Five Minutes Peace

She adored her niece and two nephews but if she’d known she’d be fantasising about doing the hoovering and plugging in an air freshener after watching them for a few days, she’d have thought twice.

Sky Alton
Writer, Gryffindor

Kylie flung herself down on the sofa, then flung herself right back off again. Someone had left their cereal bowl perched on the cushions. There was now milk and smooshy bits of cornflake (at least she hoped it was just cornflake) all over that side of the sofa and, of course, the back of her jeans. Her clean jeans. The jeans she’d changed into a mere half hour ago after doing the school run in her PJs so that nobody was late. Even after 3 attempts, she still couldn’t get breakfast down to the half hour Iona had promised it would take. Not to mention teeth brushing, ‘lost’ item finding and herding-out-to-the-car-ing.
She stared at the mess and took a deep breath. She wanted to yell and stamp but she’d been trying to keep her temper in check ever since the kids had moved in. The last thing Iona needed when she got back from the hospital was to find her explosive little sister had taught her children a thing or two about tantrums.

Kylie picked up the bowl and walked through to the kitchen, leaving the mess on the sofa where it was. It was going to stink anyway. The whole house did, actually. She adored her niece and two nephews but if she’d known she’d be fantasising about doing the hoovering and plugging in an air freshener after watching them for a few days, she’d have thought twice. And then still agreed to help, obviously. Family were family, however many fluids she got covered in.

She went over to the washing machine in one corner and stood on one leg to wiggle out of her jeans, cursing herself for choosing the skinny ones. Her flailing foot caught something that shot across the floor with a metallic clang, spreading tiny fish shaped biscuits in its wake. There was an outraged yowl from near her feet.
“You’ll have to clean that up,” she informed Iona’s pure white puffball of a cat. “I’m not a maid.”

The cat eyed the biscuits with complete distaste and turned his back, showing her his tail.
“Come on, man! I’ve seen you eating a decayed frog,” Kylie yelled, finally managing to wrench the jeans off. The cat hopped up onto the kitchen counter and began to groom a paw. “Wonderful,” she grunted, shoving her sticky trousers into the machine, “Just wonderful.”