The Playgroup

by Janey Fraser

  Every now and then, while listening to her story, Barry nodded sharply, or looked away as though silently condemning her role in it all. It made her voice shake even more and it struck her that although she’d been so keen to criticise Joe about his ex-wife, she was in no position to do so. Hadn’t she, too, given others the wrong impression about her own marital situation?

  ‘So that,’ she said finally after what seemed like an age, ‘is how I ended up in the position I am in now.’

  Barry looked at her in a way that made her determined not to turn away, in case he thought she was hiding any more unpalatable truths. ‘I still don’t understand some of this stuff. Why did you break up so soon after getting married? Did you have a row about something?’

  She could see him trying to smile, and her heart leaped at the thought that maybe there was still hope, if he was still talking to her.

  ‘A row? You could say that.’ Her mouth had turned horribly dry, so her voice sounded cracked. What had turned out to be the perfect evening now looked as though it was going to be ruined, and it was all her fault. ‘I told you that we continued backpacking through America after the wedding.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well . . .’ She faltered, making herself push out the words. ‘By the time we reached San Francisco, I realised I was late.’

  ‘Late?’

  ‘Late,’ repeated Gemma, emphasising the word. ‘You know.’ She looked away, embarrassed to be talking about something so personal with a man she had only known for a few weeks. ‘I thought I was pregnant. Sam utterly freaked out. Said he’d never wanted kids and that I’d tricked him.’

  Barry frowned. ‘But you must have talked about having children before you got married?’

  Exactly what Kitty had said at the time.

  ‘Not really. I just presumed he’d want them. Doesn’t everyone? Besides, like I said, we did it – got married, that is – on the spur of the moment, without talking things through like most couples do.’

  Barry squeezed her hand. ‘I won’t think any the worse of you if you tell me that you had an . . .’

  ‘Abortion?’ Gemma felt a cold shaft shoot through her. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I can understand why some women do but personally, it’s not for me.’

  The lump in her chest got bigger. ‘I had a late period a few days later. Afterwards, I was told it might have been a very early miscarriage. We had a terrible argument and then I walked out of our hotel room. I flew back home and never heard from him again. In fact, I didn’t know where he was until a few weeks ago.’

  Barry’s eyebrows knitted in disapproval. ‘Didn’t he come after you to check you were all right?’

  If only! Hadn’t she spent weeks at Kitty’s flat, hoping Sam would do exactly that? ‘I managed by throwing myself into my teacher training. I didn’t tell anyone, apart from my friend Kitty, that Sam and I had actually got married, because I felt so stupid. My family, well, Dad anyway, simply wouldn’t have understood. The longer I left it, the harder it would have been to have said, hey, guess what, I got married a few years ago. Of course, I tried to get in touch with him to get a divorce through the university, but when I wrote to the forwarding address they gave me, it came back with a Not Known Here stamp.’

  ‘What about his mother?’

  Gemma thought of Patricia with the bird-like face and gimlet hooded eyes, who had observed her use the cutlery in the right way during a holiday visit in her second year and, rather surprisingly, announced her approval of their relationship before it had all gone wrong.

  ‘I wrote to her, asking if she knew where Sam was, but she didn’t. Apparently he was still backpacking. In fact, she had hoped I had news of him. He wasn’t even on Facebook.’

  Barry gave her the sort of look she gave to one of the children when they denied doing something they shouldn’t have done. ‘Nowadays, it’s possible to find almost anyone. I suspect you let it slide because you were still partly in love with him and hoped he might come back of his own accord, declaring he was ready to start a family.’

  How was it possible for someone she hardly knew to understand her so well?

  ‘I fell in love with someone once who decided that our plans weren’t a level playing field,’ Barry went on quietly. ‘For years I hoped she might change her mind, but she didn’t.’ His eyes took on a faraway expression for a minute, and then flickered back to her. ‘There’s one thing I still don’t understand. You said earlier that you might come on a trip with me next summer, but you couldn’t before Christmas. Why?’

  ‘Because that’s when I can get a divorce.’ Gemma heard her voice rising in excitement. ‘I’ve seen a lawyer in town and he said that even if I couldn’t find Sam, I can start proceedings after five years. We’re nearly there now. My decree nisi should be sorted by Christmas.’

  A couple of dog walkers strolled past, and they paused until they’d gone. It was easy to forget, out here in the dark air, that there was anyone else around. Barry gave a big sigh. ‘You mentioned his mother. How come you’ve seen her again?’

  Gemma bit her lip. ‘That’s the other thing. Sam’s son is in my class.’

  ‘His son? But he said he didn’t want children.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Her voice came out cracked, and she had to fight back the tears of betrayal. ‘That’s what was so awful. I left him because he’d said he didn’t want children. But he did! He’s got this lovely son with an American woman whom I like. Well, sort of like. Her surname is a mixture of her maiden name and Sam’s surname. But according to his mother, they’re not married even though she pretends they are.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’ He was frowning as though doubting her.

  ‘Not really. Lots of women take their partner’s surname when they have children, even today; I suppose it makes it easier.’

  He didn’t look convinced. ‘And what about you? Do you still have feelings for Sam?’

  He said the name in a voice heavy with disdain. He was jealous! Despite the awkwardness of it all, Gemma found herself feeling flattered.

  ‘No,’ she said, automatically reaching up and twisting her silver chain nervously. It felt cold to her touch, even though it had been next to her skin all day. ‘And even if I did, I could never break up a family.’

  He seemed to be weighing all this up in his mind. ‘So you’re sure you’re over him?’

  Gemma nodded tightly. Of course she was, she told herself. Those small stabs of doubt were natural. Everyone (well, most people) had the odd twinge when they finally broke out of a relationship. Her so-called marriage to Sam had been dead for years; as Kitty said, it was time she finally let it go.

  ‘And how does he feel?’

  Barry was clearly determined to know everything about the situation.

  It was the question that Gemma had been asking herself. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. I only know about him now because his mother told me at Parents’ Evening when she came instead of Nancy – that’s Sam’s wife, or rather not-wife.’

  She stopped. For some reason, it gave her a funny taste in her mouth to say Nancy’s name. Something told her that now was not the time to repeat what Patricia had said about Sam ‘still holding a candle’ for her.

  Just at that moment, a heron swooped past them very low on the canal, landing on the water with a splash and breaking the silence which had descended on them.

  ‘Wow.’ Barry leaned back in his chair. ‘What a story.’

  Gemma nodded. Her mouth was dry from all the talking, but she felt lighter than she had for a very long time after releasing the secret that had been troubling her for years.

  He reached out for her hand. ‘I’m flattered you chose to confide in me.’

  She flushed. ‘I also needed to explain why I haven’t allowed myself to have a meaningful relationship until now.’

  Barry’s face lit up. ‘Until now? Does that mean you might consider it now?’

  She paused. Barry was so kind! She felt a tingle every time he tou
ched her. Yet he was going away. It would be another ‘waiting’ relationship, except that this time, he would be coming home. Providing he didn’t get injured, that was.

  ‘We don’t really know each other yet,’ she said, ‘but . . .’

  He leaned towards her. ‘Let me finish that sentence for you. We don’t really know each other yet, but one day we might have more time to do exactly that.’

  One day, thought Gemma. One day. Is that really such a good idea?

  But then he kissed her.

  When Gemma went back to the playgroup after half-term, she was still reeling. ‘You look wonderful,’ remarked Clemmie’s mother enviously. ‘Have you been to a spa? I used to be a model for this really lovely one in Hertfordshire.’

  A spa? Better than that, she wanted to say, thinking of the long evenings she and Barry had spent together after that incredible night on the boat. Once, when he got too close, she had reluctantly stopped him.

  ‘Not until you’re unmarried?’ he had said in a quiet teasing tone, and she had nodded while feeling slightly silly. It wasn’t just that she was not divorced yet. She had only known Barry for a short time and, even though he seemed almost too good to be true (so courteous, thoughtful, good-looking and steady), it didn’t seem right to jump into bed with him. Not yet, anyway.

  Meanwhile, she’d returned the necessary documents to the crisp woman solicitor in town whom she’d met on the day that she’d collided with Joe’s bike. By the end of next January the degree absolute would be through, and then she’d be a free woman.

  Thank goodness Sam was still abroad and she wouldn’t have to see him. Thank goodness too for the second half of term at Puddleducks to distract her.

  The first morning was almost as hectic as the first morning back in September. ‘Mrs Merryfield, Mrs Merryfield, can I be a sheep in the nativity play? I can bleat really well. Listen. I’ve been practising.’

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, Mrs Merryfield, my mum says it’s silly just having sparklers. Can’t we have rockets too for the firework tea party?’

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, Mrs Merryfield, will there be chickens on the farm visit? Cos my mum says I’m allergic to eggs.’

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, why do eggs go hard when you boil them?’ (Good question, Sienna. Things often change when they are heated up.)

  ‘Mrs Merryfield, have you heard about Danny?’ asked Billy’s mother, who usually wore clear braces on her teeth, although now they were noticeable by their absence. ‘No Billy, not now. I’m talking.’

  Heard about Danny? Gemma’s heart froze. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Billy, I’m telling you one more time. Stop it. He’s got something called aplastic anaemia, poor mite. Not good. He’s in hospital and his dad’s flown back to be with him.’

  Chapter 35

  IT WAS SO quiet on the children’s ward. Nancy sat in the chair by the side of Danny’s bed and listened to the quiet rustling sounds as the night nurses glided about, speaking in hushed tones to the patients who needed something. A glass of water here. A painkiller there. Quiet words of reassurance for both a child who was whimpering and a parent whose low urgent questions punctured the darkness.

  Danny lay fast asleep in his favourite Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas, his chest rising and falling gently. He seemed so small, so pale, so fragile. So reliant on this place.

  Why, Nancy asked herself, wasn’t she freaking out? She’d always been such a panicker, yet when Patricia had told Sam on the phone she’d called the GP because Danny kept falling asleep on his feet, she had felt a calm sense of unreality descending on her. She was the one who had taken the phone and grasped the mechanics of the situation, while Sam had gone to pieces.

  She was the one who had sat calmly considering the facts and their implications on the seventeen-hour flight home. Sam, in the seat next to her, had kept asking her to go over her subsequent conversation with the doctor.

  Danny had aplastic anaemia. It was a serious condition, resulting from his bone marrow and stem cells not producing enough blood cells. Also known as bone marrow failure, it could develop over a long period of time or, as in Danny’s case, suddenly and acutely.

  Nancy repeated all this off pat. In a way, reciting the facts made her feel calmer, just as it had when she’d been revising for her high-school science exams.

  Symptoms of aplastic anaemia, she’d explained to Sam, included bleeding gums. Poor Patricia had put that one down to Danny being overenthusiastic with the toothbrush song actions. Tiredness was another symptom, although she’d attributed that to Danny’s new-found interest in football and also being exhausted after playgroup.

  Nancy’s tone became even more matter of fact when she continued to go through the facts. If she didn’t pretend this was a case study in a textbook she would fall to bits, and then where would that leave Danny? Sam, by contrast, was gripping her arm and hanging on her every word as though recognising that this time, she was in charge.

  Danny’s illness could be treated by drugs and blood transfusions. If that didn’t work, bone marrow transplants were the only hope. Usually the best matches were from parents or close relatives.

  One of the first things they did, after arriving at the hospital where the GP had sent their son, was to get tested for suitability as donors. They were still waiting for the results. Nancy’s mother was flying in from the States at the end of the week to be with them, and to be tested herself. ‘I want to help, dear,’ she’d said on the phone, her voice quivering.

  So did everyone. As Nancy sat by her son’s side in the hospital, she counted once more the huge number of colourful get-well cards which the little Puddleducks had made. There was even one from Tracy’s mum (which was generous, given her unfortunate mistake over the ‘bump’) as well as Doug the mosaics tutor, all dwarfed by the giant teddy that Patricia, who seemed to be blaming herself, had brought in.

  ‘I thought he was just a bit run-down dear, after his first half-term at playgroup. So I didn’t take much notice when he kept falling asleep on the sofa.’

  Nancy had reassured her, promising that she didn’t hold her responsible in any way. If anything, she said, it had been her who should have noticed.

  Still, there was no point in blaming herself or others. They needed to concentrate on the here and now. Right at this moment, that meant waiting to see if the recent transfusion was having any effect.

  The consultant, a lovely bear of a man in his fifties who was, Sam kept saying as though to reassure himself, old enough to be experienced but young enough to be aware of new developments, hoped that they might know how the treatment was progressing by the end of the week.

  Meanwhile, she couldn’t bear to leave Danny’s side. Nor could Sam. Nancy’s doubts about her ‘husband’s’ commitment to parenthood had been put to one side when watching him cradling his boy in his arms and telling him to imagine that his body was a fort containing lots of big brave soldiers.

  ‘Imagine that they are fighting an army of evil monster germs in your blood,’ he had said in a voice that had wobbled. ‘Your soldiers are going to win. Trust me, Danny. They will.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Danny’s face crumpled.

  It was as though he was frightened that his father was going to tell him off, remembering Sam snapping at him for splashing water on the floor during his bath or not staying in his own bed at night.

  ‘Monster germs!’ He looked panic-stricken. ‘Mum said I’d get them if I didn’t wash my hands.’

  No, Nancy had tried to explain, realising too late that she had fussed too much about insignificant stuff. It wasn’t anything to do with washing hands. It was . . . what? One of those things? How did you explain a random, terrible illness to a child?

  Now, as Nancy tried to get comfortable in the chair, she wondered how she and Sam would cope if anything happened to Danny. Her son was everything to her. More than Sam, if she was to be honest.

  ‘Mummy?’ Danny’s long eyelashes flickered as his eyes slowly opened. He sounded so sleepy th
at she could barely hear him. Carefully, so as not to knock him, she pulled back the corner of the duvet and slid into bed with him, wrapping her arm around his thin shoulders.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  His voice came out all breathy. ‘Do people eat cornflakes in heaven for breakfast?’

  Nancy’s chest felt as though it was going to cave in on itself.

  ‘Why, darling?’

  His warm hand crept out and squeezed hers. ‘Cos Granny said if I didn’t eat my cornflakes, I wouldn’t grow big and strong. Is that why I might go to heaven? Cos I’m not going to be big and strong?’

  Nancy bit her lip. Sometimes a parent had to be economical with the truth. ‘Of course not. Now, why don’t I tell you a story?’

  Danny nodded. ‘A story about a dog. A black dog with a kink in its tail.’

  Nancy hugged him gently. How ironic. She had texted Toby’s dad only that morning to see if Pongo the kinky-tailed puppy was still available. If so, she would have bought him there and then. Anything to see Danny smile again. But he had been sold to a couple who had apparently been looking for a dog just like him, kinky tail and all.

  ‘OK, then,’ she began. ‘Once upon a time, there was a dog with a funny bend in its tail.’

  Danny moved under the covers. ‘Not its tail. His tail. Pongo’s a boy, like me.’

  Nancy smiled in the half-light spreading out from the nurses’ office at the end of the ward. ‘OK. With a funny bend in his tail.’

  Danny’s voice was sleepy but firm. ‘No, Mummy. Start again. Begin with “Once upon a time.”’

  Before this, Nancy would have got irritated. Now she couldn’t help admiring her son for his preciseness. She had been exactly the same as a child, according to her mother. Maybe it was a sign that he was going to be a scientist too when he grew up.

  If he grew up.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she began again, ‘there was a black dog with a kink in his tail. And do you know how he got that kink?’

  No answer.

  Nancy felt her heart lurch. Was he still breathing? His chest was only just rising and falling, but there was a definite low steady warm breath on her arms. She held him gently, protecting him from whatever evil she could.