Little star
The long cardboard box that I drag across the floor lands – smack – on the carpet. Charlie runs around and around the box and me as I fight the end of the parcel tape. Why is it that all sticky tape knows how to make its ends vanish? Does it just enjoy raising people’s blood pressure? It’s working today. Delay this any longer and it won’t be worth doing at all. But I’ve got to. The tree should have been put up ages ago. Pangs of guilt burrow into my stomach and twist the knife.
‘Daddy put lots of sticky stuff on, didn’t he, Mummy?’
I stop for a moment and take Charlie’s little hand, and I try to smile. ‘Yes, he did. Do you remember sitting on the box to hold it down, while he taped it up?’
He nods at me, a tiny memory fleeting across his little face, and he performs his che
