“We need to go to Nanny’s,” said Miss7 urgently.
The hell we were.
“It’s eight o’clock,” I told her. “Go to your room.”
The only thing urgent was for all the kids to jump into their own beds and go to sleep.
“But, Da-aad!” she whined. “It’s Grace’s birthday tomorrow!”
It was indeed. A point Miss10 had been ramming down our throats with all the sickly, nauseating, annoying repetition of a vinyl record with a scratch just on the bit where they start barking in Who Let The Dogs Out.
But then I had a moment’s panic. Did I leave one of Miss10’s presents at Nanny’s? Fortunately, I was quickly able to reassure myself I hadn’t, based solely on the recollection I hadn’t actually bought her anything. Tracey had taken care of all that.
“Why do we have to go to Nanny’s?” I asked Miss7 with a sigh, because she showed no more signs of walking away from the spot in front of me than Michaelangelo’s statue of David does of walking out the front door of the Galleria dell’Accademia.
“Because I’ve designed something for Grace,” she said, handing me a scrap of paper torn off an envelope on which she’d drawn, I was sure, a bottle.
“What am I looking at?” I asked her.
“It’s a dress!” she squealed delightedly as she snatched the car keys off the bench. “Let’s go get Nanny to whip it up.”
“Or,” whispered Tracey, coming up behind me, “you can give your sister the clothes we’ve already bought her and just go to bed.”
“Okay, Mummy,” grinned Miss7, skipping off to her room.
Nanny, you owe us a big, fat thank you. Well, Tracey anyway. Oh, and you might consider dragging your sewing machine out of mothballs and check it for thread, because Miss7 now wants to give the dress to Miss11 for Christmas.
And buy yourself an embroidery machine because the scribble on the front says, it’s ‘Grace bubble face!’ and it’s sort of the hero of the whole piece 😉
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