Just getting down to work when the heavens open and Peggy comes running up the stairs demanding to be let out in the back garden. Her mother refuses, but she threatens to fight me “to death” if I don’t, so we get raincoat and boots. By the time she’s out though, the weather has gone from hail to heavy rain and now to light rain. “It’s too late,” she wails, “It’s only spitting!” I tell her not to cry in the rain, she’ll get all wet. “I don’t care,” she shouts, and marches to the bottom of the garden where she struggles to undo the zip on the raincoat. I tell her I’ll take her straight back in if she does.
Then her boots are off, and she’s on the trampoline, bouncing in the rain that’s getting heavier again, hood down, almost hysterical with laughing. “Mama, where are you, look at me!” Suddenly, as the water soaks through her socks, she feels her feet freezing, and wails again, louder than ever. Out I go in the rain, lift her in, and her mother takes her up to a warm bed and a story tape. I follow with the cup of warm milk. She’ll need to be up again in an hour for the music lesson.