Today there are no boats out on the lake and the kiddies’ train is operating a reduced service. A couple of pensioners have braved the chill to sit in the café’s outside seating area and enjoy the Autumn sunshine. At the edge of the playground an elderly woman, a grandmother perhaps, bends down to fasten a child’s coat before the youngster runs off to join her friends on the climbing frames.
Ruth’s gut does somersaults. Thankfully she didn’t have breakfast. The handles of the carrier bag stick to her palm, and she fiddles in her pocket with her other hand to check she has her handkerchief.
‘At least the rain held off,’ says Mac.
He props his rolled umbrella against the cast iron armrest of a park bench, takes off his jacket and adjusts the sleeves of his Ralph Lauren high neck jumper. He’s managed to swing another day off work to come with her and now he’s trying to fill the gaps in their conversation with awkward repartee.
A figure waves at them from a bench at the far side of the play area. The woman stands up and walks towards them.
‘There’s Sally,’ says Mac, changing their trajectory to walk over the coarse grass and on to the rubber-tiled enclosure.
‘Hi, lovely to see you,’ says the woman, holding her hand out as she approaches. Cropped orange hair with a turquoise head band, a long canvas jacket, and striped leggings. ‘I’m Sally Watkins, Byefield Social Services.’ The piercings on her face regroup sympathetically when she smiles. She babbles on in pleasantries but Ruth is unable to compute what she says above the sound of children playing and the thumping of her own heartbeat.
Playful shrieks reverberate around Ruth as she scans the playground for signs of Bella. Some of the kids are wearing sunhats, others sunglasses. Adults apply sunscreen to their charges, one woman bends over a child, moistens a tissue with her tongue then wipes the face of the child who is crying. The social worker turns and projects her voice towards the climbing frame.
‘Bella, can you come over here a minute, my love?’
A little girl with sherbet-lemon hair hesitates at the top of the slide then launches herself forward, landing on the bouncy tiles.
Ruth catches her breath. She’d failed to recognise Bella at first. She’s taller, the sallow complexion replaced by a bloom in her cheeks. Her hair glints in the sun. Bella runs towards them then stops short when she looks at Ruth.
‘Look who’s come to see you,’ says Sally.
Bella lowers her head but casts her eyes up at Ruth through her fringe.
Mac’s hand is on Ruth’s back. ‘Sally and I will be in the café when you’re ready,’ he says. Ruth nods and they disappear, Sally’s chatter tinkling like broken china.
‘Hello, Bella,’ says Ruth. A kiddie’s squeal pierces the silence between them.
Bella regards her, unblinking. ‘Where’s Tilly?’ she asks.
Ruth laughs, completely disarmed. ‘She’s at home.’ Holding her breath she extends her hand towards Bella, hesitates, then starts walking. Her steps feel light, her breath floats away from her. She turns in the direction of the banana boats. ‘Would you like me to push you on the swings?’ She keeps walking. Little fingers curl round hers, warm and sticky. Ruth doesn’t want to let go. She slows down, anxious to prolong the moment for as long as possible.
‘Do you remember the last time we came here?’ says Ruth. The words with your daddy almost escape from her mouth but she clamps her lips.
‘You gave me bubbles,’ Bella pipes up.
‘So I did.’ Ruth laughs, amazed at Bella’s recall. ‘And it was a very hot day and we had ice cream’
‘Uncle David says “eat your ice cream, Bella, or it will melt.” ’
‘Uncle David?’ Ruth’s throat constricts.
‘I’m going to live with him in Stralia,’ says Bella, taking a hop and a skip as she pulls on Ruth’s hand.
‘Australia? That’s nice. I’ve been there.’ Bella’s grasp slips and Ruth tightens her grip. ‘Do you remember me telling you about it?’ Ruth pictures the two of them standing in Dominic’s bathroom the day Bella asked her if Australia was further away than heaven. ‘In fact I’ve brought you something to take to Australia.’
Bella sees the carrier bag and tugs on Ruth’s arm, dragging her away from the swings and towards the park bench. As they approach the seat a young woman stands up. Ruth’s eye-line is drawn to the swell of the woman’s belly. She must be nearly term. The woman smiles at Ruth then, placing a hand in the small of her back, she stoops over a buggy, and says something to the toddler strapped within it, before moving away. Ruth gives a weak smile in return and plonks down on the wooden seat with Bella, who swings her legs. In the distance a figure is taking down the parasols on the café tables. It must be nearly closing time. Not much time left. Can Mac see her from here? Will the Social worker have Bella in her sight at all times?
‘What’s in your bag?’ says Bella, pulling at the sides of the carrier bag.
‘Wait, wait,’ says Ruth laughing. ‘You must be patient. I don’t want you to open them all at once. There’s some surprises.’ She delves into the carrier bag and pulls out a bulky object wrapped in tissue paper. Bella’s eyes widen as she takes it and pulls off the wrapping to reveal a fluffy toy.
‘He’s a koala, Bella. He lives in Australia too.’
Bella’s mouth forms a perfect O. ‘He’s lovely.’
‘I thought he could keep Roo company,’ says Ruth, swallowing hard. The lump in her throat takes on the consistency of a plum stone. ‘Do you like him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Thank you, Ruth.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ Her voice wavers ‘Every time you look at him I want you to think of me.’ Her eyes prickle. She looks away for a second. In the distance the low afternoon sun casts moving shadows across the glass doors of the café. Mac will be patient. She turns back, taking in Bella’s sunny expression. They squeeze each other tightly and Ruth closes her eyes, breathing in the jelly-bean scent. How she longs to tell Bella that she loves her so much it hurts. She bites her lip. Enough. Bella will be fine.
‘Come on,’ says Ruth, stroking Bella’s silky head and releasing her from her grasp, ‘time to have a go on those swings.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This novel would never have seen the light of day were it not for the encouragement and support of my writing buddies on the Bath Spa MA in Creative Writing: Amanda, Anita, Charlotte, Clare, Grace, Jo, Karla, Nicola, Robynne, Ruby and Trenna. Thank you for the constructive critique, the wine, tea and chocolate.
Thanks also to the following:
Dr Alistair Hay, Consultant Forensic Psychiatrist
Detective Sergeant Debi Ellender and Inspector Matthew Armstrong
Fiona Farquhar, Barrister in Child Law
Elleni Ross, Social worker and Senior Practitioner in Child Protection
Shaun Baskett for advice on the Stock Exchange
Nathan Filer, Lucy English and Philip Hensher, my tutors on the Bath Spa MA in Creative Writing
BJFB and SNKG for your patience and support
This is a work of fiction and any inaccuracies in procedure are entirely my own.
Finally, thank you to Chris Simms of the Murder Squad and to David Grogan for giving me a timely prod in the right direction!
Love Until It Hurts Page 29