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

‘Thank you, Johnny,’ Georgia says. ‘See, Luke, now we’ve learnt something. George was King of England and mad, and we lost America to the Americans,’ Georgia says.

I am about to interject here, to clarify the brief, horrible history that I imparted to Georgia and Luke when I think better of it.

‘Besides, talking different, and being different, makes you special,’ I say.

‘I want to talk like Georgia,’ Luke says.

‘We can work on that. We can practise your English accent. Maybe Georgia can help,’ I say.

‘Mummy lets me answer the phone. She says I have a very good speaking voice and can work for the BBC when I’m older,’ Georgia says. ‘Hello, who’s calling, please?’

‘You have excellent phone-answering skills, and future BBC employment is almost a given,’ I say.

‘Can I answer the phone?’ Luke asks.

‘Of course you can,’ I say.

‘What shall I say?’ Luke asks.

‘Well…’ Before I get a chance to say anything, Georgia jumps in.

‘You could tell them to shut up.’ And the two of them start yelling ‘shut up, shut up’ and laughing as if this is the funniest thing that they have ever heard. I catch Jessica’s eye again as this is happening, and I try to remember who her child is. I really hope it isn’t Albert, as she certainly looks less approving the second time.

As I start down the street towards TSP’s house, I’m trying to think how ‘shut up’ might be funny, although the key to understanding why is being five. I’ve got no chance.

Chapter 15

I’m standing in the sitting room, having waved Luke off to the park with my mother and sister. It’s now a regular event every other Saturday afternoon when my mother visits and they spend time together. Sometimes, I go as well. Today, however, as Dani has come too, the three of them have gone without me.

Looking around the room, I marvel at the change that my flat has undergone since Luke arrived.

Before Luke, I enjoyed the uncluttered nature of my flat. I loved how neat and ordered the bookshelves were, and how, when I looked around, I saw clean lines and organisation. At least that’s what I told myself. I think after Will died, and I ended up living independently, I became a little obsessive. It’s maybe why I remained single, as I no longer knew how to make space in my life.

Luke’s arrival changed all that. I had no choice but to make room, and I have to admit at first it wasn’t easy. I tried meticulously tidying everything away every time Luke finished playing with a toy, which was exhausting for both of us. It was like visiting that stuffy aunt you had as a kid who had the dustpan and brush out every time a child so much as moved.

I came to accept that I had to give in to what I thought was chaos and understand that it wasn’t chaos at all. It was just different. It was only once I’d done that that I found I could be happy.

The end result is like I have reverse-Marie Kondo-ed my life, and there isn’t any going back. I have culled some of my filler paperbacks. Those books that were just taking up space, and I have given over shelves on the built-in bookcases to Luke’s growing collection of reading and colouring books and a box of cars.

We visit the local bookshop every Saturday after swimming. This morning we bought My Scooter Got Stuck, which is relatable. We always take the bus up Highbury Hill. Luke loves the bus, and it also provides a good chance for us to talk. It’s where I learn more about him, and what he likes. This is all now part of our Saturday routine.

That’s the other thing: I have a routine. I haven’t had anything close to one since I left university. I always shunned it, which is why I’ve never had a staff job, and have always been freelance.

I was sceptical at first, and shied away from turning my flat into a mini replica of TSP’s, with lists and schedules printed out and stuck on doors. But while I could probably get away without it, life is much smoother with it.

Now I write a weekly menu and activity sheet, I print them out and stick them on the kitchen cupboard. I have paper attached to my once-pristine white cabinets, and crayon on the wall.

My first crayon incident, when I saw what Luke had done, I was momentarily ready to explode. Until I took a breath, and realised what he had drawn, and where he had drawn it.

Luke had drawn a picture of his mother on the wall, and he had done so right where the coffee cup had exploded from our indoor football experience. The wall is still stained, and at some point, I will repaint it. Just not anytime soon, because when I saw Luke’s picture of Lauren, and how he had brought her into our home, there was no way I was going to wash it off or ask him to take a moment to think about it. Besides, Luke had already thought about it.

‘It was already a mess,’ Luke said with a shrug as he read my furious expression. ‘And I made it better.’

And he did. That’s precisely what he’d done. Luke made it better, not just the wall, but the other stuff too. He fixed the emptiness that had been a feature of the flat since Will died.

There’s now a pile of puzzles in the corner and a scooter in the hallway. Even when I think I have cleared everything away to its approximate new home, I find stuff—mostly small cars secreted in various hiding spots around the flat, as well as under the couch or in the saucepan drawer.

While my mother and Luke are out, I sit at my desk staring the screen. I’m supposed to be writing a piece for Susan about young men who are dads.

I