Bundle
a short story
Voicenote, around 9.45am
‘Hi darling, hope you’re ok - I - aargh! bloody cyclist - I’m not… I’m not doing so well. Loud sniff. I - I just feel awful. House is full of men - I mean, they are electricians, and I did ask them in - but then we got so late leaving the house, and I screamed at the children and have - loud sniff - probably TRAUMATISED THEM FOR LIFE and muffled sobbing - can I come over?’
Instant reply:
‘YES! COME OVER!
BRING THE CAT! AND THE DOG! AND THE BABY!
Also, you are a wonderful mother.’
Half an hour later, at an (exquisite) house in South London
I am, for the first time in a week, calm, absorbed in admiration of my friend’s garden. My daughter is absorbed with a doorstop, shaped like dog. I’m so relaxed that when Mia starts cuddling a toy she’s dragged from under a sofa - ‘Me take monkey café?’, I agree - with only a quick query to my friend.
‘Is it a sex monkey? I mean, the dog’s sex monkey, not yours.’
‘HA! It’s neither of ours. He’s in a monogamous relationship. With the rabbit.’
Mia has permission to take the monkey out.
A brief discussion follows on whether we should walk, or drive to the cafe. I’m in favour of walking - nice for the dogs, good for Mia. ‘It’ll give us an appetite!’, I say, faux jolly.
We step outside.
A gale blows the baby and the smaller dogs back to the front door.
‘VERY WINDY!’ Mia squeaks. I agree.
‘Sod this. Car?’
‘Car!’
Overheard in a bakery
‘Have you seen the new Agatha Christie on Netflix?’
‘No, is it good?’
‘Yes! I thought of you watching it - the main character is called Bundle, because she’s so ridiculously posh.’
‘I know a Bundle, actually.’
‘Why does that not surprise me?!’
‘And a [—].’
‘[—]? Like off Made in Chelsea?’
‘Yes, same person.’
‘Oh my god! She was my favourite character on the show!’
‘She’s a —-.’
[a further discussion of Made in Chelsea follows, redacted.]
‘How is it we’ve known each other this long, and you haven’t told me you know all these people off the telly?’
‘Because I talk about them as little as humanly possible.’
That’s me told.
‘Still, Bundle’s a nice name. Do you think it’s from ‘bundle of joy?’
‘That’s rather sweet - I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Mia could be a Bundle.’
‘She IS a bundle!’
We admire the subject of our conversation, who is sitting between us eating a cardamom bun, smiling at everyone who smiles at her. Which is everyone.
‘I must get her some colouring in books, and pens’ -
‘You know you don’t need to -’
‘No, no, I insist! There’s a Flying Tiger up the road.’
‘Well in that case…’
After ten excellent minutes
‘See! It doesn’t matter how much you buy here, it’s always under £20’, I say with some glee, tapping my card for £15, which has netted me a weekly organiser (pink), two crackle-glaze dipping bowls (pistachio-green) and a glass jug (decorated with flowers). ‘It’s like magic.’
‘Mine was more than £20.’
‘What!’
‘£20.50.’
‘Doesn’t count.’
My shopping euphoria dissipates back on the street - I am cold, failing to manage two dogs and want very much to be back in my car. But then I look back at my friend, patiently walking with Mia, matching her pace, leaning down to listen to her sing (‘No more monkeys JUMP ON BED!’ Doctor comes, BUMP HIS HEAD!’)
Were she not there, I would have scooped up a loudly protesting child (‘NO! ME WALK! Me WALK BY ME-SELF!’) stomped to the car and been in a foul mood for the next hour. She is, I think, a miracle.
Back at the house
‘Oh god - I didn’t bring nappies or wipes or ANYTHING.’
‘There’s a shop just up the -’
‘Hurrah! Deliveroo does nappies!’
Admin done, I am instructed to sit down on the biggest sofa, covered with a blanket, handed two dogs for my lap (real ones, rather than one dog and one doorstop) and handed a cup of tea. ‘Do not,’ says my friend ‘move.’ She plays with Mia until the nappies arrive, and as I give Mia her milk, tells me that she herself will be napping in one of the armchairs. She puts on an interiors show for me (‘you will LOVE it’), and I curl around Mia on the sofa, who squawks for the customary five minutes before falling asleep.
‘I must watch the programme’, I think, learning that interior decorators rarely start with the colour of the walls, ‘as she was so kind as to put it on for me…’ Within minutes, to the sound of ‘the thing is, one can buy too much china -’, I am asleep.
I am woken, gently, as light floods back into the room. We pack Mia into the car, still asleep, wrapped in her coat as a makeshift blanket (‘what a lovely bundle’), and I am exactly on time for nursery pickup. ‘Didn’t know you took afternoon naps,’ I say, as I scoop the last of our debris from my friend’s house.
‘I don’t take afternoon naps, silly’, she says. ‘But I knew you needed one.’
Mia wakes the next day, pink-cheeked, eyes massive, and I exclaim with pure joy, whirling her around the room - ‘What a beautiful bundle!’
She gives me a severe look as I set her back on the floor.
‘Me not Bundle, Mummy.’
‘You’re not Bundle?’
‘No! Me not Bundle. Me MIA!’
She IS.
Thank you so much for reading! Truly, last week was an absolute write-off: toddler-inflicted illness, deadline stress, and I wanted to celebrate how magic it was, in the depths of a mini-nervous breakdown, to have a pal who let me turn up with dog, child and bad mood and then looked after us with INFINITE kindness. You may have guessed from the references to the dogs that my brilliant friend is Lucy, otherwise known as Horticulturalish.
PS, this is the glass jug. It’s SO much lovelier in real life than in the photograph, AND only £5! I love it. Am carrying it from room to room to admire (and use) it.
Wishing you a lovely restful weekend ahead! xx
How wonderful indeed to have such an even more wonderful friend 💖💖💖
Sometimes, we just need to step off the world and let it carry on turning.
What an amazing friend! So lucky x