Diary of a Parent Trainer

by Jennifer Smith

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” I said.

  “Of course!” she said, disentangling herself from Stuart. We walked away from the others, her arm around my shoulder.

  “I wanted to say how sorry I am,” I said, “for how I’ve been. I’m going to make more of an effort … you know … with Stuart and stuff.”

  “Katie, that’s the best Christmas present you could give me!” said Mum, beaming from ear to ear and giving me a huge hug. Stuart was watching us and he smiled this broad smile because he could see that what I’d said had made her happy. And if that’s what he wants most of all, for Mum to be in Happy Mode—it’s okay by me.

  We could hear shouting and snow-muffled footsteps out on the street, and then the doorbell rang. It was Loops. She was wearing about six scarves, gloves and a woolly hat, which perched at a rakish angle on her crazy curls.

  “Snowball fight at the park!” she cried, breathless with excitement. That’s one thing about living in a village like Brindleton. We’re excellent at making our own entertainment.

  Hannah, Jack and me bundled into our jackets and coats and hats and followed Loops down the road. There were already loads of kids there, pelting each other with snowballs.

  Neil Parkhouse ran up and stuffed a snowball down Hannah’s coat. She screamed her head off, then chased him toward the park. Loops and me got stuck in the middle of it and we got hit more than we hit other people.

  Then Jonathan came up. I began to feel like an outsider as he and Loops threw snowballs playfully at each other.

  “Did you know,” said Jonathan, “that it’s a myth that it can be too cold to snow? Although it has to be said that most snowfalls occur when the air is warmer than minus nine degrees Celsius.”

  “He’s so clever!” whispered Loops proudly. “He knows everything!”

  She threw a huge snowball at him and ran off laughing. Jonathan stopped his snow lecture and did something far more intelligent—he chased Loops.

  Leaving me standing alone. Which didn’t bother me. I mean, it’s something I’ve got used to recently. A whole month of having no mates was the worst time of my life, but it made me realize a few things about myself. Which is no bad thing. I’ve realized that I don’t know all the answers. And how you treat people is—like my dad said—the most important thing. Love is all we need.

  Then I realized I wasn’t alone anymore. Thomas Finch was standing beside me, not saying anything. No change there, I thought.

  He kept standing there. Not one single word.

  “Hi,” I said at last, and smiled at him. It was Christmas Eve. It was snowing. I couldn’t carry on being angry with him forever.

  He smiled back, that fantastic shy smile of his. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out a little parcel clumsily wrapped in Christmas paper. He practically threw it at me.

  “You got me a present?” I said, surprised. “Shall I open it now?”

  He shrugged, massively embarrassed, of course. I tore off the paper. There was a small box, and inside that was the most beautiful ruby-red glass heart key ring.

  It was then that I finally understood why Thomas can talk to Loops but finds it so hard to talk to me. The glass shone in my hand.

  “Thank you for my present,” I said. Then I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. And he kissed me right back. Which is just about the best thing that’s happened to me all year.

  Christmas Eve: Later Still

  PHILOSOPHICAL MODE

  Philosophical Mode is when Grown-Ups ask big questions about the universe, such as “Why are we here?” or “Do animals have souls?” or “Where did I put my car keys?”

  Philosophical Mode can often accompany Midlife Crisis Mode. Try to discourage this sort of behavior in your Grown-Up, as it has a high Embarrassment Factor.

  I’ve got the feeling that Stuart is going to be one of those Grown-Ups who goes into Philosophical Mode and generally thinks too much. I can see the signs already. There’s his concern about the environment and the future of mankind for one thing.

  I’ll definitely have to bear this in mind if I’m going to master operating him. He’s far too deep for his own good. It’s lucky he’s got shallow old me to sort him out. That yellow knitted tie’s got to go, for starters.

  It’s going to be Christmas Day in a few hours, and it’s going to be a good one. For one thing, I’m going to get that new cell phone I’ve had my eye on.

  And better still, now that Mum’s hung up her apron, Mandy and I are planning to cook the turkey by following a recipe in a book. I don’t know how we’ll do, but let’s face it, things can only get better.

  Mum and Stuart are upstairs in Mum’s room, talking. They’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

  Jack’s tucked up in bed, with his enormous Christmas stocking laid out for Santa Claus to fill with presents. Mandy is watching TV and cuddling Rascal, who is looking extremely handsome with gold tinsel round his collar.

  And I’m curled up writing this, feeling pretty philosophical myself.

  I’ve no idea what the future holds for Mum and Stuart, or for any of us.

  I don’t know if Auntie Julie’s ever going to find a boyfriend who isn’t mad, or weird, or in his nineties.

  I don’t know if Nan will ever stop spreading the village gossip—though now I know she can keep a secret, if you ask her to.

  I don’t know if Jack will one day stop being enormously proud when he burps. I hope for his sake that this happens before he’s forty.

  I don’t know if Mandy will ever tell Joshua Weston just how much she likes him.

  And I don’t know if a day will ever pass when I don’t think about Dad.

  There’s only one thing I know for sure. Every ending is also a beginning. And do you know what? I like beginnings.

  ONE LAST PIECE OF IMPORTANT ADVICE

  Your Grown-Up is a complex and delicate piece of equipment, prone to much malfunction and error. Please handle your Grown-Up with care and caution.

  One day, you yourself will become a Grown-Up. You may even have children of your own. If this happens, let’s just hope that they find this guide in a dusty old drawer somewhere, before you get completely out of control.