Читать книгу The Fallout - Rebecca Thornton - Страница 10

My phone beeps. I’m sure it’s Sarah. She does this when she’s forgotten our table number when ordering coffee. Normally I would pre-empt it. Not today, though, what with both kids awake all night. And of course Gav had been there, at every single turn. I’d hear his footsteps first as he ran up the stairs from the spare room, breath ragged from broken sleep.

‘Everything all right?’ he queried, watching me open my pyjama top.

‘Everything’s fine. Why?’

‘Just checking. That you’re doing your job.’ He’d emphasised the word ‘job’ in such a way that made me think I’d been doing anything but. Last night, he’d stood over me, making sure I was feeding her right, until I’d asked him to leave. ‘I’ll go when you’ve finished.’ He’d sat down on the very end of the bed, the furthest distance he could manage before he would fall off. As though being any nearer would poison him. He’d made exaggerating stretching sounds all through the feed, yawning and sighing.

I try to forget about Gav. I rest my handset on Thea’s side whilst she’s feeding. Sarah would have told me to take it off immediately. Radiation, cancer. She’s right, of course, but I leave it there whilst I shuffle Thea into a more comfortable position. I’m having to learn independence now, after all. I look down at my screen.

Just in bit of a queue. Haven’t checked on J yet.

I type back one-handed.

No worries. I’ve just seen his head poke out from the sandpit but please check on him after. Just to make sure I got the right kid.

I think about Sarah – how strangely she’s been behaving lately. Not with it. Distant. It’s as though her eyes are totally blank. That look she gets when she and I have been on the wine – the dead-eyed tipping point when I know she’s totally gone. I should find out if she’s OK, especially given what she went through last year. I know it can’t be easy, her seeing me with a newborn, but, for the moment, I’m just too tired.

She’s been a bit snippy with me today too. I want to talk to her about an email I’d got from the work contact I’d put her in touch with, but I decide to wait. I know these moods of hers. Nothing can snap her out of it, really. Except today, the reappearance of Ella Bradby had. I wonder how long this one will last. I think about Aria Delamere whose daughter, Emmeline, had been at nursery with Casper. Sarah had constantly meerkatted for Aria at the school gates, whilst I had been her ‘steady’ friend in the background. The feeling towards Aria had been quick to dissipate, though, when Casper hadn’t been invited to Emmeline’s fourth birthday party.

I look back out of the window, thinking about when I’d last seen Ella, just before she’d done a runner on us, all those years ago. The way she’d stood right by me, her fingers squeezing my arms in the pitch-black freezing winter night. Of course Sarah knows nothing about that – no one does. I pull my thoughts away from it all. Time to move on.

I look outside at the sky to distract myself. It’s a greying day. It feels all at odds with the bright colours and noise inside – the swell of parents dropping their kids into the crèche, so they can race to their fitness classes. Thea starts to squirm. I move her onto the other side of me, rather optimistically latching her high up to my breast. It’s only when I look down that I realise that she’s nowhere near my nipple. ‘Christ,’ I mutter. If Gav wants out of the marriage, I dread to think how I’m going to find anyone else who I won’t mind seeing my boobs. I look around. Everyone just looks so on it. So – perky. And then I give myself a good talking to. Come on, Liza, I tell myself. You’re better than this. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get on with it. The kids need you. But despite my pep talk, there’s still something about today that has turned sour. Just a feeling, if you will. Restlessness. An edginess in the pit of my stomach. And it’s not just the way Gav’s been behaving towards me either.

I look out the window again but my vision is pulled towards the other side of the room. And then I see a flash of her amongst the multi-colours. She stands out, in her monochrome outfit. So sleek and perfect. She pushes a tennis racket back into her bag and swings herself up, effortlessly. As though her limbs are weightless. Bet she has no issues with her boobs. I pull up my bra and try and hoik up my own at the same time.

When I look back on this moment, I will realise that this is when it hits me. This is when my mindset spirals even further. When I start to really question myself. Not that Gav didn’t help me do a good job of that anyway.

It was in this moment, little more than ten minutes ago, when things changed and cracked.

This moment Ella Bradby walked back into our lives.

West London Gazette editorial notes, September 2019

J Roper interview transcript: Aaron Daniels, crèche manager, The Vale Club

I know, I know. This is meant to be a puff piece for the club, isn’t it? You want me to tell you how fantastic the new crèche is. My boss gave me the heads-up. How happy the mums and dads of West London are that there’s a new place for them to drop off their children so they can get to their Pilates and what not. How much it’s changed the area. Blah blah blah. But it’s – OK – off the record, I’m not staying for much longer. Sick of it, I am. Especially since I moved here.

For some it’s been good, of course. Not just the crèche. This whole ‘health club’ thing. We’ve already had people claim that property prices nearby have rocketed. Like we need that. It was bad enough when they built that school – West London Primary Academy, driving up the house prices like crazy for the rest of us. A school for the under-privileged, my arse. You should see the families that go there now, braying at the gates with their 4x4 cars running outside. So for those people, you see, of course this has all been a bonus.

Anyway, I’m not ungrateful for the job. I’ve learnt how to handle myself much better. Especially when there’s a complaint from the mums or dads that we haven’t been doing our jobs properly. (I didn’t know our role was to be private tutor, chef and the rest all in one.) The behaviour then is crazy. They’re all rigid and polite until something is not to their liking. Then they come up, their faces all in mine. ‘You mean you don’t have drinks and snacks for the children? This is disgusting. I don’t pay all this money for nothing, you know.’ You get the picture.

Anyway, they’re not all bad, obviously. Some are. Your ears would bleed if I told you some of the stuff I’ve seen. Put it like this, I’m not quite sure how some of them have hearts that don’t explode on the running machines after a weekend of ‘excess’. And by excess, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. (At this point, interviewee mimics sniffing something off the table – ed.)

I hear them all the time in the queue. ‘How did you feel on Sunday, Minnie?’ And the casual tap on their noses, their smiles, all conspiratorial-like. ‘Oh God,’ they’ll reply. ‘The children were up at six in the morning. I was still absolutely awake from the night before.’ Then they’ll do this comedy wide-eyed expression, chewing their tongues. In front of their kids! Anyway, I’m not going into that now, when I’ve still got to hand in my notice.

Besides, as I was saying, some of them are nice. Polite but distant. But they’re all very, I’d say … ‘eager’ to drop their kids. I understand, they want a break. We all do and I’ve got two of my own, so I know. But the way they go about it is quite mad, really. Jostling and pushing to get to the front of the queue. It’s like they’re teenagers all over again, waiting to see their favourite band live in concert. We’ve had to install a proper system with barriers and stuff, just so we can keep them in line.

And when I say the parents run – they’ve barely finished scribbling their names on the signing-in sheet before they’ve disappeared to get to their fitness classes. Then, when they come back it’s all like, ‘Oh little Freya’ or ‘Little Isabella, how I’ve missed you, have you missed Mummy and Daddy?’

Look, as I said, I’ve got my own kids so I know what it’s like. And better they run to their fitness class than, well, to the pub. Although it appears to me they do that too.

But I think what upsets me the most is not that the members here have a place to enjoy. It’s brilliant that they’ve built somewhere that focuses on fitness and health for both adults and children. I know most of those parents work hard. And if I’d grown up somewhere like this I would have loved to have been a part of it all.

But I suppose what I’m saying, really, is that some of the parents who drop their kids at the crèche, they see it as their right to be here, rather than a privilege.

And you know how I know this?

Well, it’s been a few weeks now since the club opened its doors, and some of the first members started coming here right from the beginning. Every day they’ve dropped their little ones here. Same time, same place. And it occurred to me yesterday that only about half of them have even bothered to learn my name. I don’t expect them to know all the staff members here. Of course not. But the ones looking after their kids? Yes. I do expect that.

I do get a vague smile, though, from most of them. I mean, we can’t be totally invisible. Can we?

After all, we’re looking after their little angels. It’s us that keeps them safe from harm. For that window of time they are with us, we have to make sure that nothing bad comes their way. Because, of course, where their children are concerned, there’s danger everywhere – isn’t there?