The Playground

by Jane Shemilt

  A fresh squall of rain hits the window; a door bangs from somewhere in the house. Eve wakes with a gasp from a nightmare that slides away before she can hold it. Her mouth has the sour taste of metal. Sorrel has disappeared, she must have gone back to her bed.

  Eve props herself up on one elbow to study her sleeping husband. His looks still surprise her: the fine bones of his face and the set of his eyes, that well-shaped mouth. Her husband, the man she promised to have and to hold. She touches his hair lightly; how stupid she’s been. She behaved badly last night; having decided to end things with Martin, she let herself dance and flirt with him. It must have been the alcohol. Paul kept filling their glasses, they all drank far too much, except for Eric. He’d watched her all evening. If he’s noticed the ring’s absence, he’s kept it quiet. She’ll search the room today once he’s gone; there wasn’t time yesterday, what with cooking and the party. She’ll find it, she’s bound to. She moves closer to him. In the cool morning light, with the warmth of her husband’s body against hers, it’s hard to believe she’s been so reckless, stupidly reckless, since the summer. Well, it’s over. Thank God she saw sense in time. There are no casualties; not Eric, not Grace, and not Martin. They got away with it, just. She kisses Eric on the cheek, he murmurs and half turns away. The watch on his wrist reads eight A.M. The traffic will be thick already. She kisses him again, on the mouth this time, and he opens his eyes. He registers the light and swings his legs out of bed without a word. He’s late. He has a treeclearing project in Hampstead today; he’ll be caught in rush-hour traffic now. She gets up more slowly, her head banging with each step, and slips on Eric’s checkered shirt, discarded from the night before. She pauses outside Ash’s room. The door is open just wide enough to see his bed. It’s dark in there and very quiet. She has a hazy memory of Ash crying and of taking him up to bed very late, she can hardly remember tucking him in. Poppy and Sorrel are getting dressed in their room. They had watched her dance last night while they sat in a solemn little row with the other kids. She probably made a complete fool of herself. She groans quietly and walks downstairs slowly to avoid jarring her head.

  Izzy is sitting at the table, dressed in her uniform and writing in an exercise book. Eve had forgotten about Izzy—that she stayed the night.

  “Hi there. We overslept, I’m afraid.” Eve puts the kettle on, wincing at the watery light through the window.

  “I know.” Izzy doesn’t look up; there are neat comb marks in her hair, still wet from the shower. She has made herself tea and is sipping it delicately. Noah climbs out of his basket, anticipating food. There is no trace of the limp he had in the summer—just as well, she forgot to have him checked by the vet.

  “Could you ask your father if he can do the school run today, Izzy? I’d like Ash to sleep as long as possible, and Eric’s leaving soon.”

  “Daddy left hours ago.” Izzy makes a careful crossing out. “In a rush.”

  Paul rose early then, which is surprising. He’d been more drunk than anyone else; she has a vague memory of Eric helping him upstairs to bed.

  “We’ll just have to wake Ash then. We might be late for school this once, but it was a good party, wasn’t it?”

  Izzy doesn’t reply. Eve drops bread in the toaster, takes milk and juice from the fridge, puts cereal on the table, and finds bowls and mugs. She digs out some acetaminophen capsules from the back of the cupboard, swallowing a couple down.

  “Toast’s burning,” Izzy says as she rubs out and rewrites a word.

  “Shit.”

  The toast is black. Eve puts more bread in the toaster and shakes dog food into the bowl. She hurries from the kitchen and calls up from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Eric?”

  No answer, he must still be in the shower.

  “Poppy?”

  “What?”

  “Can you get Ash up for me?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, please. I’m getting breakfast; we need to leave in ten minutes.”

  In the kitchen Izzy is texting; she looks up as smoke plumes from the toaster again. Eve throws away the blackened slabs. Eight twenty. By now the traffic will be stationary. She calls the school but no one picks up; she is invited to leave a message. As she is talking, she notices Igor waiting for Eric by the truck in the rain, his hair plastered against his skull. She replaces the receiver and turns to call Eric at the same moment that Poppy appears at the kitchen door, shoeless, her hair uncombed. Izzy turns to look at Poppy too, her fair eyebrows raised.

  “Ash isn’t in his bed.” Poppy looks very young. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

  Melissa

  No one is about; the weather has scared the usual runners away and the wet park feels peaceful. As she jogs around the pond for the second time, a message pings through on Melissa’s phone.

  Eve’s busy, Dad’s left. Can you take us in?

  Eight sixteen. Melissa replaces her phone in her tracksuit pocket and runs home fast, rain stinging her face. She gets straight into the car, checking her Fitbit: 200 calories. Better than nothing, she can make up the rest later. She drums her fingers on the wheel as she waits for the traffic lights to change. The crowds swarm over the crosswalk, the downpour crackles against the windshield. In Wiltshire rain will be falling on that soft green lawn, the view across the valley will be shrouded in soft mist.

  A horn blares behind her, the lights have changed, the traffic inches forward. She’s scarcely a mile away but the roads are crowded. It’s rush hour and everyone drives when it’s raining. By the time she reaches Eve’s house, she is panicking; they’ll all be late for school. Izzy doesn’t reply to her text, so she parks the car in the road and hurries up the drive. The back door is wide open and rain is pouring in. She can hear Poppy shouting and Sorrel crying somewhere. Eric greets her, his mouth set in a grim line. Melissa’s thoughts dart to Eve’s secret.

  “Izzy asked me to do the school run today,” she tells him. “Where’s everyone?”

  Eric is soaking wet. His eyes scan the garden beyond her; something is wrong. He hasn’t heard a word she’s said.

  “Are you okay, Eric?”

  “We can’t find Ash.” His eyes are wild. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

  “He won’t be far.” She’s never seen him like this before, she puts a hand on his sleeve. “What can I do to help?”

  “Get in out of the rain, Melly. Eve’s inside.” He disappears through the door into the garden.

  Eve is wearing a man’s shirt, she is hunting through a tall cupboard, strewing thick coats on the floor. The dog rolls luxuriously in piles of heavy tweed and cashmere.

  “Let me help you.”

  “Ash hid in here recently; they were playing a game and he was frightened.” Eve pulls out a couple of Barbour jackets; her face is white, her voice trembling. The tracks of tears shine on her cheeks. “Martin rang when I didn’t turn up for the school run; he said Ash has to be hiding somewhere.”

  Close up Eve smells faintly of stale alcohol. Her eyes are bloodshot and bright with fear.

  “I’m sure Martin’s right.” Melissa tries to speak calmly. “Izzy used to do this on purpose to worry me, it drove me frantic.”

  “He’s only three, Melly, he won’t be doing anything on purpose.” Eve wipes her eyes on her cuff with a savage gesture, smudging mascara.

  Even at three Izzy knew how to make her suffer, but Melissa doesn’t mention that. “He can’t be far, he’s not old enough to go very far.”

  “We’ve phoned the police. Can you ask Paul if he saw anything before he left? And check on the girls, they’ll be worried.” Eve disappears outside.

  Paul doesn’t pick up so she texts instead then walks through the kitchen into the hall. The house is quiet; her footsteps ring on the stone. She opens a door into a red-walled room with a large table, oil paintings, and the musty smell of ancient meals. There’s a chintzy sofa and matching chairs in the next room, a dusty-looking carpet. It seems odd that she’s n
ever seen these rooms before. This part of the house feels neglected.

  “Izzy?” Her voice sounds thin in the cavernous hall. “Poppy? Sorrel?”

  There is no reply, only the tick of an unseen clock as it scrapes the hour and the stale scent of flowers left in water too long. Unease deepens. Eve’s house has always seemed a sunny place filled with laughter, it’s as though she’s wandered into someone else’s home by mistake. Melissa walks farther into the hall toward the stairs, calling for her daughter, for Eve’s daughters. Her voice echoes back to her, but no one answers. This seems to be a house that swallows children. As she puts a foot on the first step, she catches a faint rhythmic creaking coming from a door that’s half open, down a corridor she hadn’t noticed at the back of the hall. When she pushes the door wider, the interior is indistinct, the curtains pulled halfway across, crooked as if someone tried to darken the room in a hurry. As her eyes become accustomed to the gloom, she sees Izzy astride a dapple-gray rocking horse, tilting backward and forward slowly. Sorrel and Poppy are squashed together in a large armchair sharing Izzy’s laptop. Their faces are pale in the reflected light. Poppy is half dressed, Sorrel still in her pajamas. She has never seen Eve’s children even glance at a screen before. Izzy spends all her time on her cell phone or laptop; staring at the children’s faces, she’s unsure now which is the more normal behavior. Charley and Blake aren’t with them, there is a brief pulse of worry until she remembers that they didn’t stay over last night.

  “Hi.” Her voice sounds overly cheerful, a little flimsy.

  Izzy stares at her mother. Poppy glances up then back at the screen, frowning. Sorrel wriggles from the seat and runs to Melissa. “When’s Ash coming back?”

  Melissa takes her hand; the small fingers are icy. This room is unheated; Eve must have no idea the children play in here. Ash will be colder than this if he’s outside in the rain, dangerously cold. The body temperature in children falls much faster than in adults.

  “Oh, it won’t be long now,” she says cheerfully. “Shall we get you ready to go to school?”

  Sorrel runs back and squeezes into the chair beside her sister again. Melissa gazes at them helplessly; they look so small in that chair, so vulnerable. She tries once more, “By the time you come home, Ash will be here and everything will be all right again. Shall we get you dressed, sweetheart?”

  A violent movement catches her eye through the gap in the curtains, a wild animal motion. She yanks aside the velvet-edged drape. This room faces directly onto the paddock; from here she can see the donkeys cantering around the field. Something has spooked them. She struggles to open the heavy sash, raising it by a few inches; the wind and rain blow in, bringing with them the high-pitched braying of the animals as they pound the enclosure. Beyond them, she can make out Igor and Eric at the edge of the wood. Eve is in the meadow walking through tall grass, head bent as she searches the ground. She looks smaller than usual, her hair wet and close to her skull. No one seems to have noticed the donkeys’ behavior; their long ears are flat to their heads as they run, keeping pace with one another. She looks around their field in case there’s a plastic bag caught on a branch or a stray umbrella tossed in by the wind, but everything looks the same as it always does: the trees at one side, the wildlife pond, the animal shelter, the gate. The pond. Her glance flicks back, it’s too far to see more than the gleam of water from here. They were so lucky to have that pond on their land, Eric told her once, perfect for animals, being spring fed, cold, and very deep. Wild geese visit in winter; moorhens live at the edges. It’s quite safe, he’d added, the paddock has a high fence, the gate’s always kept locked. She looks up. A few birds are circling in the air above the pool as though displaced, waterbirds of some kind, she was never good at birds’ names. Melissa lets go of the curtain and begins to run, through the hall, out the kitchen door, and across the veranda, meeting Eve jogging back. Eve is soaked through, her face a mask of mud and tears.

  “Are the girls okay?” Then she grabs Melissa’s hand. “What is it, Melly? What have you seen?”

  “The pond.” Melissa can hardly get her words out. “Have you checked it?”

  “The gate’s locked, a child couldn’t possibly—” Eve begins but Melissa races past her and down the path. When she reaches the gate she starts to climb, but Eve catches up and, her bare leg swinging over the gate, knocks Melissa to the ground. When Eve starts screaming a few seconds later the donkeys thunder past her to the fence and stand together, tossing their heads. Eric vaults over the gate, runs across the grass, and wades into the pond, plunging deeper and deeper into the icy water, his arms outstretched to reach his son.

  Grace

  Martin swerves to avoid the screaming ambulance as it jolts from the drive to the road, blue light flashing. Grace is flung against the passenger door. Martin was wrong, Ash wasn’t hiding, something terrible has happened.

  “At least he’s alive,” she mutters. “He must be; you don’t rush to hospital with a blue light if a child has died, or do you?”

  Martin frowns but doesn’t answer. They dropped their two off at school just now. Charley, the part in her hair crooked, had walked slowly into the playground, looking serious. Blake disappeared quickly, sneakers undone, lower lip protruding.

  “When’s your shift start?” Martin brakes and parks by the curb.

  “I’m not working today.” She hasn’t told him she left yet. She didn’t tell him anything she’d planned to; he was too tired when he returned from Eve’s last night. They were so late; he lost track of the kids, he’d explained; it turned out they’d been upstairs, playing games. Today there’s been no time, obviously.

  The drive is full of police cars. The front door of the house is wide open; Noah is drinking puddles in the middle of the road.

  “Oh, Evie,” Martin mutters.

  Evie? That’s new. Grace glances at him; she hasn’t heard him call her that before.

  “House left open all hours of the day and night.” Martin pulls Noah off the road by his collar. Grace hurries up the drive and through the back door of the kitchen, Martin following. Melissa is by the sink, kneeling by Sorrel, who is crying into her shoulder, long, shuddering sobs that shake her body. Poppy leans against the wall staring into space, Izzy has her arm around her friend.

  Grace bends over Melissa. “Can you please just tell me what’s happened?”

  Melissa straightens. Sorrel turns to fling her arms around Martin instead. Melissa follows Grace from the room. They sit together on the stairs in the hall, Melissa whispering with her eyes on the door in case the children emerge.

  Grace stares at her in disbelief. “I don’t understand. How did it happen?”

  “They think he got up in the night and followed the dog into the garden. The paddock gate is locked but he must have squeezed underneath.” Melissa’s voice trembles. “He’s wandered off before, but never at night. Eve was hysterical. Eric tried mouth to mouth, the ambulance came in minutes. They took over. Eve went with him, Eric followed in the car. We haven’t heard anything since.”

  In Charley’s biology book the lungs look like a sponge; if all those little holes were to fill up with water, how the hell would you ever get it out?

  “We’ll stay,” Grace says. “We can help look after the girls.”

  “I’ll stay too but I have no idea why the police are still here.” Melissa sounds bewildered.

  In case his parents hurt him, Grace thinks but doesn’t say, then dumped him in the pond; it’s how they’ve been trained to think.

  “Can you assemble the children?” Martin pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway, making them both jump. “The police want to talk to them; they’ve talked to Igor already. They told me they have to speak to everyone who was around last night; routine, apparently. It’s the children’s turn now. Eric consented by phone.” He turns to Melissa. “Can you get Paul back? They’ll want to talk to him too as he stayed over. Information gathering, you know how they are.”

 
Melissa texts rapidly, a reply pings back. “He’s desperately sorry to hear what’s happened. He’s coming as soon as he can.” Her face is tense with worry.

  “You mustn’t concern yourself.” Martin pats Melissa’s shoulder. “The police ask everyone questions if there’s been an accident involving children.”

  Grace reaches for his hand. “Thanks,” she whispers, glad of his presence, taking care of everyone, being kind. He nods, preoccupied.

  Poppy is sitting on the sofa with the policewoman who introduces herself as Donna. After name and age checks, Donna moves a little closer. She has a heart-shaped face, thick fair hair, and a turned-up nose. Poppy inspects her carefully, she seems reassured. Donna is pretty, and pretty women are less threatening to children, though in fairy tales it’s the pretty ones who are dangerous: Snow White’s stepmother, Cruella, the Snow Queen. Grace catches Poppy’s eye and gives her a thumbs-up.

  “So, Poppy, did you hear anything unusual after you went upstairs last night?”

  “We were playing games; I probably wouldn’t have heard.”

  “What kind of games?” She is trying to relax Poppy but her voice has a wheedling quality that a child might find irritating.

  “Just . . . you know.” Poppy shrugs, glances at Izzy. “Games.”

  “And later?”

  Poppy shrugs, shaking her head; her mouth tightens as if she is trying not to cry.

  “Thanks, Poppy.” Donna smiles. “That’s all for now.”

  Sorrel doesn’t reply to any of the questions. Her thumb is in her mouth and her eyes are full of tears. After a few minutes, Grace steps forward and picks her up.