Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘No problem at all,’ he’d replied, with an exaggerated tone of goodwill.

For added certainty, he’d texted Emma immediately after speaking to Jane. True, he felt like a lowdown git for doing so. He had resisted messaging Emma after Jane cancelled Emma’s Saturday outing, trying to convince himself that it was probably best this way. But, after the relief of the last-minute change of plan, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

Great news, Em! My friend at the agency wants to help you out. Will tell you all about it when I see you tomorrow. Maybe best if you don’t say anything to your mum just yet, till it’s sorted. Lots of women don’t like their daughters going into modelling at your age. Paul.

‘For God’s sake, Toby!’

Once again Jane burst into the living room, this time wrapped in yards of red scarf, as if about to set off on an Arctic expedition instead of driving a few miles to watch her son play soccer. ‘Get your coat on this second and stop messing around with that damned game. You’ll miss the match if you don’t get a move on. I’m not going to ask you again.’

Toby made a gargoyle face and dawdled out of the room. Emma, sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, flicking through music channels, looked up with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Bored, mainly. Cautious too, maybe. And wasn’t there a hint of anticipation, just below the surface?

‘Thanks again for helping out, Paul, you’re a lifesaver. Let me know if she’s any trouble at all. I’ve had just about enough of the both of them, after last night’s performance.’

‘They’ve been fighting again?’

Jane’s expression said all he need to know.

‘We’ll be back by six,’ she said to Paul in a tone of pained resignation and turned towards the hall. She hesitated, brushing the arms of her coat. Suddenly, she seemed reluctant to leave. ‘Bye, Em, see you soon. Behave yourself, won’t you?’

Finally, the front door clicked shut. Paul glanced at Emma. The girl was seemingly oblivious to Jane and Toby’s departure. His body tensed, his senses became alert, like a gladiator preparing for combat.

‘This is gross.’

Paul looked at the television screen. A female, around eighteen, showing off her jewelled belly button, gyrating her slim hips as she bleated out a pop song. An idol to girls of Emma’s age, no doubt. She couldn’t sing, but she sure knew how to dance.

Emma aimed the remote control at the TV. A Sky News presenter appeared, and in serious tones gave the latest on yesterday’s earthquake in Japan, and the stricken Fukushima nuclear power plant: thousands dead, evacuations around the plant, fear of radioactive contamination… He shuddered. At least in the UK they were safe from that sort of thing.

Before he had a chance to say: ‘don’t rush, we could hang round here for a while’, Emma sprang to her feet and galloped upstairs. A minute later she reappeared, Nikes on, a candy-striped bag slung over her shoulder. He paused at the bannister, lost in the Cheshire cat grin enveloping her face as she padded up to him.

‘So, what did your friend say about me?’ Her eyelashes flickered beguilingly. ‘She really wants to help me get into modelling?’

Don’t blow it now, he thought. One step at a time.

‘Yes, I talked to Mona at the weekend.’

‘Mona?’

No, not Mona . What the heck was his model agency friend’s name supposed to be?

‘That’s Monica’s nickname. She was very helpful. She suggested something we could do to get the ball rolling.’ He gave Emma what he hoped was an enigmatic smile. ‘I’ll tell you the rest later. Let’s get a move on, or the pool will be crawling. Got your keys?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, a sharp edge in her voice. ‘I’m not a complete floss head.’

He walked behind as Emma loped towards the car. Her legs looked longer than ever in her jeans. The material was stretched tight over her backside, peeping out pertly below her fake fur jacket. She had blue varnish on her nails, he saw as she got into the car. Had she worn it just for him?

‘So, this will be our last visit to the pool,’ he said, as they inched along car-filled Putney High Street. ‘I know you wanted to go shopping with your friend, but I’m pleased we can go for another swim. I’ll miss our swims together.’

She looked at him and didn’t reply. He knew she probably wouldn’t miss him at all. But their outings were special to him. She was special to him. Without her, his life would be robbed of something vital. He would no longer wake up early on a Saturday morning, impatient for the hours to pass until he could be with her.

‘We’ve gotten used to each other, don’t you think?’ he asked, tentatively.

‘Yeah. At first, I thought you were going to be like my Dad and tell me what to do all the time. But you’re alright.’

She liked him, no kidding. Joy surged through him like the first taste of beer on a hot day. Or was the little minx just trying to get him hooked?

‘You’re not allowed to see Mandy anymore?’

Emma made a loud sweet-sucking noise. ‘I don’t mind not seeing her. She’s been acting so crazy lately.’ They carried on, past the dismal strip of grocers, betting shops and identikit houses while Emma chattered away about her friend. ‘She wrote the graffiti to piss off her P.E. teacher, because he wouldn’t let her off gym when she had her period. And the smoking… She thinks puffing on a fag makes her look grown-up, but she’s so stupid. Boys in year eleven don’t go for girls our age. Anyway, smoking’s mad. I tried it once and it made me sick.’ She stuck out her tongue and pretended to gag. ‘I can’t believe people actually want to do that to themselves.’

He listened to the words bubble out of her, overtaking themselves in their hurry to get out. She had an endearingly girlish habit of raising her voice at the end of every sentence. This was a different Emma from the brooding girl he’d taken out that first time. Yet, in a few hours she would be only a memory.

She was half gone already. Her interest had moved to more important things: netball, drama classes, boys at school. Perhaps he could conjure up other opportunities to see her – he could take her to netball matches, or they could go swimming again in the summer holidays. But it would be difficult.

Jane’s sixth sense had begun to operate. He’d almost tasted her unease this time, as she relinquished her darling to him. Suzanne’s antenna had kicked in too, he was certain. She’d seemed inordinately pleased to hear he wouldn’t be taking Emma to the pool again. Suzanne was on the wrong track though, with all her questions about Jane. Fortunately, she’d hotfooted it to her retreat yesterday evening before he’d had a chance to mention today’s outing with Emma. His phone was switched off too, in case Suzanne called. She would find out about it later, when it was safely in the past.

His thoughts turned to Laura. If she had any inkling of how much he yearned for Emma, she would tell her mother everything, with no fear of the consequences. No, this would be his last time with Emma. This would be his last chance to show her what she really meant to him.

He was ready before Emma. He waited for her in their usual spot at the entrance to the pool, past the showers. The smell of chlorine was harsher than usual. There were a handful of women swimming today. He recognised them as Saturday regulars: gym freaks finishing off their workouts.

After five minutes, Emma emerged. She gave him a reproving look, ran towards the water and jumped in. It was the first time she’d done that. Usually, she immersed herself inch by inch, yelping because the water was too cold. When she was nearly two-thirds of the way, he dived in and powered after her, passing her before she reached the end. He turned expertly at the wall and swam past her again, cleaving through the water, a lean, mean swimming machine.