Thursdays in the Park

by Hilary Boyd

  14

  The deal was done: contracts on the Old Rectory had been exchanged. George had done it in record time, driven by Jeanie knew not what to get the house secured.

  ‘We must get this on the market.’ George was blinking over his breakfast cup at her. ‘Soon as.’

  She nodded. ‘Have you decided on an agent?’

  ‘Oh, I think we’ll go with Savills; there isn’t a branch in Highgate, but there’s one in Hampstead. We need someone we can trust and I’ve never heard of half the ones on the hill.’

  ‘Up to you.’ She picked the edge off her wholewheat toast and crunched it slowly. She’d had no appetite for weeks now, but she’d always taken good nutrition extremely seriously and she knew she had to make an effort.

  George had returned from Scotland triumphant. The weekend seemed to have sparked him up, given him energy he hadn’t had in years. Was winning that important? she wondered. Since he’d got back she’d found herself able to go through the motions without a shred of irritation with her husband. His presence, so often recently a focus for her anger, no longer seemed to annoy her. In fact she felt strangely at peace. But then she wasn’t really attending to him.

  ‘Are you listening?’ she heard George asking impatiently.

  She smiled. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I think you live on another planet sometimes,’ her husband accurately surmised. ‘I was saying I’ll make an appointment this week.’

  ‘Fine . . . you’re dealing with it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but it would be nice if you took an interest.’ He sounded uncharacteristically tetchy.

  ‘Well, I’m not very interested in selling this house, as you well know.’

  George rolled his eyes skywards. ‘Not this again, Jeanie, please. We’ve done this, haven’t we?’

  Jeanie couldn’t be bothered to answer, but George persisted.

  ‘You’re not going to cause trouble, are you?’

  Jeanie looked up, surprised. ‘Trouble? What do you mean?’

  George shrugged. ‘With the agents, or prospective buyers. . . being negative. It’s so easy to create the wrong atmosphere.’

  ‘I’m certainly not going to buy fresh flowers and roast coffee beans under the grill if that’s what you think, George, but I won’t stop you doing so if you think it’d help.’

  ‘Jeanie, please. What is wrong with you? I just don’t understand you these days. I know you weren’t keen on the move at first, but you loved the house, I know you did. Do you have to keep on being so bolshie?’

  ‘It’s not worth talking to you, George, because you never listen to a word I say. Or take my opinion into account.’ The anger had gone out of her words; she knew she merely sounded tired.

  George got up and came round behind her, patting her ineffectually on the back.

  ‘Come on, that’s not true and you know it. Of course I value your opinion, but you blow hot and cold. I don’t know where I am.’

  She wanted to ask him when she had blown ‘hot’ on this project, but she knew it was pointless. Chanty had insisted that her father would never move if Jeanie didn’t want to, and she had talked to him, as Chanty had suggested, on the day he got back from the golf. She’d sat him down at the kitchen table and told him, in words of mostly one syllable, that she did not want to move to the country. She’d stated her case calmly, had taken his own position into account by suggesting they get a weekend cottage for now, and George had responded with the usual mantra: ‘You’ll like it when you get there; You loved the house; Chanty thinks it’s the right thing to do; You often don’t realize what’s best for you (but I do).’ (This last was couched in less inflammatory terms, but the gist was clear.) It was as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She got up. ‘Do not mention the shop to Savills.’

  ‘Of course I won’t, the shop is yours.’ George must have seen the dangerous look in her eye, because his tone was conciliatory. ‘But what are you going to do with it, Jeanie? You can’t run it from Somerset.’ The bullying tone was back in his voice, and Jeanie could take it no longer. Without saying a word she left the table, and the room.

  Lying inert on the bed, she was beyond even crying. Rita’s words echoed in her head. Why didn’t she just leave George? For the first time Jeanie looked the possibility full in the face, instead of batting it away as she had done every time Rita confronted her. But her mind baulked at the suggestion: she found she was literally unable to place herself in this scenario. It wasn’t about specifics – although she could see her father rising from his grave in protest at the word ‘divorce’. It was less defined, more an amorphous, overwhelming presentiment of loss, such as she’d felt when Will died. And every cell in her body resisted that pain.

  Thursdays were not the same any more. Jeanie continued to avoid Waterlow Park, not because she was frightened of Alex and Chanty seeing them together – Ray had told her he very rarely took Dylan on a Thursday any more – but because it reminded her of their days together, days when things had been so simple, so thrilling, when neither knew what could happen. But today Alex had specifically asked her to meet him there and take Ellie off his hands early. He was picking her up from nursery in Dartmouth Park, where she was staying three full mornings now, and he had to be in the West End by two.

  The weather had swung again, and it was warm and sunny – a perfect early-summer day. She and Jola had shut the shop for a stocktake that morning; Jeanie had been aware for a while that older stock was being wasted in the rush to get new stuff on to the shelves, but it had been too busy recently to monitor deliveries properly. Of course it had taken longer than either of them anticipated, and now she was late. She knew Alex would be champing at the bit to get going, and hoped he wouldn’t be nasty. Since the incident with Ray, he had been sheepish with her, careful not to antagonize. But she hadn’t forgiven him, and she kept their conversations short.

  She arrived at the bottom of the hill where the old playground was, but couldn’t see either Ellie or Alex. She searched by the ducks, but there was no sign of them. Checking her phone, she saw he had left a message that she hadn’t heard amongst the traffic on Highgate Hill. He had taken Ellie up to the new play area.

  Hot from her walk, Jeanie made her way slowly up the hill, but as she rounded the bend she was met by the most extraordinary sight. The playground was packed, children swarming all over the apparatus, mostly toddlers and the under-fives as the older ones were still in school, but in the centre of the playground stood Alex and Ray, face to face and shouting at each other. The other parents and nannies were pretending nothing was happening, but she could tell by their silence they were absorbing every word. Her first thought was that her son-in-law had somehow found out about her and Ray and was having it out with him. Her blood ran cold.

  ‘You’re a blasted idiot.’ Ray’s tone was cold and controlled. ‘This isn’t about me or you, you selfish moron, this is about your daughter’s life.’

  Oh God, no, she thought, not this. Please don’t let it be about this.

  Alex’s pretty-boy face was suffused with rage, his arms were planted firmly on his skinny hips and he was leaning in towards Ray as if he were about to hit him. Jeanie looked around for Ellie and saw her slumped, oddly quiet, by her father’s feet. She also noticed Dylan, hanging behind his grandfather, his eyes round with concern.

  ‘You butt out. This is nothing to do with you. This is my daughter and you have no right even to speak to me about her, let alone tell me how I should parent her. Fuck off, just fuck off out of here. Leave us alone.’

  There was a shocked silence in the playground, even the children watching now to see what might happen.

  ‘What in God’s name are you two shouting about?’ Jeanie hissed as she drew level with them.

  ‘This bloody man is interfering in the way I look after my daughter,’ Alex huffed, immediately dropping his voice. ‘You tell him, he’s your friend. Tell him to bugger off and mind his own business.’ He passed his
hand over his sweating forehead.

  ‘Hi, Jeanie.’ Ray looked as if he were trying hard to contain himself.

  ‘Will someone please tell me what this is about?’

  ‘Ellie took a fall off the log. I was right there and I heard it. She hit the side of her head on the wooden stanchion as she went down and it was a nasty crack. She fell like a stone. I know she got up after a minute or so, but she looked dazed. She didn’t even cry.’

  ‘She’s perfectly all right: look at her, will you? Do you think I’d jeopardize my own daughter’s safety? She’s fine, she’s had a bump on the head, that’s all’ – he threw his arms wide to take in all the other children in the playground – ‘like most of this lot have every day.’

  Ray turned to Jeanie, his face full of concern. ‘You didn’t hear it, it was a real crack and she fell so heavily. I don’t know if she was momentarily concussed, but even if she wasn’t, she should go and be checked out at A & E. I know a good fall from a bad one, it’s part of my work.’

  Alex turned angrily away. ‘Oh la-di-da . . . for Christ’s sake, give it a rest. I am not taking my daughter to A & E over a small bump. They’ll think I’ve taken leave of my senses. Tell him, Jean, tell him how pathetic he’s sounding.’

  Jeanie had bent down and taken a look at her granddaughter. Ellie smiled up at her wanly.

  ‘Hello, Gin . . . my did fall on wobby log and it was ouchy on here.’ She rubbed her hand on her temple, where there was already an incipient bruise. ‘Daddy bit silly cos he shout at Way.’

  Jeanie knelt to kiss her. ‘Do you feel all right now, darling?’ She stroked the blonde head, her heart pounding at the thought that some harm might come to her.

  ‘Yers . . . but I did hurt my arm too . . . look, Gin.’

  ‘You’re OK now, aren’t you,’ Alex said soothingly, picking up his daughter and looking at the bruise. ‘You just bumped your head . . . silly Ell.’

  Jeanie took a breath and wondered how best to get Alex on her side. ‘There aren’t necessarily any signs at first, Alex. If she hit her head hard she should see someone. They won’t think you’re mad, I promise. Remember, I was a nurse, and we were always happier to have a false alarm than see a child when they already had brain damage . . . or worse.’

  Alex looked at her hard. ‘This is ridiculous. I have a meeting in town with a potential buyer, and it could be huge, and you’re telling me I have to go and sit in that filthy hospital and wait for four hours so that they can assure me my daughter is absolutely fine and I’ve wasted everyone’s time? That is soooo not going to happen.’ He glared at Jeanie. ‘You shouldn’t listen to this man. I’d have thought better of you.’

  Jeanie thought quickly. ‘OK, you go, Alex. You’re right, you’ll be late.’

  ‘Hurray, some sense at last.’ She saw the smug look he shot at Ray, who kept silent as Alex handed Ellie over to her grandmother and slung his Eastpak over his shoulder with visible relief.

  ‘I’ll see you later, darling.’ He kissed his child on her nose, trying to make her laugh, but Ellie just stared silently at him. Jeanie could see a flash of doubt cross his face, but he was too wrapped up in his own triumph over Ray to back down now.

  They watched as he strode down the hill.

  ‘Wait.’ She shot a warning glance at Ray, who was about to speak. Alex looked back uncertainly, but didn’t wave, and as soon as he was out of sight, she turned to Ray. ‘OK, let’s go.’

  ‘Come on, Dylan.’ Ray shepherded his grandson down the hill towards the east gate, following in Jeanie’s footsteps.

  ‘Where are we going, Grandpa?’

  ‘To the hospital to check that Ellie hasn’t hurt her head too badly.’ He turned to Jeanie. ‘Do you want me to carry her?’

  Jeanie shook her head. ‘I’m OK.’

  Before they were halfway down the hill, Ellie started to fall asleep on Jeanie’s shoulder.

  ‘Wake up, darling.’ She shook her gently. ‘Don’t go to sleep, now . . . come on, Ell . . .’ She brushed her cheek, talking to the child all the time. ‘Shall we sing? Come on, let’s sing. Sing a song of sixpence . . .’

  She looked over at Ray. ‘She mustn’t go to sleep, we’ve got to keep her awake.’

  ‘Give her to me, that’ll wake her.’ He took Ellie, but she seemed not to notice the change. Then the little girl suddenly looked white as a sheet and vomited all over Ray’s shirt.

  ‘Oh, God, Ray, I’m sorry. But that’s not a good sign.’ Jeanie was feeling as if a vice were tightening round her chest. Let her be all right, please, let her be all right, she intoned to an invisible universe. ‘Hurry, we’ve got to get her there as soon as possible.’

  Jeanie took Ellie as they pushed through the doors of the Whittington A & E. She rushed up to the receptionist and told her what had happened.

  ‘She’s just vomited, she’s sleepy,’ she added. ‘I’m a nurse, please can you get someone immediately.’

  Time stopped for Jeanie. There was nothing now in the world but watching this little face, so unutterably dear to her, watching for any tiny nuance in expression, colour, response; nothing but the constant mantra that became central to every thought, her plea to any power for assistance. Within seconds a young doctor had appeared from the treatment area and was showing them to a cubicle.

  ‘I’ll stay out here with Dylan, go and wash this off,’ Ray said, pulling his vomit-soaked shirt away from his chest. Jeanie nodded, although she would have liked him to come. The responsibility of this sick child seemed overwhelmingly hers.

  Things moved fast. The doctor checked Ellie out, called another doctor, clearly senior to the first and possibly a registrar, who got a line into her small arm and fixed it with tape. Ellie just lay there, her eyes not focusing, her hand resting in Jeanie’s.

  ‘It looks as if there might be some brain swelling, but we want to check what’s going on.’ The registrar, a tall, ginger-haired man of about forty with a pale, tired face, hardly glanced at Jeanie. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘About forty minutes ago I think; I wasn’t there. Are you sending her for a scan?’

  ‘Yes.’ He met her eye, obviously deciding how much she could be told.

  ‘I used to be a nurse.’

  ‘OK. Well, we need to do a CT scan to check for a bleed. Lucky you got her here so quickly. If there is a problem, we should be in time to fix it. Are you her mother?’

  ‘Grandmother.’

  ‘Right. The nurse will take you up in a minute, and I’ll see you later.’

  Jeanie asked the nurse to get Ray.

  ‘They’re taking her up for a scan. Don’t wait, please, take Dylan home. I’ll call you.’

  ‘I’ll come back.’ It wasn’t a question, and Jeanie didn’t argue.

  ‘They should know . . . Alex and your daughter,’ Ray said, never taking his eyes off the little girl on the gurney, his shirt wet from where he had washed off the vomit.

  She nodded, everything forgotten in the panic. Despite the sign banning mobiles, she flicked to her daughter’s number. It was on answer. She left a message to come at once, but that didn’t seem enough. She rang George. His phone was also on answer.

  ‘George, Ellie’s had a fall and she’s being checked out at the Whittington. I can’t use my mobile, so can you ring Chanty and Alex and get them to come at once.’ She wanted to add that their granddaughter was all right, to be reassuring, but there was no evidence yet that she was. Jeanie knew when a doctor was worried.

  ‘Well, good news.’ The ginger-haired doctor, whose name was Rob, looked thoroughly relieved. ‘The scan shows she has some brain swelling; it was obviously quite a bang, but there’s no actual bleed.’

  Jeanie took her first proper breath since the park. Ellie looked so pale, her eyes open but still no focus to their gaze.

  ‘We’d like to admit her for twenty-four hours, keep an eye on her. The nurse will organize that – but I think she’ll be fine . . . won’t you, sweetheart?’ He brushed the child’s arm wit
h surprising tenderness. He must have one of his own, Jeanie thought. ‘We’ll keep her lightly sedated.’

  Ellie looked up at her. ‘Gin . . . where’s Mummy?’

  Jeanie looked at her watch. It was nearly two hours since the accident, and still no sign of anyone.

  ‘She’s on her way, poppet. I’ll give her another call.’

  Determined not to leave the little girl for even a second, she flouted the rules and rang Chanty’s mobile again. There was still no answer. Where was she? Where was everyone? She saw that George had tried to call her four times, but she didn’t bother to listen to the messages. This time he answered, his voice breathless and panicky.

  ‘I’m just outside the hospital. Where are you?’

  ‘Still in A & E, but it’s OK, George, I’ll tell you when you get here.’

  ‘Grandadz.’ Ellie smiled up at George sleepily while Jeanie filled him in.

  ‘Did you get hold of Chanty or Alex?’

  ‘Finally. She wasn’t answering her mobile, so I rang Channel 4 and they were idiotic, couldn’t find her in the building, shilly-shallied until I nearly went down to get her myself. Obviously she was frantic when I did speak to her. She said she’d been in a meeting in Canary Wharf and her phone was on silent. She’s probably on the Tube right now. I left a message for Alex, but no doubt Chanty will talk to him.’ George shifted from one foot to another. ‘Never liked hospitals,’ he stated quietly.

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘You must have, you worked in one for years.’

  She laughed. ‘I suppose you like the work, not so much the place where you do it. Don’t stay, she’s been sedated and she should sleep now.’ Ellie’s little hand was beginning to relax its grip on her own, her eyelids fluttering softly.

  ‘You’re going to stay?’

  ‘Until Chanty comes, yes.’

  George looked uncertain. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me here?’