by Jennie Ensor
Paul tapped his fingers against the coffee table, willing Toby to dislodge himself from the Sony tablet that he hadn’t looked up from for about ten minutes. Why couldn’t Jane just take her son away, and leave him and Emma in peace? Time was ticking by. He didn’t want his last afternoon with Emma to be frittered away watching her mother flap about like an old woman. But he must try not to appear impatient. He was grateful for these last precious hours, hours that had almost been snatched away from him by a shopping trip. Instead of going swimming with him, Emma had wanted to go shopping instead, with her friend Mandy.
Jane’s text last Sunday morning, saying he wasn’t needed anymore, had plunged him into gloom verging on despair. He’d lost his appetite, stopped listening to music, had taken no pleasure in anything. Then, salvation. Mandy had been suspended from school that afternoon for scrawling graffiti over the walls of the gymnasium, he learned yesterday evening, when Jane had called. He’d been on his way home from work. Jane didn’t want Emma to spend any more of her spare time being influenced by Mandy – a smoker and troublemaker, as well as a graffiti artist – could he possibly take Emma swimming tomorrow after all, one last time? She had to take Toby to a soccer match in Watford and didn’t want to leave Emma alone in the house, tempted to slip out with the likes of Mandy.
‘No problem at all,’ he’d replied, with an exaggerated tone of goodwill.
For added certainty, he’d texted Emma immediately after speaking to Jane. True, he felt like a lowdown git for doing so. He had resisted messaging Emma after Jane cancelled Emma’s Saturday outing, trying to convince himself that it was probably best this way. But, after the relief of the last-minute change of plan, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Great news, Em! My friend at the agency wants to help you out. Will tell you all about it when I see you tomorrow. Maybe best if you don’t say anything to your mum just yet, till it’s sorted. Lots of women don’t like their daughters going into modelling at your age. Paul.
‘For God’s sake, Toby!’
Once again Jane burst into the living room, this time wrapped in yards of red scarf, as if about to set off on an Arctic expedition instead of driving a few miles to watch her son play soccer. ‘Get your coat on this second and stop messing around with that damned game. You’ll miss the match if you don’t get a move on. I’m not going to ask you again.’
Toby made a gargoyle face and dawdled out of the room. Emma, sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, flicking through music channels, looked up with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Bored, mainly. Cautious too, maybe. And wasn’t there a hint of anticipation, just below the surface?
‘Thanks again for helping out, Paul, you’re a lifesaver. Let me know if she’s any trouble at all. I’ve had just about enough of the both of them, after last night’s performance.’
‘They’ve been fighting again?’
Jane’s expression said all he need to know.
‘We’ll be back by six,’ she said to Paul in a tone of pained resignation and turned towards the hall. She hesitated, brushing the arms of her coat. Suddenly, she seemed reluctant to leave. ‘Bye, Em, see you soon. Behave yourself, won’t you?’
Finally, the front door clicked shut. Paul glanced at Emma. The girl was seemingly oblivious to Jane and Toby’s departure. His body tensed, his senses became alert, like a gladiator preparing for combat.
‘This is gross.’
Paul looked at the television screen. A female, around eighteen, showing off her jewelled belly button, gyrating her slim hips as she bleated out a pop song. An idol to girls of Emma’s age, no doubt. She couldn’t sing, but she sure knew how to dance.
Emma aimed the remote control at the TV. A Sky News presenter appeared, and in serious tones gave the latest on yesterday’s earthquake in Japan, and the stricken Fukushima nuclear power plant: thousands dead, evacuations around the plant, fear of radioactive contamination … He shuddered. At least in the UK they were safe from that sort of thing.
Before he had a chance to say: ‘don’t rush, we could hang round here for a while’, Emma sprang to her feet and galloped upstairs. A minute later she reappeared, Nikes on, a candy-striped bag slung over her shoulder. He paused at the bannister, lost in the Cheshire cat grin enveloping her face as she padded up to him.
‘So, what did your friend say about me?’ Her eyelashes flickered beguilingly. ‘She really wants to help me get into modelling?’
Don’t blow it now, he thought. One step at a time.
‘Yes, I talked to Mona at the weekend.’
‘Mona?’
No, not Mona. What the heck was his model agency friend’s name supposed to be?
‘That’s Monica’s nickname. She was very helpful. She suggested something we could do to get the ball rolling.’ He gave Emma what he hoped was an enigmatic smile. ‘I’ll tell you the rest later. Let’s get a move on, or the pool will be crawling. Got your keys?’
‘Of course,’ she replied, a sharp edge in her voice. ‘I’m not a complete floss head.’
He walked behind as Emma loped towards the car. Her legs looked longer than ever in her jeans. The material was stretched tight over her backside, peeping out pertly below her fake fur jacket. She had blue varnish on her nails, he saw as she got into the car. Had she worn it just for him?
‘So, this will be our last visit to the pool,’ he said, as they inched along car-filled Putney High Street. ‘I know you wanted to go shopping with your friend, but I’m pleased we can go for another swim. I’ll miss our swims together.’
She looked at him and didn’t reply. He knew she probably wouldn’t miss him at all. But their outings were special to him. She was special to him. Without her, his life would be robbed of something vital. He would no longer wake up early on a Saturday morning, impatient for the hours to pass until he could be with her.
‘We’ve gotten used to each other, don’t you think?’ he asked, tentatively.
‘Yeah. At first, I thought you were going to be like my Dad and tell me what to do all the time. But you’re alright.’
She liked him, no kidding. Joy surged through him like the first taste of beer on a hot day. Or was the little minx just trying to get him hooked?
‘You’re not allowed to see Mandy anymore?’
Emma made a loud sweet-sucking noise. ‘I don’t mind not seeing her. She’s been acting so crazy lately.’ They carried on, past the dismal strip of grocers, betting shops and identikit houses while Emma chattered away about her friend. ‘She wrote the graffiti to piss off her P.E. teacher, because he wouldn’t let her off gym when she had her period. And the smoking … She thinks puffing on a fag makes her look grown-up, but she’s so stupid. Boys in year eleven don’t go for girls our age. Anyway, smoking’s mad. I tried it once and it made me sick.’ She stuck out her tongue and pretended to gag. ‘I can’t believe people actually want to do that to themselves.’
He listened to the words bubble out of her, overtaking themselves in their hurry to get out. She had an endearingly girlish habit of raising her voice at the end of every sentence. This was a different Emma from the brooding girl he’d taken out that first time. Yet, in a few hours she would be only a memory.
She was half gone already. Her interest had moved to more important things: netball, drama classes, boys at school. Perhaps he could conjure up other opportunities to see her – he could take her to netball matches, or they could go swimming again in the summer holidays. But it would be difficult.
Jane’s sixth sense had begun to operate. He’d almost tasted her unease this time, as she relinquished her darling to him. Suzanne’s antenna had kicked in too, he was certain. She’d seemed inordinately pleased to hear he wouldn’t be taking Emma to the pool again. Suzanne was on the wrong track though, with all her questions about Jane. Fortunately, she’d hotfooted it to her retreat yesterday evening before he’d had a chance to mention today’s outing with Emma. His phone was switched off too, in case Suzanne called. She would find out abo
ut it later, when it was safely in the past.
His thoughts turned to Laura. If she had any inkling of how much he yearned for Emma, she would tell her mother everything, with no fear of the consequences. No, this would be his last time with Emma. This would be his last chance to show her what she really meant to him.
He was ready before Emma. He waited for her in their usual spot at the entrance to the pool, past the showers. The smell of chlorine was harsher than usual. There were a handful of women swimming today. He recognised them as Saturday regulars: gym freaks finishing off their workouts.
After five minutes, Emma emerged. She gave him a reproving look, ran towards the water and jumped in. It was the first time she’d done that. Usually, she immersed herself inch by inch, yelping because the water was too cold. When she was nearly two-thirds of the way, he dived in and powered after her, passing her before she reached the end. He turned expertly at the wall and swam past her again, cleaving through the water, a lean, mean swimming machine.
Twenty, he counted, touching the shallow end. He glanced around the pool. For a few anxious moments, he couldn’t see Emma. Then he caught sight of her floating on her back in the shallow end. He swam over.
‘I’m dying,’ she said melodramatically. ‘I did six lengths. My arms are like lead.’ She stayed floating, looking up dreamily through the roof.
He laughed.
‘You’ve become a regular little mermaid, Em. Remember how you were when we first started? You couldn’t manage one width without stopping. I can hardly believe it’s the same girl.’
She righted herself, her eyes on his face. No smile. Pensive. Thinking about the boys at school, perhaps. Or Mandy, or netball. Or her father shagging some hot babe he met at a tango class.
‘Watch out!’ He grabbed Emma’s ankles and set off, pulling her along. She screamed and thrashed. When he let her go she retaliated, sending a shower of spray over him.
‘Can we go now?’ she said a few minutes later, a sad look clinging to her face. ‘I’m frozen.’
It was after 2.30pm by the time they got back to the car. He waited for Emma to fasten her seat belt. He had no intention of wasting time in McDonald’s and cheap boutiques, not this time. He had a better idea.
‘How about we go back to my place?’ He raised an eyebrow encouragingly. It was too good an opportunity to miss. Suzanne was away, immersing herself in her New Age rituals – there would be no one to disturb them. They’d have some time alone together, at last, away from prying eyes.
‘I don’t know. Can you drop me at home? I’ve got homework to do.’
Her reply stung him. He hadn’t expected that. And he hadn’t told her the news from the model agency yet. If he didn’t do something quickly, he was going to lose her. All his plans would be dashed.
‘Isn’t there a film you’d like to see? How about a movie? There’s a Blockbuster near my place. It has every film you could possibly want.’
Emma had mentioned how much she liked horror films. Jane had banned her from watching anything that might give her bad dreams, or interfere with her impressionable young mind, since she’d found her and Mandy together on the sofa watching Scream. But she didn’t seem tempted by his offer. She stared into her lap, her hands gripping her knees. The nail polish had chipped on a couple of nails.
‘You trust me, don’t you, Emma? You know I’m not going to turn into a bogeyman or anything?’
He said it jokingly, and waited for her to smile back. But she didn’t. Time for the trump card.
‘I haven’t yet told you what Monica said.’
She looked up at him, interest rekindling in her eyes.
‘She said, if I send in some shots of you, she’ll take a look at them. She promised to do what she can for you.’
‘I wouldn’t be too young for them?’
‘That’s no problem at all. This agency is looking for younger girls especially, they want to get new talent on board. You’re their ideal age.’
Emma’s focus on him was instant and unwavering. Her eyes widened, ready to swallow it all. She wanted so much to believe. He explained more about the agency. As he talked, Monica and the agency were becoming almost real. Monica was his friend back in Montreal and they had stayed in touch – she was a senior director at the Bright Young Things agency, and one of its key people. She looked at the most promising applicants and had final say over whether to sign new girls.
‘I’ve got a new Nikon at home,’ he added quickly, ‘it takes great photos. I’ll take some shots of you, if you like. I know what sort of thing they’re after.’
Emma dipped her head again, eyes on her hands. His heart went out to her. She seemed stricken, unable to make a decision.
‘What do you say?’
‘OK, then.’ She looked up, her face earnest. ‘Do you really think she can help me?’
He breathed again. Thank you, God.
‘Absolutely, sweetie. Monica is the best there is. If anyone can get you started in the modelling game, she can.’
He drove as fast as he could without looking like he was in a desperate hurry – not slowing enough over speed bumps and racing to get through traffic lights. Time was slipping away. Emma chewed on a Mars bar, humming the pop song from the TV.
‘Can we still get a film?’
They were waiting at yet another set of traffic lights. He met her eyes, surprised.
‘Of course. I thought you didn’t want to, though.’ It would take up valuable time, he thought. Then again, it might help to put her in the mood.
‘Can we see Ginger Snaps? It’s meant to be really scary. Mandy’s seen it.’
Fortunately, the store had a copy of the film. Emma insisted on him buying a huge bucket of popcorn too.
‘It’ll rot your teeth,’ he said. He’d never seen anyone get through as much junk food as this girl. But, right now, he would be happy to buy whatever she asked for.
Paul swung the car into the driveway, narrowly missing Marmaduke who scarpered under the side gate as if his life was in danger. The creature had been sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the driveway, cleaning itself. It beat him why Suzanne was so dotty about the stupid animal. One day she would find it squashed flat, a marmalade-coloured rug.
He inserted his key into the lock and hesitated.
What was he doing, bringing Emma here? Suzanne would flip out if she knew what was on his mind – so would Laura, and Jane, too. He was risking losing all he had – a wife and kids, his house and car, sixty grand a year plus commission. Not just that. He was risking prison and all its horrors.
Then he pictured Emma, lying beside him, naked. How could he simply let her out of his life with nothing special ever having taken place between them? He wasn’t an ordinary man. He needed more than Suzanne and the sanitised version of sex she provided.
He pushed open the door. Emma followed behind him.
‘You’ve got a nice place.’
‘Thanks.’
The girl hovered at the sideboard, picking up framed photos and replacing them. He took a can of Fosters and a bottle of Coke out of the fridge and put them on the coffee table. Then he switched off his phone and set up the Blu-ray player.
‘Stop nosing about, come and sit down over here.’ He patted a cushion on the sofa. ‘It’s the best place to watch, or you’ll get a sore neck.’
She gave him a look but did what he said. He went over to the window. No sign of anyone.
‘I’ll draw the curtains. The film will be scarier in the dark.’ And he wouldn’t have to worry about the neighbours peering in either. He sat down beside her, leaving a reasonable gap. ‘OK, are you comfortable? Take off your trainers, if you want. And turn off your phone, will you? We want the full cinema experience.’
The room reverberated with bass from the rear speakers. The extra-wide flat screened TV and integrated sound system was top-of-the-range home cinema, no comparison to the cruddy old thing Emma had to watch at home.
‘Too loud?’
Emma shook her head. She’d kicked off her trainers and was slumped back on the sofa, one yellow-socked foot resting on the edge of the coffee table. She dug into the popcorn with one hand and gripped her glass of Coke with the other, taking an occasional slurp through the straw.
He tried to keep looking at the screen, but his gaze was being drawn back to Emma. She had a fresh, sweet smell after her usual long, post-swim shower. Her eyelashes curled upwards, incredibly dark and thick. Her lips, soft and plump, enticed him. Her long, glossy hair was tucked behind her delicate ear. Inside it he could see dark, spiral caverns like a seashell’s. He wanted to put his lips to her ear and softly breathe into it.
‘Shit!’
Paul turned back to the screen. It was dark. Something nasty was coming towards the two teenage girls. Emma gave a breathy little scream.
He touched Emma’s arm, gently, as if to comfort her. She didn’t move. He wondered if she’d object if he rested his hand companionably on the thick denim covering her thigh. She was cocooned in layers – a sloppy, cheap woollen sweater, and below that, a cotton garment. He wished he could take off all her clothes right now, so he could look at her, feel her skin and her warmth. But he dared not do a thing.
A gasp escaped from Emma’s mouth. She hid her face behind a cushion.
Slowly, carefully, he leaned over and put his hand on her thigh. Surprise flashed over her face. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his. Then, she turned back to the screen.
She wasn’t going to stop him. She didn’t mind. Perhaps she wanted something to happen as much as he did.
After a few minutes, he moved his hand away. Emma resumed chomping her way through the popcorn. He watched the green digits advance on the Blu-ray player’s display: 3.13pm. Time was running out. There was the drive home still to come; he had to get her back home well before six or Jane might suspect something. If he didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.
‘I’ll go and get the camera,’ he said.
Emma shrieked as he opened the door. One of the sisters had turned into a werewolf.
‘I can’t watch!’ She raised the cushion to cover her face.