“Are yours back from uni yet?” ask my friends.
Some of theirs have been back for weeks. I feel I have to give complex explanations about why my children are not back. And actually, it is just a matter of when their exams take place and when term ends, but even so, I feel like a bit of a Nobby-no-mates.
Then suddenly through the door appeared Perran.
We hadn’t snapchatted for some time, because I had lost interest rather:
From them – glamorous selfies in exciting venues.
From me – worried expression in front of computer.
So when he arrived, I didn’t even recognise him – I thought we were being burgled.
Happy, happy, happy.
The novelty hasn’t worn off yet. When there’s no hot water left in the shower, I say contentedly,
“Ah – Perran is home.”
I’ve even been road-testing the vegan recipes Elizabeth gave me and the kitchen is currently stacked with cakes that haven’t risen properly and rather cracked, dry quiches – “Look everybody - no eggs.”
For his part, he’s going to have to work hard to stand in for all three of my children - not just himself but also Pascoe (who I won’t see until next week) and Carenza (two weeks).
I hope he doesn’t get threadbare with all the hugging, like his old teddy.