“Easter egg hunt this afternoon,” I say brightly.” Karl looks up from the paper we have bought as a treat because it’s Easter Saturday and we have children but won’t read because it’s Easter Saturday and we have children. “It’s raining, then,” he says.
Eva looks out of the window and sighs. She is dressed entirely in pink.
“I will wear my wellies,” she announces, “and then I can splash up and down in muddy puddles like …”
“Yes, yes,” I say tetchily. Today, she does look exactly like Peppa Pig. We have organised the hunt in a few hours’ time and it’s forecast to bucket down. I think about the Duchess of Cambridge, alone for the weekend whilst William parties like it’s 1999 at his ex’s African wedding and try to pull myself together. “OK, we’ll have it inside.”
“We haven’t got the space,” Karl points out, fairly, yanking Tom’s hand away from Max’s jaws just in time. And chocolate eggs are…”
“No, no, NO. I want to say it,“ Eva waves a Weetabixy spoon over Max’s head. “Go on, then.”
“Choclut is poysnus for dogs. But not people.” She bonks Max lightly on the nose and continues eating. Max, who has heard this a million times before, doesn’t give a shit.
I gaze out of the window at the leaden sky. “If we lived in Anmer Hall, we wouldn’t need to worry,” I mutter. Karl puts the paper down, resignedly. “Why?” he asks, with Samaritan-like patience.
“Because …” I look down at my rhyming clues, taken from Netmums. They are ok. But the Duchess’s would go something like this:
Introductory clue
The Easter bunny’s been today (He had to show ID)
He’s brought some eggs. Not Faberge — you’ve plenty already.
Stables
These eggs are where the horses live
It’s where you go for scooting
But darlings, there’s no guns today. We’re hunting eggs. Not shooting.
Swimming pool
It’s somewhere wet. Tropically warm. A lovely Place2Be
And in the summer, Mummy will Go topless. (Carefully).
Tennis courts
Daddy and I hit balls here As hard as they will go
And Daddy sometimes plays Gan Gan Although she is quite slow
Fridge
This is where I hide your snacks Your Frubes and Dairylea
Look on the top shelf only, though. The Moét is for me.
Bedroom
This is your kingdom, Georgie boy It’s not mine. I’m just Kate.
Your mother. Duchess. Not yet Queen … Let’s eat this chocolate.
