'Why? He wanted the DVD, and he likes to receive clothes because he hates going shopping.'
'Very practical,' Lisa murmured. 'Right, I'd better get back to work. Thanks for this.' Clutching her plate of food, Lisa left and Dee finished packing up the café's order and started to clean down the worktops. Once the interview was over she would be free for the afternoon and if the weather held, she could take Sam down to the beach to play in the rock pools.
Of course there were a lot of other jobs she could be tackling today but she liked to spend time with Sam whenever possible. He didn't have a dad to take him fishing or to football matches and, though Conor was great with him, she felt it was up to her to make sure he didn't miss out. His health placed enough restrictions on him as it was. There were foods he couldn't eat and places he couldn't go – some of his friends had dogs or cats. Still, it was a small price to pay if it meant he stayed healthy.
Dee vividly remembered times when her son had struggled to breathe, was racked with coughing, or was crying pitifully because his skin was red and raw. She hated having to say no when he wanted to go somewhere or do something that she knew would only result in pain for him.
She would always talk to him about it, explain that he couldn't do the same things as other children and, an intelligent child, he usually accepted the logic. Dee shivered, however, at the memory of the sometimes resentful looks he shot her whenever she had to say no.
There was a rap on the kitchen door and Conor stuck his head in and smiled at her.
'Morning.'
'You're late.' She shoved a large carton of food into his arms. 'Be careful with this, it's the curry.'
'Good morning, Conor, how are you, Conor, thanks for helping me out, Conor,' he retorted.
She grinned and reached up to kiss him. 'Sorry, I'm just a bit jittery at the thought of being interviewed.'
'You'll be fine,' he assured her before turning to carry the food to the jeep. 'What time is he coming?' he asked when he came back for the rest.
'Eleven. I hope he doesn't think I'm some kind of expert. I won't have a clue if he starts asking me about additives or colouring.'
'You know a hell of a lot more than most people,' Conor pointed out.
She helped him carry the last of the food outside and then stood watching as he climbed back behind the wheel. 'Drive carefully.'
'Don't worry, I won't spill the curry.'
'That's not what I meant.'
'I know.' He smiled. 'Good luck with the interview. I'll see you later.'
Dee waved him off and went back inside. Looking around the large kitchen she was satisfied that it was clean and realized that she should probably go and tidy herself up.
Upstairs, she quickly changed into a pair of black combat trousers and a purple long-sleeved T-shirt. She released her hair from its tight knot, brushed it thoroughly and decided to leave it loose. A touch of lip gloss and she was ready.
On her way back to the kitchen, Dee made a detour to check on Sam. When she went into the Happy Days dining room which doubled up as the arts and crafts room, she saw her son at the table with Tom, up to his elbows in paint and glitter. Lisa was on her knees beside them, glueing cotton wool on to multi-coloured card.
'What are you making?' Dee asked, crouching down beside Sam and peering over his shoulder.
'Sheep.'
Dee looked from the yellow and green soaked wool to Lisa. 'Sheep?'
'They're magic sheep,' Lisa affirmed, 'they can be any colour they want.'
'That's convenient,' Dee smirked.
'What's convenient mean, Mum?' Sam asked.
'It means it's handy,' she explained, studying his hands and arms for any tell-tale signs of irritation. 'You okay, sweetheart? Having fun?'
He nodded without looking up, intent on the job at hand. After complimenting Tom on his creation and going to admire the artwork of the three little girls who were busy painting, Dee said goodbye and went to the door.
'Good luck,' Lisa called after her.
'Thanks,' Dee said, jumping slightly as the doorbell rang.
'Well, go on, answer it,' Lisa urged.
'Right, okay, see you later.'
Dee hurried to the door, opened it, and smiled nervously at the incredibly tall, thin man on her doorstep.
'Dee Hewson?' She nodded. 'Don Reilly from the
Daily Journal
.' He stuck out a hand and smiled. 'Any relation to Bono?'
Dee took it and smiled. If she had a euro for every time someone asked that.
'Unfortunately not. Come on in. Did you find us okay?'
'Hard to miss,' he said, nodding at the large, colourful sign in the garden.
'Oh, right.' Dee grinned. 'My friend Lisa runs the crèche, she has the bottom of the house, with the exception of the kitchen, hence the décor.' She waved a hand around at the brightly coloured murals and the children's photos and artwork which covered the walls.
'It's a huge house, must cost a fortune to heat,' he remarked.
Dee sighed. 'It does.' She led him through to the kitchen and pointed towards the heavy oak table. 'Why don't you take a seat and I'll make some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?'
'Coffee, please,' he eyed up the cartons of food lining the worktops and winked at her, 'and whatever else is going!'
Dee smiled to herself. Men were all the same, put food in front of them and they were happy. She set out soda bread, muffins and scones in front of him and then went to the fridge for milk and butter.
'I'm surprised to see you eat all this stuff,' he gestured at the spread in front of him. 'I thought you'd be into rice cakes and seaweed quiche.'
She laughed. 'No, I believe in eating healthily, not starving yourself.'
'And this is healthy? Oh, you don't mind if I use this, do you?' He held up a small tape recorder.
'Oh, no, go ahead.'
'Sorry, you were saying?'
'Right. Well, yes, this is all fine – in moderation of course. Once you eat a varied diet then it's fine to have some treats. I'm sure you've heard about the food pyramid.'
'Yeah, sure.'
'Also, all of this food is homemade, so there are no additives and I know exactly how much sugar or salt is in everything.' She smiled at him. 'Not a lot. Please, try something.'
'I'd love to.' He took a scone, cut it in half and spread it generously with butter. 'I'm surprised you don't use a spread. Isn't butter fattening?'
'Butter actually gets a lot of bad press. I use non-salted, and while the fat content may not be good for adults with cholesterol or blood-pressure concerns, it's very necessary for growing children.' She carried his coffee and her tea to the table and sat down.
'These are delicious,' he said, polishing off his scone and reaching for a muffin. 'You really seem to know your stuff. Are you a dietician or nurse or something?'
'Lord, no. My son was diagnosed with asthma and eczema when he was little and I've found that the best way of keeping him healthy is through diet. He hardly eats any processed food now, but when he does' – she rolled her eyes – 'he pays for it.'
'What kind of processed food upsets him?' he asked through a mouthful of muffin.
She shrugged. 'Chicken nuggets, oven chips, cheese—'
'Cheese?' He stared at her.
'The processed stuff,' she amended. 'You know, those orange, shiny slices or plastic triangles, that sort of thing.'
'I live on toasted cheese sandwiches; I suppose that's a bad thing.'
'Not if you use real cheese and wholemeal toast.' She smiled at his wiry frame. 'You don't exactly have to worry about fat, do you?'
'I can eat anything and never put on weight.'
'You must have a high metabolism.'
'Well, I'm always on the go, that's for sure,' he laughed. 'So, what about this little lad of yours; does he ever get sweets?'
'There are some sweets on the market now that have no artificial additives or colourings, so he can have those; he can eat some chocolate, popcorn is fine, and I make my own ice-cream which he loves.'
'What about drinks?' he asked.
'Sorry?'
'Lemonade? Cola? Is he allowed to drink that sort of stuff?'
'He drinks homemade lemonade, juice, milk and water and I wouldn't give him fizzy drinks even if he didn't have allergies. Those drinks make children hyper, destroy their teeth, and set them up with a bad habit for life.'
'You feel strongly about this sort of thing.'
She laughed. 'Sorry, I'll get down off the soapbox now. It's just that when children develop problems like asthma, they have to go on all these terribly strong medications. If their diet was tweaked a little, they might not have to use them as often.'
'It's an interesting point. Now, I wanted to ask you to expand on a few of the points you made about food labelling.'
The journalist helped himself to another muffin and started asking her about various foods. Dee answered his questions as well as she could, giving him examples of the worst offending foodstuffs and healthy alternatives.
'Right, that should do it,' he said finally, as he turned off the recorder and stood up. 'Thanks a million, Dee, I've got plenty here for a really interesting article.'
'Glad to help.' Dee smiled, relieved that it was all over. She had been perched on the edge of her chair throughout and now felt quite drained. Who'd have thought being interviewed could be so stressful? 'Would you like to look around before you go?'
'Yes, please.'
Dee led him back into the hall and then pushed open the first door on the right.
'This is a bathroom that I had installed especially for the children. You see there's a changing table for the babies, a potty area for the toddlers being toilet trained, and then the two cubicles to give the older children their privacy.'
'They're not adult-size toilets, are they?' Don poked his head in to look at the diminutive facilities.
'No. This facility is for children only, so it's fitted with their needs in mind. There's a separate staff toilet,' Dee pointed to another door, 'and over here is the yellow room where the children eat and do their arts and crafts.' The journalist nodded, looking at the low wooden table surrounded by tiny chairs and the built-in shelving that housed Play-Doh, paint pots and other art materials. 'It's all very colourful,' he remarked, grinning at the blue and green chairs, red table and yellow walls.
'To stimulate the children,' Dee said, leading him back into the hall and then into the next room. Here the walls were warm buttermilk and the children's artwork was dotted around the room, a large giraffe height chart stood by the door, marked with the children's names at various levels. 'This is Lisa Dunphy, the boss,' Dee introduced her friend. 'Lisa, this is Don Reilly from the
Daily Journal
.'
'Pleased to meet you.' Lisa smiled and shook his hand. 'And that's Martha.' She pointed at the young girl who was cuddling a crying baby in an area to the right that was sectioned off by a red wooden fence. 'She looks after our three babies.'
'We have a reading corner over here.' Dee gestured at the area just inside the door with miniature armchairs and sofas and a long, low bookcase. 'And that's the nap room.' She pointed to the section next to the baby area and Don went over to peer in at the three cots, and the stack of small mattresses in the corner.
'Then we have a TV corner.' Dee brought him round the corner where the five older children sat curled up on the two sofas watching
Sesame Street
. 'Say hello, children.'
'Hello,' they chorused obediently.
'He's mine.' Dee pointed at the little boy with dark, curly hair at the end.
Sam looked up and smiled and Don waved. 'Hello, Sam.'
'They only watch about ten or fifteen minutes of children's programmes a day, and we try to make sure they get at least an hour in the garden. If the weather is bad, we have yoga or exercises in the hall.'
'So you work in the crèche, too?' he asked as they said goodbye to Lisa and went back into the hall.
She shook her head. 'I make their meals and help out from time to time but that's all. Most of my time is taken up cooking the food for the café in Better Books in the town. Do you know it?'
His eyes widened. 'I do indeed. And do you supply all of that wonderful food?'
'Most of it.'
'I'm very impressed!'
'Good,' she laughed. 'Feel free to give us some free advertising in your article!'
'I'll do that,' he promised. 'You've got a marvellous place here. I must get our features editor to visit you the next time she's doing a piece on crèche. It would be good advertising for you.'
'We'd be delighted.' Dee beamed at him. She gestured at Lisa and Martha's framed diplomas on the wall in the porch. 'We're very proud of Happy Days and we like to think it's home-from-home for the children.'
'It's a lovely place,' he agreed. 'Okay, well, I'd better get back to the office. Oh,' he paused, 'we'll need a photograph.'
Dee frowned as she mentally went through her photo album. 'I'm not sure if I have anything suitable, at least, nothing recent.'
'No problem, I'll send my photographer around later. What time would suit you?'
She made a face. 'Is a photo really necessary?'
He grinned. 'Absolutely! Readers always want to know the face behind the story. One of you with your little boy would be really nice.'
Dee could just imagine Sam's delight if he got his photo in the paper. 'Okay,' she relented, 'any time after four.'
'I'll have him here at half past,' Don said, sticking out his hand. 'Thanks again, Dee, you've been a great help.'
'Ooh, you're going to be famous!' Lisa teased when Dee went back inside and told her about the photo.
'Hardly, it's only the
Daily Journal
,' Dee scoffed.
'Today, the
Daily Journal
; tomorrow the world,' Lisa breathed theatrically.
Sam bounced up and down on Dee's knee. 'Why are we going to be in the paper, Mummy?'
'I'm not really sure, sweetheart.'
'When is the man coming to take our photograph?'
'After tea.'
'Can I wear my
Pokémon
T-shirt?'