We were late, Hazel was on the verge of losing it and an enormous skip was covering our driveway. I’d struggle to get our pram past it, let alone the car.
This couldn’t be happening. Not today.
I took a deep breath, hiked Hazel further up my hip and marched us both the few metres down our street to the house next door.
Ignoring the electronic doorbell, I banged on the freshly painted slate-grey front door. I knew he’d still be home – he left for work at the same time (8.15 am) every day. Footsteps began to move down his hallway, then the door swung open to reveal Will.
The expression on his face was the one I imagined he used when food-delivery drivers dared to knock on the door rather than leave his dinner on the doorstep.
‘It’s my first day back at work and Hazel’s first day at childcare. We need to leave. And we can’t, because your skip is blocking my driveway.’
He peered suspiciously past me and Hazel, as if I’d invented the story to interrupt his carefully calibrated morning routine. ‘The idiots at the hire company have stuffed up,’ he said, clearly not willing to take any responsibility. ‘They’ll have to come back and move it.’
‘I don’t have time to wait. I needed to leave five minutes ago,’ I said, my voice now an octave higher than normal.
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