Balancing Act by Joanna Trollope Read Free Book Online Page A

grey corduroy pinafore dress with an appliqué elephant on the bib. Finally she went to find her mother, who was having a leisurely Saturday-morning bath, and held out her green and brown hands.
    ‘Messy,’ Maisie said.
    Ashley, her hair pinned on top of her head with a giant plastic butterfly, was lying in the bath reading an article on Grayson Perry in
The Ceramic Review.
The children had been downstairs, after all – Maisie colouring at the kitchen table, Fred posting plastic shapes into a box – supervised by Leo. She lowered the magazine and regarded Maisie’s hands. ‘Where is Daddy?’
    ‘They broke,’ Maisie said. ‘They broke on the carpet.’
    ‘Look at your dress!’
    Maisie squinted down at herself. ‘What a pity,’ she said, philosophically.
    Ashley flung the magazine down, out of splashing range. As she began to get to her feet she said again, ‘Where is Dadda?’
    Maisie shrugged. She leaned over the edge of the bath and dabbled her hands in the water. ‘Gone,’ she said.
    ‘What do you mean, gone?’
    Maisie lifted her hands out of the water and inspected them. She said, with precision, ‘He isn’t there.’
    ‘Isn’t where?’
    Maisie sighed. She said slowly, ‘He isn’t in the kitchen.’
    Ashley seized a towel and wound it tightly around herself, under her armpits. She took Maisie’s hand. ‘Come with me.’
    Maisie hung back, dragging on her mother’s arm. She said, ‘Oh, I need to wash my messy hands.’
    Ashley stooped and whirled Maisie up into her arms. The towel untucked itself and fell to the floor.
    ‘Fuck,’ Ashley said. She set Maisie on her feet again and seized the towel.
    Maisie said, ‘He went to the loo.’
    ‘Who did?’
    ‘Dadda. He said, “I’m just going to the loo. You go on with your drawing.” But I needed to come upstairs.’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘I needed to do big drawing, you see. Very big drawing.’
    Ashley leant over the bath and flipped out the plug. Then she took Maisie’s hand again and ran her down the landing. She stopped at the top of the stairs and surveyed the scribbles.
    ‘Oh,
Maisie
!’
    Maisie looked nonchalant. She said carelessly, ‘I expect it will wash.’
    ‘Maisie, you
know
not to draw on walls. You
know
not to draw on the carpet or the floor. You
know
all that.’
    Maisie burst into sudden tears. She screamed, ‘I’m not naughty! I’m not! I’m not!’
    Leo appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.
    ‘Oh my God.’
    ‘So much for my peaceful Saturday-morning bath,’ said Ashley.
    Leo began to climb the stairs. He said sorrowfully, ‘Oh, Maisie—’
    ‘Don’t say that!’ Maisie shrieked. ‘Don’t say that!’
    Leo reached the landing. He sat on the top step so his face was on a level with Maisie’s.
    She cried, ‘I’m not naughty! I’m not—’
    ‘But you are, Maisie. Look at the poor walls, look at the poor carpet. Never mind your new dress.’
    ‘And your poor Mumma,’ Ashley said.
    Leo didn’t look at her. He said, still regarding his daughter, ‘Mummy can now go back to her bath.’
    ‘But,’ Ashley said, adjusting her towel, ‘Mumma has let it out now.’
    Leo didn’t flinch. He said, ‘Then Mumma can run another one. And Dadda is not going to apologize to Mumma for going to the loo for three minutes, in case she was planning to suggest it.’
    Maisie said, between sobs, ‘I didn’t mean to.’
    ‘Yes, you did,’ Leo said. ‘You let yourself do it. You allowed your hands to uncap those pens and then draw with them, all the way up. It wasn’t a mistake.’
    Ashley knelt on the stained carpet. She took Maisie’s hand. ‘Look at me.’
    ‘No!’ Maisie roared.
    ‘No!’ Fred shouted, from the bottom of the stairs.
    He had crawled out of the kitchen and was now on his knees, clutching the bottom step.
    Ashley leapt to her feet and raced down to him. ‘Freddy!’ She bent over him, clutching the slipping towel.
    ‘No,’ he said again, waving her outstretched hand