The Playground (14 page)

‘Come here,' Nathan said, leaning against the edge of the picnic table in the park, holding his arms out, beckoning me.

‘Why?' I said grinning, chewing my lip, moving towards him. He linked his arms around my waist, pulled me close and kissed me hard on the mouth.

‘Jesus. I've wanted to do that for days, months. Since you moved in,' he said between kisses. Then we fell back onto the table in the darkness.

‘Oh God, I need to shave, need a shower.'

‘Shush. You're perfect. Delicious.'

He smiled and squeezed me and kissed me again on the warm skin of my neck. Then he lifted me up, carried me away from the table, lowered me onto the grass.

He lay above me, slipped his hand under the material of my skirt and rubbed the sticky-hot area between my thighs, sending aches of pleasure shooting through me. He prodded with two fingers, then fed them deep inside me and tugged my knickers to my knees. We kissed more, harder lips, entwining tongues. I undid his belt, pushed his stiff denims …

‘Mama! I need you. My elbows are bursting!'

‘It's absolutely infuriating, she never answers her phone. No, no. Just milk, please. That's enough. Thanks, Margo.'

There was a muffled noise that sounded like the phone being dropped.

‘Hi, Mum. Mum? I'm here.'

‘I'll try her again later. She might be – what day is it?'

‘Mum? I can hear you. Mum?'

‘Oh, hi, pet. I thought you weren't there.'

We began the conversation as we always did, both talking at the same time and staying silent at the same moment. We couldn't get the timing right.

‘Sorry, Mum, you go first. Are you having a lovely holiday?'

‘I'm sitting here looking at the most glorious view – fields and fields of sunflowers around me, all in bloom. All's fine. Yop. Yop. Now listen, tell me, how did Addie get on this morning? That was the most smashing photo, by the way.'

It was her first day at school. She had stood, proud and mischievous, while I'd taken her photograph outside the front door, in her new blue shoes and bumble bee rucksack. She had let me down a little when I'd introduced her to her teacher, Miss Meredith, refusing to speak or to even look at her. She'd just kept whacking me with her koala bear. Then she'd wanted to paint, which I'd been pleased about;
this would impress the teachers and the other mothers (I hadn't said it to Ruth, but I thought she had quite an aptitude for her age). What she produced was a huge black scrawl, disconcerting in several ways.

‘She's still there, the poor little thing. I'm collecting her at one.' All her bravado had evaporated when the moment came for us to part. She had clung onto my leg, then tugged hard at my hair, begging me not to go.

‘Well, I must say I feel terribly sad to be missing all these occasions, but I'm home first thing Wednesday morning and I've got her a lovely Pinocchio puppet.' Mum didn't do surprises, I was never sure why.

‘So how are you getting along?'

‘I've had a bit of a stomach upset but other than that I'm having a marvellous time.'

‘Oh no, Mum, are you OK?'

‘Of course, sweetheart, don't be silly. I'm absolutely fine.' She hated, hated being asked about her health. She moved on to her plans for the rest of her trip; I moved towards the window and looked out. Someone had left one of those enormous blue Ikea bags just outside my front door. It was filled to the top with timber. My first thought was that it was some sort of joke; Billy and one of his pranks or perhaps something Joy had ordered for an art installation. Then I remembered Nathan's promise to bring me firewood.

‘Mum, you're breaking up a bit.'

‘Hello? I can still hear you.'

‘I'll see you in a few days, maybe we'll drop round on Friday? Oh and, Mum, I forgot to say, your hall ceiling's leaking again.'

‘Oh, dash it. Well, there's precious little I can do about it from here,' she said, irritated by the news and by me for imparting it.

Then she was seized by a coughing spasm. It started with a simple
clearing of her throat and became a chesty, phlegm-filled, breathless thing. On and on it went. When she was able to talk again she sounded a little fainter, a little further away.

‘Are you OK, Mum?'

‘Yes. Yes. It's nothing. It's just a morning thing. Just a crumb,' she said, still wheezing.

I looked outside to see if I could spot Nathan so I could pop over to thank him once I'd hung up, but the house was empty, his jeep gone. The playground had been colonised by a thousand school kids in green uniforms, all of them screaming. At least six of them were on the net swing together, moving wildly to and fro; a boy was surfing on the middle of the see-saw, while two others balanced on either end. Some were climbing up the slide, making arches of their legs, while others slid down between them. Two were dangling out of the chestnut tree, clinging onto its leafless branches. They must have been on a half day.

‘Sorry, Mum, what time is it?'

‘Well it's nearly two o'clock here but we're an hour ahead of course.'

‘Oh, God, I have to go, I've got to collect Addie.'

‘All right, love, off you go, you can't be late on her first day. Bye bye bye bye bye.'

‘Bye, Mum. I can't wait till you're home. I always feel happier when you're here.'

This was something I always said and always meant. I think she only half-liked hearing it. She liked to know that she was loved and missed, but it also made her feel guilty that she was so often away. Whenever she was abroad I felt disconcerted, worried that she was in too much of a hurry. Worried that she would trip over on a kerb, slip on the step into the swimming pool, like she'd done before, become
careless in her competitiveness and drive into a wall, exhaust herself by being up before anyone else, by taking charge of the day's itinerary, always agreeing to share a room with the snorer, or with a person so eccentric or extreme that no one else could tolerate them. She would always take the discomfort, put her own needs last. And I was worried about us at home without her. Often I couldn't put my finger on my unease but as soon as she was home, it evaporated and my world felt safe again.

*

I stood outside the classroom window watching Addie. She looked serious and a little sad in a queue with her classmates, smaller than the others and not quite managing her school bag, lunch box, coat and a still-wet painting. When she spotted me, everything about her became animated, her eyes, face, body. She began jumping on the spot, waved and blew kisses and gave me the most luminescent smile, then she nudged the child beside her to show her that her mama had come back, that all was right in her world.

‘I got a sticker! That's why because I ate my lunch all up. And do you know what else? I got a happy helper silver star.'

‘She's had a wonderful morning and just one little accident,' Miss Meredith said, handing me her wet knickers in a bag.

‘OK, what'll we do?' I said, with a sudden surge of energy and love and enthusiasm and that strange childhood excitement that gave me a metallic taste at the back of my throat. I picked her up and swung her around in the air.

‘How about the playground?' she suggested. ‘That's a good idea,' she said, complimenting herself.

‘Or we could take your bike down to the beach front?'

‘No. The playground,' she whined.

She won as she always did. We returned home to collect her bike
and some gingerbread men biscuits to share (if we met anyone we knew).

All the school kids had gone and the playground was quiet. Billy Flynn was the only one there, standing at the top of the gardener's hut with a supermarket trolley: sweaty-haired, red-cheeked, a hand down the front of his shiny grey tracksuit. He let the trolley career over the edge when he saw us, jumped down and landed by our feet.

‘Hey, are you the mam that lost the toy?'

‘Yes. Addie's toy rat. A few weeks ago.'

‘I think I know where it is. Will I show her?' he asked, offering Addie his hand.

‘OK, great! Thank you. Where did you find it?' I said, keeping up with them.

He led us to the sandpit, kicked off its plastic cover.

‘There you go now. There's your ratty.'

We peered in at a rotten carcass. Its stomach was oozing purple, black, grey. Its mouth was open; sharp, yellow teeth exposed. Maggots scattering. Addie sought out my arms.

‘Oh, for fuck's sake. That's disgusting, you twisted little bastard!' I pushed my child backwards. God, my language. I was going to have to bring this up with Belinda; he couldn't go on terrorising Addie like this.

He burst into laughter, backed off grinning.

We made our slow, ambling way around the square. Most of the windows of the houses were dark, their driveways empty of cars. I'd never seen a single person come or go out of the new colonial-style homes in the small estate at the corner. With its white pillars and Tarmac driveways, it was like a cardboard facade of a developer's vision.

I got ready to smile at the small Filipino nurse who I recognised
from the Cherry Glade. She was shuffling towards us, accompanied by a large man with a handlebar moustache and beige slacks belted too high. I recognised him, I'd seen him from my bedroom window smoking and pacing like a depressed polar bear outside the garden shed next door. And on sunny days, out with his fellow inmates, propped beside the picnic table, under a lopsided sunhat. I put my hands on my child's shoulders and tried to direct her out of their way.

When they reached the gates of the nursing home, the nurse held him under the elbow and attempted to guide him back indoors. ‘Fuck off!' the man shouted, flailing his stick at her. ‘Get off me. I'm not going back into that fucking place.' He pulled away from her and made his way, limping, spitting, bilious, towards us while the nurse ran across the concrete drive of the home, pressed the bell and banged on the door shouting, ‘I need help. He's really bad this time.'

I carried Addie and her bike across the road and away from him, to the far side of the square. My nerves were jangled already, I really didn't need this. I eased her down on the pavement outside number five and felt the warm sweat of clean clothes on my face, heard the comforting drone of a tumble dryer. I glanced through the yellowy light of the basement window: Sophie was at the kitchen sink with her back to us, in loose-fitting Levi's, a dusty-pink sweater and trainers. Her little girl, Lauren, was dancing about behind her in a tutu.

As if sensing our presence, Sophie turned around at that moment and looked towards the window, lifting her chin. I gave her a smile, a half-wave, but then she ran her hand through her hair. She was only examining her reflection.

‘Come on, Addie, let's go,' I said, ushering her ahead of me. Then we heard a door open and Sophie calling after us.

‘Hi, Addie's Mum!'

‘Oh, hello. Hi.' I turned and walked back towards her, holding my
hand out behind me without looking to beckon Addie in that absent-minded way of mothers.

‘Lauren wants to know if Addie would like to play?'

‘Now?' I glanced at my watch, which wasn't in fact there – it had begun to cause a rash on my wrist so I'd given up wearing it – but I took a few seconds so it would look as though I was deliberating over appointments and routines.

A kerfuffle had broken out opposite us. At the gate of the park the man who'd escaped from the Cherry Glade had been cornered by three male members of staff, two of them had hooked their arms around his elbows, the third was standing in front of him, pressing his hand against the old man's chest. Humiliated, all his energy gone, he allowed them to lead him back to the home without any further struggle.

‘Look at the chocolate cups Mummy's made for dinner,' Lauren said, leading me by the arm over to the fridge: a double-doored, chrome-coloured American monster decorated with kids' paintings and photos. She pulled it open with some effort and there on the top shelf were a row of small, gold-rimmed china cups in pale-blue, pink and vanilla, all filled to their tops with chocolate. She went to shut it again, soon distracted as little girls are, but I held it open with my foot to study the cups further. Six of them, the chocolate settling on top, glistening with a layer of frost. I complimented Sophie and she laughed, readjusting the bra strap that had slipped over her shoulder.

‘They're for a dinner party we're having tonight. Work colleagues of Mark's and a sort of birthday celebration for me. I've no idea what they taste like!' Was it then that I noticed that her eyes were wet, as if she'd been crying? Though not the sort of crying I did which left my eyes small and swollen and my cheeks spotty and raw; if anything, their wateriness made her look even more attractive, in a vulnerable,
waif-like way. I wished her a happy birthday and asked her age. ‘Thirty-seven,' she said with a groan.

Addie was so at home in Sophie's house; we both were – it was like getting into a warm bubble bath. The kitchen smelt of cinnamon; the playroom was filled with colourful toys and tents and dolls' houses and princesses' castles and a table for colouring and another with animal-shaped cookie cutters and playdough. The walls were covered in framed photos of the children and weddings and parties, and curled in the corner was their giant poodle, Buddy.

Sophie explained that Buddy belonged to an old lady who could no longer care for him because she'd had to go into a home. ‘I told the vet that I'd take anything,' she said, watching Addie and Lauren kneel beside him. ‘That I love all dogs. I forgot to say, except poodles that is.' We laughed together, I knew just what she meant.

‘Oh, she's so juicy,' she said, watching my little girl.

While the children played together, we drank tea and bitched about Irenka and Sophie told me all about a drama class that she was going to sign Lauren up for (‘though it's quite expensive, but on the other hand they sometimes get picked to do TV ads which would be quite exciting, wouldn't it?') and about a little chefs' cookery class that she'd heard about in Greystones. I wasn't sure if she was telling me about these classes just so I'd know or if she was suggesting that we enrol the kids together. I didn't want to be too forward, so I nodded and enthused but didn't commit. Then we got on to the problems with Billy Flynn.

‘Gosh, he's completely wild! I heard that he drank the contents of a fish bowl at a party for a dare last Christmas – the whole lot, including the two fish and the ants' eggs. Isn't that vile?' Sophie said, crinkling her nose and giggling.

‘What are you saying about that boy, Mama?' Lauren asked, looking up from her playdough ice cream.

‘Oh no, nothing, sweetheart. Just that he has issues.'

She considered this for a moment, came up to the kitchen table. ‘No he doesn't. He has black shoes.'

‘Would Addie like to stay for tea?' Sophie asked then, moving the clothes horse that was positioned in front of the Aga out of the way.