Page 36 of How To Tackle A Crush
These mornings matter more than I ever expected they would. When Alfie first came to live with me everything felt like controlled chaos. Learning routines. Learning how much structure a child actually needs. Learning that being responsible for someone else is both terrifying and grounding in equal measure.
Now we have rhythms.
Breakfast. School. Training. Homework. Repeat.
It isn’t glamorous. It isn’t exciting.
But it’s ours.
I flip another pancake and manage to tip a bit of batter straight down the front of my training top.
We both look down.
A pale splatter spreads across the Carlisle badge like evidence.
Alfie gasps.
“It’s on your T-shirt.”
“I noticed.”
I glance at the clock.
I absolutely should change.
I absolutely don’t have time.
“It’ll dry,” I say.
“That’s not how dirt works,” he replies immediately.
“Today it is.”
He watches the stain like he’s memorising it for future reference.
I hand him a pancake before transferring the rest into a Tupperware container so he can eat them at his breakfast club.
“Good?”
He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, evaluating.
“Yeah.” He gives me a thumbs up.
“That’s because I’m brilliant.” I lift him from the chair and shoo him towards the front of the house where I drop the Tupperware container into his small backpack.
I check the clock again.
Definitely late now.
“Shoes,” I say.
“On.” He points at his trainers, laces very inconveniently still undone. I make him tie them anyway because even if we’re late, I’m still aiming for the Father of the Year award.
“Coat?”
He sighs but puts it on.
We move through the routine we’ve built together. That quiet choreography single parents learn when there’s nobody else to catch the mistakes.
