While My Eyes Were Closed (3 page)

‘Well, thanks for taking her,’ I say. ‘I think you deserve a rest this afternoon.’

‘Bathroom won’t clean itself.’

‘You should get Tony to do it when he comes home.’

‘Fat chance of that happening.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

Mum makes a face at me. She is well aware of my views about why my younger brother is such a lazy arse.

‘Any road, I’ve got to be at chippy at four to give your dad a hand with Friday-evening rush.’

‘People won’t want chips on a day like this. They’ll be having barbies in the back garden.’

‘Not our regulars, they won’t. Besides, they reckon the weather’s going to break. Might even be a thunderstorm. It needs it, mind. Too muggy for my liking.’

Ella is tugging at my hand, clearly desperate to get to the park.

‘Right, missy,’ I say, looking down at her. ‘What do we need to say to Grandma?’

‘Can I have my party bag?’

I roll my eyes. Mum laughs. ‘Oh bless her, she’s right. I nearly forgot. And her balloon, she’ll be wanting that.’

Mum goes back inside and emerges a few moments later with a party bag with pirates on it and a red
balloon on a piece of ribbon. Ella rushes up and takes them from her.

‘My balloon from Charlie’s party,’ she says proudly. ‘And there are bubbles and loom bands and sweeties too.’

‘Fantastic,’ I say, seeing the sea of tat on the kitchen table swelling in my head. ‘Now, what else do you have to say to Grandma?’

She looks at me blankly for a moment before the penny finally drops and she turns to Mum. ‘Thank you,’ she says, giving her a big hug and one of her best sloppy kisses. Mum’s eyes glisten.

‘Bye bye, sweetheart. You be good for Mummy now.’

‘I’m going to show Mummy how to climb up to big slide.’

‘Well just you be careful,’ says Mum. ‘Nearly gave me a heart attack first time she did it with me.’

Ella grabs back hold of my hand and pulls me to the car.

‘Thanks again,’ I call over my shoulder as I take the balloon and party bag from Ella, strap her into her seat and walk around to the driver’s side. Across the road a group of teenage lads are mucking about with a shopping trolley. Bashing it against someone’s wall. If Dad was here they wouldn’t dare. Not that he’s a hard nut or anything, certainly not any more. But he’s lived here all his life and knows too many people to be messed with. I look at them again and remember
another of Dad’s favourite sayings. You don’t shit on your own doorstep.

‘Oi, sling your hooks,’ I call out to them. They look over, scowl at me, then slink off with the trolley. I smile to myself. I still get a little kick out of it sometimes. Being Vince Benson’s daughter.

‘Right, let’s go,’ I say, getting into the car and fastening my seat belt.

‘What did you say to the big boys?’ Ella asks.

‘I told them to go away.’

‘Were they being naughty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where will they go now?’

‘I don’t know. But at least they won’t be bothering people in Grandma’s street.’

I glance at Ella in the rear-view mirror. She nods, apparently satisfied with that, and picks up her
Frozen
sticker book from the back seat.

*

The car park is packed. I wonder whether to wait for a space or try to find one outside. I pull over when I see a woman struggling towards her car with a toddler, a baby in a sling and a massive changing bag. Quite why people take that much stuff with them when they are simply going to the park, I don’t understand. I’d never been one for designer changing bags, opting instead to stuff a spare nappy, wipes and a little gym towel which doubled as a changing mat into my bag. I’d always got
by fine like that, although no doubt I would have failed those ‘Are you a super-mum?’ questionnaires in the baby magazines.

The woman mouths ‘Sorry’ to me as she begins loading both offspring and baggage into her car. I smile and back up a bit so she doesn’t feel I’m hassling her.

‘Can we go to the park now?’ asks Ella.

‘In a minute. We just need to let this lady get sorted and then we can have her space.’

‘Have they been to the park already?’

‘Yep, looks like it.’

‘Did that boy climb up to big slide?’

‘I doubt it. He only looks about three.’

‘How old was Otis when he could climb up to big slide?’

‘I don’t know. Four or five, I expect. I don’t think he did it till he started school.’

I glance in the rear view mirror. Ella is sitting there with such an incredibly smug look on her face that I have to try hard not to laugh.

The woman finally pulls away and we squeeze into the space she has left. I hold the car door as Ella scrambles out, balloon in hand.

‘You don’t need to take that with you.’

‘Charlie gave it to me.’

‘I know. But you’re going on the climbing frame now and you can’t take it with you.’

‘You can hold it for me when I’m climbing.’

‘Why don’t you just leave it in the car?’

‘Because I don’t want anyone to steal it.’

I sigh. My car was broken into a few months ago when I left the satnav on the dashboard. Ella woke every night for the next week and asked a million questions about it. Clearly, she still hasn’t forgotten.

‘OK,’ I say, deciding it will be quicker to go with it than to get into another protracted conversation about why the naughty boys did it. ‘But I’ll carry it for you so you don’t lose it.’

She nods. I take the balloon from her and grab her hand to stop her careering across the car park, noticing as I do so that her nails are dirty and need cutting.

‘This is where Grandma parks,’ Ella says as she steps onto the gravel. ‘Near the ice cream van.’

‘Well you’ve had quite enough ice cream this week, remember. Do you want to go to the butterfly house before we go to the playground?’

Ella gives me a look. She is not a butterfly-house kind of girl. She wants to be where her brother would be. Even when he is not here.

‘OK,’ I say, as we reach the grass. ‘You can run now.’

I let go of her hand and she tears off towards the playground, her lime-green Crocs kicking up dust on the parched, worn grass. The playground is heaving but she makes straight for the climbing frame, undeterred by the number of children already on it. She glances back once, to check I am watching, before beginning to
climb. By the time I reach the base of the frame she is already halfway up. Her face is determined, her hands straining to reach each new level. There is no way she will ask for help, though. She passes a bigger girl dressed entirely in pink, whose father is coaxing her up, showing her where to put her feet as she picks her way daintily up the frame. I see Ella open her mouth and say something. It is impossible to hear it above the noise of the playground but I am pretty good at lip-reading. ‘I can do it all by myself.’ I know I should feel embarrassed, maybe even say something. I’m sure the other girl’s dad didn’t appreciate the boast. But what I actually feel is a surge of pride. No one is going to tell my kick-ass daughter that there are things she can’t do. Not now. Not ever.

There is a whoop as Ella gets to the top. I look up at her grinning face, shielding my eyes from the sun and wishing I hadn’t left my shades in the car. I raise my fist in celebration of her triumph. A second later she has disappeared inside the tube slide. I hear her yelling ‘Geronimo’ from inside the slide as she comes down. She has picked it up from Otis, who got into
Doctor Who
when Matt Smith used to say it all the time. A moment later she explodes out of the end of the slide and straight into my arms.

‘Hey. Well done you,’ I say, ruffling her hair.

‘I’m going to do it again,’ she says. And with that she is off. Straight back up the climbing frame. I glance at
my watch. Quarter to three. We have about half an hour before we need to leave for Otis’s presentation. He will have to put up with Ella going on about this all the way home in the car. And I will probably get it in the neck for saying Otis was older than her when he learned to do it. The toddler in the buggy next to me wakes up and starts crying. His mum thrusts a packet of Haribo sweets into his hand, takes a drag on her cigarette then puts her hand, still holding the lighted cigarette, back on the buggy handle. I am tempted to ask her how she thinks her toddler feels about having smoke forced down his lungs but decide against it. Mainly because I can imagine what Alex would say if I start some scrap in the playground. It was me who once told Alex he was a ‘fucking idiot’ for going to the gym and standing outside having a fag afterwards. Apparently he’d gone home and smoked five cigarettes straight off that night because I’d riled him so much. It worked though. He’d stopped by the time he asked me out the following Christmas.

When Ella slides down the next time, I manage to shout ‘One more go’ as she whizzes past me on her way back up again. She always wants to play hide-and-seek before we leave, and I don’t want to be late for Otis. I watch her on the final climb. She knows exactly where to put each hand and foot now, expertly manoeuvring past several children older than herself on her way to the top. I sometimes wish I could transplant just an
ounce of Ella’s confidence into Chloe – like parents ask one of their kids to donate an organ to a brother or sister who desperately needs one. Not that Chloe would agree. You can’t address a problem until you acknowledge you have one.

Ella arrives back at the foot of the slide. Her cheeks are almost as red as her balloon but she appears barely out of breath.

‘Can you time me?’ she says. ‘I want to see how fast I can do it.’

‘Next time we come,’ I say.

‘Ohhhhh, I want to do it now.’

‘Don’t you want a game of hide-and-seek before we go?’

‘I do, I do,’ she squeals. ‘You hide first because you’re no good at it and I’ll find you easily.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, poking my tongue out at her. ‘And where are you going to count?’ She looks around and points at a large oak tree near the bottom entrance to the park.

‘OK, go on then. But make sure you count to one hundred, otherwise I’ll have no chance.’

She grins and runs off towards the tree. I realise that I am still holding her balloon. I may as well give up now and just stand here but I know that she will be cross with me if I do that. I hurry over to a large tree not too far from hers and stand behind it, trying lamely to hide the balloon. I hear her shouting, ‘Coming, ready or not.’
I press myself closer against the trunk, feeling the roughness of the bark against my bare arms and calves. I hear footsteps running towards me. Small footsteps. And a moment later ‘Found you’ is shouted at a ridiculous level of decibels. I turn to look at her. She appears torn between being chuffed at finding me so quickly and disappointed in her mother’s total failure to find a decent place to hide.

‘Easy-peasy,’ she says, hands on hips. ‘I saw my balloon.’

‘Yes, well it is rather a giveaway.’

‘You won’t find me.’

‘Come on then, missy,’ I say. ‘One hide and then we need to be off to get your brother.’

‘Make sure you count to one hundred.’

‘I will do.’

‘And shut your eyes.’

‘Yes.’

‘Now, Mummy. Before I go. Please.’

I shake my head and do as I am told. ‘One, two, three . . .’ I begin out loud. There is a little squeal followed by the sound of footsteps running away. I am only on twenty when I hear her scream. I know it is her scream straight away. You always know, it is one of those mother things. I open my eyes and quickly scan the park. And then I see her, lying in a heap on the little footpath which crosses the park barely fifty yards away. She is crying. Proper hurting crying.

I get to her quickly – one of the perks of my job. Ella holds up her hands to me. She’s managed to graze both of them, her left one quite badly. It’s bleeding a bit. Her face is crumpled, and snot is beginning to trickle from her nose.

I help her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s have a look at you,’ I say.

‘My hands hurt,’ she wails.

‘I know. All this grass and you manage to find a bit of concrete to fall on.’

I realise I haven’t even got a tissue on me, let alone a wipe or a plaster. I think of the woman with the designer changing bag. I bet she’d have had a fully stocked first-aid kit in there.

‘Never mind, you’ll live,’ I say, brushing a bit of dirt off with the hand which isn’t holding the balloon. ‘It’s just a graze. We’ll get you cleaned up properly when we get home.’

Ella looks at me doubtfully. ‘I hurt my knees too,’ she says, sniffing loudly.

I pull up the bottoms of her cropped leggings to inspect the damage. ‘Yep, they’re still there, but you’ll have a couple of nice bruises tomorrow to impress Otis with.’

She manages a watery smile and wipes her nose with her hand before rubbing it on her dress.

‘Come on. Let’s go and get Otis.’

‘But I haven’t had my hide yet.’

‘I thought you were too hurt?’

‘I’m going to be a brave girl.’

I smile at her. Mum has probably said that to her when she’s fallen over before. I glance at my watch. ‘OK, super-quick though.’

‘You go back to the tree to count.’

‘Can’t I just do it here?’

Ella shakes her head. There is no point in arguing with her, it will simply take longer. I turn to walk back to the tree.

‘And don’t forget to close your eyes,’ she calls after me.

Before I can say anything in reply my mobile rings. I scrabble to pull it from my pocket and look at the screen. It’s a client who’s been trying to get in touch with me about increasing his number of sessions. I take the call and carry on walking over to the tree, struggling to hear what he’s saying above the noise. It takes for ever because he has to keep consulting his diary to see what dates and times he can do. I think we manage to arrange two extra sessions for the following week, but I know I’ll have to text him later to confirm it.

I reach the tree and put the phone back in my pocket and return to my counting position, my arms folded on the trunk, my forehead resting against them. And I do shut my eyes, mainly because my life will not be worth living if she catches me with them open. I wonder what number I should be on by now. Once, when I started to look for Ella too early, she was furious when I found her.
‘You didn’t do it properly. I’d only got to eighty when you started looking.’