The Nursery

by Asia Mackay

  Chapter Twelve

  FUNFAIRS WERE CUNNINGLY DESIGNED child-catching traps. Bright flashing lights, bright coloured rides and bright E-numbered snacks. Everything shouted: ‘This is where all the fun is had and if your parents don’t take you they don’t really love you!’

  I looked round at the mini rollercoaster, the spinning teacups and the lurching plane rides and tried to forget one of the many Daily Mail articles my mother-in-law had sent me about funfairs’ poor health and safety implementations leading to severe concussions and crippled children.

  ‘Mama mama mama, look look look!’ Gigi pointed to a woman pushing a cart advertising Haribo ice cream. ‘Please please please?’

  I sighed. If we were going to go for the full funfair experience we might as well load them up with sugar and sweets to puke out on one of the rides.

  As I went to pay I turned to Florence. ‘Do you want one?’ She shook her head. Of course she didn’t. Her exemplary behaviour even extended to not having a sweet tooth.

  I looked around at the funfair and motioned towards the bouncy castle. ‘Let’s set the kids up there.’

  The massive Mickey Mouse-decorated bouncy castle, with several different turrets and a netted centre that contained a giant ball pit, looked the least likely to sever limbs.

  ‘How much?’ Frederick asked the surly man in front of the velvet rope cordoning off entrance to the bouncy castle.

  ‘Ten quid – ten minutes.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  The man just held out his hand. Gigi and Florence had already ducked under the rope and were tugging off their shoes. Frederick and I each handed over a ten-pound note.

  ‘I don’t care if they get bored after two minutes,’ I said, ‘they’re staying on there until he drags them off. Unless . . . do you think we can expense it?’

  He laughed. It was a nice sound. ‘Are you going to eat that?’ He motioned towards Gigi’s melting ice cream.

  ‘No, you can have it.’ I held it up to him, implying for him to take it. But instead he leaned down and took a bite of it. So yes. There it was. I had just fed him ice cream.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  We stood there staring at each other.

  ‘I . . . I meant, take the whole thing. Really, it’s fine. I don’t want any of it.’

  ‘You should have a bite at least.’

  There was no way to lick an ice cream in front of someone staring at you without it looking suggestive.

  ‘Lex!’

  I spun round to see my friends Shona and Frankie. Shona’s five-year-old daughter Willow was next to her, holding her hand and clasping a violin case in the other.

  ‘You’re here too! How great.’ I thought fast. Everything was fine. Nothing to see here. No homicidal clowns to meet. No Chinese ministers to save. I was just at a funfair with a school-run dad. I looked across at Frederick. Maybe they wouldn’t notice his piercing blue eyes, chiselled jaw, broad shoulders and toned torso all packaged together in a perfectly cut suit.

  ‘Shona and Frankie, this is Frederick. Our daughters are at nursery together.’

  They both looked at him. ‘Hello,’ they chorused. Frankie may have smirked.

  ‘Owwwwwww!’ Over on the bouncy castle Florence let out a cry. She was lying stricken on the mat.

  Frederick said, ‘Apologies, I just need to . . .’ and he charged off to Florence.

  Shona and Frankie both watched him leave and then turned to look at me.

  I took in their raised eyebrows. ‘What?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Shona.

  ‘I’m just . . . it’s a funfair. We were both coming here anyway so thought we might as well come together.’

  Frankie was shaking her head the whole time I was talking. ‘No, no, no. The ice cream licking, the laughing, the eye’ – she looked down at Willow – ‘fudging. This is trouble.’

  How long had they been watching us?

  ‘Two people of the opposite sex can be friends.’

  ‘You’re choosing that guy, Mr Male Model, as a platonic friend?’ said Frankie. The two of them fell about laughing.

  ‘You told me I needed to make more effort with the parents at Gigi’s nursery, so I am.’

  ‘Have you learned anyone else’s name?’

  ‘Of course. I know . . . Rochelle.’

  ‘Isn’t she the one that fancies Will?’ asked Shona.

  ‘And you hate her,’ finished Frankie.

  ‘Yes but I’ve learned her name.’

  Frederick came back up to us. Florence’s tears had dried and she was now back bouncing alongside Gigi.

  ‘Crisis averted.’

  ‘Mama, we need to go. The concert starts soon.’ Willow was tugging on Shona’s hand.

  Shona checked her watch. ‘OK, OK, we’re going. Nice to meet you, Frederick.’

  ‘Yes, very nice to meet you, Frederick,’ added Frankie with a smile. ‘Lex, we’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Clown,’ said Frederick, interrupting my thoughts about how I was going to cope with the WhatsApp assault later.

  I looked towards where he was pointing. Over by the carousel was a clown in a bright yellow outfit with enormous red fluffy buttons and a rainbow ruffle around his neck. His full face of white make-up was complete with painted-on black eyebrows, elongated black eyelashes and giant red lips. The look was finished with a spiky red wig and a stuck-on red nose. He was leaning against the side of the carousel with his arms crossed. I looked down at his feet. No comedy big shoes, just combat boots. The rest of his costume may be different but he had been wearing those same boots and the spiky red wig the last time we met.

  ‘Keep an eye on the girls.’ I handed him the ice cream.

  *

  ‘Hello. Remember me?’

  The Clown observed me as he put a cigarette in his mouth.

  ‘I don’t think you should.’ I motioned to the many children running around.

  The Clown said nothing as he pulled a lighter out of his oversized pocket and lit it. He took a long drag and blew the smoke in my face.

  ‘How’s Hake?’ The Clown’s thick Spanish accent was supposedly the reason he always pronounced Jake like this, although I was sure it was just because he knew it irritated the hell out of him.

  ‘He’s good.’

  ‘I keep waiting for him to leave you do-gooders and become one of us.’

  ‘Lucky for you he’s staying put. You’d never book a job again with him on the market.’

  The Clown shrugged. ‘Maybe true. But worthy competition keeps us all at the top of our game.’

  ‘Are you in town for the Peng job? If you are we need to talk.’

  ‘And why would I talk to you?’

  ‘Because you don’t want to piss me off. You Coyotes are out there on your own and we’re a pack. Remember, this is our town. You upset one of us and you upset all of us.’ I took a step closer towards him. ‘And you know what they say about Rats. You’re never too far away from one.’

  The Clown took another few long drags and then stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the carousel. ‘I am in town for work. Not this Peng you talk of, though. Getting close to my target will require my particular level of expertise.’ He gave a wave across his made-up face. ‘I’m here for,’ he leaned closer to me, ‘Adam Pants.’

  ‘Is that some kind of codename?’

  ‘I thought you would’ve heard of him. He’s a kids’ entertainer. Very popular.’

  ‘What the hell has he done to get a hit out on him? Handed out too much sugar? Not made the birthday boy feel special enough?’

  The Clown frowned. ‘You don’t know about the drugs?’

  ‘What drugs?’

  ‘There’s a pretty big market for it in the kiddie entertainer world. My employers have it covered but Mr Pants has been trying to muscle in and start his own supply chain.’

  ‘I . . . what? That can’t be right?’

  ‘Have you ever seen a children’s en
tertainer perform? You think anyone has that type of energy naturally? That kind of patience? Come on. They’re all on uppers, downers, anything that can get them through a gig. They have a faster burn-out rate than professional athletes.’

  I thought of Prehistoric Pete and how naïve it was to think they all just ran off shattered showbiz dreams and an enthusiasm to make kids smile.

  ‘Have you heard about the Peng job? It’s happening here in London.’

  The Clown shook his head. ‘No one’s approached me about it and I haven’t heard anyone else muttering about it. But then you know us Coyotes.’ He leaned towards me. ‘It’s not like we all hang out together swapping stories on who’s popping who.’

  ‘You don’t know of any other Coyotes currently in town?’

  ‘I haven’t heard of any that are and I haven’t seen any. I only landed this morning and this is where I’m meeting my contact for the Pants information. In fact, you need to go. You could be scaring them off.’

  ‘You’d better not be lying to me.’ I had to bite my lip to stop myself adding, ‘Or I’ll wipe that smile off your face.’ He must get that a lot.

  ‘That’s why I’ve told you the name of my target. When he hits the news you know I’m not lying. I am telling you everything. Playing nicely. So you and your pack can leave me alone. Comprendez?’

  I nodded. ‘We’ll be happier once you’re out the country.’ I walked away from the carousel, back towards the bouncy castle.

  *

  Gigi and Florence were now in a pink glittery train carriage and doing royal waves out their windows at Frederick. I came up alongside him.

  ‘The Clown is here on a job. But his target’s not Peng. He’s here to top Adam Pants.’

  ‘The kids’ entertainer? I saw him perform at a third birthday party last week. Very impressive.’ Frederick thought for a moment. ‘Must be some kind of drugs hit, right?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘If you’ve got thirty kids trying to honk your nose and pull your pants down and you’re still smiling, there must be some of kind of chemical help.’

  ‘He hadn’t even heard of the Peng job so couldn’t give us any clues on who the Coyote booked for it is.’ I blew kisses at Gigi as she went round again.

  ‘I believe him. We should go.’

  The train ground to a halt and the girls climbed out their carriages and came bounding over to us.

  ‘Where next, Mama, where next?’

  ‘It’s home time, Gigi.’ I braced myself for the inevitable tantrum.

  ‘We going back on bus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. I love bus.’

  ‘Me too. I love bus,’ said Florence. It was good to know that next time they wanted to go to a funfair we could save fifty quid and just stay on the 94.

  We took our respective daughters by the hand and headed towards the exit.

  I looked back across the noise and colour of the funfair rides. I could still see the Clown leaning against the side of the carousel.

  Gigi spotted him too. ‘Look, Mummy, a clown! I love clowns.’

  ‘Not that one, darling. Not that one.’

  He gave me a slow wave.

  All Gigi’s books featuring clowns would be going in the bin as soon as we got home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DOWN AT THE PLATFORM it was eerily quiet without the sounds of the other Rats scurrying around. I left the lift and walked down the corridor. There was no flickering of the lights as an interviewee was interrogated. No intermittent moans escaping from the soundproofed doors. No sounds of cutlery hitting plates from the canteen as the thirty-strong workforce fuelled up with fry-ups and caffeine. No howls from the gym as Rats pounded punchbags, or each other. No clinks from the weight machines as they pushed themselves to keep lifting.

  It was too peaceful. Just the rumble of the tubes that passed alongside our network of offices and tunnels.

  Only Geraint and Pixie were in our office; the others were all out watching Peng or tormenting hackers. Pixie seemed to be vigorously wiping at the ketchup stain on Geraint’s T-shirt as he typed. Geraint stood up as I walked in.

  ‘Babe, I hadn’t finished yet,’ complained Pixie.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he huffed. ‘Lex, I think we’ve found where Daddy Pig went when he claimed to be in Birmingham last week. I got this CCTV of him entering this block of flats.’

  Geraint pressed a few buttons and grainy CCTV footage was projected up onto the whiteboard. ‘He enters at 7.43 p.m. Can’t see him exiting but there is an underground car park.’

  ‘Dammit. So he could’ve met anyone in there and left at any point. Anyone we know live in that building?’

  ‘Waiting to get the building tenancy records. Lots of these flats get sub-let on the cheap so hard to work out who’s actually living there.’

  ‘Start rolling the lobby footage of people arriving from six p.m. We might spot someone familiar.’

  We all stared at the black and white footage of people walking into the lobby.

  ‘There are so many of them,’ complained Geraint, ‘it’s going to take ages to run them all through the system.’

  We kept watching as another flood of people entered.

  One woman in a suit was scratching her head as she waited for the lift. Something jogged in my mind.

  I tapped the screen. ‘Run her through the system.’

  Pixie zoomed in on her face and clicked a few buttons. ‘How did you know, darlin’? Vicki Forbes works for Six. Executive Assistant on the second floor.’

  ‘Marital status? Children?’

  ‘Single. No kids.’

  ‘She’s got nits,’ I announced.

  All heads swivelled back to the screen. She kept scratching her head.

  ‘Daddy Pig and the whole family have just had nits.’ I remembered a circular from the school. Please be advised there have been several cases of nits reported in your child’s class. Please make sure the whole family follow the below instructions for treatment. Their Amazon history had also showed an order for an industrial-sized bottle of nit lotion and several combs.

  ‘So you think . . .’ started Geraint.

  ‘I think Daddy Pig, who has just had nits courtesy of his kids, entering a building where a colleague, who has no children but can’t stop scratching her head, happens to live, is too much of a coincidence. Check her credit cards. Look for footage of the two of them going into that building around the same time on other dates.’

  If Daddy Pig’s lying about his movements was simply down to cheating, at least that was progress. All that was left was the questionable meet he’d arranged at the Christie’s auction. We just needed to completely rule him out and we could focus all our efforts on the two remaining Pigs.

  ‘I’ve got another lead on George Pig,’ said Pixie. ‘Last week when he took that day off he flew to Zurich. I’m hacking any historic CCTV feeds of that day, focusing on streets with private banks. If he’s the Snake it could be where he’s hidin’ the cash.’

  We were getting closer. I could feel it.

  *

  Making it back home in time for Gigi’s dinner, I had naively thought that hanging out with my daughter would be a welcome break from the high pressure of work. In the stark grey Platform, I always imagined sitting down for a cosy dinner with Gigi while we discussed her day was something I was sad to be missing. But by the time she’d refused to eat the pesto pasta I’d made her as it was too green, by the time she’d thrown the carrots I’d lovingly peeled and chopped on the floor, I was wishing I was back in the sanctuary of the Platform where people were actually scared of me.

  ‘Eat three mouthfuls.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Two mouthfuls.’

  ‘No mouthfuls.’ She clamped her mouth shut. ‘Yucky. Horrible. Dis-GUSTING.’ She pushed her plate away.

  As criticism of my cooking went it was pretty harsh. Especially considering I’d splashed out on the fresh pesto, not the jar kind. I tried to
comfort myself with the fact I shouldn’t hold too high the culinary opinion of someone whose idea of a perfect dinner was a slice of bread covered in ketchup.

  ‘Come on, Gigi, two mouthfuls and then yummy pudding.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Don’t. Want. It.’ She cupped her chin with her hands and stared at me. Blue eyes unwavering.

  After an hour of this I retreated. I crammed two chocolate biscuits into my mouth while hidden behind a cupboard door, wondering why I could negotiate with terrorists but not my two-year-old. She could clearly sense weakness. The no-television-for-a-week threat was a bluff. We both knew it.

  Being a parent grounded you. Children didn’t care what you did out there, you existed solely for them. Last month, a day that had started with the adrenaline-high of armed combat and apprehending a target off our most-wanted list had ended with me fishing a poo out of the bath.

  For children, parents’ only purpose was to make them happy; to provide, to soothe, to hold. The noise of expectation of what we should’ve achieved, where our lives were going – all of that was quiet with them. You were just a happiness-enabler, a hug-giver, biscuit-provider, bottom-wiper, story-reader. All they wanted was you. To do exactly what they wanted. With such simplicity it should be peaceful.

  ‘Neeeee nawwww neeee nawwww,’ Gigi was now shouting as she rolled a police car up and down the kitchen floor.

  But kids were fucking noisy.

  *

  By the time she was down after eight stories and three different last-minute requests for toys she just couldn’t sleep without, I was exhausted. I slumped down at the kitchen table opposite Will. His tie was off and an open beer was in his hand. A large pizza box was on the table.

  ‘Can we talk now about getting away somewhere?’

  ‘Let me speak to work. I’ll see what I can do.’ I wondered how long I could stall him for.

  He took a sip of beer. ‘I feel I never really know what’s going on with you.’

  ‘Don’t say that. I tell you everything,’ I lied.

  ‘Most of the time you’re in your own little world. You’re here but you’re not really here. Who knows where your mind is.’

  I reached a hand over to his. ‘You realise I’m probably just wondering if I’ve missed the editing cut-off time for the Ocado order?’ I wanted to ask, ‘And what about you? Who the hell is messaging you in the middle of the night?’ But I didn’t. When it came to inappropriate contact I didn’t really feel I had the moral high ground. A few hours ago I had fed another man ice cream.