Cold as Ice

by Lee Weeks

  ‘Yeah . . . he has his moments.’

  Tracy relaxed a little. ‘Shall we meet again?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to.’ Danielle’s voice was quiet.

  ‘I have a half day tomorrow. I can meet in the morning, about eleven?’

  ‘Okay. Can we meet near my home? Finsbury Park is just across from me. I can meet you at the main entrance?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Sounds lovely. See you tomorrow.’

  Tracy closed her phone and put it back in her bag. She sat on the edge of the bed. She could hear Steve shouting at the television as his team went down at home again. Tracy waited until she heard him get up and go into the kitchen for another beer then she picked up her wine and walked into the lounge. Steve came back into the room and sat back in his chair to listen to the half-time commentary.

  ‘Did you find something to eat?’ He kept his eyes on the screen but directed the question her way. He was irritable, resentful. ‘Bloody ref. Never seen such a biased decision in all my life.’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry.’ She came to stand beside him. ‘I’m hardly wasting away.’

  Steve glared at the telly as a replay of the incident that led to his team’s striker being sent off was replayed and analysed. He glanced her way. His eyes ran down her figure.

  ‘No, you’re right, you could do with losing a stone. We both could.’

  Tracy stared at the side of Steve’s head. All the years they’d been together Steve had never realized how hard she tried to fulfil his vision of female perfection and how much it hurt that she knew she would never make it.

  She went back into the kitchen and washed up the few things and then she stood looking out into the blackness peppered with orange streetlights beyond the kitchen window. She wiped her hands, sighed loudly as she poured herself another glass of wine, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then walked back into the lounge. Steve was flicking through the channels as he waited for the analysis to stop and the football to resume after half-time.

  ‘Steve. I need to talk to you about something.’ Tracy went to sit to his right on the small silk-covered sofa that she had bought at a large discount from Simmons. Steve watched her. She sat on the edge of the seat and held her glass in two hands.

  ‘It’s about the child I gave up for adoption.’

  Steve sat back in his chair. He picked up his beer. He kept his eyes on Tracy.

  ‘Well you know that I had a child, a baby girl, when I was a teenager and you know that I gave her up for adoption.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was a her?’

  ‘Yes . . . yes . . . it was a girl.’

  ‘Okay and?’ He shook his head, confused, irritable now that he was missing the start of the second half.

  ‘She got in touch with me. She said she wanted to meet up.’ He looked at her dumbfounded. ‘Well, I saw her today.’

  ‘What, you met her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t think to talk to me about it before you met her?’

  Tracy shook her head, flustered. ‘I tried to. I thought about it. But I didn’t know if she would turn up, if it would actually happen.’

  Steve shook his head. He looked at Tracy with an expression of betrayal.

  ‘What the hell, Trace?’

  ‘But, Steve, you have to see . . . I had no choice. And I didn’t want to worry you in case it came to nothing. You seem so worried about everything these days.’

  ‘And now?’ He glared at her. She felt her shoulders rise, her gut tighten. She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. Tracy longed to rush over to him; to cuddle him; she wanted him to hold her and reassure her. But she knew that was her job in their relationship.

  So she stayed where she was and sat upright on the edge of the sofa: the image of calm.

  ‘And now – I don’t know what will come of it but it feels right to try and help her.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘Nothing. Not material things anyway. She lives on her own with Jackson; she seems quite sorted. Do you want to meet them?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t. What would I want to meet them for?’

  ‘I don’t know, Steve.’ She shrugged, shook her head. Kept her eyes on his as she implored him to see beneath, to help, just for once . . . ‘You know, she’s a nice girl. He’s a really sweet little lad. He’s got Down’s syndrome.’

  ‘What?’ Steve shook his head slowly and tutted under his breath.

  Tracy looked at him, looked at his profile. She felt something so sad inside that it made her jump up and cover her mouth in case it escaped. She went into the kitchen and wiped the clean work surface again. She pulled out the mop and began washing the floor. She listened to Steve shout at the screen as his side conceded another goal.

  Chapter 7

  Tracy walked through the park entrance and saw Danielle standing just inside the gates and texting on her phone. Jackson gave her a smile. Tracy bent down to talk him.

  ‘Hello, Jackson. Are you warm enough?’ His eyes were watering from the cold. A dog came around from the other side of the buggy and pushed into her. She saved herself from falling backwards by reaching out to put a gloved hand on the railing.

  Danielle yanked the dog’s lead. ‘Scruffy, off!’

  Tracy stood and smoothed the creases out of her coat whilst Danielle finished her text. Tracy was dressed in a navy double-breasted coat, a red pashmina scarf around her neck. She looked like an air hostess.

  ‘Sorry, he’s a rescue dog,’ explained Danielle as she put her phone back in her pocket. ‘He wants a lot of attention.’

  ‘Ah, shame . . .’ Tracy gave him three pats on the head at arm’s length.

  Danielle pulled his lead back around. ‘Scruffy, heel!’

  ‘How’s Jackson?’

  ‘Ask him yourself. He’s not stupid.’ Danielle turned the buggy into the park and they walked along the central pathway towards the kids’ playground.

  ‘Of course. I didn’t mean it like that.’ Tracy was taken aback. They stopped at the lake and Danielle untangled a bag from where it was looped on the top of the buggy.

  ‘Wait, Jackson.’ He was arching in his seat, trying to get out of the buggy.

  ‘Undo him for me?’ she said as she untied the bag.

  Tracy bent down and fiddled with the clasp holding Jackson in his seat. She finally managed to open it and Jackson rushed forward.

  ‘Grab him. Before he ends up in the water!’ shouted Danielle.

  Tracy made a lunge for Jackson and gripped his hand as they walked towards the edge of the pond. Danielle followed them and gave Jackson a chunk of bread to hold before handing the rest of the bag to Tracy. They hovered near the edge of the pond and ducks descended on them thick and fast in a noisy squabble. Tracy leant over Jackson and held on to him tightly as he shrieked for joy and threw handfuls of bread at the ducks. She laughed at his delight. She turned to see Danielle watching them.

  ‘What do you want him to call you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tracy looked at her blankly.

  ‘Grandma? Granny? What?’

  ‘Uh . . . oh . . . I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head, shrugging, burying her neck in her pashmina. ‘Tracy will be fine.’

  “No it won’t. He wants a granny, not a friend.’ Danielle called Jackson’s name three times to get his attention back to her. He reluctantly turned away from feeding the ducks.

  ‘Who’s that?’ She pointed to Tracy.

  Jackson looked bashful and said: ‘Nanny.’ He gave Danielle a look that betrayed the fact that she had told him to say it.

  ‘Nanny . . .?’ Tracy tried not to look offended. ‘As in goat?’

  ‘Just an idea.’

  Danielle answered, hiding a smile as she pushed the empty buggy nearer to them. Tracy tried not to be annoyed or show she was bothered. ‘Shall we take him to the swings?’ she said as she looked down the length of the lake to the playground beyond.

&nbs
p; ‘Ask him if he wants to go.’ The flash of annoyance came quickly again to Danielle’s face.

  Tracy closed her eyes with a sigh. Then she leant down in front of Jackson’s face – eyes wide and smile in place.

  ‘Jackson? How would you like Tracy – Nanny – to push you on the swings?’

  Jackson nodded.

  ‘Okay then, let’s go.’ Tracy took his hand and they started to walk along beside the lake. Danielle followed, pushing the empty buggy.

  Jackson laughed as he skipped and hung on to Tracy’s arm.

  ‘You’re a heavy little thing.’ She laughed as she did her best to lift him from the floor by his arm.

  There were a handful of kids in the playground. Jackson ran excitedly from one apparatus to the other, unable to make up his mind which to go on first. He was followed hotly by Tracy. Finally he settled on his first choice, the swing, and Tracy pushed him while Danielle sat on a bench nearby.

  Tracy looked across at Danielle between making woo, woo noises for Jackson to accompany every push of the swing. Danielle was texting. She’d been texting for the last ten minutes.

  ‘Who’s that? A sweetheart?’ Tracy called over to her.

  Danielle looked up from her phone, shook her head and smiled.

  ‘Just someone on my course.’

  ‘What course is that?’

  ‘I’m taking an Access to primary education course so that I can go into teaching. I’m learning about computers as well at the moment. I want to become a special needs teacher. I want to be there for Jackson. I want to give him everything he needs.’

  Tracy turned back to push Jackson, who had grown quietly content as he swung back and forth in the air.

  ‘What about you, Tracy? Any ambitions? Any things you really want to achieve?’

  ‘Oh, you know . . . the usual – see the world, first class of course: I’m a bit old to go backpacking now.’

  ‘No you’re not. I read about it – it’s all the rage, Tracy. Women going off in their forties and fifties to find themselves. Going to Thailand on treks or taking a year to work their way around Asia.’

  ‘Well I’ll have to wait a few more years then,’ Tracy said.

  Danielle laughed. ‘Yeah, I forget you’re just fifteen years older than me. We could be sisters.’

  Tracy smiled as she continued pushing Jackson, pleased with the compliment. She had expected a snipe about her ageing looks but was pleasantly surprised when one didn’t materialize.

  ‘I’d love to go on a cruise,’ she said. ‘That’s more me really than backpacking.’

  ‘I would love to take Jackson on holiday, anywhere – I don’t mind,’ said Danielle, her face softening, and Tracy thought how pretty she looked today. If only she would make more of herself.

  ‘Plenty of time yet for that, isn’t there?’ Tracy smiled at her. Danielle nodded, her eyes still focused on some distant dream.

  ‘Yeah. I suppose he’s young. I’d like to take him places when he’s older. I haven’t done much travelling. The last time I went on holiday was with Mum and Dad; that was the time we began falling out. That’s when the rot set in. Gerald was jealous of the time Mum and I spent just talking; he always wanted to know what we were talking about – as if we were keeping secrets from him – just bollocks really – paranoid, controlling. That holiday marked the beginning of the end for us. What about you?’

  ‘Oh – I always seem to be busy working and we haven’t really had the money in the last few years. Before that we went to Spain usually, Majorca sometimes.

  ‘What about work-wise? What about your career?’

  ‘I pootle along. I’ve always been in the beauty industry one way or another. I used to have my own beauty salon; saw several clients a day – always had my regulars for a wax, for a facial. I like that, looking after people – but, well, it didn’t work out.’ Tracy finished off her sentence with a tight smile. Danielle didn’t ask why. Tracy went back to pushing Jackson. ‘Do you get help from Jackson’s father financially?’

  ‘Ha! I wouldn’t take it. We’re better off without him.’

  ‘Still . . . it’s a lot to manage on your own.’

  Danielle didn’t reply to this. She came over and lifted Jackson down from the swing. ‘We have to go now. I’m going to be late for my class otherwise. Jackson’s booked in at the crèche there. He likes it. But I need to give him lunch first.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Is it far to go?’

  ‘No, we’ll go home first. We live just over there.’ Danielle pointed to tower blocks on the edge of the park.

  ‘Oh . . . that’s handy. I live in Hornsey.’

  ‘Yes I know. I looked you up in the phone book. You can come and have a cup of tea with us, Tracy, if you want.’

  ‘Yes. I’d like that.’ Tracy smiled. ‘Maybe I could look after Jackson for you sometime if you’d like to go out?’ Danielle looked at Tracy. ‘I could do your make-up for you. Style you. I’d like that.’ Danielle didn’t answer. She rolled her eyes and looked away. ‘I don’t mean you’re not a pretty girl,’ Tracy said hurriedly. ‘It’s just something I could do; it’s what I do every day. I make people up. I expect you don’t get out much? I bet you don’t have much chance to find yourself a boyfriend.’

  ‘So the women you make up – they all look like Barbie dolls?’

  ‘No, no. Of course I wouldn’t make you look like that.’

  ‘Like you?’ Danielle smiled at Tracy but she meant to be hurtful.

  ‘No. As I said—’ Tracy’s tone turned frosty – ‘this look is not for everyone.’ Tracy stared at Danielle as she watched her strap Jackson back into his buggy. She didn’t know her daughter well enough yet to know what to make of her swings between liking and loathing Tracy. She seemed to be still so young, so unforgiving. They would have an uphill battle on their hands if Danielle was determined to harbour so many grudges.

  ‘Maybe not then. It was just a thought.’ Tracy said sighing.

  Danielle glanced up at Tracy apologetically. ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired. I would appreciate it if you could babysit for me though, just once in a while. I wouldn’t take the piss.’

  ‘Of course.’ Tracy recovered her composure. She was used to people talking about her looks when she was behind the counter – especially the young girls that came in. One of them had said she looked like an ageing porn star. Tracy looked on it as her job to wear make-up. They could criticize it all they liked. ‘I’d love to babysit. You’ll have to show me what to do. I’ve never had children.’

  ‘No. You gave yours away.’ Tracy just looked at Danielle; she didn’t know what to say. Danielle turned away. ‘Come on, Jackson. Let’s show Nanny where we live.’

  Tracy was too flustered to know what to reply.

  ‘What, now?’

  She stayed where she was as Danielle started walking away.

  ‘Yes. You coming, Nanny?’ Danielle pushed Jackson towards the crossing at the traffic lights on Seven Sisters Road.

  Tracy looked at her watch as she caught them up.

  ‘Just for ten minutes then. A quick cup of tea. That will be lovely.’

  It was short walk to the block of flats with a parade of shabby shops with reinforced shutters on their windows that made them look shut when they weren’t. Tracy had never been inside a tower block before. She’s been to high-rise hotels in Spain. This was nothing like that.

  The lift was out of order, so Tracy helped Danielle with the buggy up the flights of stairs. Jackson got out and walked, holding Tracy’s hand.

  ‘I must be so unfit.’ Despite the cold Tracy felt herself beginning to perspire beneath her coat. ‘I need to get to the gym. I can’t remember the last time I did any exercise. We used to go regularly, me and Steve. We couldn’t keep up with the membership in the end. Still, no excuse. Back to the gym for me. I’ll have to get fit if I’m going to chase after Jackson. Hey, scallywag?’ Tracy smoothed Jackson’s hair to one side.

  ‘Here we are.’ Danielle ru
ffled his hair back into peaks.

  Leaving the stairwell at the third floor they walked along the landing until they came to a pink door. Number 372. It would be easy for Tracy to remember. She was good with numbers. She could always remember exactly how much stock was left of every product on the counter. She knew the serial numbers of each product. She knew the lipstick colours by their codes.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ she asked, looking at the dents in the metal plate that was put on to reinforce the door.

  ‘Someone tried to break in,’ Danielle said. Tracy opened her mouth to say something but then shut it and didn’t say anything. She waited while Danielle found her key and unlocked locks top and bottom, then pushed the door back until it jammed on the wood laminate flooring. Jackson ran in, excited. Scruffy followed.

  Danielle folded and rested the buggy against the wall in the hallway and walked through to the kitchen on the right.

  ‘What a lovely place. You’ve done a good job with the decoration,’ said Tracy. Danielle’s place looked like it had come out of a back issue of the Ikea catalogue.

  ‘Thanks. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea will be fine.’

  Tracy took off her coat and put it over the buggy – she couldn’t see where else she should put it – then she stood in the kitchen doorway. Jackson’s drawings were everywhere. Danielle saw Tracy looking at them.

  ‘It’s hard to throw any of them away.’ She smiled, embarrassed but proud as well.

  ‘They’re lovely colours. Can you tell what they are?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Can you really?’ Tracy peered at the pictures.

  Danielle pointed to a long shape with four sticks coming from it. ‘Look, there’s Scruffy. That’s me, you can see by the hair,’ she added, pointing to a blob with brown on top. Tracy peered in to get a closer look at the picture.

  ‘Oh yes, I see it now.’

  ‘I know.’ Danielle laughed. ‘It’s an acquired skill. He’s very good for his age actually. He’s able to go to an ordinary school . . . for now anyway. Does anyone else in the family have Down’s syndrome?’

  Tracy was taken aback. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’