solo / carlos sainz

one

"Mummy!" A little bundle of pure speed mows into my side, nearly taking me out by the knees. I reach out to stabilise myself, grabbing onto my assistant's arm. "Mummy! Mis amigos! Vámonos!"

Beside me, Amira laughs, rolling her eyes at my daughter's enthusiastic plea for me to walk with her to where her friends are playing. "What's with the Spanish? You've only been here a week."

"That's all she'll speak when we're out," I reply as we follow my daughter across the playground to where her friends have gathered by a small, fenced lake. "Apparently, when she speaks in English around her friends, they ignore her."

"Fucking twats."

I roll my eyes, adjusting the strap of Elsie's Bluey backpack on my shoulder, "Amira, you can't call little kids twats."

"Why not?" She gestures toward two little boys to our right, who've tossed each other into the dirt and are now throwing it at each other. "Are they not being twats?"

"Yes, but you need to be the bigger person. You are, quite literally, the bigger person in this situation."

Amira scoffs, "If it looks like a twat and it quacks like a twat..."

"One, that's not how the saying goes, and two, shut up she's coming back." I pinch Amira's side when she begins to complain, plastering on an apologetic smile for my daughter as she returns to hurry us up. I run a hand through her dark curls, apologising profusely before picking up the pace.

There's a small gaggle of children around the pond, some accompanied by parents, some alone, all watching the set of ducks and their ducklings paddle around. I wave a wordless hello to the parents I recognise, knowing better than to go over and interrupt their gossip.

"How's the move been?" Amira asks in whispered English, clearly unsure as to whether or not the children would turn and shun her if they heard.

The move has been the most isolating, frustrating, and emotionally demanding experience of my life and that's saying something considering the fact I'm a twenty seven year old single mother with no family to support me, "It's been fine."

My lie isn't believed, it never is, but Amira knows better than to open that can of worms until Elsie's been put to bed and I've had a chance to unwind for the night. "And how's the flat?"

"It's...well, I haven't met the neighbour yet but it's been great, thank you." When I'd told Amira of my plans to move back to Madrid, a place I hadn't returned to since my year studying abroad, she'd immediately called her brother asking if he was still using his flat here.

With some negotiations and a few promises to pay the rent on time and host her brother whenever he was in town (which was apparently very rare), Amira had landed me a massive penthouse flat with three too many bedrooms and an elusive neighbour I've yet to meet.

"I'm pretty sure he's some footie player, nothing special," Amira responds with a shrug, waving hello to a group of parents as they pass. "Everyone here is so old."

I cross my arms, popping one hip out and staring down my friend, "They're not old, Amira, we're just young." When I'd walked into Elsie's school to enrol her, I'd been told that the child's mother needs to be present for the admissions process. "The school still thinks I'm Elsie's nanny half the time. It's maddening."

"Speaking of nannies, I found one for the shoot this weekend." Amira reaches into her bag, handing off a tablet for me to read as she explains, "She'll be on-set, has got all the lifeguarding requirements you wanted, first aid certs, an agency, and several vetted references."

In my five years of being a mum, I've never left Elsie with someone that isn't Amira or another one of my trusted friends. I had too many poor experiences with nannies as a child, too many days spent locked in my room or ignored in the backyard.

I refuse to let her suffer that kind of childhood.

Usually, bringing Elsie on set isn't an issue. She sits and colours and that's it...but this weekend, we're flying out to Portugal for a beach shoot and I can't have her sitting by herself so close to the ocean. "She speaks English?"

Amira eagerly nods, a big grin beginning to grow on her face, "And Spanish, so Elsie can practise."

"Secure the contract and set up a time for us to have a chat." At that, Amira fist pumps the air and takes back the tablet, "Elsie! Ven acá y no corras, por favor."

While my daughter may be taking her speaking in Spanish very seriously, she doesn't understand much. In fact, what she does know is mostly stuff she's learned from watching Bluey in Spanish and listening to others speak.

So, when I call her name, she turns, but she doesn't actually do anything else. "Ven acá," I repeat, gesturing for her to come over, "y no corras, por favor." When she begins to run over, I repeat my second request. "No corras, por favor."

She slows down, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up and smile when I nod at her slow walk to me. "What did you say, Mummy?" She's whispering, just like Amira, and I kneel down to bring myself to her level.

"I said, come here and don't run, please. Ven acá y no corras, por favor."

Elsie repeats it a few times, clearly trying to memorise it, before nodding to herself and reaching to take my hand. I rise back to my full height, waving goodbye to some of the parents before the three of us are finally leaving the park and heading back to the flat.

"Auntie Ami? Do you know Spanish?"

Amira shakes her head, taking Elsie's other hand when it's held up for her. "Not yet. Your mummy is teaching me. You know, she used to live here before you were born."

"Before me?" Elsie asks, looking rather scandalised. I haven't told her much about my life before becoming a mum, mostly because there's nothing worth telling, but it's all Amira ever wants to talk about with my daughter. "Mummy, before me, you live here?"

"Your mummy lived here for a year, sprout. She went to university and went dancing and on holiday and had a lot of fun with-"

"And it wasn't half as fun as being your mummy," I interrupt as Elsie's face begins to fall, smiling down at my daughter in an attempt to prevent a very loud tantrum.

Amira shakes her head, giving me a hard look while maintaining her happy tone, "You're allowed to be more than just a mummy."

"Isn't Auntie Ami so funny, sprout? She says all sorts of silly things," I give Elsie's hand a squeeze as we come to a stop at the crosswalk. "Silly things that little ears shouldn't hear."

Elsie nods sagely, "Like the word arsehole."