Simon Lelic - The Child Who

‘Dad? Will they close the line? What’ll we do if we can’t get home?’

Leo stared at his daughter, conscious of the question but unable, at that moment, to associate it with an answer. He looked again towards the man but the man, this time, was gone.

‘They won’t close the line, darling.’ Megan slid an arm around Ellie’s shoulders. She coaxed her daughter towards her. ‘If they do, your father will just have to pay for a taxi.’ Megan led her daughter along the street. Leo, with a final glance behind, could only follow.

‘And marshmallows. Can I have marshmallows?’ Ellie looked left, right, and met assent on both sides. The lady behind the counter garnished the tub of ice cream and speared it with a plastic spoon. She offered it across the counter and returned Ellie’s smile.

‘And for you, madam?’

Megan drew a hand to her waistline. ‘Nothing for me. Thank you.’

‘Sir?’

Leo checked again through the glass door. There was a man in a windcheater blocking his view, moving one way, back again, so that Leo had to shift in unison to try to find a gap.

‘Sir?’

A tug on his sleeve. ‘Leo.’

‘Sorry? What?’ He turned and his wife was glaring.

‘This was your idea, Leo. Don’t you want one?’

‘Sorry. Yes. Just…’ He pointed at a tub of something yellow. ‘Just vanilla. Thanks.’ The man was still blocking the door.

‘That’s cheesecake, sir. This one’s vanilla: over here.’

‘What? Fine. Whichever.’

‘So… cheesecake then? Or vanilla?’

Move! Why would he not just move?

‘Sir? I… There are people waiting, sir.’

‘Leo!’

‘What?’ Leo snapped as he spun. The woman behind the counter was still waiting. ‘Cheesecake. Cheesecake’s fine.’ He dug out some change from his pocket and slapped it onto the counter. The woman handed over his cone and Leo ushered his frowning daughter from the shop. He heard, vaguely, Megan apologising to the owner in their wake.

There was no one out there. Just the same drifts of visitors parading around the square, groups here and there huddled beside the benches.

Leo trailed. Megan was up ahead and Ellie midway between them. Their daughter’s enthusiasm for her raspberry ripple seemed to have abated and she prodded half-heartedly at the contents of her tub. Leo, similarly, only licked his cone once in a while when he felt the cold slipping in tendrils across his fingers.

So much for ice cream.

There was a single bench unoccupied, damp and in the shade, and Megan seemed to be leading them towards it. They were in no hurry. When they got there they would poke some more at their ice cream and shiver for a moment in silence and then one of them – Megan – would suggest that they head back home. Which was something. Better that than any more of this. Better to be home, safe, warm at least, with their own corners of the house to inhabit and no obligation to pretend.

‘Hey!’

Leo’s hand drooped and the scoop of ice cream toppled from the cone.

‘Hey!’ he said again. ‘You!’ He lengthened his stride and bumped his daughter as he passed her. He heard her exclamation but did not turn to it. He focused on the man ahead and continued his march. ‘Stop right there!’

Leo expected the man to run and for an instant he seemed to consider it. He turned to his right but found his path blocked by the tree behind which he had been hiding. He turned the other way but there was a barrier now of people who had slowed on the pathway to watch. Leo, more to the point, was closing. Even were the man to run, there was no way he would get far. And so he waited, camera in hand, feet shuffling in a nervous dance.

‘Leo? What’s the matter?’ Megan diverted from the bench but stopped when Leo passed her.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

The man was indeed young. Below his cap his hair was cropped and he wore his stubble the same length. His overcoat seemed too big, as though he had borrowed it from his father. Even Leo would have had to admit, the man looked more like a student than a stalker.

Even so: ‘Well? Let’s hear it.’

The man did his best impression of an innocent bystander. ‘Who?’ He looked about. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you!’ Leo took a step forwards. He was an arm and a half’s distance now from his quarry. ‘I saw you! You’ve been following us!’

Don’t be ridiculous, read the man’s expression. But there was uncertainty – guilt – in his eyes and he glanced again as though seeking an escape route. ‘Why would I be following you? I’m just…’

Leo waited. The bystanders – a dozen strong now – waited too.

‘Just…’ The man smiled, incredulously, and gestured to the sea, the square, the sky. And then he ran.

Someone screamed. Megan? Leo tensed and almost darted but in the end there was no need. The man managed barely a second step before he stumbled, tripping on the protruding wheel of a pushchair. He fell gracelessly, his instinct to save his camera. Someone in the crowd laughed. Before the man could recover his footing Leo was looming over him.

‘What’s on the camera?’

The man tried to wrap the camera in his overcoat. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Pictures of the sea.’

‘Give it to me.’ Leo took a step and reached. The man scrabbled backwards on his heels.

‘What? No!’

‘Give me the camera!’ Leo made to lunge but felt a hand grip his arm.

‘Leo! What are you doing? What’s going on?’

‘I said, give me the…’ Leo shook off his wife and swiped. The man was quicker. He rolled and staggered upright and held the camera aloft.

‘They’re just pictures! I’ll delete them! Just mind the camera, will you!’

Leo grabbed and the man lurched. The camera floated out of Leo’s reach.

‘What kind of pictures? Who are you? Why are you taking pictures of us?’

‘I don’t know. They just said for me to get pictures!’ The man’s eyes darted across Leo’s shoulder. Leo turned to track his gaze but saw nothing. But then he did: Ellie, standing alone and watching, listening.

Leo whirled back. ‘My daughter? You were taking pictures of my daughter?’

The man took a step away. ‘I’m just doing what I was told. Okay? It’s just a job!’

‘Leo! What’s going on! Will you please—’

‘You’re a photographer.’ Leo stopped his advance. ‘You work for a newspaper?’

The man gave Leo a look, like why the hell else would he be here? ‘The Post ,’ he said. ‘But it’s only a gig. I’m freelance really. I’ll delete the pictures, I promise. I’ll tell them I lost you at the station.’ The man backed through the boundary of onlookers.

‘Leo. Leo!’

Leo turned slowly towards his wife. He was aware, vaguely, that the people around them were dispersing, all except for a man in a woollen hat who was clearly holding out for something more climactic. But even he, when he noticed Leo glance, tucked his chin behind his upturned collar and fell into step with the rest of the crowd. Leo and Megan were left alone.

They were alone.

Leo looked left, right, then back at his wife, who was watching him with something like fear, something like disgust. Until her expression changed too, even before Leo could ask what they were all of a sudden both thinking.

‘Where’s Ellie?’

They found her discarded tub of ice cream atop a bin at the edge of the square. The contents had turned to soup, the raspberry ripples into streaks like blood.

From the square, at Leo’s suggestion, they split up. She had gone home. Of course she had gone home. She would be at the railway station or already aboard a train. And she was fifteen, not a child: it was not like she had never caught public transport by herself. Yet Leo did not want Megan to see his rising panic. His wife, anyway, seemed happy to go her own way. She seemed delighted, in fact, at the prospect of being able to escape the sight of him.