(031)
“I was certain it’d be enough,” Sheila bites at the skin beside her thumbnail, staring at the picnic table before her, “I thought if we did names on the cups it would last–”
“It’ll be fine,” George plucks a mini sausage roll from the table, popping it in his mouth, “the kids won’t care about sharing–”
“No, no they’re not sharing, we just have to go buy some more–”
“Och come on, no-one will notice if–”
“They will! And everyone will think I was too cheap or too stupid to make sure we were prepared–”
“Just say it was my job!”
“No, no we just have to go get some more, there’s a shop nearby, one of us can walk over and be back in no time–”
George lets out an exasperated sigh, takes another couple of sausage rolls from the table and pats his back pocket.
“Fine, I could use a break from the small talk anyway. I’ve got my phone, so if you think of anything else, text me?” He kisses her cheek with a mouth full of pastry. “And try to enjoy it! It’s going well, whether you see it or not.”
George takes a bottle of water for the road and checks his phone for directions, then wanders off towards the path.
A game of football has taken precedence in the centre of the field, with a few dads on either team and a line of parents positioned on camping chairs or standing between the game and the water to stop the ball going in. She watches on from a distance, wincing as her son tears around the field. When he finally has the ball at his feet she can’t help but look away – busying herself with cleaning and organising the table once more. The bowls of crisps needed topping up, and there were two half empty bags of buns that could be married together and the spare bag thrown away, not to mention checking how many cups she actually had lef–
“Alright sweetheart.”
She flinches, spinning to face the voice.
“Oh! Hi– hi Malcolm,” her eyes quickly shift from his down to the boy at his side. “Hi Ryan! How’s it going?” She smiles broadly at him and Ryan nods at her, looking over his shoulder at the football match going on. “Eddie’s over there, go on and join–”
“No, call him over.” Malcolm says, his rough voice flat and quiet but with enough power to cut her short.
“They’re in the middle of a game–” Sheila protests, looking back at him.
His dark eyes pin themselves to her. “I’ve come all this way, haven’t I?”
“Yeah– yes, of course, sorry.” She smiles, her head tilted back ever so slightly in an attempt to create some space, one hand pressed between her and the table. She pivots and moves a step further to aim herself towards the field.
“Eddie! Eddie sweetie, could you come over here for a moment?” Eddie’s head turns, along with a few others. “Come and say hi to your uncle!” She beckons him over with a hand. He starts walking over slowly, seeming to shrink the closer he gets.
She watches as he does, preferring it to re-engaging and conscious that the space around her seems also to be shrinking. She steals a polite glance and feels his eyes boring into her temple.
A sudden rasping shout makes her flinch again. “Hurry up porky! I haven’t got all day!”
Eddie starts forward into a half-jog, his gaze set fast on the floor ahead of him. Sheila bites the skin from the inside of her lip as he approaches and stops short alongside her.
Malcolm squats onto his haunches, stretching his leather-like palm out for Eddie, whose face is enveloped beneath the shadow it creates.
“Give me 5.” Malcolm says. Eddie looks up at his mum for support, who smiles and nods to him encouragingly, though her own breaths are also shallow. He reaches past her to do as he’s told but before he can Malcolm turns his hand into a fist, feigning a right hook towards Eddie’s cheek. Eddie ducks back further behind Sheila’s dress.
Malcolm smiles and his lips part just enough to reveal teeth. “You scared?”
Sheila’s hand comes down to Eddie’s own on her dress, unhooking his grip with some difficulty.
“It’s a joke.” Malcolm’s eyebrows twitch and a disappointed frown flickers onto his face. “I wouldn’t want to touch you anyway, porky; I can smell you from here.” He wrinkles his nose and turns to Ryan who gives him the laugh he expects. Sheila titters through thin lips, her hand searching for Eddie’s but not finding it.
“Alright, why don’t you two go and join in with the game now.” She offers her other hand towards Ryan and he takes it, though slowly, and with an eye always on his father.
Malcolm stands as Sheila ushers the boys away, who both burst into a run as soon as they’re out of reach. The urge to join them is strong, but Sheila suppresses it.
“Would you like a drink?” She says, tip-toeing to where the bottles are.
He follows her footsteps, his eyes both on and looking past her. “Where’s the beer?”
“Oh, um– we haven’t got any–” She starts, though still checks as if she might have been wrong.
“Why?” He grunts, reaching past her to take a pork pie.
“Well, you know–” Sheila hears the constriction in her throat, trying to step away from him without drawing attention to it, the heat of his body and the smell of smoke and musk cloying and oppressive.
“Mm,” another grunt, this one as he takes a bite of the pie, “what time does this end?” Flakes of pastry drift into his beard and down onto his dark polo shirt as he speaks.
“Ah– ah about 5…I think.”
Malcolm consults his watch and pulls a face. “Enough for a few I reckon.”
Sheila swallows, struggling to make it subtle.
“We can uh– we can bring Ryan back with us, if you want? It’s not a problem.” She flicks her head towards him with a nonchalant smile, but can’t hold his eye contact.
A ragged silence stretches out between them as he considers this, the point of his jaw tensing in his cheek while he chews. “You can drop him back with me this evening then.” He states, without the inflection of a question.
“Yep…yeah that will be fine! At–uh, at any time is good?”
He takes another bite, all the while that same blanket of suffocating silence spreading itself over her. “Depends.” He says. “Are you coming alone?” His face betrays no change in emotion. “Cause I’ll be in the shower at 7 if you are.” His teeth bare themselves once more.
“Oh,” she laughs, “we’ll make sure to drop by later then.” She shifts feet, her balance unstable and resting in her heels. Thankfully, over his shoulder she spies the cavalry.
Malcolm’s eyes follow hers and find George plodding towards them, who raises a hand to wave – though Malcolm doesn’t reciprocate – with a stack of paper cups hooked in the loop of his other arm.
“George–” Malcolm says as he approaches, “she’s got you on a short leash, eh?” He points at the cups.
George laughs in the same way Sheila had been.
“Something like that, yeah.” He says. “You just got here?” He asks him, but a look to his wife reveals it’s for Sheila.
“Not long, yeah– just heading off though – Sheila forgot the beer so I’m going up the road. You joining?” Malcolm asks.
“Oh, no, no, I’ve got to–” he gestures to the kids behind him, and the table beside them, “thank you, though.” George smiles through a grimace.
“Suit yourself.” Malcolm growls. He plucks another pie from the table, a new wave of smoke and sweat washing over Sheila as he does, then he turns and walks away.
They both watch him reach the path before either speaks.
“Are you alright?” George asks.
“Yeah,” she says in a hoarse whisper, taking the cups from him to begin stacking them, whilst keeping one aside for herself.
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