecting us. Mostly Georgia was looking at Luke, and he was looking right back, scrutinising each other.

‘Mummy, is this Luke?’ Georgia said.

‘Yes, darling. Why don’t you say hello,’ TSP said.

‘Do you want to see my toys? Mummy, can I show Luke my toys?’

‘Would you like that?’ I asked, and Luke nodded.

‘Go on then, Georgia. Why don’t you take Luke into the playroom and keep the door open,’ TSP said.

Georgia wandered back over to where Dan sat, took his hand and helped him up.

‘Follow me,’ Georgia said, and like the Pied Piper of North London she led Dan and Luke out of the room like a child procession.

TSP loves Luke. As hard as it was to think about that time, she said she was happy that something good came out of it. Even though we lost Will, and I never went back to Santa Cruz, never found the girl, Luke emerged from all of that rubble, and almost six years later he is like our phoenix arisen from the ashes.

TSP also loves the idea that I can pick Georgia up from school, which is kind of weird. Until now, TSP has never so much as called upon me to babysit. I’m not sure TSP trusted me. She’s so well organised and, well, I’m not.

TSP is a single mother with two children, she works full-time as a lawyer and doesn’t take any of it for granted. I think a little of that comes from Will. She takes next to nothing from Andrew, and is lucky her parents provide support financially, which