Four months later （April）
The playground wasn’t busy.
There were two mothers sharing cookies while one of their toddlers played in a wooden boat. A lone father with a baby. A couple of teenagers in school uniform, eating fried chicken from a box.
On the edge of the sandpit, sitting under some lime saplings, I watched my son. Charlie was playing in a red train, metres from me. If I tried hard enough, I could recall the scent of his downy skin, convince myself it was carrying on the breeze.
‘Yuga yuga yuga,’ he muttered. Chug chug chug?
I love you. So much.
Janice was laughing with the other woman, laughing as if she had the best life anyone could imagine. Charlie’s hair was almost white blonde, his cheeks still fat. I had to get out of here. I should never have got so close.
I didn’t move.
Without warning, Charlie climbed out of the train and looked straight at me. After a moment’s consideration, he smiled. My son smiled at me, as if he knew. As if he had never forgotten.
I got up and backed away, into the trees. ‘Hello!’ I whispered, turning to leave.‘And, bye bye!’ But he followed me, over a little dirt bank, away from the train and the sandpit.
Through the saplings I could see Janice, still talking to her friend. She had no idea.
Quickly, before I had time to stop myself, I ran over to Charlie and held him, closing my arms around his solid little toddler’s body, smelling his hair. ‘I love you,’ I whispered, to an avalanche of joy and pain. ‘I will always love you.’
Then I went. I heard calling, then shouting, as she tried to find him. I skirted around the wooded area towards the east gate. I knew he was safe – this gate was shut, and to get to the main entrance he’d have to walk right past Janice. She’d find him under the trees any moment now.
I heard her voice become fainter, and then louder, and then, just as I slipped out of the gate, I heard her find Charlie where I’d left him. Noisy sobs, wails, where were you, oh God, I was so worried . . . Oh God, Charlie, little one . . .
I walked slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself. My heart raced.
I needed help.
It was the fifth time I’d done this. Just turned up in Highbury, when things got too difficult. Watched in plain sight while my son went about his life with Janice and Jeremy.
Janice seemed to have relaxed in the last few weeks; she wasn’t looking for me anymore. I’d sat at the bus stop opposite the Trevi, watching Charlie trying to eat spaghetti in a table by the window. I’d watched them in the corner shop opposite the Hen and Chickens, I’d watched them twice in the park. I never stayed longer than a couple of minutes: just enough to calm my system; to dull my screaming nerves.
I need help.
I walked away towards Highbury Place, keeping my back to the playground, concentrating on my feet, one in front of the other.
Left foot, right foot. Left, right.
I need help.
Chapter Forty-Six
DIARY OF JANICE ROTHSCHILD
April
Held him in my arms, crying, kissing him, shouting at him. Felt judgemental gaze of other parents. Seriously? Shouting at a tiny child who just wandered off into the trees?
Picked up phone, which I’d dropped on ground when I reached C. Could not stop sobbing. Managed to tell J that C seemed unharmed.
Then J said he’d just found Emily Peel, as he ran across the park to help me.
Everything stopped. I couldn’t believe it.
And yet, I could. I totally could. Fury came, fury like I’ve never known. Despair.