The Playdate (23 page)

“Is she coming back to our school?”

Suzy paused. “Well, yes she is. But, hon, I think you need to leave her alone for a little while. Rae is sick, you see. It would be real dangerous for her to do those things that you’re doing right now. So when she gets back, you have to be gentle with her, maybe let her just sit down at playtime and not play games.”

She looked round. The woman in the white T-shirt had turned the corner at the top of the park, and was now crossing it, still running away from her child. This was ridiculous. Suzy looked around her. Surely everyone had heard about what had happened to Rae? Hannah’s mother was being completely irresponsible. Quietly, she pushed the twins over behind a bush, beside the wooden building of the closed café.

“Hannah,” Suzy called. “Do you want to come and see Henry’s little brothers? They’re sleeping right now. They look real cute.”

Hannah grinned and jumped down, and came behind the building. Suzy pulled the covers back.

“Oh, they’re so sweet,” Hannah whispered. “Hello, baby . . .”

Suzy looked out through the bush. The woman in the white T-shirt was running down the opposite side of the park now, looking anxiously over. Her pace was quickening.

That’s right, lady, Suzy thought. This is exactly what could happen when you take a risk like that with your little girl.

“Hannah!” she heard her call faintly. “Hannah!” with increasing urgency.

Hannah went to move. Suzy gently put her hand out.

“It’s OK, sweetie, I’m here. Mommy will be here in a second and see you’re safe with me.”

“Hannah!” The woman’s voice was almost at a scream. Suzy saw her suddenly cut diagonally across the park toward them at a sprint.

OK, that should be enough.

She stepped out to see the woman running clumsily toward her, her face red and frightened.

“Over here,” Suzy waved, propelling Hannah gently forward with her hands on her shoulder. “Just looking at Henry’s brothers.”

Caroline ran toward them, as if she couldn’t stop now, trying to catch her breath.

“Oh. Thank goodness,” she panted. “I thought she’d wandered off. Sorry . . . it’s the only chance I get to run . . . John works late . . . she’s normally fine . . .”

Suzy nodded as the woman tried to catch her breath.

“Well, you’re right, you have to be careful. You know, that teacher took her eye off Rae for one second, and . . .”

“Oh, yes. How is she?” said Caroline. “We were so worried when we heard. I was going to drop round to see Callie. But I didn’t know if it was a good time?”

“She’s at the hospital a lot,” Suzy replied. “She’s pretty exhausted.” That would be the last thing Callie needed. These class mothers calling round, pretending they cared when really it was just another chance for a good gossip about Callie and her life.

Caroline looked at her, then nodded. “OK, well, we better get back. Come on, Hannah.”

She turned as they left.

“Um, I know it’s very late notice, but we’re having an ice-skating party for Hannah’s birthday on Saturday at four. We’d love Rae to come if she feels up to it. Even if she just wanted to watch, then have the birthday tea? She’s very welcome.”

Henry walked up to Suzy and pinched her arm, looking beseechingly at her.

Caroline realized too late what she’d done.

“Oh—and Henry, of course.”

“Yeah, Mommy—I want to go to the party!” Henry shouted, pulling Suzy’s arm. Hannah made a face at her mother.

“Thanks,” Suzy replied neutrally. Unbelievable. Inviting Henry and Rae at the last moment, out of pity, like they were a couple of charity cases. And now that Henry had heard the invitation it would be impossible to avoid it.

“I’ll pop the invitations through your doors, then,” Caroline smiled, then headed off with Hannah.

Suzy watched her. Bet she wouldn’t be leaving Hannah in a park on her own any time soon.

26
Callie

Rae looks bored when I return to the hospital in my clean clothes. Her skin is glowing a normal color, a hint of rosiness returned to her cheeks.

By 5
P.M.
she is laughing out loud as Kaye pretends to “steal” her nose, then Rae wants to try this new trick on me and Tom. At five-forty-five, Dr. Khatam signs her off and humors me by letting me put words into his mouth that maybe she needs to rest for the next couple of days, when clearly Dr. Khatam thinks she is perfectly OK. I look at Tom with a relieved grin. It was nothing serious. We’re out of here.

But Tom is not finished. He grills the doctor for two more minutes about any symptoms we—or, most likely, I—should look out for once she’s home, just in case. Bad mother, his behavior says. Are you listening?

Thank goodness Kate and her judgmental expressions had gone by the time I drove back to the hospital. Tom told me gruffly that since Rae was doing much better than Suzy’s panicked call
had led him to expect, they decided that Kate should return to Sri Lanka, and she is at their production office in Soho right now, planning how to reschedule the shoot to take over some of Tom’s background shots for a couple of days till he is sure Rae is completely recovered and can go back.

Rae wants to walk out of the hospital.

“It’s not sore, Mummy!” she cries, limping.

“Absolutely not,” Tom growls, and makes a big show of carrying her in his arms through the corridor and out to the car park, then lifting her into my car. What does he think she’ll do next week when he’s not here? I wonder, as I strap Rae into her seat and watch him climb into his Jeep.

As I drive back through North London, I realize Rae is waving to Tom in his car behind us. I caught her watching us today in the hospital room, darting her eyes back and forth, her face animated and twitching with a story she was clearly making up inside her head about us being back together.

“OK, sweetheart?” I say as we turn into Churchill Road.

“Hmm,” she says, sinking down in her seat.

I take the last parking place, so Tom drives straight past Churchill Road and turns right into the lane lined with garages that runs behind my flat. Rae and I get out of my car and walk to the corner.

“Where was it?” Tom says, emerging from the lane, car keys in hand. I point to the spot of her accident on the corner.

“Rae?” I say gently. “Do you remember what happened last night when you fell into the road?” She has already told us she “just slipped,” keen, I suspect, to avoid a discussion about why she was running when I had told her not to twenty-four hours earlier. “Were you thinking about your playdate with Hannah—were you upset? Is that what happened?”

“Cal,” Tom says. “Leave it. Not now. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

I love the way that Tom tries to take control of me and Rae, as if he thinks we live in some sort of static state when he’s not here, waiting for him to return from abroad with his opinions and thoughts, so we can move forward again.

Tom picks Rae up and carries her to the door. Oh—keys, I think. I’ve left my bag in the car. I am just about to cross the road to fetch it when I see Tom walk straight through my front door.

“Did you leave it on the latch?” he calls.

“No.” That’s weird.

I walk up behind him and Rae, and push past them. The inner door is lying open, too. I glance at Tom and frown. He puts Rae down gently onto the stairs, and walks in front of me, protectively.

“The plumber can’t still be here,” I mutter.

“Stay there,” he says, walking into the flat. I follow him in, mouthing at Rae to stay on the stairs. There is a strange smell in the flat. It smells like cleaning fluids with an unpleasant damp undertone, as if stinking mold has been flushed out of the cracks of this neglected old house. It takes me a second to realize that something is different. There are only two coats hanging on the pegs, and the shoes underneath have been lined up.

“What the . . . ?” I say. Has Suzy done this for us?

Tom peers into the kitchen, shakes his head at me, then walks into the sitting room. I walk past him to my bedroom and push the door open.

Debs is standing there, singing, shaking a sheet over my bed, which has been stripped.

The sight is so odd, I have to shake my head and look again.

“Er . . . What’s going on?” I say, bewildered. Did Suzy let her in?

“What are you doing here, Debs?”

She looks up, completely startled.

“Oh . . .” she stutters, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Tom comes up behind me, close, so I can feel his warmth at my back.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

Debs stares up at him with frightened eyes. Even from here, I can see her hands are shaking.

“Um, Tom, can you take Rae into the sitting room?” I ask.

“Debs? Isn’t that who . . . ?” He looks at me angrily.

“Just take Rae into the sitting room,” I say, pushing my hand gently on his chest. “I’ll sort it out.”

I shut the door behind him and turn round.

“Debs?” I repeat slowly. “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom? What have you done to my flat? Did Suzy . . . ?”

I stop as I realize that my bedroom is so tidy it looks like someone else’s. Old photos of me and Rae sit in two new frames on the chest of drawers. One of Mum’s old lace tablecloths is draped over the pine dressing table. My pile of scarves and hair scrunches and necklaces has been sorted into different bowls on my dressing table. My new makeup from Brent Cross that I left scattered yesterday morning in a hurry is neatly stored away again in a bag, little red and black wands sticking up neatly.

“Um. Oh,” Debs mumbles. “I don’t know what happened. I brought over a little doll for your little girl—to replace the one that was broken when she fell. And then I saw that you were in a bit of a muddle . . . and . . . goodness. I am so sorry . . .”

“You did this by yourself?”

She stares, then nods.

“Er, Debs?” I say, confused. “You need to go.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Debs puts down the sheet and starts to walk out the door.

This is so bloody weird. I try to gather my thoughts.

“I don’t understand. You didn’t come and see her,” I say. “In the hospital.”

Debs stops. She shakes her head, eyes to the floor. “I wanted to. I was just trying very hard to remember what happened last night before I spoke to you. And I just don’t know. One minute she was with me, and the next she was on the road. There was this boy on a bike, you see, and . . .”

“But Suzy told you that you had to hold her hand!”

Debs has a dazed expression in her eyes that is starting to creep me out.

“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t hear her.”

“But you’re a TEACHER.”

“Yes, but not a mother, I’m afraid,” Debs replies. “We usually have a group of children and we can’t hold all of their hands.”

I shake my head. Maybe I’m exhausted but I actually feel sorry for her. Her skin close up is soft and pink and has a Vaseline sheen to it, like Mum’s. The bags under her dulled eyes and thick graying eyebrows are heavy and sagging.

“Debs. This has been a nightmare. Rae was in so much danger last night. She’s OK, but that’s just luck—it could so easily have been a car, not a bike. Look, I am really worn out and upset. Thank you for the doll but I don’t think you should have done this. I have to say I think it is a very odd thing to do and I’d really like you to leave now.”

Her bottom lip starts to tremble just as Tom walks in.

“Right, come on,” he says to Debs. “Everyone’s tired and we don’t want to talk to you again till we’ve spoken to the police. OK?”

She doesn’t resist as he steers her down the corridor and out of the flat. As she passes the sitting room, I see her glance to the side and smile at Rae. Rae looks back at her with wide-open eyes.

“It’s OK, Rae,” I say, going in and patting her hair. “Mummy will be back in a minute.”

Sinking down on the unmade bed, I drop my head. The front door slams and Tom stalks back in, his arms lifted in an angry “what the hell?” gesture.

“Oh, just shut up, Tom!” I blurt out. “I know. I know. I KNOW how crap it all is. My life’s terrible—OK? I’m a mess. A terrible mother who lets weirdos look after her kid. You’re right. A terrible bloody person.”

He turns and walks out the door. I sigh, and wait for the front door to slam again.

Instead I hear him murmuring to Rae, and putting a DVD on for her. I pick up the sheet Debs has dropped and put it on the bed, so I can lie down. I am tucking in the corners when the door creaks and I see him coming back in the room, two glasses of wine in his hand. He gives one to me and sits on the chair. He rubs his face with his big paw of a hand, and stretches out his long legs.

“Did you get the toilet fixed?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say uncertainly, sitting back on the bed.

He nods.

I try not to look at him. It’s too painful to remember how I used to have the license to walk over to that chair after a bad day, sit on his knees, and pull those big safe arms—those big farmer’s arms that always remind me of Dad—around me like a roller-coaster harness.

He takes a sip, then another one.

“I know you hate me, Tom, but . . .” I look at his face, wondering if I can say this to him. “But sometimes this is just so hard. You know, I wasn’t even sure I’d be a very good mother in any circumstances. And then I have this sick child, and then everything just disappears. And, you know, I try. I really do. But being here all the time . . . this mess I’ve got myself into . . . having no money . . . seeing nobody.” I can’t help it. Tears appear from nowhere and stream down my face. “I am just trying to do something about it.”

There is silence. I wait for him to tell me it’s my own fault, but he doesn’t. He avoids my eye and stands up, throwing back the rest of his wine.

“Do you want me to put her to bed?”

I nod gratefully, wiping away the tears. He brings Rae in to say good night and I force myself to give her a big smile, and kiss her mouth and her cheeks and her hair. Her eyes shine at the novelty of me and Tom together at bedtime.

“Our house smells lovely,” she chirps. “My teddies are all in a line.”