Perran and Carenza and their Dad are back home again today. I’m so happy I could bake a cake. I restrain myself.
Stealthily I recycle the cans from the baked beans I have consumed in their absence, but their minds are on other things.
Since before the twins went away, the focus for tonight has been a friend’s eighteenth birthday party. It is a freezing night and the venue is an isolated farm miles away. Arrangements for getting back are tenuous and shifting. Both Perran and Carenza already have coughs. I mutter miserably about the coursework deadlines and important assessments that will take place in the forthcoming week.
We go out with friends leaving them texting madly for lifts. During the evening we don’t drink – if necessary we will drive and pick them up from the Party in the Middle of Nowhere. About 10pm we are home again and the doorbell rings. It is Perran with half a dozen mates – he never made it to the party and would there happen to be any mulled wine for them to share? There is a noise on the stairs. Carenza joins them in the kitchen – she didn’t go either. Contentedly, we set about mulling some wine.