The Playground

by Jane Shemilt

  Izzy is standing just inside the room across the corridor. She looks different from the girl on the screen; in fact, Melly has never seen Izzy like this. She seems much younger suddenly, very lost. She is staring around in fear, as if she has found herself in the middle of the woods, having gone too far, and doesn’t have a clue how to get out. She’s no longer performing for the court; she isn’t burning with anger. She’s not a confident teenager anymore, but simply a frightened little girl who has suffered for years. This reality breaks against Melly with the force of an icy wave, but she mustn’t drown; her daughter needs her more than ever now. The witness protection woman has her arm around Izzy and is murmuring something about her being very brave, but Izzy doesn’t seem to be listening. When she catches sight of Melissa, her face relaxes; she runs to her mother and wraps her arms around her. Melissa lowers her head to her daughter’s.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Chorley-Smith.” The attorney has followed her from the court, the tired woman whom Melissa had felt sorry for.

  Melissa looks up. “I have to take my daughter home now. This has been a huge strain for her.”

  “I’ll be quick. In the next few days, Izzy will be called for an interview at a police station by female police officers in the forensics team.” She lowers her voice. “She may need to undergo physical examination.” Then she nods briskly. “The trial will be reconvened when all the evidence will be considered together.”

  “Will she have to attend that trial?”

  “Fortunately not. The whole process could take many months; the kidnapping and abuse trials are likely to be joined. Izzy’s presence at the resulting trial won’t be required.” She looks weary, there’s more work for her to do now. She walks rapidly away.

  Izzy lifts her head when the attorney is out of sight. Her eyes well. “I’m sorry, Mummy, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s me who should be sorry, my little sweetheart. If only I’d opened your door in the evenings, if only I’d come with you on your trips abroad . . .” She mustn’t start crying, she has to be strong for Izzy. It’s just her and Izzy now.

  “At least he won’t hurt you anymore,” Izzy says through her tears.

  “Or you, my darling girl.” Melissa kisses her cheek.

  As they begin to descend the steps, Melissa’s arm around Izzy, a dark blue van sweeps past them with a small barred window at the back, high up. Paul could be inside. His head might be in his hands as he tries to comprehend the speed at which the world he knew has disappeared. She watches the van weave into the traffic, halt at the light, pull away, and vanish from sight around a corner. Melissa’s arm tightens around Izzy. They walk down the rest of the steps, clasped tightly together and stumbling a little.

  Eve

  Sorrel is better, physically better; she has begun to speak a few words and she even smiles sometimes. Dr. Power, the young pediatrician in the outpatient clinic, is very pleased with her progress. She examines Sorrel with care, checking her reflexes and the back of her eyes. Eve watches the doctor, envious of her energy, her shining hair and luminous skin, conscious she has aged years in recent months. Her own hair is stringy, there are new lines on her face. Her nails are bitten down. She is tired all the time, even in the morning, even after sleep. The doctor smiles and pats Sorrel’s hand.

  “You are a brave girl, Sorrel; I don’t need to see you for another three months.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Eve wants to hug her.

  “Call me Marian.” The doctor has a wide smile, a scattering of freckles. “Sorrel has done better than we could have hoped.” She leaves with a spring in her step, happy at this outcome, having no knowledge of the ripples of destruction that have spread outward or of the lives that have been twisted into different shapes.

  Sorrel is exhausted after the appointment. Eve hurries her across the busy road in the rain to the car parked opposite and swiftly settles her into her car seat. Sorrel’s eyes close almost immediately. Eve’s cell phone rings as she is getting into the driver’s seat.

  “What did the doctor say?” Grace asks.

  “She was pleased,” Eve whispers. “Sorrel’s making good progress, physically. The child psychologist is coming this afternoon.” Eve watches an ambulance swerve into the hospital. It’s lucky that you can’t see into an ambulance from the outside; that desperate struggle to save a life should be private. She turns away from the flashing light, the phone tight to her ear. “Any news?”

  “Melly phoned this morning.” Grace leaves a little pause like the one doctors give you before they break bad news.

  “Go on.”

  “Are you somewhere you can sit down?”

  “I’m sitting down already.”

  As Grace begins to speak, Eve watches the rain hit against the windshield and the traffic splash by but she doesn’t hear any of it. The noises from the street have faded, everything has faded apart from the words she is hearing. Pedophiles make up 8 percent of the population, information gleaned from Google when Sorrel was missing, not easy to forget. A young bloke with a ponytail speeds by on his bike—could he be a pedophile? Or the guy in a suit hurrying past with a briefcase? That old man shuffling to the bus? Paul was a charmer, handsome, amusing, she had liked him; how could they have possibly known?

  “. . . then Izzy told the court he’d hurt Melly,” Grace is continuing. “The scar on her face is still obvious; things like that can tip the balance.”

  Paul might have hit Sorrel too, at the very least he must have terrified her. A few moments pass while Eve clamps down horror. She glances in the rearview mirror; Sorrel is still fast asleep.

  “How is Melly?” she manages. “I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

  “Better than you’d think,” Grace tells her. “She’s stepped up, like you.”

  “Izzy?”

  “That child’s made of steel. I’ve had my issues with Izzy but I understand her better now. Melly’s going to make sure she gets the help she needs.”

  There is another little pause; there’s so much Eve wants to say to Grace, it’s hard to know where to begin: her gratitude, the guilt, the lasting regret, the value of her friendship.

  “Grace . . .”

  “Take care.” Then Grace is gone.

  Sorrel’s thumb has slipped from her mouth; she is snoring lightly. The thought of her daughter in Paul’s hands is obscene. She had guessed the moment she saw the tiara in his car, but guessing is different from knowing; imagining is different from seeing, and she can see Paul clearly now, see the look on his face as he forced Sorrel into the trunk of his car, then into the chest in his shed. Eve shudders. The doctors had said there was no evidence of sexual abuse. Her gaze lingers on the sweet sleeping face of her daughter; she’s been incredibly unlucky, and also lucky.

  Eve starts the car. Grace was good to let her know; she couldn’t have managed so much of this without her. Somewhere along the way Grace has found it in her heart to forgive her and save their friendship. She should reach out to Melly in turn, it’s time she did. While Sorrel is playing with Noah after lunch she finds Melly’s number on her phone; they talk for an hour until the child psychologist arrives midafternoon and she has to go.

  Dr. Irving is a woman in her sixties with thick gray hair and eyes that tilt downward. Sorrel stares at her silently.

  “I hope you’ll tell me your favorite games and then we can play them together.”

  Sorrel moves closer to Eve; she doesn’t reply to any of Dr. Irving’s gentle suggestions. In the end Dr. Irving reads her a story, pointing out the pictures, though most of the time Sorrel’s eyes are closed.

  Afterward Eve walks with Dr. Irving to her car, listening intently to her quiet voice. “This will be a long road. At the moment Sorrel is repressing all memories. When she recovers mentally as well as physically, she may start to get odd flashes, triggered by something in the environment perhaps. That could be very frightening for her. Be alert and stay with her. It’s always possible she could be overwhelmed by a sudden flo
od of memories, though in reality that’s rare.”

  “What should we do to support her?”

  “Give her space. Let the memories come if they do, but don’t seek them out.” She pats Eve’s arm. “She’s doing as well as we could expect at this stage. I’ll see you next week.”

  Later Eve tells Eric what Grace has relayed. Eric’s face darkens; he gets up and stares out the window into the dark garden. “Sorrel would have been safe if I hadn’t worked for Paul and introduced the family. It’s my fault.”

  “Melly might have found me through Facebook like Grace did; Paul could have targeted us just the same. It’s definitely not your fault.” She pours a glass of beer and takes it to him. “It’s not Melly’s either. She has suffered too, more than we know. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I ask her and Izzy to come and stay with us for a while.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Izzy told Poppy she can’t sleep in her house, too many memories. I doubt if Melly can either.” She touches his sleeve. “Sorrel’s getting better. We can be kind, can’t we?”

  “Let’s see what Sorrel says.”

  They’re having supper in the kitchen later when Eve mentions the possibility of Izzy and her mother staying for a while. Something flickers across Sorrel’s face.

  “Izzy?” She sounds confused.

  “She used to come here for lessons, my darling. She played with you and Poppy.”

  “She’s my best friend,” Poppy puts in, helping herself and Sorrel to more mashed potatoes.

  “Oh.” Sorrel’s face clears, she nods. “Okay.”

  Eve catches Eric’s eye across the table, he gives a little shrug. She nods and smiles at Poppy, who high-fives her sister.

  “I’m glad we’re able to do something that makes Poppy happy for once,” she murmurs to Eric as they clear the table later. “It’s been incredibly tough for her.”

  He doesn’t reply but he seldom does these days; she takes his silence as agreement and texts Melly later. Her acceptance comes back swiftly.

  Grace

  “I don’t have to go,” Martin whispers, though they’re outside and no one can hear. “There will be other sabbaticals, they come up all the time.”

  They’ve been over this; he wants her blessing. If this is a game he’s playing, she’s fed up with it.

  “Of course you have to go. Go,” Grace tells him.

  “I haven’t actually signed anything.”

  “You gave them your word.”

  “I guess the money will be useful.”

  “Useful?” Grace stares at him. “It’ll be more than we’ve ever had.”

  “So take a few months off, you could write. You’ve always wanted to, we can afford it now.” Martin smiles at her, the old melting smile. “Or better still, change your mind and come with me.” He reaches to touch her hand but she tucks it under her arm. It’s cold out here on Eve’s veranda, away from listening ears. “You know the children would love it.”

  “If you need my permission to go, you’ve got it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to spend a year without you.”

  “We’re staying put, you know that.”

  They look down at the playground below the veranda; the bright colors look garish in the weak March sunshine. The door of the little house has come off its hinges and someone has broken a window.

  “Will you tell the kids?” he asks hopefully.

  “It’s your sabbatical, you do it.”

  “So I’m not forgiven?”

  “Come on, you two.” Melissa calls through the door. “Teatime.”

  There are seven candles on the cake. Sorrel sits in the chair at the head of the table, a paper hat on her head, a little crown of flimsy red tissue paper. The police kept the tiara, Eve didn’t want it back. Sorrel is smiling, Noah’s head resting on her lap; Charley is on one side, Poppy the other. Izzy next to Poppy. Charley has Venus on her lap.

  Eric distributes tea and sits down next to Blake, who passes him a piece of cake.

  “Thanks for your help,” Eric says. “Nice work.”

  Blake’s cheeks redden. He takes an enormous bite of cake.

  “What help?” Martin asks.

  “Blake’s pruned a heck of a lot of trees,” Eric says, smiling at Blake. “He’s a great worker.”

  Poppy walks around the table, serving out more birthday cake. Melissa takes a bite; Grace wants to cheer though she knows she shouldn’t.

  Eve looks at her daughter. “Happy birthday, darling.”

  Sorrel looks around uncertainly as if searching for somebody who isn’t there: Ash, maybe Paul as well, the ghosts of the dead and living seem to hover. Eve is a ghost too, thinner, paler. She sits completely still at the table, staring at her daughters, forgetting to eat. Eric is next to her but they don’t talk to each other, another wounded couple who may not make it through.

  “How’s Izzy doing?” Grace asks Melly later as they load the dishwasher after tea. Izzy is playing cards with her friends out of earshot.

  “Really well.” Melly straightens, pushes her hair out of her eyes, and smiles.

  “And the new trial?”

  “That won’t be for ages and she doesn’t have to attend. She’s had two interviews with the forensic team.”

  “I bet that was tough.”

  “Not as tough as an examination would have been.” Melissa’s voice sounds strained. “She refused that though and they didn’t push. They said if they did, she might experience it as another, well, as another assault. Any findings would have been minimal anyway; it’s been months since the last . . . incident took place.”

  “It’s great they were prepared to accept her story.”

  “The story is all they get in lots of cases like Izzy’s. And the school report helped; her grades were lower than expected and there’s been some antisocial behavior which apparently fits; it’s hardly surprising when you think about it.”

  “How is she now?” Grace glances across the room, where the children are playing together. Izzy’s head is bent over the game.

  “So much better. She’s in counseling, we both are. I’m not allowed to know much, but her counselor let slip she’s quite defensive. I think that’s good; in my mind that means she’s a survivor.”

  “She gets that gene from you.” Grace transfers the rest of the chocolate cake to the fridge but leaves one slice on a plate, nudging it along the draining board. “I think you’re the strongest of all of us, Melly.”

  Melissa flushes with pleasure. She looks younger these days; her face is rounder and she keeps her hair loose. She doesn’t wear those tight little scarves anymore.

  “He says she needs peace, no upheavals.” Melly begins to eat the cake.

  You do too, Grace thinks to herself, that wretched man. “Have you found a buyer for the house yet?”

  “Three. Eve says we can stay as long as we like, but I’m looking for somewhere nearby. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Izzy is dealing out cards to the other children. Every movement she makes seems careful. It’s as if someone is watching her or she is watching herself. That’s what it must have felt like with Paul all the time. Izzy puts her cards down and claps her hands; she’s won the round. She looks up and meets Grace’s gaze with a triumphant little smile; Grace smiles back. Melly was right, Izzy is a survivor.

  Charley tells her mum that it’s been a really long time since there were any actual dyslexia lessons for Blake and the others, which is funny because that’s why they all became friends in the first place. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. Mum says they can’t possibly ask. Ash died less than six months ago, which is nothing. According to Mum, some people are sad forever when their children die. Poppy says she misses Ash really badly but she doesn’t want to talk to her parents in case it reminds them; Mum says they’ll be thinking about it all the time anyway. They see them almost every day. Charley gets that it’s been really hard for Izzy because of what her dad did and s
he can see that Izzy’s trying to be nice, but it still doesn’t make Charley like her much. She misses Dad, but not as much as she’d miss Mum to be honest. Dad slept with Eve, which puts her off both of them, though Blake says to get over it. He thinks Mum has. Charley doesn’t think she has, quite.

  Blake misses Dad all the time. Dad going to Africa makes about the sixth or seventh major bad thing this year. Ash dying was the worst, obviously. Then Sorrel being kidnapped and Paul turning out to be the one who kidnapped her. What happened to Izzy and what happened to her mum. The knife thing, obviously. He misses Dad in the mornings, mucking around with them and laughing, it made Mum’s nagging bearable. And he misses him in the evenings watching TV. And going to soccer. He doesn’t care if Dad made out with Eve, so what? He doesn’t know if Izzy’s one of the good things or one of the bad things. They play normal things like Monopoly now. She’s nicer to Charley and Sorrel and Poppy. Well, to everyone really.

  Izzy’s proud of what she did and so is Mum. No one would have thought that because of her, Dad would end up in prison and Mum would be safe and so would she. Really safe. She did that on her own. Wow. She could have done it a long time ago, but she’s not sure if anyone would have believed her, without what happened to Sorrel added in. It’s great they’re staying with Eve; she wants to see how Sorrel does, obviously. It’s working out okay, living together. She can see Blake isn’t sure about her now, Charley doesn’t like her much, and Grace definitely doesn’t since she told her about Eve and Martin. The important thing is that Mum, Poppy, Sorrel, and Eve are on her side. She’s glad things have worked out as they have, mainly because Mum’s completely different. She hasn’t got any bruises, she even walks differently. It makes it all worthwhile. It’s just her and Mum in their family from now on and Dad can’t do one thing about it.

  Part Six

  Friendship

  I love the bit in Winnie the Pooh when Pooh says a friend is one of the nicest things you can have, and also that quote from Woodrow Wilson about friendship being the cement that holds the world together, which is a roundabout way of explaining to myself why I forgave Eve and why she forgave Melly. It’s hard to understand otherwise, even for me. I mean, who would have thought I’d end up being close to the woman who had an affair with my husband? She was a friend first, then a sort of enemy, then someone I had to help, and, in the end, a best friend. I realized what she was made of the day they found Sorrel; you can see it in her face, which was on all the front covers of the papers. The journalists got there in time to capture it as she came out of the shed the day Sorrel was found. She was blazing with love. She’d been through things that would have destroyed some women—the loss of her son, the kidnap of her daughter—but that day she was on fire. She reminded me of my grandmother; the way she used to be for us. I forgave her; it seemed crazy to throw away our friendship because of Martin.