‘Lacey!’ I called up the stairs, for the third time. ‘Your breakfast is getting cold!’
‘Isn’t her breakfast just ceral?’ Mark frowned from behind his newspaper. I shot him a shut up or I’ll divorce you look, and he shrugged and went back to his article.
‘Lacey!’
‘I’m coming!’ my ten year old daughter grumbled from the top of the stairs. As she stepped her way down them, I noticed her wincing.
‘Is everything alright, honey?’ I asked her, concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ she shrugged, exactly like her father.
I sighed and followed her to the fridge, grabbing the milk while she reached for her cereal in the pantry. She winced again as she stretched for the box.
‘Lacey, what’s going on?’
‘It’s just my feet,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘They’re a little sore.’
‘Is it your arches?’ I asked, concerned. ‘Mark, your daughter has your arches.’
‘That’s nice,’ he nodded, crunching into a piece of toast.
‘Mark!’ I yelled at him. ‘We need to get her to the best foot specialist around Cheltenham, and quickly!’
‘Why?’ he frowned, crumbs in his moustache. ‘Is there something wrong with her feet?’
‘No,’ Lacey rolled her eyes again. Internally, I swore vengeance on whoever made me believe I had until she was a teenager before the eye-rolling started.
‘This is important!’ I cried out, looking between them. ‘If we don’t get on top of this now–’
‘Then what?’ Lacey looked at me.
I blinked a few times, trying to remember what I’d read about unsupported arches.
‘Uh, you’ll be… look, I’m not the specialist! That’s the point!’
‘They’re just going to give her those children’s orthotics to wear. Cheltenham podiatrists all seemed to study at the same place.’ Mark shrugged. ‘It can wait.’
‘It can wait?!’
‘Wait is this happening today?’ Lacey asked.
‘Yes, it is!’ I glared daggers at my husband.
‘So no school?’
‘No, of course not, we have to–’
Lacey was already running back up the stairs.
‘Let me just change my clothes!’