Amuse bouche... Fussy eaters

Jessica had been surprised to find both her mother and her grandmother on the doorstep.

Jessica had been expecting only her mother, or Granny as even she called her these days. And Jessica’s actual grandmother, by extension, was now called Big Granny, to her displeasure. Not that she was very big any more, having shrunk to a stooped little thing, but her voice hadn’t shrunk. Nor had her opinions.

Back-up, Jessica thought. My mother has brought back-up.

It was lunchtime, and the only child at home was Hugo, Jessica’s three-year-old. The others were safely at school.

“Will you eat with Hugo and I?” asked Jessica, when they were settled in the kitchen.

“Hugo and me,” Jessica’s grandmother corrected.

“What are you having?” asked Jessica’s mother.

“Nothing,” Hugo said.

“Soup and home-made brown bread,” said Jessica at the same time, a little too loudly, attempting to drown out her son.

Jessica’s mother and Jessica’s grandmother exchanged a look.

“I don’t want any,” said Hugo. “I don’t like soup.”

“‘You’ll take what you’re given’ always worked in my day,” said Jessica’s granny.

“Can I have it with the iPad?” asked Hugo.

“No,” said Jessica, wishing he’d play nicely for the disapproving, repeated-glanceswapping audience.

“No soup. Not hungry,” said Hugo and put his head down.

“On strike,” said Jessica’s mother, emboldened by the presence of Jessica’s grandmother.

“Hunger strike,” said Jessica’s granny, smirking at her wit.

“He doesn’t care,” said Jessica. “He’s probably not hungry. He’s never hungry.”

“Do you give him snacks?” Jessica’s grandmother asked. “Snacks and screens, that’s where you young mothers are going wrong.”

“I don’t. He won’t even eat snacks,” Jessica said. She felt a lump in her throat.

“Mummy doesn’t know what to do with you,” said Jessica’s mother.

“You never knew what to do with his mummy, either,” said Jessica’s grandmother.

Jessica’s mother looked like she’d been slapped.

“Jessica,” said Jessica’s grandmother, “you were a horror to feed. I hated having you to my house. ‘Can I have cartoons? Mammy lets us have cartoons with dinner. I don’t like carrots. Mammy doesn’t make us eat our veg’. Mother of God, the whining.”

Jessica’s mother looked like she wanted to cry. Jessica’s mother looked to Jessica for back-up.

Jessica looked away and handed her son his iPad.