May Contain Nuts by John O'Farrell Read Free Book Online Page B

had to force myself to stop being so irrational, though as they ran back out of the kitchen door I still heard myself shout, ‘Be careful!’ as I glanced nervously up at the heavens. When David came home he wanted to know why the children were splashing around in the paddling pool wearing their cycle helmets.
    Be careful. That’s all I ever seemed to say.
    â€˜Mum, can we go on the slide?’
    â€˜Um, all right, but be careful .’
    â€˜Mum, can we jump off the diving board?’
    â€˜Oh, er, OK, but be careful .’
    Once when Jamie was swinging at the top of the climbing frame in the school playground he even heard his mother’s voice booming, ‘Jamie, be careful!’ as I happened to drive past. The poor child looked skywards, wondering if he had justheard the voice of God. All right, I didn’t happen to drive past their playground. I had taken a detour to check that he was all right. I couldn’t help it – the worry was always there, a crippling sensation of permanent panic fluttering inside me, searching for something specific to land on.
    The fear has many forms. When I was not worrying about something happening to my children, I worried that nothing would happen to my children. That they would end up as failures or embittered dropouts because we’d neglected to give them the best possible start in life. That by the time he was a teenager Jamie would end up bunking off school and spend his days lurking on the London Underground with other feral street urchins, riding up and down the escalators sticking chewing gum on the nipples of the girls in the bra adverts. And all because we’d mistimed the right moment to start clarinet lessons. So my children had to get the best education possible; they had to get into Chelsea College. The spectre of Big School loomed out of the sky like those approaching asteroids, beginning as a tiny far-off dot but growing ever closer, rapidly blocking out all light and warmth.
    I went to nudge David but realized I didn’t need to; he was wide awake as well.
    â€˜You know that nursery school running race I told you about the other day?’
    â€˜It doesn’t matter that Alfie didn’t win it. Gwilym’s six months older …’
    â€˜No, it’s not that. Anyway, Gwilym didn’t win it, Ffion won it; she dangled him over the line.’
    â€˜I thought you all did?’
    â€˜Yeah, but Ffion started it, so she had a head start.’
    â€˜Forget about it. You’re only five foot one, you were at a disadvantage.’
    â€˜Five foot two. No, my point is: little Gwilym won because his mother ran the race for him .’
    â€˜So?’
    I paused for dramatic effect before telling him the idea that had been forming in my head.
    â€˜ I’ll take the exam.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I’ll pretend to be Molly and take the exam for her.’
    David reached across and turned the light on. The way he screwed his face up in the sudden brightness made him look totally perplexed.
    â€˜You’re not serious, are you?’
    â€˜Well, look at me – I’m short, flat-chested, and last year they charged me half price in the cinema. No one at Chelsea College knows what Molly looks like. If I worked on my appearance a bit I could sit there in the hall with all the other boys and girls, put Molly’s name at the top of the page, make sure she gets 100 per cent and a guaranteed place at the best school in London.’
    It was 4.30am and the first jumbo jet of the morning was shattering the still silence of the night.
    â€˜It would never work. You could pass for twenty-something, my darling, but eleven?’
    â€˜What about Henrietta in Molly’s class? She’s taller than me and she has bigger bosoms. The cow. She’ll be in the exam hall, so will hundreds of other kids of all shapes and sizes. With a baseball cap pulled down over my face and wearing kids’ clothes,