Читать книгу The Yummy Mummy’s Family Handbook - Liz Fraser - Страница 23

Before Harry Potter moved in and complicated matters, the space under most people’s staircases was one of two things: it was either a downstairs toilet—you know the ones, where your knees hit the wall opposite when you sit on the loo and the ‘basin’ is actually a triangular teacup attached to the wall with dolls’ house taps above it, guaranteed to splash water all over your crotch however careful you are—or a hideous mess. Mine is the latter. Under my stairs lurks everything from the under-used hoover and ironing board to several mismatched tennis rackets, climbing boots, a pram raincover, a torch, several tennis balls, random gloves and broken pairs of sunglasses and about two hundred spiders. It is where we throw all those bits and pieces we have no idea what to do with, or don’t want to have to deal with. There are, of course, houses where this place has been transformed into a stunning feature, with built-in shelving, subtle lighting and hidden storage space for colour-coordinated shoes. But that’s not my experience, and probably not yours.

For the purposes of this book, the cupboard under the stairs will house all those family issues you would rather not deal with. It’s the place where skeletons lurk, waiting to come out and disrupt the harmony, along with arguments waiting to happen, bits of unfinished business needing completion, and enough worries to fill a mansion house, let alone the two square metres we’ve got to play with. As with anywhere that gathers dust and festers slowly into an unhygienic, disorganised, arachnid-infested disaster zone, we must occasionally take a deep breath—it’s pretty airless and smelly—arm ourselves with a torch and a broom, and face what lies within. It’s scary, it will result in a few shrieks, but maybe also contains some happy discoveries, and it will almost certainly make you feel better by the end of it.