Chapter 15 by Kate Bromfield

We sat by the window overlooking the Woolwich Road. There was very little traffic; a four-wheel drive and a 422 bus sped by. Four kids kicked a football around Glenister Green. The taxi driver drummed his fingers on the table and sighed.

           

‘I wish she wouldn’t do this,’ he said.

           

‘Do what? Who?’

             

‘My wife. She tracks me down. Phones to find out if I’m here. Listen, he’s talking to her now.’

            

 We could hear the man in the smart suit laughing in the kitchen. He came through the door grinning.

            

 ‘You’re in deep ‘doo-doos’ John Nyguen. She’s already on that 422. I’ll do you a carry-out man.’

             

The taxi driver slumped in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Outside the window stood the woman with the three little girls I’d seen it seems like decades ago. The two older girls were jumping up and down and the little one in the pushchair kicked her feet excitedly.

           

‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’

           

The woman opened the street door.

           

‘You’re one useless man John Nyguen! You go and take your children to the park on Sundays like the other Daddies do. Go and buy them some ice-cream.’ She looked at me.  ‘He’s been givin you that tale about “keeper of the diamond” has he? He’s not livin in the real world. Huh!’

             

The taxi driver raised his eyebrows and shrugged at me and then he was on his feet walking to the door.

           

‘Thanks Delroy! I owe you one,’ his wife said to the man in the suit.

             

She went at a fast pace, the taxi driver hunched over the pushchair, trying to balance a tub of chicken feet, his two older daughters skipping by his side. I followed behind. We passed the flats again where Annandale School used to be, past the shop that was once the post office where I bought my pic n’ mix as a child, past the house with the big white posts and the tall blue iron gates and turned right into Chevening Road.

            

 The sun shone brightly on the mosaic plaque as we came in through the Pleasaunce gates. Daffodils and forsythia glowed. The shadows from the trees stretched over the emerald grass towards the mellow brick wall. John Nyguen the taxi driver took the girls and the pushchair through the gate and wheeled towards the slide in the dog-free zone. The little one began to grizzle.

            

 ‘Teddy! I want my teddy!’

            

 John Nyguen’s wife grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of the café. A magpie ‘raarked’, a flash of black and white in a tree. The park was teeming with dog walkers, dogs on leads, dogs off their leads, running, barking. We took the path through the gravestones, ‘in loving memory of Sarah Ellen, wife of …’, past two men in their 30s playing table tennis competitively. Toddlers bumbled busily on the stretch of uneven grass in front of the café. The wooden tables and chairs were full.

             

‘You’re not the first you know. I have to speak to you,’ the taxi driver’s wife said.

            

 We’d reached the café door. It was packed. There were people at every table and a queue standing facing the counter waiting to be served. They turned to face us as we came in – Delroy, Martin from the flat, Dave the caretaker, the crane driver, the head teacher, the fisherman, Mr and Mrs Smith, the elderly couple with the child.

            

 I was so tired. WHAT NOW?

Kate Bromfield lives in East Greenwich.