This Holey Life by Sophie Duffy Page A

have to endure the noise throughout our starters. People are beginning to stare. The waiters – astonishingly stereotypical baby-loving
Mafia types – keep coming up to her and patting her on the head which makes matters even worse. In the end it’s Martin that stops the crying. He takes a breadstick out of one of those
plastic packets and says: ‘Here, Imogen, get your laughing gear around that.’ She looks at her uncle, quiet suddenly, shocked at being noticed by him. Then she reaches out her chubby
little hand and grasps the breadstick. After a moment of examination she manages to aim the stick at her mouth. Then with an after-shudder, she begins to chew on it, grinding her gums, with a
satisfied sigh.
    We finish the rest of the meal with no crying. The children love their pizzas, my spaghetti is divine. A family meal out with no fuss from the children. It should be bliss. But there is a
horrible taste in my mouth. Martin. What made him suddenly do that? He’s crap with babies. How come he’s the one that managed to stop her crying? I should love him for it. But I
don’t – Martin yet again interfering. Yet again doing better than me.
    Claudia has to take him back tomorrow.
    Thoughts for the Day: Do not judge others. But how can a woman like Pat help Dad? How can a man like Martin know what’s best for my baby? Do moles blink?

Chapter Thirteen: Sunday January 13th
    Jessica Talbot, Rachel’s best friend and the girl next door, must reciprocate Jeremy’s feelings. Why else would she follow us to church? Jessica Talbot never comes
to church, being scathing of anything that doesn’t involve football. She only ever enters St Hilda’s for the school Christmas concert, despite me often asking her on a Sunday morning,
hoping Rachel might think church cool if Jessica Talbot wanted to come along too. Of course whenever I mention church to any of Rachel’s friends she gets the hump. And I understand.
It’s embarrassing for her. If Steve had always been a vicar it might be easier. But Rachel can clearly remember the day, way back in Year Two, when Steve met her at the classroom door at the
end of the day and was collared by Mrs Hughes.
    Could you take a look at my boiler? she asked. The pilot light keeps going out.
    And Steve, who would normally have fit her in, being well-acquainted with the lot of a teacher, said: I’m sorry, Mrs Hughes but I’m not a plumber anymore .
    Have you been struck off or something? she half-joked.
    No , he said. The Corgi inspector has always been happy with my work.
    So why the change?
    I’m training to be a curate. I’ve got a calling. And Steve scribbled out a name and number, a bloke he knew from a City and Guild’s course. (Craig was doing well out of
Steve’s calling.) He’ll look after your boiler. But if you want help with your soul, then I’m your man.
    Mrs Hughes didn’t look so sure. Rachel was left feeling subdued. Her dad had always come to her rescue. Now it was less certain what he actually did. It was that hazy area of God where
people blushed or coughed or sometimes got inexplicably angry at the mention of His name. Mrs Hughes blushed and coughed but thankfully didn’t get angry as that would have been
unprofessional.
    So yes, I do sympathise with Rachel. To have to admit to your friends, to every adult that ever asks you, that your dad’s ‘got God’ and that you’re expected to go to
church every Sunday – not just to get into the school – can create a few problems. Rachel still maintains it caused less of a stir when Jessica’s dad, Bob next door, found a Thai
bride on the internet.
    The Thai bride is actually a big improvement on the first Mrs Talbot, who went to Lanzarote for a friend’s hen do and did a Shirley Valentine. She sent for her stuff – her clothes,
shoes, handbags, make-up – but not for her daughter, believing dubiously that she’d be better off with Bob.
    Tamarine, the Thai bride, is not as young as the stereotype