May Contain Nuts Read Online Free PDF Page B

highest score.
    â€˜Which I’m sure the winner will open so that everyone can pick a favourite,’ I added.
    â€˜They’re not having any green triangle ones,’ said Ffion’s charming daughter Bronwyn, clearly confident of being handed the chocolates to hold aloft on the open-top bus her mother had organized for the victory parade through the streets of Clapham. ‘Don’t worry, Molly,’ she added, turning to my slightly podgy daughter, ‘you can have the coconut ones. They’re the least fattening.’
    I thought it laudable that the government was bringing in legislation to prevent parents from slapping their children. But what about slapping other people’s children? Surely they could add a clause saying: ‘It is illegal to slap any child except Bronwyn .’
    I dropped Molly off at the hall, got her settled and told her I was sure she’d do really well. I could see she had now passed the age where she believed everything her mother told her. The mock exam consisted of three separate papers, with twoshort breaks for the children to have a drink of juice and a biscuit. Sarah was just checking the ingredients on the side of the juice carton when I got there. I bumped into Philip and Ffion as well. They were off to the park so that Gwilym could have a few practice runs for the nursery school sports day. I’d forgotten we had that coming up on Tuesday, but it was no big deal, it was just a bit of fun.
    â€˜It’s ridiculous,’ said Ffion as she headed off to the running track at Battersea Park. ‘I’ve looked all over – you just can’t get running spikes for children under five.’
    Molly was on my mind all morning. I did my best to send her positive vibes, to will her to do well, as if the strength of my desire would somehow transmit itself across the cosmos and fire her with enthusiasm and a new-found mental agility. But when Molly finally emerged at the end of her exam she looked pale and exhausted. Before either of us even had the chance to speak, her pasty pallor and defeated posture told me that she had not risen to the occasion.
    â€˜Hello, darling, well done. That was a marathon, wasn’t it?’
    Silence.
    â€˜You must be exhausted. Well done. What would you like for lunch?’
    Silence.
    â€˜Do you want to have a run around in the park with Bronwyn and Kirsty first?’
    Silence.
    Before the test I’d told her that if she didn’t know how to respond to a question she should ignore it and move on to the next one. She was clearly going to follow this advice for every query I put to her between now and her wedding day.
    I hated myself for having forced my daughter to go in and face that test all on her own. She always got much highermarks for her homework when I sat right beside her, gently hinting that she might cross out that answer and put in this one. Every new step my children had taken in their lives had been with me beside them holding their hand. For days after Molly had first learned to ride a bike I had run wheezing and panting beside her, holding her firmly round the waist in case her handlebars showed the slightest wobble. I wanted to do everything for my children: clear every obstacle from their path, fight every battle and take every blow. Apparently the mother pelican plucks the meat from her own breast to feed her young, and when I heard that I recognized a little bit of myself. Though since my children turn their nose up at most things I serve them, persuading them to eat raw human flesh might be a bit of a long shot. Breaded human-flesh goujons in dinosaur shapes maybe.
    Letting the children go off and do things without me felt wrong. As if part of me was suddenly missing. When each of my three children had been born, their father had ceremonially cut the umbilical cord, a moving and symbolic moment – but frankly it was far too early. I know it’s the convention to go wireless as soon