by Ruth Dugdall
Ellie juts out her chin, but her defiance is now only for show. Gaynor has made her feel guilty.
“I’m sorry, okay. Look, why don’t I take you on the wheel now, to make up for it? But first we’d better find Mum.”
When they find her, their mother’s face is strained, her eyes almost popping with tension and her voice is hoarse from screaming. She tried grabbing a bored-looking fair official, begged for help, but he wasn’t interested in a seventeen-year-old who’s wandered off for a few minutes. She’s rung Achim, but he took that calm, measured tone that made her want to scream and told her she was overreacting as always. Bridget feels that she is the only one who cares that Ellie is lost, and her relief at seeing her daughter is both powerful and explosive, a force she cannot contain.
She hugs Ellie to her chest, once and hard, then pulls away and nips her chin in her fingers, shouting at her daughter with the last of her breath.
“Don’t walk away like that! What are you playing at?”
She braces Ellie by the shoulders, shakes her with pent-up anger, then hugs her with immense relief again, longer this time, kissing her cheek with lips as strong as a punch so Ellie jerks away.
“Mum! Stop fussing.”
“You scared me! Why do you do that to me? Don’t you know how it hurts, how it terrifies me?”
“Lighten up, Mum. This is Luxembourg, not some war zone. Remember?” Ellie is turning away when her mother grabs her, harder than before. Pulls her so mother and daughter are face-to-face, eye-to-eye.
“Don’t speak to me like that!”
Ellie’s response is as loud and angry. “Then don’t overreact. I don’t need your help! I’m fine!”
Her mother slaps her across her face. “Stop being such a little bitch or I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget!”
Ellie flinches, reels back. She senses that other people close by have heard the exchange and are watching too, and thinks she sees a mother from the school. She is used to shouting, even slaps are not rare, but her mother only swears when she’s drunk. Looking at her mother’s dilated pupils it occurs to Ellie that this might be the case.
“There are things you don’t know about the world. And I am trying to protect you.”
Ellie pulls away, she wants to free herself, shaken as she is by her mother’s intensity.
Gaynor is unruffled by the angry display, she’s used to seeing her mum worked up with Ellie, and the swearing hasn’t registered. She cares only about the promised ride.
“Can we go on the wheel now?” she natters her sister, demanding and feeling justified. “To make up for your selfishness?”
She sounds just like their mother, Ellie thinks.
Bridget
Bridget tries to get a grip on herself, shakily opens her purse in a valiant show of normality, sighs at how little remains and pulls out her last two twenty euro notes, thrusting one at Ellie with a shaking hand.
“Go then,” she tries to smile at her daughter, but Ellie is refusing to look at her. She is ashamed now, of calling her daughter a bitch, of the slap. But still she feels aggrieved. “I’ll wait for you over there.”
She points to the wine stand, set on a rotating platform, some hundred yards away. After the search for Ellie and fighting through crowds like a crazy woman, she could do with a drink. She had a small beer twenty minutes ago, when Gaynor said she was desperate for a juice, and drank it quickly. It’s gone to her head.
“Have fun,” she calls to both her daughters. It sounds forced, a limp afterthought, even to herself.
Bridget carefully watches Ellie and Gaynor make their way to the queue and turns towards the wine bar, deciding she deserves to sit down. For the past hour she’s dragged Gaynor around the whole of the Glacis, and now she feels guilty. Ellie was fine all along, Bridget had overreacted. “Like usual” Achim had said on phone, when she’d called in the midst of her panic. This has proved him right, and he will gloat when she tells him.
But Ellie’s disappearance has wrecked Bridget, ruined the night for Gaynor too, who had wanted to go on everything, to taste all, and knew nothing of the money it cost or the fact that no amount of ping-pong balls in jars or arrows in boards were ever going to win that jelly board or huge teddy or quad bike. It was all a con, all part of the fun of the fair.
Bridget orders a glass of Crémant, pays with her final twenty euro note, and takes a seat on the wooden turntable, half under the plastic roof so random spots of summer rain prick her face but her body remains dry. The wine, disappointingly, is over-sweet for her palate and the fix makes her feel slightly sick, especially as she hasn’t eaten yet and it’s almost ten o’clock. Still, the hit of the alcohol is welcome, it numbs the edge of the tension. She should relax, she hasn’t seen anyone else screaming at their kids. She feels the threatening pulse of a migraine around her eyes, maybe because of the wet weather, maybe the flashing lights and smells of hot machines. She shouldn’t finish the drink, but she does and buys a second even though she knows she is skirting the drink-drive limit.
She sips the dregs, wincing but swallowing just the same, watching the wheel turn slowly. Bridget is unsure which gondola her daughters are in, thinks the wheel is the only thing in the whole damned fair with proper beauty. On a stall nearest the wine bar plastic flowers are for sale, and wooden ones tinted purple and pink, but she finds them tasteless and hates the way the sellers push them under her nose so she is forced to swallow the stench of pot pourri. At least the Crémant drowns out the flower smell with citrus and grape. Bridget checks her purse, though she knows just coins remain now.
When they are off the wheel she will take the girls home and get Gaynor straight to bed, so that everything is quiet and peaceful when she tries again to talk to Ellie. That girl needs to learn about the dangers she refuses to see, about how vulnerable a teenage girl is in this world. Ellie used to listen, there was a time she respected what Bridget said, but recently she has been so difficult. Sleeping with boys, experimenting with drugs, acting like life is one big joke. Bridget has felt keenly what it means to have a husband who always works late, who comes home only to disappear into his study where he reopens his beloved laptop. It would be wonderful to share the parenting burden, just once, but this was the life she chose when she agreed to give up her nursing career and move to Luxembourg. She has to be resourceful, as she learned to be out in the field, nursing in a war zone. Ironic, she thinks, that it was easier than being a mother.
Bridget suddenly feels as though she’s being watched, her neck muscles tense and there are goose bumps down her arms. Then she turns and knows for sure, a man is staring at her. His dark face, his thick body, is familiar to her. She feels she has seen him before, and he is looking at her with such familiarity that this must be true. She plays her fingers on the stem of the empty glass, thinking she should go and fetch her girls, but before she can leave he moves towards her.
“Please forgive me for watching you,” he says, and then she sees that he has a fresh glass of wine in his hand. He removes the empty glass from between her fingers and replaces it with the full one. “I had to be sure it was really you. I was not even sure you were still alive.”
It is then that she remembers who he is. “Jak?”
He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. It is an older face, and back then she never saw him smile. He’s larger too, but he was a soldier when she knew him. The first time she met him he had a gun, and was wearing a uniform. And he was holding a baby.
The conversation ends as the third glass of wine is finished. No longer feeling so wretched, Bridget gathers herself and begins to walk slowly towards the wheel. The queue is longer now and she has to step aside, communicating with her hunched body and upturned eyes that she is not waiting for a turn, but rather for someone on the ride. There is a gated area in front of the wheel, accessed only by purchasing a ticket, and despite the fake grass and illuminated plastic benches the atmosphere is one of cattle being herded into a van. Three men, all secu
rity-bouncer beefy, are opening the door of the empty gondolas, letting new riders in. The customers who have finished their ride have already exited on the other side, which is not nearly so attractive, no grass or bench, just a muddy track leading behind a fence.
Realising her mistake, Bridget tries to backtrack, much to the annoyance of the people behind her who are impatiently brandishing their tickets. She ignores dirty looks as she moves around to the back where groups and couples and families are pouring out of the gondolas, shaky-legged, in a continuous stream.
Through the fence she watches expectantly for Ellie and Gaynor. One gondola opens and a group of teenagers run out, all wearing hats and oversized shirts, some carrying skateboards. Even the girls are dressed in the shirts workmen favour the world over, worn cotton in tartan check. One boy, handsome but angry, knocks into her. Meekly, Bridget steps aside, making herself small, and wills her daughters to be in the next box.
She sees Gaynor’s red mac before the glass box comes to a halt and is already turning to leave the awkward place where she is forever in the way.
Then she sees that Gaynor isn’t with her sister, but with a mother and daughter, whom she recognises from the school playground. As soon as Gaynor is close, Bridget asks, “Where’s Ellie?”
Irritated that her elder daughter has once again ignored her instructions, so soon after getting lost, she tries to steady herself but the wine sloshing around her stomach is making her feel sick and her throat is still sore from shouting. If Ellie has wandered off again she has no more reserves left.
Gaynor, unconcerned, says, “I wanted to ride with Amelia. You remember, Mum, she started at the end of last term? She’s in my class.”
Bridget struggles to take in Gaynor’s answer. She is struggling to process that Ellie has once again gone off on her own. Ellie was supposed to be with Gaynor, and she couldn’t even do this. She’s worn her fury out and sadness seeps into its place. Where did she go wrong, that Ellie is so wilful and selfish?
“So Ellie let you ride without her. Which box is she in, then?”
Gaynor is distracted by her friend from school, chatting happily with Amelia in the after-glow of the ride, but Bridget crouches so she can see Gaynor’s face and impart the seriousness of the situation.
“Where is your sister, Gaynor?”
Gaynor looks around to where a couple of teenagers are standing, a handsome brown-eyed boy and a beautiful girl with hair as sleek as oil, messing around in a way that could quickly become violent. The girl is watching them, a strand of black hair in her mouth, her impassive face unreadable.
“She went on with them, on the gondola behind mine,” Gaynor says. “I think she fancies that boy over there. She was watching him earlier, he didn’t have a t-shirt on.”
She smiles naughtily as she says this and her friend joins in. They are being cheeky, but Bridget feels cold, the tips of her fingers tingle.
“We’ll wait here for Ellie to come back,” Bridget says, disappointing Gaynor yet again, who wants to go on another ride with Amelia.
Instead they stand side by side as the next glass box came to a halt, but Ellie isn’t in that one either. Or the next one.
Bridget is distracted, but is vaguely aware that Gaynor’s friend, Amelia, the little blonde girl who arrived from England half-way through the summer term, is waiting too. Amelia’s mother, a petite redhead in terrible clothes, has been busy untying a black Labrador from where it was tethered to a post, but now she comes up to Bridget, the dog wagging its tail eagerly at the girls. “Hello. Shame about the rain, isn’t it? The seat was soaking! Is your other daughter still on the ride?”
“I hope so,” said Bridget, as she fights to keep the tone in her voice calm. Looking back to the crowds of surging people she has the hysterical thought that she’ll never find her and curses herself for confiscating Ellie’s iPhone, punishment for Ellie spending the night with Joe last week, and then making plans to meet him here even though Bridget had expressly forbidden any further contact. The phone was practically attached to Ellie’s head, and taking it away was the only way Bridget could really make her see that there were consequences to her thoughtless actions.
“I’m sorry,” she says to the British woman, who appears to be waiting until Bridget finds Ellie. “But I can’t remember your name.”
“I’m Cate,” replies the other woman, offering a hand to shake. “Cate Austin.”
The gondolas keep emptying and filling, and Bridget’s hysteria increases with every one that doesn’t contain her girl. Amelia and Cate stand dutifully, the black Labrador pulling impatiently at his lead while Cate makes soothing suggestions about teenagers and fairs and her turning up soon. But Ellie doesn’t turn up and by the time the wheel has completed yet another cycle, Bridget can recognise people getting off as those she saw getting on. She is trying to control it, but tears are mingling with the raindrops that fall from the sky.
She rings Achim’s mobile a second time, tapping her foot and looking left to right as she waits for him to pick up. He doesn’t. So she rings again, counting the rings to almost fifty until he gets the message and finally answers.
“Bridget, I’m in a meeting.”
“I’m still at the fair,” she tries to stop the tears being heard in her voice. “Ellie’s run off again.”
A pause. Could she hear a sigh? Or was he speaking quietly to whomever he was in a meeting with. “But you found her last time?”
Bridget tells herself that she’s not being hysterical, really she’s not. “Yes, eventually. But she’s gone off again, she’s not here Achim. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“So call her mobile.”
“We confiscated it, so she wouldn’t contact Joe. Remember?”
Now the sigh was audible. “Bridget, I really don’t know what you expect me to do. I’m in the middle of a Skype meeting to America here, and it’s important. We’ve just heard the budget is going to be cut.”
“But I don’t know where Ellie is. Please, Achim.” She wants to say “help me” but stops herself. “She went with Gaynor to get on the ferris wheel, and then she just disappeared.”
“Well, when you find her you tell her she’s grounded for another week. I’ll speak to her when I get home, or tomorrow, as I may not be home before midnight the way this is going. Now let me get back into this meeting before they decide that one way to save money is to sack me. Okay?”
It wasn’t okay, but what else did she expect him to say? Bridget ended the call, surprised when Cate touches her arm, she hadn’t even registered the other mother was still there.
“Maybe we should find someone from security?” she suggests. “Put out an alert for her.”
Bridget hesitates, she’s reluctant to do anything that will look like she’s creating a fuss, but Cate seems to know what to do and Bridget allows herself to be guided through the crowd. Behind them, Gaynor and Amelia chat happily about school and which stand has the best prizes, calling to their mothers to look at certain things, asking about going on more rides. Bridget hardly hears; she hardly feels the push and swell of the crowds. She just wants to find Ellie.
Cate has collared the same official whom Bridget spoke with earlier.
He looks at Bridget with an assessing expression, and she sees what he thinks of her: overanxious.
“This is the second time you have spoken to me, yes? And last time, your daughter, she was okay?”
Bridget has to concede that she was.
The man waves a hand dismissively. “So she will turn up again.”
For him this must seem normal, a teenager lost in the crowd, probably wilful, but Cate insists that he sends a message out on his radio, an alert for Ellie. She says Ellie has been missing for almost half an hour now, it’s dark and the rain is getting heavier. They need to find her, to go home.
Seeing that the redhead will not leave until he agrees, reluctantly the man presses the talk button on his radio and speaks into it in quick Luxembourgish, breaking off
to ask Bridget, “What is she wearing?”
The question jolts Bridget because for a second she doesn’t know. And then she remembers the yellow t-shirt. The security official gives this information over the radio, still unmoved, and around them the crowds begin to shelter in the awnings of stands selling waffles and candy floss, they continue to scream on the ghost train and roller coaster.
The wheel continues to turn.
Cate
“In here,” calls Olivier, hearing them arrive home in a fumble of bags and coats and heavy yawning.
Cate leaves her keys in the pot for items that get lost and walks through into the open-plan lounge where he is curled on the sofa, typing on his laptop, the TV is switched onto a local news channel, but the volume is off. General beats her to Olivier’s side, sniffing at his master’s legs until Olivier gives him a brisk rub on his flat head.
“You’re late. How was the fair?” he asks, looking up so that General whines at the sudden lack of attention.
“Busy.” Cate sits on the sofa, and begins unlacing her trainers.
“But good,” adds Amelia, plopping herself cross-legged on the rug and reaching for the TV remote. Within seconds she has found a channel she likes and American chatter fills the room. “I saw my friend, Gaynor. She’s in Mr Z’s class with me. Can I go to hip-hop class with her on Wednesday?”
“Mmmm.” Olivier isn’t really listening, his attention is back on his computer screen.
“That’s why we’re so late,” adds Cate, her feet now in socks as she pushes them across this thighs. He puts his laptop aside and cups her toes with his hands, finally engaging eye contact. She can see Olivier is tired, the skin under his eyes is slightly dark. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Tell me about the fair.”
“We met Amelia’s friend, Gaynor, and went on the ferris wheel with her. Her sister got on the gondola after us, rode with a couple of local kids. But when her ride ended she just walked off, we couldn’t find her anywhere. You should have seen her mother, she was pretty upset, I almost had to carry her to the security guard to report it. I felt bad leaving her, but someone from the fair came over to help. And Amelia needs to be in bed.” This last sentence she pointedly directed to her daughter.