A Place of Safety. Helen Black
the summer skies had disappeared but oddly he found the grey streets and lanes even more enticing.
He’d lost nearly a stone already, which was no small feat considering how good Lilly’s cooking could be. He smiled at the thought of her licking cake mixture from a spoon.
He’d call her later, see if she and Sam fancied catching a film. She’d sounded distracted yesterday, worried about the boy at the hostel. She was always so committed to these kids she worked for. Took it all to heart. It would do her good to do less of that kind of work.
He remembered that Sam was playing a footie match at the school this afternoon. Maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he should surprise her…
* * *
Jack watched Lilly stamping her feet against the cold. Most of the other mothers were dressed in green Hunter wellies and puffer jackets, cashmere scarves wound around them. Lilly, however, had obviously come straight from work and was in her suit and leather-soled boots. She looked freezing and jigged from side to side. The playing fields were exposed on all sides and the wind ripped across unchecked.
‘For the money you lot pay, you think they’d give you better weather.’
Lilly smiled at Jack. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘Sure, I’ve been tapping your phones.’
She laughed, her breath swirling around her face.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Me coming, not tapping your phone.’
She tucked her arm through his. ‘Of course I don’t mind. And Sam will be thrilled to see you.’
‘Where is the wee man?’ he asked.
‘They’ll be on in five minutes. If we haven’t all died of hypothermia.’
He took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘You need a proper coat in this weather, Lilly.’
‘Yes, Dad.’
Now Jack was freezing but he couldn’t have cared less. He was here with his woman, and a fine one at that, watching her son play football. It felt like…he hardly dared to think it, but it felt like a family.
More parents arrived and boys from the senior school, come to cheer on the little ones. A couple were larking about, braying like donkeys. The biggest really fancied himself, despite his frizzy orange hair. He puffed out his chest like a robin, arrogance tattooed across him. Jack hoped Sam never turned out like that, but he said nothing. Lilly already tortured herself over the whole private school thing, but her ex-husband insisted. Jack knew better than to get involved.
The hedge is thin, autumn having stripped it down to its spindly skeleton. They push their way through it easily and head across the lawns.
Artan glances up to the main building. A mansion house of smooth brown stone, ivy-clad. Each wooden sash window is freshly painted white. Could this really be just a school?
To the left, three beech trees are losing the last of their leaves, the ground below carpeted in bronze and gold.
A man in uniform holds out a machine to suck them up.
‘What is that?’ whispers Anna.
‘A vacuum cleaner.’ Artan shakes his head. ‘A vacuum cleaner for leaves.’
Still this country can amaze him. Back home, his mother didn’t even have one for the house. She swept with an old broom, as her mother before her had done.
‘These people,’ he says, ‘they have no idea how lucky they are.’
‘Quick, before someone sees us,’ she says.
They march towards an outbuilding, but it’s too late.
‘Oy,’ the man shouts. ‘Oy, you two.’ He throws down the leaf machine and stamps over to them. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
Artan opens his arms. ‘Sorry. English no good.’
‘I see,’ says the man. ‘You’re from the agency. Well, you’re late.’
Artan and Anna freeze. What is an agency?
‘You’re here to work?’ says the man, and pretends to sweep up.
Artan thinks again of his mother and laughs.
‘Right,’ the man points to some sheds, ‘grab some rakes and get yourselves back out here.’
‘Rakes,’ repeats Artan.
‘That’s it. Now get a move on.’ The man shoves Artan in the small of his back. ‘Bloody foreigners.’
Artan continues to smile, but his right hand has tightened around his gun.
The crowd cheered. Not exactly a roar, more a cheerful smattering of clapped hands, but it made Sam smile all the same.
Lilly waved at her son across the pitch and his face lights up at the sight of Jack beside her.
Was it her relationship with Jack that had finally put to rest all the arguments with David about who had done what to whom? Or was it the sight of his girlfriend, bleary-eyed and exhausted from their baby daughter’s teething, that had seen off dusty resentments?
Things felt right. New, somehow.
Lilly laughed aloud at her flight of fancy.
The opposing team from the village school won the toss and the match began.
‘Come on, Manor Park,’ Lilly shouted.
‘Yeah,’ shouted one of the boarders, ‘let’s show these chavs what we’re made of.’
Lilly pretended not to hear but saw a few Manor Park parents smirk. Why did these people have to be so bloody self-important? Why did they have to look down on others just because they had less cash?
‘The ball wasn’t that bad,’ said Jack.
‘What?’
‘A mistimed pass, I’ll grant you, but they’re only nine.’
It was a blatant attempt to divert her. Lilly laughed and pressed her cheek against Jack’s shoulder.
At the far side of the grounds some parents were walking towards the pitch. They were late and would get it in the neck from their son after the match. As they came nearer, Lilly could see that they were both in overalls. Not parents, ground staff. The school had an army of them to trim and mow. Never before had fifteen acres been so well manicured, and never before had Lilly seen a woman among their ranks.
‘Great save,’ shouted Jack, and Lilly tore her eyes back to the game.
‘What happened?’
‘Number eight made a great run up the wing and chipped it in the left corner, but Sam just got his fingers to it.’
Lilly smiled. ‘Since when are you into football?’
‘Thought I was a rugger bugger, did you?’
Lilly spluttered. ‘Definitely not.’
‘What then?’
Lilly pretended to appraise him with an earnest eye. ‘Fly fishing?’
‘Go on with you, woman,’ he said, pushing her away with one hand and pulling her back with the other. ‘I’m too sporty for that.’
‘Sporty?’
Jack flexed a non-existent bicep. ‘Pure muscle.’
‘From lifting pints,’ said Lilly.
She was about to make another remark when she again caught sight of the couple in overalls. They had stopped about one hundred metres away and were deep in conversation, heads bent together. Their hair was the same dark chestnut, thick and shiny, dancing in the wind. Suddenly the man pulled the woman into his