Saturday, 2 June 2018
Wilde like me - Louise Pentland
You’ll never forget the day you meet Robin Wilde…
Single mum Robin Wilde adores her six-year-old daughter and loves her job as a make-up artist's assistant. She has a wonderful best friend and an auntie who is bonkers, yes, but loves her to the moon and back.
But Robin has a secret. Behind the mask she carefully applies every day, things just feel ... grey. And lonely. She struggles to fit in with the school mum crew. Online dating is totally despair-inducing, and she worries every day about raising her little girl with self-confidence, courage and joy.
What Robin longs for is someone (over the age of six) to share with - someone who's always on her team.
After 4 years (2 months, and 15 days!) of single-mum-dom, it's time for Robin Wilde to Change. Her. Life.
Exciting new opportunities are about to come Robin's way. Perhaps a man, perhaps the chance of a lifetime.
What will Robin do with the possibilities she creates for herself? And what potential will she unlock if she takes the leap?
Opening my eyes very slowly, I’m greeted by the glare of the mini Christmas tree lights (which I forgot to switch off before I fell asleep) and a hot body pressed up against me, with one arm draped heavily over my chest and the other digging a little painfully into my back.
The first week of January is supposed to feel like a fresh start. This one really doesn’t. I’ve barely slept these last few days, even though I’m exhausted, and when I do close my eyes, I dream of falling into nothing and then wake up with a start.
As my bedroom comes into focus, I roll over and ever so gently stroke her hair. Her lashes are longer than mine but her little nose is the same. I watch her breathe for a few moments and wonder how someone like me managed to have such a perfect daughter. Six years feels like six months. It’s true what they say about them growing up too fast. I’m delving into thoughts of how this tiny person makes my life what it is when I’m jolted back firmly to reality. There’s a rustling in my kitchen.
I check my phone: it’s 7.45 a.m. I stagger downstairs, leaving a half-asleep Lyla where she is, to find my Auntie Kath in the kitchen surrounded by every single thing that lives in a cupboard or drawer. No longer in their assigned place, all my culinary possessions are strewn across every inch of counter surface available. This is a reasonable-sized kitchen and though the counters are scratched and the breakfast bar is a slightly wobbly stub of counter offcut and the dining table cost £4 in a charity shop, I love it. I love my cool mint tiles that Dad helped me put in last year (Granny, who lived here before me, had this waterproof floral wallpaper that even Dad agreed was hideous) and beach-themed art. In the summer, when the light streams in through the glass doors, this kitchen is the brightest, freshest room in the house. In the winter, when there’s less light and we string lights over the cabinet tops and make mulled wine (‘Mummy’s special Christmas Ribena’), it’s a great place to sit at the table and wrap presents or make cards. I love this space even more when everything I own isn’t stacked up on the worktops or in piles on the off-white lino (OK, my limited funds haven’t stretched yet to anything nicer, and, really who wants to spend money on flooring?).
Instantly I wish I hadn’t given Auntie Kath a set of keys. And I really should have wiped down the surfaces before I collapsed into bed.
‘My New Year’s Resolution is to declutter!’ Auntie Kath says, with way too much gusto for the time of day. It’s six days into the new year and Kath is ready to go. I’d love to be that ready for anything.