Debs sighed and mopped perspiration from her prematurely furrowed brow. It wasn’t meant to be like this, all this screeching and battling and trudging through the day yearning for it to end, each child a bundle of grime and snot jostling for space and attention. When she was a girl she’d dreamt of a big family home with a garden back and front and a good man to hold her tight and share the household duties.

“Mum!” wailed Billie-Jo, “Nathan kicked me up the butt.”

Debs closed her eyes and willed away her offspring.

“Mum!” demanded Elijah, “I need five pounds, innit, I told you yesterday man.”

“Mum!” shouted Hannah, “The triplets want changing but there’s only two nappies left.”

Poor Debs, here she was at only 39 with 10 kids to look after and 6 dads to track down for support.

“Mum!” Lamented Keira, “ The fucking telly’s packed in again.”

“It’s shite living here, I fucking hate it.” Whined Charlie.

Debs chucked the chipped breakfast dishes into the sink and fled out back for a breath of fresh nicotine, slamming the door hard behind her.

She could still hear them, the never-ending soundtrack to her miserable life, getting louder and louder until they drowned out her own beating heart.

I can dream, she thought, or I can change.

Enough’s enough, Debs, vowed.

First thing Monday, I’m going down the council and demand I get an exchange. They can’t do this to families. No one, no matter who they are, should be expected to live in a shoe these days.