The Playground (15 page)

‘Look at these,' she said, without waiting for my answer, holding up a tiny pair of black lace knickers that had been drying beside some rather large white M&S ones.

‘The au pair's. Unbelievable, aren't they? Don't mine look grotty beside them?'

‘Not at all. They look comfortable.' I said, all middle-aged and mumsy. I considered my own ‘panties' as Joy referred to them, the word making me wince every time she uttered it. She'd surprised me one evening by washing them for me, then ironing and folding them in a tidy stack on my bed. A few days later she'd asked if the cheap material they were made from ‘didn't chaff my skin?' As if she'd given it some serious thought.

‘Do you think it would be rude to ask her to move them into her bedroom to dry?'

‘Of course not. I'd move them myself if I were you.'

‘Would you? You know this morning I couldn't find her or Mark, do you know where they were? Sharing a cigarette in the back garden. And she wasn't even wearing a bra under her sweater.' She pulled out the chair beside me, took a Ben 10 toy car off it, and sat down. ‘Do you think I could ask her to start wearing one? I'm so sick of Mark ogling them over breakfast, but I don't know how to say it without offending her.'

‘Why don't you ask him to keep his eyes on his breakfast rather than on her poached eggs?' This made her laugh.

I told her we'd be delighted to stay for tea. Then I reassured her with flattery. Beatriz was certainly no more beautiful than she was. I'd seen her with the kids a few times. She reminded me of a gymnast, always in the same pale-blue tracksuit, thin, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, sunken eyes, no make-up. Although I was surprised she'd got the job; au pairing was surely the only profession where being too good-looking counted against you.

‘Mama!'

Addie was in the downstairs toilet, tights around ankles, door open.

‘Are you so proud?' she asked, her voice strained as she pushed. She'd been constipated for the last two days.

I told her I was extremely proud of her and turned to leave.

‘Will you stay with me?' she said.

I leant back against the radiator and waited.

‘Lauren says her dada's getting her a black Furby for her birthday.'

‘Lucky Lauren.'

‘Can I have one? Except only a pink one with purple ears?'

‘We'll see, Furbies are very expensive. Are you nearly finished?'

‘OK, I've got a deal! How about I ask Dada to get it for me for my birthday?'

‘Maybe, sweetie.'

‘Can Dada please just come home for a sleepover and a playdate?'

‘We'll see about that too. Now call me when you're done and I'll wipe your bum bum, OK?'

‘
Mummy
stop asking me that, it's so embarrassing. When can he? In one sleep or two sleeps?'

‘I'm not sure when.'

‘Mama, don't tell anyone I said this, but is Dada going to be in our house again, every day properly?'

‘No, sweetheart, you know he isn't. It's you and me now, OK?'

Her face got serious, little eyebrows arched.

‘Don't tell anyone I said that, OK?'

‘I promise I won't. You know I love you up to Jupiter and back, don't you?' I rested my hands on her knees.

‘Well, I love you up to Jupiter and back a thousand and one. Can you go now, please?'

I offered to help lay the table but proved useless, having to ask Sophie where everything was and setting a place for myself too, which was a little awkward when it became clear that she'd only meant tea for the children. Of course, she would be eating at the dinner party later, with her adult friends. I had become so used to having tea with Addie at five in the evening that this hadn't even occurred to me.

‘No. I insist! There's enough for all of you, and to be honest I'd love the company. Mark's been away in Europe for most of the week. It gets quite lonely. God, I hope he's not late tonight. I'll kill him if I'm left entertaining his friends on my own,' she said, lifting a bunch of white hydrangeas in a huge glass vase off the kitchen table and over to beside the sink. They were so perfect they looked plastic and something about them seemed a little desperate, as if they had been put there to convince you that all was well. They reminded me of the ones I'd bought when I was selling the house in Sandycove, to give the impression that our home was a happy, fragrant, positive place, not that I was moving out because Joe had abandoned us and I could no longer afford to pay the mortgage, or that things were so bad I'd had to borrow fifty Euro from my mother to pay for the flowers in the first place. The American couple who fell for them,
and for the house, had two blonde children with huge eyes and smiles. I'd since heard that they'd got married. Getting married after kids, when you knew each other, seemed so much more romantic than doing it in the early days, when everything was easy and you were both still in love.

‘Listen, I'm taking the kids for a picnic tomorrow if you'd like to join us?' Sophie said as we ate our ice cream and jelly. ‘I have to go to the dentist to get a crown first thing but I could meet you around twelve?'

‘Oh we would love to, thank you, but poor you!'

‘I know. Lauren's got to come with me and she's far more excited about it than I am.'

‘She may have a very different idea of what a crown is to you. Did you clarify that it's not a princess crown?' I said, making her laugh.

There was another awkward moment that nobody saw, when Addie tried to hug Ben who was lying on the sofa, watching
Fireman Sam
. He kicked her hard in the stomach with both feet, and I whispered a warning at him – ‘you must never, ever do that again' – surreptitious but sharp.

‘Can I tell you a secret?' Addie asked, taking my hand as we walked home, both of us with a spring in our step, loving the idea that we had new friends that lived just across the square. ‘I like Ben only a tiny bit.'

I sat in front of the mirror and examined myself, stroking the single black hair growing from the mole on my chin. I wished it wasn't there and yet there was something pleasurable in its vileness. I liked to try to catch it and pull it between my thumb and first fingernail, but it would always slide away, until trying to catch it became unbearable, made me nauseous.

I rummaged about in the chaos of my dressing table drawer for tweezers, found them, turned my head to the side so that I could see what I was doing in the mirror, angled the prongs and tugged at the hair until, with a sharp little sting, it came free. And as I sat there, poking and pulling, my mind was whirring, preparing trial runs of possible conversations, trying to think of things Sophie might find interesting, stories that might make her laugh, and wondering what to wear, what she had seen me in before, the sort of thing she might like. I dabbed a generous amount of Preparation H on my eye bags and rubbed it in.

The outing began quite perfectly. It was a beautiful, clear, unseasonably warm October day. A strange time of year for a picnic on the beach, you might think, but we often had picnics in the winter growing up, and anyway, the children needed airing, as Sophie said. And Billy Flynn had defecated on the picnic bench in the playground the other day so we didn't want to go there.

I found the second last parking space, and was easing into it when I spotted my new friend driving into the last one, two cars down from mine. We waved at each other, then she disappeared into the darkness of her car to sort out her children.

I felt animated, aware of the small smile on my face as I helped Addie out of her seat, but shy too with the sense that I was being watched, which of course I was not. This was just what I wanted for me; just what I wanted for Addie. A lovely, warm, straightforward, easygoing new friend we could depend on, who lived nearby, with children Addie could become close to. I imagined sleepovers, shared childminders, maybe even holidays together in the future. If we spent enough time with Sophie's kids, perhaps Addie wouldn't feel so much like an only child. And Sophie's husband was away so often; we could do lots of things at weekends too.

I unpacked the boot, worried again that the picnic blanket and rucksack full of food was a little too much, but I needn't have fretted because the very first thing Sophie said was: ‘Oh brilliant, you've brought a blanket.' We hugged hello and I crouched down to Ben who ignored me and my smothering embrace. What she didn't yet know was that it was even better than that: I had a wicker basket full of goodies and under that pile of goodies was a wrapped belated birthday present for her which I'd alternated between thinking was very kind of me and the appropriate thing and far too much and a little bit creepy.

‘Oh, hi,' Sophie shouted, turning and waving at a passing jeep.

‘You always know everyone,' I gushed, loading my arms with buckets, spades and a fishing net that I thought might be good fun.

‘Oh no, that's just Nicola. Lauren wanted to go in their car. They're going to join us for a while. I hope you don't mind?'

I tried to hide the feeling I had of being winded in the stomach.
Nicola. Dull Beige Nicola was coming to our picnic with her horrible pink-clad, whiny kids. She was a cardboardy woman I'd met in the playground a couple of times who spoke in a sleepy monotone and had a habit of letting her voice trail off at the end of a sentence, as if she weren't expecting anyone to be listening, which we weren't. And she was so boringly diplomatic and fair about everything: I'd once complimented her daughter's brown eyes, ‘but Addie has nice eyes too,' she'd said, sounding irritated, as if I should know never to compare children. But the very worst thing about all of this was that Sophie's kids knew and liked her girls a lot more than they knew or liked Addie, and now my child would be left out.

Out the kids came, whining already as Buddy bounded over to sniff them. Oh, for fuck's sake, they were both frightened of dogs. Brilliant. I just couldn't be bothered even saying hello to this woman or her girls, but of course I did, amazed at how adept I was at sounding sincere.

On the beach Sophie was like a child, so happy to be by the sea, long-legged and giggling, apologizing to strangers about her wayward dog, helping her little girl out of her socks and shoes and trying to find Ben's spade. Her hair looked different – had she had it cut? Surely not since yesterday? And she was wearing a cozy-looking navy-blue duffle coat with a checked lining that I hadn't seen before. I smiled at her while Beige Nicola got herself comfortable on my picnic blanket before I'd even straightened it out. She wrapped her arms around her girls, all three of them watching Buddy's every move and whimpering any time he came within sniffing distance.

One of her girls thought it would be a good idea to cover the blanket with pebbles from the beach. And did Beige Nicola do anything to stop her? No, of course she didn't. I soon gave up trying to organise things, took Addie's hand, encouraged her to go and play
with Lauren who was skimming stones into the sea, while I caught up with my new friend and tried to get a conversation started. I moved in close and whispered, ‘Her kids are afraid of dogs.'

‘I know. It's a tiny bit awkward, isn't it? But they won't be staying long. She has to get back to bake biscuits for the school cake sale.'

‘Ah no, it's lovely to see her.' I said, all blasé, carefree. I couldn't let her see how put out I was, how them being there changed everything, never mind that I'd only packed for three:

Lauren had become naked from the waist down; her Love Heart knickers abandoned on the sand because of some problem with them. Her bum looked too large when compared to the rest of her and somehow too adult-looking to be on view. Addie was annoying her, mimicking her every move. ‘Stop copying me,' she shouted, interested only in running away from the waves with Beige Nicola's little, but bigger, girl.

‘They're not playing with me, Mama,' Addie whined.

‘How do you do it like that? It's amazing!' Sophie said, about Addie's hairdo. Joy had styled it that morning into two tidy plaits that formed a perfect heart shape at the back of her head.

‘All Joy's work I'm afraid.'

‘God, she seems amazing – you're so lucky to have someone like her.'

‘I am lucky, but—'

‘But what?'

‘But nothing. Joy is a lovely human being,' I said, not wanting her to think I was a bitch.

Another family was making their way through the sand towards us, encumbered with buckets and blankets. We weren't the only mad ones, it seemed. And where did they sit, with the whole great spread of beach before them? Right beside us. Staring, smiling, encouraging their children to play with ours as they organised themselves. Why couldn't they all just bugger off and let us be by ourselves the way I'd planned it?

I told myself to snap out of it. The sun was warm on my neck and Beige Nicola's kids had begun to relax; both had ventured a few inches away from their mum and were occupied with the fishing net. I would try to be a little more flexible, to forget about my original plan.

I battled on. ‘Did you hear that Billy Flynn climbed over the railings the other day, when he couldn't get in by the gate? He ran through the flowerbed, uprooting all the flowers Irenka had planted, just for the heck of it. She went berserk!'

The story fell flat and Sophie didn't even hear the best bit about Irenka wounding him with her garden shears because just at that moment Beige Nicola started shouting at her daughter, who was down at the seashore, trying to remove her clothes too. ‘No, darling. It's too cold for no knickers,' obscuring the crucial part of the rather amusing remark I'd just made.

Other things I'd been planning to say to Sophie – things that might have interested or amazed or fascinated or made her laugh – were never said.

And I was developing the sort of headache, just above my left eye, that I always got when I was talking to mothers I didn't really know about things I wasn't really interested in. The conversation was unsatisfactory and left me feeling the way fast food does, filling you up for a short time but leaving you hungry half an hour later. There were so many missed opportunities, so many unheard jokes and distracted half sentences and meaningless conversations about shoe size and toilet training and all of those other things that had become such a fundamental yet dull part of my life.

And then, far too soon, there was talk of home. Not from Beige Nicola of course, no such luck, no mention yet of the biscuits she had to bake, she was just settling in, her hands propped behind her back, her face upward towards the sun, her legs spread out on my picnic blanket. There was a hole in her left sock; an unpainted, yellowing-at-the edges toenail was toying with the tassels of
my
picnic blanket.

No, it was Sophie who'd said it. ‘Oh, you can't go yet,' I said, sounding a little desperate, ‘we haven't had the picnic.' And when was I supposed to give her the birthday present? A honey-scented bath cream that I now considered to be wasted on her, on us, on the development of a friendship that wasn't developing the way it should because Beige Nicola was there beside us, listening in, so that I had to dilute everything, make it general, censor myself.

‘God, of course, Eve. Thank you for going to so much trouble,' Sophie said, settling down again, beckoning her children.

And out came the picnic. And great news, Beige Nicola. I had miscounted; I had in fact FIVE smoothies, enough for everyone. Now I was in control, I was mother hen. The children gathered on sandy knees and wet knickers around me. Beige Nicola's kids dove in and she sunk her teeth into a Babybel, her horrible big toe still fiddling
with the tassels. Not one mention of ‘thanks' or ‘I shouldn't really', or ‘you're so generous'. All she said was, ‘You know, these are just full of sugar. I mean you might as well be giving them chocolate,' as she read through the ingredients on the side of the smoothie carton.

Sophie had brought some snacks too: homemade flapjacks in a recycled shoe box, hazelnuts and a large bag of cashew nuts, as well as some popcorn in a Tupperware container that made my shop-bought chocolate and juices look wasteful, artificial and unhealthy. She sat sideways on the blanket in her duffle coat, felt about for a tissue and wiped her nose – I hadn't realised she had a cold.

‘Guess what, Ben, in the car on the way over, Addie said you were her best friend.'

‘Well, actually, Chloe's my best friend,' Ben said, shimmying over towards her, ‘because she has prettier hair.'

‘Ben, that's so rude!' Sophie said, giggling. Addie folded her arms in a huff and turned her little back to them.

I hadn't meant it seriously, Addie said it about everyone but I could see what Sophie was thinking: best friend, but they've only met twice. It also occurred to me for a disconcerting moment that she might think I was a lesbian – ridiculous for so many reasons, I know, but you never know – or just in some way obsessed with her. She complained about a cold sore on her lip and I told her I hadn't even noticed it and then that it made them look bee stung. And I interrupted a story she was telling to say that she had a lovely speaking voice. I was just trying to be nice.

We heard roars coming from the other family who had inched further down the beach to give us some space. Buddy was happily defecating on their son's sandcastle.

‘Oh God, let me deal with this,' Sophie said, getting to her feet, shouting ‘just coming!' and checking her pockets for dog bags.

‘Eve, could you mind Ben for a second?'

‘Of course. Have fun!'

Ha, she had entrusted me rather than Beige Nicola with her son's safety. That had cheered up my day. God, I was being pathetic. Before I could say, ‘Are you OK, little man?' Ben had taken off like a bullet, towards the waves. I cursed and charged after him, dropped my keys, retrieved them and yelled at him to stop, fighting images of his death by drowning as I ran.

Still out of breath with the captured and crying child, I sat back down on the picnic blanket, held him on my lap, found a game for him on my phone and shoved it into his hand.

‘So, how are things? It must be so hard for you.' Beige Nicola asked as she examined her fungus-riddled toenail. Of course Sophie would have told her about the tragedy of my situation, how could she not? What woman wouldn't mention it, even in passing, but did Beige Nicola think I needed her pity? Did she expect me to open up to her? She who wasn't even supposed to be here. Who had – at last – started saying (giving me hope, giving me hope!) that she needed to get back to bake biscuits for the school cake sale. Well off you go then. Stick your head in the oven, frost up those glasses and bake, bake, bake.

‘You know, you might not believe it now but you will love again,' Beige Nicola, not the world's most profound woman, said then, leaning back on her forearms, squinting at the sun. Pass the bucket. Why was I being so mean?

Neither she nor Sophie noticed Buddy coming up behind them as they stood together watching their children play, both with their arms folded in the cold. He had the fishing net in his mouth. He ran between them and knocked them to the ground. Sophie roared laughing at Beige Nicola, grabbing hold of her arm to steady herself,
before struggling to her feet again. ‘Goodness, what a scamp!' she said, between howls. I didn't make her laugh like this, had never seen her throw her head back this way.