The Day Of Second Chances (17 page)

‘I'll take a taxi to the hospital.'

‘Well, there's no need, if I can drive you. I'm very happy to, and that's why you moved in here, after all.'

Honor looked at Jo, in that odd way she had, of actually looking over Jo's shoulder instead of meeting her gaze. It was an extra slap in the face.

‘I thought it would be easiest, and central, if we put it up on the cupboard door near the fridge, for example,' Jo added. Also, it would save awkward conversations like this. She held out the calendar, which she'd had underneath her arm. Iris had chosen it; it had photographs of kittens dressed in little outfits.

‘All right,' said Honor. ‘If that's what you want.' She took the calendar and Jo retreated.

In the living room, Iris and Oscar had brought all of their cuddly animals downstairs. Both of the children had green faces and fingers, and there were suspicious smudges on the pelts of the toys.

‘Are you ready to go outside for the tea party?' Jo asked them.

‘No!' Iris agreed, squeezing Irving, her pink elephant who she slept with every night.

‘Underneath the tree, Mummy,' ordered Oscar.

‘Underneath the tree sounds perfect. You bring Irving and Mr Diddy outside and choose the spot, and bring the others outside too, and as soon as I've hung out the sheets I'll be right along with some more cake.'

She brought the laundry basket of bed linen outside, where she could watch the children arranging their animals in a wonky circle amidst the fallen blossom, whilst she hung the sheets on the line. Sunshine and children were the perfect antidote to a sleepless night. Oscar and Iris trotted back and forth from the house to the tree, fully absorbed in the task. She watched Oscar's surefooted, sturdy tread, arms and legs pumping; Iris's springy wobble, curls bobbing. When did they lose that childish way of walking and settle into a grown-up stride? She tried to think back to Lydia, and couldn't remember. She remembered how Lydia used to walk – fast, recklessly, heading hell-for-leather for the nearest obstacle and only veering aside at the last minute. And she knew how Lydia walked now, with her long legs and her unconscious grace, as if any moment she would break into her effortless run.

But she couldn't remember the transition from child to woman. She'd been too busy carrying on with life to take notice. It was sad. She must remember not to miss it with Iris and Oscar.

Sheets hung, she brought out a fresh plate of cakes and a teapot full of squash and settled herself on the grass next to Irving.

‘Tea, Mummy,' said Iris. She lifted the teapot and dribbled squash down her front.

‘I'll do it,' said Oscar, taking the teapot and carefully pouring a plastic cup full of squash. He handed it to his sister, who said, ‘No,' and slopped more squash on herself, taking a drink.

‘Good pouring, Oscar. Will you pour some for me, too, and all the animals? And Iris, do you want to make sure everyone has a cake?'

Jo brushed a petal from her hair and watched her children busy and happy in the sunshine. She had memories like this of her own mother. In fact, if her mother were still here today, she'd be out on the grass too, drinking from a tea cup full of squash. She wouldn't let her pain stop her from spending time with her grandchildren. Like Jo, she knew that these moments didn't last for ever.

Jo took a bite of green cake and held up the rest of the cake to Irving the elepehant's mouth so he could take a bite. She looked up just as Honor came out of the back door. Jo got up and hurried across to her, so she wouldn't have to walk over the garden.

‘Here you are.' Honor held up the kitten calendar.

‘That was quick.' Jo took the calendar and glanced at it. Honor had written on it in her bold, spiky handwriting. ‘Oh. There's something already in for today.'

‘It's my appointment.'

‘Two o'clock?' It was nearly one thirty; she'd been looking forward to half an hour or so of playing, and a relaxing afternoon of not having to haul the kids anywhere. Now she'd have to clean up the kids and herself, and get them all into the car in the next ten minutes if she was going to get there in time, especially with Honor's current slow pace. And Iris usually started her nap at two; she'd been hoping to get Oscar down then, too, because he'd been running around all morning. She'd tentatively planned an hour with the kids asleep, to catch up on the laundry. Or maybe even a cup of tea and a book, if she got another load of bed linen hung out quickly. She could use the dryer, of course, but she was trying to save electricity. The bills.

‘Yes,' Honor said. ‘It's at two.'

‘But you never told me, Honor.'

‘I was going to take a taxi. As I said. I'll ring one now.'

‘No, no no, of course not. Iris, Oscar, we have to get cleaned up and go for a trip in the car.'

‘No!' said Iris, stamping her foot. Oscar's face fell; tears were imminent. Honor had taken her own phone out of her pocket.

‘You can't call a cab,' Jo told her, ‘it'll never get here in time. It's not like London where you can grab a passing one; they take a little while to turn up.'

‘No,' muttered Honor, ‘it's nothing like London.'

‘I'll drive you, it's not a problem.' Maybe Iris and Oscar would fall asleep in the car, and Jo could read her book in the car park while she waited for Honor to be finished.

But the sugar in the cakes and squash took its toll. Oscar and Iris sang ‘Old MacDonald' at the top of their lungs all the way to hospital, while Honor gazed stoically out of the window. Jo wanted to join in; she loved singing with the children, making all the animal noises, but Honor's expression stopped her, and then she was angry at herself. Why shouldn't she sing with her children?

There was no place to park near the entrance, so Jo had to drop Honor off. ‘I'll find a place to park and take the children to a café or a playground,' she said to Honor, through the rolled-down window. ‘Just text me when you're finished and I'll pick you up right here.' Honor nodded and started off. ‘And get someone to give you a lift to Orthopaedics in a wheelchair!' Jo called after her. ‘Or one of those golf-cart things!'

Honor appeared to take no notice. Jo sighed and drove around the car park looking for a space, whilst her children quack-quacked here and there behind her. She had to drive right to the top level in the end, squeezing her car in beside a large black Lexus.

‘Hide and seek in the park!' Jo told the children, unbuckling them.

‘No!' said Iris. ‘Want to sing.'

‘You can sing in the park, darling.'

Oscar scrambled out of the car at a run, straight towards the path of traffic. Jo only managed to snag him by the hood of his top. She held on to it and carried Iris on her hip, till they got to the bank of lifts, where Oscar immediately pressed all the buttons, so they stopped at every floor on the way down.

There was a park across a busy street from the hospital. Oscar pressed the button for the traffic lights, too, and Iris screamed and held out her hands because she wanted to press the button. ‘Quickly, then, sweetheart,' said Jo, putting her down as the light went green. Iris stabbed the button with her chubby finger; by the time she'd finished the light was red again and the two children had to press the button over and over again until it was green.

The park was quiet aside from a few people on benches having their lunch. ‘I'm counting first!' cried Oscar, and he squeezed his eyes shut. ‘One, two, three, four, six, nine, five …'

Iris squealed. Jo took her hand and they scampered over to a bush. ‘Hide behind it, Iris,' whispered Jo, but Iris said ‘No' and hid her face in her hands, obviously following the dictum that if she couldn't see Oscar, he couldn't see her. Jo crouched beside her.

‘Fourteen, fifteen, twenty! Ready or not, here I come!' Oscar opened his eyes and yelled, ‘I found you! It's too easy, Mummy!'

‘Why don't you hide, and Iris and I will try to find you,' Jo suggested.

‘Hide with Oscie!'

Oscar pouted. ‘I don't want to hide with Iris. She's rubbish.'

‘Hide with Oscie!'

There was a glob of greenish snot in each of Iris's nostrils. Jo didn't have a tissue, so she wiped Iris's nose with her hand and wiped her fingers on the grass.

‘Please, Oscar, take your little sister this time. Then next time, you can hide and Iris and I will look for you. Stay in the park, though, OK?'

Reluctantly, he took her hand. Jo sank onto the grass, glad of the moment's quiet. Half an hour ago, she'd been tired, but looking forward to a day with her children. What had happened?

Oh well, at least they'd have fun in the park, and maybe the naps could happen later. And the laundry … well, she'd get that done somehow. With any luck, she'd be worn out enough to sleep tonight.

‘Count!' Oscar ordered her.

She closed her eyes. ‘One, two, three …'

They toddled off. Jo opened her eyes halfway and watched them as they headed for some bushes, then changed their mind and went towards some trees.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't managed lunch; she'd had half a green fairy cake since breakfast at seven this morning, which had been one of Oscar's Petit Filous and a satsuma. Her bag had raisins in it, and some crackers, but she'd forgotten it at home in the rush. Also her book. And the tissues for Iris's nose.

So many things were necessary for children. How did people do it, before the days of plastic pots of snacks and disposable tissues and nappies? Was it easier, because you didn't expect those things? In some societies, women carried children for years, didn't they? And breastfed till the age of five? There were some advantages to that, she supposed, in that it saved you carrying the world's largest nappy bag everywhere.

A wail from the clump of trees. Jo jumped up and sprinted for her children. The part of her mother's brain that knew each of her children's cries and instantly catalogued them into varying categories of pain, fear, dismay, temper, knew that this wasn't life-threatening, but her body reacted instantly nevertheless. Because it could be, this time. Because disaster happened when you weren't expecting it, when you were happy.

Oscar stood looking down at himself and crying. Brown gunk was smeared on the knees of his trousers and on his T-shirt. Jo thought he must have found the only muddy puddle in the park and knelt in it, until she got close enough to smell it.

‘Oscie dog poo,' Iris told her, solemnly, eyes wide.

Shit. Damn. Bollocks. And she had no bag, no wet wipes, no spare clothing. She saw the dog mess he'd knelt in: it was fresh and enormous, like something deposited by a bear. It had two dents in it, exactly the shape of Oscar's knees.

‘I didn't see it, Mummy! I was trying to hide!'

‘It's OK, Oscar, it was a mistake,' she soothed. She rolled up his T-shirt on the bottom so she could get it off him without getting dog mess in his hair. Then she removed his shoes and checked their soles – thankfully, clean – and took off his trousers. Oscar kept on crying. His tears dripped on Jo's head whilst she undressed him.

She took him onto her lap for a cuddle and to put his shoes back on him. ‘Here, sweetie, you can wear my cardigan to play in. See.' She put it on him, and rolled up the sleeves; it came down nearly to his ankles.

‘Don't want to play,' said Oscar, sniffling. ‘Everything's stinky.'

‘Did you get any on your hands?'

‘No,' said Oscar, though Jo had a quick sniff and she thought he probably had. Of course he did; Oscar touched everything. It was a symptom of being bright and curious, she reminded herself. Not a lack of common sense.

‘Don't put them in your mouth, right? We'll have to go back to the hospital and find somewhere to wash.' She rolled the dirty clothes up so that the worst of the mess was inside, stood up, reached for Oscar's hand, thought twice of it, and then gritted her teeth and took it. ‘Come on, Iris, we're going.'

‘No!' said Iris, but after the third time Jo asked her, she came along. Jo checked her over for dog poo, too, but mercifully, she'd stayed clear. To hold both their hands, she had to stuff Oscar's clothes under her arm. The whiff of dog shit accompanied them through the park, across the street, and into hospital Reception.

‘Is there a toilet we can use?' she asked the lady at the greeting desk. She wrinkled her nose and pointed down the corridor.

Jo made both Iris and Oscar wash their hands twice, and use the hand sanitizer too. She used toilet paper to clean their faces – Oscar had some suspicious smudges. She'd hoped for paper towels to wrap Oscar's clothes in, but there were only handdriers so she rolled the clothes more tightly into an inconspicuous-looking package. It still smelled, though.

‘I'm hungry,' announced Oscar. Jo looked at him, swamped in her purple cardigan, and at Iris, who, she just noticed, had green icing in her hair. She put her hand in her pocket and was relieved to find a ten-pound note.

‘Let's go to the café, shall we?' she said cheerfully, and steered them down the corridor towards the enticing aroma of coffee.

She stowed the dirty clothes under the table and settled them all with chocolate muffins and drinks, including a double-shot mocha with whipped cream on top for herself. She refused to think about her soft middle when she ordered it; there were only so many ways to cope with such intimate contact with dog poo, and it was too early in the day for gin. Jo was about to raise her drink to her mouth when she saw the telltale expression of intense concentration on Iris's face.

‘Oh no, Iris, not now,' she said. But the little girl's face had gone red and her lips puffed out.

‘Iris done a poo in her nappy,' announced Oscar, tucking into his muffin.

Jo felt the attention of the people around them, who were only trying to enjoy a coffee during what was probably a stressful time in hospital. ‘Sorry,' she murmured to the café as a whole.