A Family Man

by Amanda Brookfield

  ‘You bloody great bullies. Get down here. You’re too old anyway to be in this playground. Look at the notice – under the age of eleven, it says. Get down here – I want your names.’ The girls, exchanging looks and giggles, were scrambling down the ropes as fast as they could. Louise seized hold of Joshua and hurriedly bore him off to safety, uncomfortably aware of the stares of other parents and children, their expressions communicating more a sense of entertainment than shared outrage. That Matt had overreacted badly was painfully clear. But then who could blame him, in his current fragile state? she thought sadly, sliding Joshua into a wide swing with high boxed sides and waving at her own children to come and join her. Matt, meanwhile, had managed to catch one of the girls by the arm, a tall, thin one with spindly white legs and a head of frizzy red curls. A few moments later she ran off and he came marching over, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

  ‘I got a name and an address anyway.’ He waved a scrap of paper. ‘It just won’t do, the way these kids behave. Someone’s got to make a stand. I will follow this up, you know,’ he added fiercely, seeing the look on Louise’s face. ‘I bloody well will.’

  ‘I think perhaps you need a cup of tea,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve parked over there.’ Detecting hesitation, she added, ‘I’m more than happy to drop you back afterwards. Anthony is away but

  Gloria’s around to mind my two.’

  Matt took a deep breath and slid the piece of paper into his coat pocket. ‘Thank you, Louise, I’d like that. But we won’t need a lift in either direction. Turns out Kath hasn’t taken the car after all. It was parked round the corner – our road is so full we sometimes have to do that.’

  ‘Well, that’s something anyway.’

  ‘Yes … yes, I suppose it is,’ he murmured, slipping his hands under his son’s armpits to pull him out of the swing. Not sharing any enthusiasm for the idea, Joshua went rigid in protest. A noisy tug-of-war ensued, the child screaming, the father struggling to be gentle, tight-lipped with angry frustration. Louise, watching the spectacle helplessly, clenched her fists among the loose bits of new fluff in her pockets, pity tearing at her heart.

  5

  The Bryants lived in a double-fronted six-bedroomed Victorian house in Camberwell, to which they had moved shortly after Anthony’s appointment at Guy’s. Since Matt’s previous and only visit the year before, the gated space at the front, once full of skips and piles of sand, had been transformed into a crescent-shaped drive. In the centre was a small but perfect circle of brilliant green grass and a huge stone urn, cascading with vigorous foliage. Matt edged carefully past it, rolling to a stop a few inches behind Louise’s Audi. Thanks to Kath, who had given him frequent and often irritating updates on the progress of the Bryants’ fine new home, the immaculate state of the exterior came as no surprise. The urn, he recalled suddenly, had cost a thousand pounds, almost as much as Joshua’s nursery school fees for an entire year.

  ‘Let Josh choose a DVD,’ instructed Louise, once they were all inside the hall, which was beautifully lit by two rows of crystal wall lights and furnished only with a huge gilt-framed mirror. ‘We put the playroom upstairs,’ she explained, as the children thundered up the wide carpeted staircase, ‘so we didn’t have to do any more tripping over trucks and Barbie dolls. Though they find their way down here anyway,’ she added ruefully, leading the way into the kitchen, which was a gleaming gallery of stainless steel and painted green wood.

  ‘Earl Grey or Tetley’s?’ She smiled apologetically, as if to indicate her awareness of the fact that in the face of Matt’s current circumstances the question suggested priorities of the tritest kind.

  ‘Actually, I’d prefer coffee, if you don’t mind. Need a pick-me-up – I’m a bit short on sleep.’

  ‘Yes, of course you are … Oh, Matt, this is so awful, I just wish there was something I could do.

  I still can’t believe that Kath would behave so badly, however miserable she might have been inside – I mean, it’s just so unfair, so hateful, for you and for poor Josh. Jesus,’ she added in a whisper, ‘what was she thinking of. What is she thinking of.’

  ‘Coming to her senses, with any luck. On her way home even.’

  ‘And would you have her back?’ She set a mug of coffee on a coaster in front of him and pushed the sugar bowl and a teaspoon across the table.

  ‘Yes … yes, of course I would. I want her back more than anything, to get back to where we were, but better —’ Matt broke off, his face twisted with emotion. ‘Louise, if you hear anything, anything at all, you will let me know, won’t you?’

  She reached out and pressed her hand over his. ‘Of course. In the meantime, I’ve been thinking that perhaps you should talk to some of the mums at Bright Sparks. On a day-to-day basis she saw far more of them than me.’ She hesitated. ‘What Kath’s done is very wrong. Nobody has the right to vanish. You deserve an explanation. And I’m sure you will get one, eventually.’ She took a slow sip of her tea. ‘Until things sort themselves out I’m more than happy to help out with Joshua where I can. As you probably know, I’ve got something of a nightmare school-run to Clapham, but because of Gloria I can be pretty flexible – the only really difficult day is Thursday when she has her English course and I do my bit for charity, but I’m sure that —’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Matt interrupted, so curtly that an expression of hurt flickered across her face. ‘I’ve already been told I can have up to three weeks off work. If nothing is resolved during that time I’ll sort out some childcare arrangements, maybe rework my contract so that I can spend more time at home…it would no doubt mean a cut in salary, but at least then I could be around for Josh. All I’d need would be a baby-sitter for the evenings.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ murmured Louise, secretly thinking that reconfiguring his working life would be a lot harder than Matt imagined, but not wanting to burst the small bubble of conviction buoying him along. The warmth of the house and the hot coffee had brought some colour to his face and a bit of life back into his eyes – beautiful dark-lashed brown eyes set attractively far apart and hooded by dark, tidy eyebrows. Anthony’s eyebrows, she’d noticed recently, were showing premature signs of unruliness, curling out at the edges in a way that suggested an even more professorial look for his later years. Vague unease about this development had been overridden by the fact that it was the professor aspect of him which had drawn her in the first place; not just that he was ten years older and innately wiser, but that as a doctor specialising in heart surgery and research, his strong, hairy hands had to be so deft with the most delicate of things. As a young medical secretary she had fantasised about those hands on her skin, probing her with their strong, knowing touch, long before the Christmas party when the first of such dreams had actually begun to materialise.

  Whereas Anthony knew full well that his chiselled features and towering figure were impressive, one of the other endearing things about Matt Webster, Louise mused, fishing out a tin of biscuits from her walk-in larder and offering them across the table, was that he seemed to have very little idea of his own attraction. Even in less harrowing circumstances there was a shadow of uncertainty hovering round the edges of his big smile, and flashes of anxiety in his dark eyes, as if he were constantly gauging the reactions of those around him, checking himself for mistakes. That so unsure a creature was in fact in possession of a fine brain, and – as she had discovered on the occasional joint family excursion to indoor swimming pools – a fine body, had always struck her as a rather appealing paradox.

  And the new haircut was good too, she mused, studying Matt approvingly through the steam of her second cup of tea, and thinking that if Kath really had gone for good he would have little trouble finding a replacement.

  ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘But I’ve been no use at all.’ Louise wrung her hands, blushing at the shameful way her thoughts had strayed and trying to deter him with offers of more coffee and biscuits.

  ‘You’ve been great. Just ta
lking is a big help. I’ll let you know of any developments.’

  Glimpsing the look of pained concern on Louise’s face in his rear- view mirror as he drove away, Matt was struck by the unhappy thought that Kath’s desertion had transformed him into an object of pity. He had felt it a bit at the kitchen table too, with all her watery-eyed looks and offers of help. Well intentioned though such reactions clearly were, they made him want to melt with shame, not only on his own account, but for Joshua as well. How on earth did a child live down being abandoned by his own mother? he wondered bitterly, checking over his shoulder and sighing with relief to see that the object of his concern had fallen asleep, one cheek pressed in what looked like an impossibly uncomfortable position up against the window lock.

  That Kath clearly had not confided in Louise or anyone else was the only small straw of comfort that Matt could draw from the situation. It meant that her betrayal, desperation, whatever it was, was all-embracing, non-selective, that she hadn’t just walked out on her family but on everything else as well.

  It took a while for Matt to register that he was driving very slowly, distracted not just by the treadmill of his own thoughts, but also by an irresistible urge to scan the pavement walkers for signs of Kath. At four o’clock on a cold, grey January Sunday, the number of people about was rapidly decreasing; the few shops that had opened for trading were closing their shutters, while car and streetlights flickered in response to the thickening gloom. She would be in her black jacket, he decided, with her red scarf wrapped up to her chin and her black hair bunched over the top of it. Her face would be pale, scrubbed of make-up as usual, apart from the heavy black line she traced every morning across the upper lids of her eyes. The image hovered before him, tantalisingly real, before blurring and merging with the figure of a tall dark-haired woman in a black jacket stepping out in front of the car. Having failed to notice the zebra crossing, Matt lurched to a halt, his pulse racing, his palms sliding on the steering wheel. The woman, who was not Kath, glared at him as she walked across the road, acknowledging Matt’s tentative head-nod of apology by jabbing her index finger at the monochrome sky.

  As he moved off, checking with trembling, exaggerated care for any more hovering pedestrians, his eye was caught by the name of a road immediately to his left. Recognising it as the street he had scribbled on the scrap of paper in the playground, and pursuing some dim urge to salvage something worthwhile from a dreadful day, he edged the car round the bend and began screening the doors for numbers. It was a scruffy street of narrow terraced houses, with chipped, flaky windowsills and unkempt front gardens housing dustbins and motorbikes. Reaching the number the girl had given him, Matt pulled into a space directly outside it and eased the now crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket. Josie, 36 Denver Street.

  Compared to its neighbours, the house looked relatively well cared for. Although the front garden comprised squares of cracked and heaving concrete, the front door had a handsome coat of black paint, to one side of which sat a large flowerpot sprouting with cyclamen and miniature firs.

  Undecided how or whether to proceed, and because the car was beginning to steam up, Matt wound down his window. At precisely the same moment the front door opened and the girl herself spilled out of it, laughing and eager, her squiggly red hair flying. A few steps behind her emerged a woman with a head of looser long dark curls, wearing a brown trench coat and flat-heeled boots. Strung like a satchel across her chest was a large black leather bag.

  ‘Hang on,’ the woman called, turning to double-lock the door.

  But the girl had already stopped, arrested by the sight of Matt’s face framed in the open window of his car.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s him.’ She began to back away.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Seeing there was nothing for it, and not wanting to disturb Joshua, who was still asleep in the back, Matt got out of the car. ‘Yes, it’s me. Is this your mother?’

  ‘What is all this?’ The brown-haired woman pushed her way forward, past the girl. ‘What do you want?’ It was now clear that she was too young to be the girl’s parent. Apart from the sheen of copper in the hair, there was no physical resemblance either. As she spoke to Matt, she took a step closer, her hazel eyes blazing, her broad mouth stretched thin with hostility.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was actually looking for Josie’s mother. She was part of a gang that bullied my four-year-old son in the playground this afternoon. I think it’s disgraceful. I …’ Matt dried up, aware of sounding both pompous and futile. ‘It’s just that there is a perfectly clear sign up saying that the playground facilities are for children under the age of eleven.’

  ‘Josie? Is this true?’ The woman sounded incredulous.

  Josie was leaning up against the low wall that ran along the front of all the houses, her arms crossed and her mouth working furiously on a piece of gum. She was still in her short skirt; her legs were so thin that Matt could see the web of blue veins near the surface of the skin. Her hair was a brilliant orange, a cruel colour, Matt thought, for anyone, let alone a gawky adolescent with a flat plain face and the figure of a starved orphan.

  ‘Look, please, all I wanted was a quiet word with her parents.’ Matt glanced uncertainly at the house, realising from what had been said that it was not in fact the girl’s home.

  ‘Josie, is it true?’ repeated the woman, not looking at him.

  The girl shrugged. ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t hurt a kid, would I? I was with Tilda and that lot. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even see what they did. They ran off, but he asked my name and where I lived and I said I lived here ’cos I didn’t want him going to my place. I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ put in Matt, ‘as a matter of fact. All I —’

  ‘Well, in that case I’m not quite sure why you are here,’ interjected the woman, swinging her bag farther round her hip and giving an impatient toss of her head. ‘If there was any trouble I am of course extremely sorry.

  Clearly none of them should have been in the playground. I am not, as you have probably gathered, related to Josie, but I see a lot of her and will do my best to ensure that it does not happen again.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Matt stared at her bleakly, the weight of his other troubles suddenly resurfacing in his mind.

  ‘Come on, Josie, we’re late already.’

  Matt watched them walk down the street before throwing himself back into the car with the distinct feeling that he had compounded his misery by making a fool of himself. Joshua, stirring in the back, began to cry softly.

  ‘Easy, little man, easy.’ Matt reached behind his seat to stroke the ruffled head. His hand was grasped at once by small sleepy fingers looking for comfort. The whimpering stopped in the same instant, replaced by the more regular huffing breaths of sleep. With the engine off, the car began to grow noticeably cold. Underneath the palm of his hand, twisted awkwardly behind him, Matt could feel the pulse of his son’s heart, fast and fragile, a tiny trapped bird of a thing. He remembered suddenly the grainy black-and- white screen showing Joshua inside Kath’s womb, a blurred, pulsing, nodular shadow that had meant little at the time. So little he had had to fake some enthusiasm to fill the guilty void inside.

  It was a long time before Matt eased his arm back into his lap and started the engine. He drove home in a trance, aware only of the aching stiffness across his left shoulder, a part of him relishing the diversionary relief it offered, pain in the body instead of the heart.

  6

  The chair was so small, its seat no more than a foot off the ground, that it was impossible to know how to sit, whether to sprawl with both legs straight out in front, or to bend them, bringing both knees absurdly close to his chin. Miss Harris, in spite of her bulk, looked perfectly poised on her own identical perch, like a large queen on a tiny throne, her big blue corduroy skirt trailing on the ground in a way that masked all four legs of the chair. On the walls around them was a merry collage of eggs, chicks and rabbits in variou
s stages of development and recognisability. On Miss Harris’s wide lap were a pile of papers relating to Joshua’s progress in the classroom.

  ‘He’s very good with the beads.’ ‘Beads?’

  The teacher reached to a set of low shelves next to her and extracted

  what looked like a small bread basket containing scores of plastic baubles of different colours and sizes. ‘We sort them,’ she explained, beginning – quite unnecessarily, Matt felt – to demonstrate on the low table positioned next to her chair. ‘Large, medium and small. Like that. And when the children have finished they learn to put the activity away before choosing a new one. Joshua is wonderfully cooperative in that way – such a tidy- minded child. It’s the more creative activities that he finds hard, the ones where there’s mess and noise and no obvious pattern to follow.’

  Matt clenched his face in a show of understanding. With all that had happened, the thought of Joshua clinging to microscopic patterns of order in an otherwise disordered and terrifying world seemed suddenly unbearably poignant.

  He had only remembered the parents’ meeting at the last minute, the recollection of the time and date somehow filtering through the maelstrom of confusion and unhappiness which had reigned during the week since Kath’s disappearance. Knowing that some explanation for her absence would be called for, he had approached the encounter with a dread that bore little relation to concerns about his son’s education.

  ‘I’m afraid my wife cannot be here,’ he had stammered the moment he was across the wide threshold of the church. Behind Miss Harris he caught a glimpse of Joshua, whom he had deposited an hour before, lost among a stream of children heading towards a side door. ‘In fact, I’m afraid to say we have – for the time being at least – decided to separate.’