Lee Weeks - Cold as Ice

‘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.

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.

‘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.