I was hardly the best person for this assignment – but I was going to have to give it a go . . .
BY JANE CORRY
Dad? Can you ring? It’s urgent. My heart skips a beat as I read the message. What’s happened? I’ve only just woken up and my eyes are still blurry. My mobile shows the text had been sent at 11.43pm last night.
If it was so urgent, why hadn’t Jilly rung me? Maybe she thinks I’ve got one of those bleepy notification things, but I silenced it after retiring six months ago.
She picks up immediately. I can hear in her voice that she is about to cry.
“I didn’t like to call last night in case I woke you, but I’ve got to go to Paris for a meeting today and I need someone to look after the children.”
“But what about . . .” I almost say.
Then I stop.
“Mum’s broken her hip,” says my daughter, as if reading my thoughts.
“Oh dear. What about Greg?”
“He’s busy.”
I knew things had been difficult since Jilly and her husband split up last year, but then again I’m a bit out of the loop.
I find myself bundling everything into a case and getting into the car. But as I sit in traffic on the way to the seaside town where my daughter – and my ex-wife – live, I can’t help but feel jumpy.
I haven’t seen Ruth since our divorce. In fact, it’s why Jilly and the kids have usually come to me rather than the other way round.
“Hello, Teddy,” I say, when I finally knock on the front door of their cottage.
“I’m Sam,” says the rosy-cheeked little boy indignantly.
A taller boy comes racing down the stairs. “And I’m called Ed now,” he says. “Teddy is too babyish.”
“Sorry,” I say.
Looks like I’ve blotted my copy book before I’ve even started.
“Dad,” says my daughter flying down the stairs. “You’re late! I thought you were cancelling on us again.”
She’s talking about last year, when a crisis had blown up at work and I’d had to renege on plans.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that, but the traffic was bad and I –” “I’ve left instructions on the table. Rosie’s at dance class. Please can you pick her up at five? The boys will show you where to go.”
It strikes me that my daughter is being a bit casual about all this. After all, I’ve never looked after my grandchildren on my own before.
“And I’ve put Mum’s number on the list in case you don’t have it.” She kisses the children. “Be g
