by Dani Atkins
‘This is potentially a really big day for our company. I’ve been chasing this client for months, and they’ve suddenly agreed to meet with me, but only if I can see them today.’
‘It’s fine, Alex.’ I looked down at Connor and dropped him a wink. ‘Actually, I’m glad you asked me because Barbara told me all about Lunar ages ago, and I’ve been itching to meet her.’
‘You should have said. You know you’re always welcome to come over.’
Above Connor’s bent head our eyes met and held, silently acknowledging that wasn’t entirely true. For weeks we’d both been tentatively trying to heal the breach in our friendship, without once referring to the indiscretion that had caused it. The kiss-that-never-was felt like a lifetime ago, and yet it still cast an uncomfortable shadow. It should have been forgotten, eclipsed in my head by the very real kiss I’d shared with Mac on New Year’s Eve. Illicit kisses – brief moments of madness that threatened friendships and yet were impossible to forget.
Would I still have kissed Mac as one year chimed into the next if I’d known then that it wouldn’t change anything? If I’d known without a shadow of a doubt that however strong the attraction was, his reasons for keeping us purely platonic were stronger?
‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to risk getting involved with someone who might not grow old with him?’ I’d suggested to Kyra.
‘If he’s that shallow then you don’t want him anyway,’ she’d shot back, all fire and indignation.
Except I did. I really did.
I’d been one number away from calling him more times than I cared to admit. I no longer even knew what was holding me back. It wasn’t pride, because I’d have happily sacrificed that in a heartbeat. No, it was more a fear that if I pushed Mac too hard for an answer he’d pull away completely, not just from me, but from Alex and the others too. I couldn’t be the one responsible for breaking our connection, not when I knew how much it meant to everyone.
But at least, finally, Alex and I seemed to be back where we were before we’d almost ruined everything. It was so good to see him and Connor again, it made me even more determined to never let anything jeopardise our relationship again. It was that resolve that had led me to say an immediate ‘yes’ when he’d asked me to look after Connor today, despite feeling under the weather.
‘We were going to go to the funfair today,’ Connor murmured, directing his comment to the cat, who truthfully didn’t look as though she cared one way or the other.
When it comes to guilt-tripping, no one does it better than a seven-year-old.
‘I know I promised that we would,’ said Alex, sounding wretched, ‘but I don’t think I’m going to get back in time.’
‘Maybe you could go another day?’ I suggested chirpily.
Withering looks are something else little children are particularly good at.
‘Today is the last day of the fair.’
‘Well… I’ve an idea: why don’t you and I go together, and then maybe your dad could meet us there when his meeting is finished?’
Father and son swivelled their heads towards me with such perfect synchronicity it was almost funny.
Had I overstepped the mark? Perhaps I ought to have spoken to Alex first before rearranging his day as though I had a perfect right to do so.
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, Molly.’ Alex had to be an excellent poker player, because I had absolutely no idea if he thought my suggestion was a great idea or a terrible one. His face gave nothing away.
‘You didn’t ask; I volunteered,’ I reminded him. ‘It’s been years since I’ve been to a fair. It will be fun.’
*
And it was. Or at least it had been until I started to feel unwell again. I learnt several things that day at the fair. I discovered it was way harder than it looked to knock a coconut off a wooden pole. Did they superglue them on, or something? I learnt it didn’t matter how many tickets you bought for the lucky dip, you were always going to come up with a cheap plastic toy as your prize. But the most important thing I learnt was how different it felt being in charge of one little boy rather than a whole class of them.
I wasn’t sure when it happened. It might have been when I watched him nibbling on a cloud of pink candyfloss, or when I realised the yank on my arm was because he was actually skipping beside me or when he unwrapped the last lucky-dip gift and gave it to me with a shy smile. Out of all the moments I would remember that day, it was when he slipped the cheap plastic flower bracelet onto my wrist that I finally acknowledged I had fallen in love. And it wasn’t with Alex or even with Mac – it was with Connor. What I felt for him was so strong, it seemed as though it had always been there, lying dormant deep within me, waiting to be set free.
The realisation was as troubling as it was wonderful. This child wasn’t mine, even though my heart was achingly disputing that fact. My place could only ever be on the periphery of his life, and suddenly that wasn’t enough. Not even close.
I stood beside a miniature carousel, on which Connor was happily journeying to nowhere in slow circles, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the plummeting barometer. I was undistinguishable among the parents. I waved when they waved, and smiled and cheered as our small charges came into view, but I was nothing more than an imposter, walking in shoes that weren’t mine and were too big to fill.
‘Hold on tight,’ urged a mother standing beside me, every time her young son passed by. She gave a nervous laugh as though I might be judging her. ‘You never stop worrying about them, do you?’ she said, assuming quite naturally we were members of the same club.
It didn’t even occur to me to correct her. ‘No, you don’t.’
Connor came back into sight, his small hands fisted into a unicorn’s bright blue mane. He was laughing, and the sound was so unfamiliar, I wanted to instantly bottle it.
‘How old is yours?’ asked the stranger at my elbow.
My chest felt tight, and not in a good way. Lying had never sat comfortably with me. ‘He’s seven. Connor is seven.’
‘Oh, that’s a lovely name. It’s Irish, isn’t it?’
I nodded, turning slightly away from the woman who seemed determined to make a pathological liar out of me. The ride was taking an extraordinarily long time to come to an end.
‘Molly,’ cried Connor, slithering off the back of his mythical creature and running towards me. I opened my arms to catch him, as he cried my name again. Distorted by the wind, the cries of the other riders and the amplified music, it almost sounded like ‘Mummy’.
I bought us hot dogs from a stand but could manage only a single bite before the greasy onions made my stomach flip in protest. Connor didn’t even notice when I discreetly binned the rest.
‘Would you like to go and look at the ice rink?’ I asked as he polished off his lunch in three enormous bites.
His nod was hesitant.
‘It’s okay. We don’t have to skate if you don’t want to; we can just watch.’
The rink was a surprise. Far bigger than I expected, and already busy with skaters whose skills ranged from those who looked one wobble away from disaster to the ones who fancied themselves as the next big Olympic hope. In my teenage years I’d been a regular at my local rink, although admittedly I hadn’t set foot on the ice in over fifteen years. It was surprising how much the swish of blades scoring the ice made me want to join them.
Connor sipped on the hot chocolate I’d bought him while he watched with rapt attention as children far younger than him were led around the ice by their parents. I could see he was seriously tempted.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and reread the message Alex had sent about ten minutes earlier.
Still in meeting. Really sorry. Should be with you in about an hour. Hope that’s okay? A
Part of me knew I shouldn’t even be thinking about taking Connor onto the ice without getting Alex’s permission first. But did he really want to be bothered during an important business meeting with a question he’d surely
say ‘yes’ to? Wouldn’t he just be pleased to know that Connor was interested in trying something a little more adventurous?
I made up my mind quickly, to avoid overthinking it. I slid my mobile back into my jeans, the message I’d mentally composed never quite making it to my phone’s keypad.
‘Do you fancy having a go?’ I asked, nodding in the direction of the rink.
Connor’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was no fear in them, just trust. My heart gave a small lurch.
‘You won’t let go of me, will you?’
‘Never,’ I promised. ‘Cross my heart.’ I drew an invisible X across my chest with a finger.
I should have noticed the way he paled at that, but I was already turning away to hire our skates.
*
It began so well. With Connor’s gloved hands firmly clamped in mine, I led him onto the ice. Muscle memory took over the minute my blades connected with the surface. My knees bent automatically, and my back straightened as I slowly glided away from the edge. Connor was a quick learner, with more natural ability than I’d been expecting. It took only a couple of circuits of the rink before he relaxed his death-grip on me, and a further few before he was holding onto me with just one hand.
The rink was clearly a popular draw at the fair and was growing increasingly crowded.
‘Just one more circuit, okay?’ I said, glancing around with concern when a large gang of noisy teenagers barrelled onto the rink. I heard several ‘tsks’ of disapproval from nearby adults as the group swept recklessly through the skaters, weaving and slaloming at speeds they could scarcely control. I tightened my grip on Connor’s hand and increased our own speed, my eyes focused on the nearest exit.
The music pumping through the speakers was loud. Perhaps that was why the teenagers didn’t heed the chorus of warning whistles being blown by the ice marshals. ‘Slow down,’ screamed a male voice from somewhere behind me.
I pulled Connor closer to my side. We were just a few yards from the nearest exit when a figure in black came hurtling towards us. My brain slowed down even as my legs speeded up. But there was no way to get out of his path, and the teenager was clearly incapable of stopping. He was almost upon us, as relentless as a charging rhino. I acted purely on instinct, grabbing Connor’s shoulders and pushing him roughly out of the way. Less than a second later, my legs were knocked out from under me by the out-of-control skater.
I hit the ice hard, my shoulder and hip taking most of the impact. I immediately tried to scramble back to my feet, forgetting every lesson I’d learnt about how to stand up following a tumble. I fell again, once more landing on my hip. Tears of pain blurred my vision, but I swiped them away as I swivelled on the ice to find Connor. For a heart-stopping moment I couldn’t spot him, but then I saw he’d already been helped up by a couple of skaters and was being led off the ice.
My pounding heart, which had conjured up images of cracked skulls or broken spines, slowed down from its racing panic. Aside from being white-faced with shock, Connor appeared to be unscathed. Ignoring the pain from my hip, which I imagined was now an interesting shade of purple, I finally remembered how to get up from the ice. I went from two knees to one and then onto my feet. The youth who’d caused the collision was being severely chastised by the rink marshals, and as much as I’d have loved to have joined in, my priorities were elsewhere.
‘Are you okay?’ asked a female marshal who’d sped to my side. She laid a hand on my arm, but I shook it off.
‘I’m fine. It was just a tumble,’ I said, trying to move past her.
Annoyingly, she was still blocking my path. ‘We’ve got a first-aid station set up. You really should get checked out. You hit the ice pretty hard.’
‘I’m all right,’ I insisted, my voice now several degrees cooler than the surface we were standing on.
‘Yes. But it’s in our insurance that if—’
I tried to push past her in a way that was so out of character, it startled me. ‘I’m not about to sue you, the fair or anyone else. It’s nothing worse than a bruise or two.’
She still looked unconvinced and the last shreds of my patience finally pinged like a piece of elastic. My voice rose to a level it rarely achieved. ‘Will you please just get out of my way. I need to get to my son.’
We both looked shocked. She by my reaction; me by what I’d just said.
She gave an eloquent shrug and skated out of my way. I could hear her disgruntled mutterings behind me, but I was focused on only one thing.
‘Are you okay, Connor? Were you hurt when you fell over?’
The kindly couple who’d picked him up stepped back, and Connor shot towards me like a rocket. He threw one arm tightly around me, squeezing with all his strength against my painfully injured hip. I scarcely felt it.
‘I thought you were dead,’ he cried, his voice hitching on a heart-breaking sob.
The rescuing couple both laughed, but the sound died in their throats when they noticed I wasn’t joining in. I saw the bemused glance they exchanged, but my attention was only on Connor.
‘It was just a little fall,’ I said, deliberately trivialising the worst tumble I’d ever taken on the ice. ‘It happens all the time when people go skating. You just have to pick yourself up and not let it worry you. Otherwise you’d never go back on the ice again.’
‘We don’t have to go back on again, do we?’ Connor asked fearfully.
This time I did laugh. ‘No, we don’t. We’re done for today, kiddo.’
I remembered to thank the couple for helping Connor, and they continued their role as Good Samaritans by returning our skates for us and bringing back our shoes. The effort of bending down to zip up my boots almost defeated me, and by the time they were both fastened, I was drenched in sweat and feeling decidedly wobbly again. I thought longingly of the packet of paracetamols locked out of reach in the glovebox of my car.
I straightened slowly, wincing from my injuries, and was surprised to see that although Connor had slipped his feet into his trainers, he hadn’t tied the laces.
‘Can you do it for me?’
I frowned and crouched down before him. Did he not know how to do this? Most children of his age would have long since mastered the motor skills required. Shrugging it off, I tied the laces securely, having to stop halfway through to wipe a sticky film of sweat from my brow. I was burning up.
‘Why don’t we go back to the car and wait there for your daddy?’ I suggested.
Connor’s white, pinched face made it clear he’d had enough of the fair for one day. That made two of us.
The fair was much busier now. As the families with younger children began to leave, they were quickly replaced by groups of teenagers. I held on tightly to Connor’s hand and pulled him in close, flinching as he inadvertently bumped against my bruised hip with every stride. I pulled us to a stop and switched places so I could have him on my other side, but as I reached for his other hand, he squealed in pain.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ I asked, my voice squeaky with panic.
‘My wrist hurts,’ he confessed.
I moved us out of the fast-moving flow of pedestrians and stretched out my hand, palm side up.
‘Can I see it?’
I knew even before he slowly lifted the arm that something was broken. I tried to keep the shock from my face, but I think he saw it anyway.
‘Oh, Connor, why didn’t you say something?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice quavering with tears. ‘I didn’t want you to be cross with me. I didn’t want you to say we couldn’t go out together again.’
I shook my head, momentarily robbed of coherent speech. Was he really so scared of losing someone else from his life that he’d suffer a broken bone in silence rather than run the risk? What agonies had this wonderful little boy had to endure to bring him to this point?
He looked so scared, and now that I knew the reason, the white face made much more sense. I crouched down before him and the only rea
son I didn’t enfold him tightly in a hug was for fear of hurting his damaged arm.
I reached out and very gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘Firstly, there’s nothing you could ever do or say that would make you lose me. I will always be here; I will always be your friend, for as long as you want me to be.’ Some of the anxiety clouding his eyes lifted at that. ‘And secondly, you have to tell grown-ups when something is hurting you. Whether it is here…’ I pointed to his wrist. ‘Or here…’ I lightly touched his forehead. ‘Or in here,’ I finished, pointing my finger at his heart.
His slow nod was filled with a misery no child should know.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
‘Never mind, sweetheart. But we have to get you to a hospital so they can make your wrist better.’
Somehow, an already ghostly white Connor blanched and turned even paler. His head was shaking vigorously from side to side, and it took me far longer than it should have done to realise it was the word ‘hospital’ that had caused his distress. All Connor knew about hospitals was that his mother had gone into one and had never come out again.
Mindful of his injury and ignoring the protests from mine, I bent down and scooped him up. He clung to me like a baby primate, his legs locking around my waist, his one good arm encircling my neck. He was heavier than he looked, but my knees would have had to buckle and send me crashing to the ground before I’d ever have let go of him. Slowly, digging deep for reserves I didn’t know I had, I began to trot and then run towards the car park.
It had filled up since we’d arrived, several hours earlier. Dusk was rapidly falling and all I could see was a sea of vehicles. As I scanned the rows of cars, with no memory of where I’d parked, the first flames of panic began to take hold. Connor was whimpering softly against the side of my neck, his tears puddling on my collar bone.
