And page 65. Both of the turquoise book, Deep Water, by that Scottish witch, Debi Gliori.
It’s about morning sickness, which is always a reliably fun subject. (In a children’s book?)
Anyway, I sat down late at night for a chapter before bed, mug of Earl Grey next to me. Could I drink it? I could not. Daughter exited the shower room wondering if we had a cat that needed evicting. It was only me. Laughing, tears spurting, almost insensible. She demanded to know what was so funny, but how do you explain the humour of page 64 without going into the previous four books, let alone the pages up to 63?
She tried tearing the book from me, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. Every time I tried to calm down, the paroxysms returned in full force.
Daughter was persuaded to bed, I read another chapter, hoping it’d be boring enough for me to attempt the Earl Grey. While not boring, it calmed me down.
The next morning Daughter again requested an explanation, so I managed a brief resumé, before erupting yet again. Luckily Daughter had to depart for her English GCSE on Lord of the Flies, and I could wipe my cheeks and think about the washing and other chores.