by Adele Parks
‘Great, Neil. That’s all just great.’
From her tone it was clear Natalie didn’t, in that moment, think anything about Neil’s job (or Neil, for that matter) was great. She glanced at the video-game box between them. Her glance shouted that she thought his work was hideous, violent and pointless. Neil tried another argument. He accepted that premise and tried to make it work for him.
‘Video games are necessary. Men and boys need a vent.’
‘What?’ Nat had so many objections to that statement (a vague, sexist, unsubstantiated argument) that she was at a loss to know where to begin.
‘Yes,’ said Neil firmly. ‘Men used to be able to club one another to death over a slice of dinosaur.’
‘That’s not strictly accurate, you know. Mankind was not alive until about sixty-five million years after dinosaurs were extinct.’ Even Nat knew she sounded like a smart-arse.
‘Yeah, OK, but bear with me. After clubbing to death came hacking, stabbing, shooting, there was always some skirmish about food or land or women or something. Now there’s no war.’
‘Yes there is,’ said Nat emphatically. Neil sighed impatiently and accepted that Nat must be more sober than he was as she was insisting on making sense and sticking to facts. He seemed to be incapable of constructing a rational argument. He panicked. God, he was pretty much turning into a woman: he wanted a baby, he couldn’t stick to the point, his argument was flawed and based on nothing other than an irrational need to keep talking.
‘OK,’ he conceded, ‘I’ll put a caveat on that statement. Of course there’s war. I realise that we have good men and not so good men out in the Middle East.’
‘And women,’ chipped in Nat. ‘Good and not so good women too.’
‘Yes, and they are being blown to bits for reasons that they believe in but I lack the courage or conviction or plain old intelligence to understand, let alone support. But for the rest of us ordinary men the only war we wage is against the weed patch in the poxy two metre square yard we euphemistically refer to as a garden. It’s possible we miss it.’
‘What, hacking each other to death?’
‘Yes! We need video games.’
‘Oh, I see. So you’re performing a national service when you go to work every day by designing these blood fests.’
‘I like to think so. A sort of Lord Kitchener in reverse. Not so much your country needs you, more your country doesn’t need you but your sofa does.’
‘Neil, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’
7
Ben and Fi and their three robust and boisterous children lived in a tall, narrow, three-storey Victorian terrace in Clapham. Neil and Nat each felt a surge of excitement whenever they rapped on the shiny red door, behind which happy domestic chaos was guaranteed. Nat might not want children of her own but she adored Angus, Sophia and Giles and was an exemplary aunt; it was Natalie, not Neil, who remembered birthdays and painstakingly selected gifts for all the big and small occasions. Today she was armed with a packet of small plastic monsters called Go Go Crazy Bones – these were for Angus, as she had been reliably informed by her PA that they were the latest playground must-have; an Angelina Ballerina glitter pen (in pink) for Sophia, and a bean-filled soft toy frog for Giles.
Fi flung open the door and her beam flooded out at about the same speed as the kids, who launched themselves at Neil and Natalie’s groins. Fi was in her late thirties and was a woman who had grown into her looks – she’d always looked as though she was in her late thirties and no doubt always would. This had been a curse when she was sixteen but she knew it would be an advantage when she was sixty. She kept her hair short because it was practical and, above all else, Fi was practical. She had it cut at an expensive hairdresser because paying a lot for something gave it gravitas and otherwise there was a serious danger that hairstyling might simply be frivolous or vain, which wouldn’t do at all. She had sparkling green eyes and rosy cheeks. She never wore makeup beyond lip gloss (not even on her wedding day) and so always looked as wholesome as a land girl. She welcomed Neil and Natalie with a quick jovial smile that was instantly wiped off her face as she sharply told Giles to, ‘get that worm out of your mouth!’ Then turning back to her in-laws, she shrugged apologetically and said, ‘Goodness, I don’t know where he finds the constant supply of wildlife to eat. We live in London! This is why we could never move to the country.’
Neil swooped down and picked up Giles. Using his forefinger to have a quick swab around the mouth, he was able to retrieve the masticated wiggler. Natalie grabbed Sophia’s hand and Angus chased behind as they all trailed into the kitchen. Natalie was looking forward to a natter, a huge pot of tea and some home-baked cakes as this was what she was usually furnished with on arrival at Ben and Fi’s home. The women and smallest infants usually sat in the kitchen and nattered while Neil and Ben kicked a football about in the long, thin garden, ostensibly to amuse Angus but in fact to challenge one another competitively. Natalie found this cosy familial ritual a pleasant antidote to her busy days and boozy nights. But today, rather than filling the kettle, Fi reached for her smart Chloe bag, ignoring the large, sloppy, scruffy shopping bag that usually accompanied her everywhere. It was clear from a glance that the Chloe bag had never been desecrated by a single baby wipe or sticky, malfunctioning plastic toy. The Chloe bag only ever held lip gloss and credit cards.
‘It is so good of you to do this,’ gushed Fi with a huge grin. ‘I can’t think when Ben and I last had a day out together sans children. Shops, lunch, theatre, here I come!’
Before Natalie could fully compute what Fi was on about, Ben burst into the kitchen and bestowed big hugs all round. ‘Bloody good of you. Bye now.’
In a flash, Ben and Fi had gathered their jackets, phones and keys and were making towards the door; clearly they had no time to lose as they made their bid for freedom.
‘You have our numbers. All instructions are pinned on the notice-board. There are bottles already made up in the fridge for Giles, you just have to take the chill off. Don’t forget Angus is allergic to fish.’
‘Bye,’ added Ben, who was by now in the street.
The door slammed behind them. Natalie gawped at Neil. ‘What the . . .?’
‘Language,’ said Neil in a tinkly, very high voice. He sounded annoyingly like a pantomime dame. ‘Not in front of the children.’
Nat and Neil occasionally babysat for Fi and Ben but mostly they did this in the evening when the kids were safely in bed or, if they did help out during the daytime, they were usually only left with one or two of the kids at a time (so there were enough adults and pairs of hands to go round) and then they only did an hour or so at most. ‘Are we babysitting today?’ asked Nat.
‘Yes.’
‘All day?
‘Yes.’
‘All three?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sh—’ Nat stopped herself. She stared at the three children, who were now in various states of undress and distress, although she could have sworn that only a minute ago all three were suitably attired for a shoot for a Boden catalogue, including the obligatory smile. Now Giles was sockless, his romper suit had a suspicious stain spreading on it and an odious smell was coming from it; there was only one conclusion to be drawn, his nappy was leaking. Sophia was drawing on the floor with felt tips, including the new glittery Angelina Ballerina one. How had she got that out of Nat’s bag? In a flash, she had also changed out of her normal clothes and was now wearing a Snow White costume with a Batman mask. The effect was disconcerting, at least Giles thought so because the moment he looked at her he threw out a loud, hysterical howl. Angus had spotted an opportunity. Aware that the adults in charge were temporarily paralysed with shock, he had dragged the ironing basket out of the corner up to the kitchen counter, climbed up on it and was flailing around in search of drinks that would stain, sharp knives, or sweets stuffed with additives; in fact anything off limits would do.
Neil and Nat shared a terrified glance.
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‘This is not a time to panic,’ said Neil. Or yell at me, he thought.
‘Quite. You get Angus and Sophia, I’ll cover the baby.’
Like a swat team they leapt into action, snatching up crayons, removing masks and knives and soiled nappies. Nat scooped up the smelly baby and dashed him up to the nursery. She’d changed his nappy before. It wasn’t her favourite job but providing she remembered to breathe through her mouth and look at his eyes throughout, she could manage it. Then she scrabbled around the drawers and tried to locate a clean romper suit that wasn’t pink (why had Fi kept those!), had no sleeves, was big enough, but not too big. She then wriggled the fidgeting bundle of baby into said romper. When she returned to the sitting room, Nat found Neil on all fours with the two older children clambering on his back. Neil was slightly flushed with the exertion but he was smiling good-naturedly and Nat couldn’t help but grin back at him. They shared a smug moment; they had the situation under control. See, this wasn’t so hard.
‘Gee-up, ass,’ said Angus, slapping Neil on the bottom.
Nat considered that Angus was aware that he was being borderline rude but she couldn’t be sure; maybe he did mean donkey. She decided not to pursue the issue. No doubt there would be enough battles to fight today.
For about ten minutes the children were thoroughly amused and Neil and Nat were feeling superior and self-satisfied. Then the children announced they were bored. Not wanting to fall at this early hurdle, Nat dragged out the enormous trunk of toys that Fi kept under the dining-room table but before she could interest any one of them in the tambourines, jigsaws, cuddly toys, finger puppets, balls, bells or whistles, the smallest two children had taken up residence under the table and Giles, who was just able to sit up, was repeatedly slamming his teething ring into the table legs. In seconds he had scratched it so badly that it looked as though Fi and Ben bred Labrador puppies for a living. Nat didn’t have the energy in her to wonder if she could hide or fix the damage because even though she knew the table was from Conran, she was pretty sure Fi would have seen worse. Besides, as Sophia took it upon herself to discipline her small brother by smacking him in the face with a toy car, creating a renewed bout of bawling, Nat’s immediate concern became to locate the arnica cream. She briefly wondered whether she’d be able to disguise the bruise with Clinique super-fit foundation but decided against it. Again, chances were Fi would have seen worse. It amazed Nat how quickly things had deteriorated. The feelings of control and self-satisfaction began to flood away.
Neil saw dread flash in Nat’s eyes and knew he had to act quickly. He crawled under the table (banging his head as he did so) and retrieved both children. Natalie soothed (the kids, no time to waste on Neil’s injury) while Neil went to hunt for Angus, who had been suspiciously quiet for eight minutes which transpired to be long enough to have found his way into the en-suite and to have opened (and emptied) all of Fi’s expensive toiletries. Neil fought his way through the clouds of talcum powder, almost slipping on an enormous pool of Molton Brown bubble bath which sloshed over the bathroom tiles. Neil did his best to clean up the gunky mess while Natalie read a story. The children found the story amusing for ten minutes and then once again they announced they were bored. Neil and Nat played tea parties, for ten minutes. Bored. Then football, for ten minutes. Bored. Then they found drawing books; the activity lasted ten minutes. Bored. By now, there were no traces of the initial complacency; both Nat and Neil felt exposed, overwhelmed and fraught.
‘Shall we go out?’ asked Neil desperately.
‘Yes,’ agreed Nat firmly.
It took the pair three-quarters of an hour to get the children and their associated paraphernalia into a fit state to leave the house. The pushchair was stacked with a nappy bag (containing a stack of nappies – Nat had wondered how many Giles could reasonably get through in an afternoon and then trebled the amount – nappy sacks, baby wipes and soothing cream), a change of clothes for all three, wellington boots for the oldest two (Neil had an image of them all visiting the small pond at the centre of the common and paddling there, he’d wanted them to be bare-footed but Nat pointed out that there was a risk of stepping on syringes. Besides, the kids were non-compliant: Sophia wanted to wear her ballet pumps and Angus wanted to wear his Crocs to leave the house). They also packed healthy snacks (to please Fi), unhealthy snacks (to gain favour from the kids), bottles of milk, bottles of water, cartons of tooth-rotting juice, books, toys, sun hats, woolly hats (unreliable British weather!) and security blankets. Nat commented that there was barely any room for Giles but somehow they managed to squeeze him in. Sophia jumped on the boogie board and Angus grabbed his scooter. But no sooner were they three steps outside the door than the baby started to cry. Nat and Neil looked at each other for inspiration.
‘Clean not fed,’ guessed Nat, as she rolled her eyes.
They returned to the house and the eldest two sat in front of the TV while Neil fed Giles a bottle of tepid formula milk. The children were sweating but Nat was strict and wouldn’t allow them to take off their jackets, knowing full well that if they did so it would take another eternity to ready them all once again.
An hour later, back outside on the pavement, Nat asked, ‘Where shall we take them?’
Neil wasn’t sure. Right now, a trip to the common seemed ambitious enough, even though it was only two hundred yards away. If ever Neil travelled into central London he took the tube, which involved a short overground section of travel. Neil had often watched mothers amuse their kids on a particular scrap of uninspiring tarmac just near the track and he’d always wondered why, with all the glorious parks and gardens in London, anyone would choose to do that? Now he had some idea. He’d bet his bottom dollar that those mothers lived a stone’s throw from the scruffy tarmac that was split with nettles and decorated with discarded drink cans. He was finding it exhausting trying to get kids anywhere just this once; obviously if you had to do it day in, day out, you’d be tempted to take the line of least resistance, and if getting ‘fresh air’ involved practically playing on the District line, then so be it. But Neil couldn’t admit defeat after only three and a quarter hours of sole care. That wouldn’t give Nat the right impression at all. The reason he’d volunteered their services today was because he’d wanted to show Nat just how much fun it was being around kids. How great he was with kids. How great she was with kids. He’d had visions of him galloping around the garden with a giggling Angus riding on his shoulders, Nat might have strung dried pasta on string with Sophia the way he’d once seen Fi do or, he’d thought, perhaps they could have baked or done some finger painting. Neil now realised that his initial thoughts were horribly unrealistic, considering the house looked as though a hurricane had raged through and they hadn’t even tried to introduce anything as ambitious as flour or paint.
‘The Aquarium?’ he suggested.
‘Did that last week,’ said Angus with a yawn.
‘The Science Museum?’
‘Hate it,’ pronounced Sophia. Neil had always liked the Science Museum as a child and was rather disgruntled but chose not to push the point.
‘Cinema?’ suggested Nat. She could do with a sit-down.
‘Giles is too young,’ pointed out Angus in a tone that clearly communicated he felt the adults who had been left in charge were idiots. Nat and Neil took it in turns to suggest possible places of amusement. Neil’s suggestions were initially of the worthy variety. He’d secretly searched the internet this morning before Nat had even got out of bed and he wanted the green light on an amusement that would reflect well on him, something thoughtful, educational and edifying. Something that said ‘excellent dad material’ in neon pink. Nat wanted to go where they’d sell cake.
‘We could do some brass rubbing in the St Martin-in-the-Fields crypt,’ Neil suggested.
‘No.’
‘Take a look around HMS Belfast?’
‘No.’
‘St Paul’s Cathedral?’
‘Are there any butto
ns to press?’
‘Erm, no.’
‘No, then.’
‘We could do the Winston Churchill wartime experience,’ suggested Neil enthusiastically.
Sophia promptly burst into tears. ‘Scary!’
‘The London Eye?’
‘Done that with Grandma and Grandpa.’
‘Buckingham Palace?’
‘Seen it a trillion times,’ said a weary Angus.
Nat thought the best idea was that they all went home and came back in about four years when Neil’s suggestions might be a little more appropriate but instead she offered London Zoo.
‘Giles is allergic to fur and feathers,’ said Sophia seriously.
‘I thought it was Angus who was allergic to fish, eating them,’ challenged Nat suspiciously.
‘Also true,’ said Angus with confidence. Nat realised, too late, that they had made a fatal error as novices in charge of children; they had given the minors too much choice. She realised they could not win. Inevitably everything and anything they now suggested would be rejected. Her head was beginning to ache and they were still standing outside Fi and Ben’s home. The neighbours had twitched their curtains four times in the last ten minutes. Nat gave in.
‘OK then. What do you want to do today?’ she asked.
‘Hamleys,’ chorused Angus and Sophia. Giles gurgled as though in agreement.
Nat wondered, could they have rehearsed that?
8
They took the bus to Regent Street. Neither Natalie nor Neil could quite face getting all three children and related baggage down the stairs to the underground. It seemed an overwhelming, impossible task. At least they only had to manage the one step up on to the bus. Nat wondered how the disabled ever got around London. She adored London and saw it as a genuine melting pot of excitement and eccentricity. She loved the bars, the clubs, the restaurants, the galleries and museums. She admired the variety, potential and enthusiasm that London, doubtless, embodied but she saw now that it could be a merciless city.