It wasn’t good, the moving, at her time of life. Scrounging tossed-out boxes from shops like a student. The trees were like cauliflowers that day, heavy with blossom. Wendy imagined them drenched in cheese. Perhaps then Tarquin would eat some bloody vegetables.
She hadn’t expected motherhood to be easy, but she hadn’t thought it would be so hard. Whenever they changed lanes there was a tickle of boy-breath in her ear. “Are we nearly there, Mummy?” She felt, more than heard, the words.
Wendy did enough breathing for both of them: great gasps, drinking in the road and the cauliblossom.