“Please can we do that fing wiv the slingshot tonight?” Nicky asked, bouncing along next to Rohan and holding his hand.
“See what Mummy says.” Rohan smiled down at him. “She’s the boss lady.”
Emma held onto Farrell and shook her head at Rohan’s deference to her, enjoying the sense of family and wishing it were permanent.
“Excuse me,” the voice called from behind and Emma stopped and turned. A beautiful dark-skinned woman hurried through the park behind them, dragging the newest version of little Mohammed behind her.
Emma fixed a wooden smile on her face and steeled herself for trouble. “Hi,” she faltered.
“I’m glad I caught you,” the woman said, catching up with them. Rohan hovered nearby, clutching Nicky’s hand. “I wondered if your son would like to play one evening. Mo seems quite taken with him. He hasn’t made many friends since we moved down here so it’s nice to hear him speak with enthusiasm about another kid.” She looked around her cautiously. “It’s quite a white area.”
Emma looked around her in surprise and pulled a face at the bodies moving past them as they clogged up the centre of the walkway. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I guess we didn’t really think about it like that.”
The woman looked relieved and stuck her hand out. “I’m Mel. Nice to meet you.”
“Emma.” Their hands clasped in friendship. Emma glanced at Rohan and opened her mouth to speak. Mel smiled and pushed her frozen hand towards him.
“Well, you’re obviously Nicky’s dad. He’s a gorgeous little boy.”
Nicky’s ego fluffed visibly and he put his arm around Mohammed. “This is our dog. He’s called Farrell.”
Mohammed stroked the silky tail and the dog tolerated the imposition with good grace and the slightest look of disgust at Emma for allowing the atrocity. Rohan shook Mel’s hand and smiled at her. He looked at Nicky and then back at Emma with an odd look on his face. She gulped. Back to square one. That didn’t take long.
“We can’t ‘ave a dog at the shelter for battered women,” Mohammed said sadly.
“Battered?” Nicky patted his friend’s shoulder and clung onto Rohan’s hand. The man quailed as Nicky looked at him for explanation. Rohan feigned selective hearing and Nicky drew his own conclusions. “What, like battered fish? Sometimes if Mummy had pennies left over after the rent and the electric and the money for Fat Brian to protect our ‘ouse, she’d get me battered fish as a special treat. It came in a van with a big pot of hot fat in it and it would sizzle and cook in the back of ‘is van. Mummy ‘ad to go off the estate to get it for me. The van weren’t allowed on the estate because the fish and chip man wouldn’t pay Fat Brian’s fee. I like battered fish,” Nicky added.
“We ‘ad a Fat Brian on our estate in Manchester,” Mo said with childish enthusiasm. “Only ‘ee were a Fat Abdul and ‘ee was my dad.”
Emma gulped and looked back at Mel. The other woman stared at her oversized man’s coat with the popped buttons and the threadbare sweatshirt underneath. The white of Emma’s sock poked through the hole between her boot and its worn sole and Emma’s fingers clutching the dog leash were frozen in position. Mel’s eyes strayed to the handsome man bearing clothing bags from second hand shops in the town and visibly relaxed. She smiled with genuine relief at Emma. “Thank God for that!” she gushed. “I started to feel like I ‘ad two heads down ‘ere.”
The group trailed slowly home after the boys enjoyed a run around the park with the dog. Farrell was the best behaved of them all, at least coming when he was called. Rohan stood on the edge of the grass, legs slightly splayed and his hands wedged deep into his pockets while the women chatted quietly behind him. Emma’s eyes strayed to the neat backside enclosed in the tight material and saw Rohan glance back at her with a smirk. She closed her eyes, knowing he was doing it on purpose.
“He’s gorgeous,” Mel whispered and Emma shook her head.
“And he knows it. Don’t fluff his ego for him, for goodness sake. He’s hard enough to live with as it is.”
“Well, you’re very lucky. He obviously only has eyes for you,” Mel commented, patting Emma’s hand. Her fingers felt frozen. Emma swiped one of the plastic bags from Rohan’s hand. He ignored her, putting his fingers in his mouth to summon the dog with an impressively piercing whistle.
“Here.” Emma felt around in the bag until her hand closed over what she wanted. She pulled out the second hand pair of woollen gloves. “They need a wash but they’ll be warm.” She held them out to Mel.
“I don’t need...”
Emma stopped her with a shake of her head. “I know you don’t. We never do.” The gloves flapped from her outstretched hand, the tag the charity shop worker stuck on still holding the woolly wrists together. A handwritten cardboard label fluttered in the breeze which whipped around the park, declaring the gloves cost the grand total of twenty pence. A fifth of a pound coin; the difference between comfort and unending misery. Emma jerked her head and watched the woman’s agonised brown eyes look at them with naked covetousness, before fingers with blue tinged nails reached out for them.
“Thank you,” Mel replied.
Emma smiled and shrugged. “It’s fine. Let’s call it a trade.”
Mel’s eyes lit up, hearing something she understood as fully as breathing in and out. “Done!” she said with enthusiasm. “One day I’ll give you something you didn’t even know you needed.”
Children and dog rounded up and back under control, if a little muddy, the group parted company on Northampton Road. Mel walked back to the women’s shelter, discreetly hidden in an old Victorian house at the end of a long row. Rohan put his arm around Emma’s cold body and held Nicky’s hand and with the dog trotting along beside them, they walked home as a family.