I’m a spinning top, spinning and spinning. It’s not stopping, and I need it to stop. I feel isolated, running on empty, playing catch up. Nothing is ever completed, and I hate that. I want a clean desk, a fresh start for Monday morning, a coffee break, time to go to the toilet on my own. But you don’t get that if you’re employed by children and house. There never is a finish line. The race track goes on and on, and I’m puffing and sweaty and parched, but the people on the sidelines need a drink first. There’s always someone who needs a drink first.

I shut the car door quietly so as not to wake the baby.

‘Hiya, you okay?’ calls a mum by the school gate, in her pristine striped Joules top.

‘Fine, thanks!’ I reply, more aware of my bobbly jumper with a brown stain down it. ‘Are you?’
 
‘Yeah, fine,’ she says. ‘You know, you shouldn’t really leave the engine running. It’s not great for our little ones.’

I purse my lips and exhale slowly. ‘My baby wakes up if I turn it off. It’s only for a few minutes.’

She smiles, lifting her eyebrows just that centimetre high enough.

The swarm of children piles out, and everyone gathers to meet their young.

‘Hi, love, you okay? Love, you okay?’ I rally my son and daughter to the car. Straps on. Baby wakes up anyway. Screaming. Turn on engine. Chuck on another smile to a waving mum who’s in Lycra. Who has the energy to jog? ‘Right, ready?’

We arrive home after being tailgated all the way on a thirty-mile-an-hour country road. Over-tired, teething baby needs feeding. Dinner needs making but I planned on bangers and mash and forgot to buy the bangers, so now all I can make is mash.

‘Mum! I’m huuuuungry!’

‘Mummy, I need something for show and tell.’

‘Mum, I still don’t have any trousers that fit me. These got a hole in them.’

‘Mummy, I did a poo at school and now my bum hurts.’

‘WAAAAA!’

The front door swings open.

‘Daddy!’

‘Sara, is dinner ready?’ He sighs. ‘I’ve had the day from hell.’

Just breathe.

‘Is everything alright?’ I ask as the baby spits up on my shoulder. Because he still spits up like a newborn.

‘These clients disagreed with everything I had to say in the meeting. Everything.’ He swigs the last of his takeaway coffee. ‘I only got a twenty-minute lunch break.’

‘I have that all day long,’ I joke, not making much effort to hide the smidgen of resentment.

‘Not to mention the queue in Starbucks,’ he adds.

‘At least you didn’t have three kids in the queue.’

‘Daddy! Daddy! I did a poo at school!’

‘Then they got my order wrong, after all that. The traffic was crazy too. I got through two podcasts! And you know…’

I nod and nod and nod while noticing the children on the brink of fighting and the baby on the brink of bursting into hangry tears. But if I can’t give him my full attention now, when can I? I need to be a good wife as well as a good mot…

‘ARGHHHHH, he hit me!! Daddyyyyy.’ The tears stream.

He groans, sitting down and untying his shoes. ‘I just need a minute, kids.’

‘Don’t we all?’ I say to no one in particular, heaving the baby on my sore hip. Still with sick on my shoulder.

‘Yeah, but you’re used to it,’ he says, and peers around me in search of dinner.

The spinning top spins off the table and plummets to the floor.

I hand him the baby as the kids scream at each other. ‘We have no sausages.’ I grab the keys and slam the door behind me.

The wet, autumnal air blows over me like a long overdue sigh. I squeeze my eyes shut to chase away the exhaustion tears, the loneliness tears, the guilt tears, and let my mind wander to a remote place where no one can reach me. A place with stillness, space, and sleep. What if I get in the car, don’t pick up the sausages, and keep on driving? Just don’t stop. Would they cope? Would they notice?

And then I open my eyes and see Rosie, tucked up against the car tyre. A token from an angel who must be watching over me. Clara wouldn’t be able to sleep without her. She must have dropped her after the school run. The leaves blow from the tree behind me, and as if someone has picked up the spinning top and cradled it, for a moment, I breathe steadily again.

Looking back, I can’t help but laugh as Clara, Milo, and Daddy press their faces against the lounge window, pulling silly faces. Except for Lucas, who has burst into hangry tears. Of course they’ll notice.

After all, you can’t have mash without bangers.