Chapter 15 – Zoë
Zoë kicked the gate open and smiled as it clanked against the peeling metal railings.
She had loved the park as a child but it hadn’t had the same appeal since her dad had left for ‘Ingrid’.
Zoë watched as Timmy rushed towards the swings. She knew what was going to follow. “Push me, Zo. Push me high, Zo. No, more high, Zo.”
Zoë never correct her stepbrother and would much rather have been under her cosy duvet, texting Beth about her love life or looking on Tinder to improve her own but it got her and her stepbrother, most importantly her, out of the house while their mum had “special time” with Timmy’s dad, Letchy Len. Although Len was letchy, he had never tried it on with Zoë because she kept her distance, always disappearing when he got home, got up, or got a little too close when their paths crossed on the stairs. She could hold her own – she’d had plenty of experience with her mum’s previous boyfriends, fortunately none of whom had stayed long enough to get her knocked up. Len was the best of the worst and knowing her mum as Zoë did, she’d soon see sense and move on. Who would have Timmy, Zoë didn’t know but as long as it was only part-time, Zoë would be alright with that. As much of a tie as he was, he wasn’t his dad’s son… as the saying went. They shared as much DNA and Zoë did to her mum but the resemblance stopped at the neck, Timmy’s chestnut hair matching his dad’s rather than Zoë and her mum’s fiery red.
The whinging started as Zoë had expected. “Push me, Zoë.” No abbreviation today. “Please… push, push, push.”
“OK!” Zoë sighed as she dismissed a less than cute guy’s picture and pushed the iPhone’s ‘home’ button.
She pushed Timmy higher and higher until she thought he might loop the loop but he soon felt sick so they moved to the seesaw but he didn’t fare better there.
His eyes widened at the sight of the newly painted roundabout, each segment in a different colour of the rainbow. “Wed and yellow and blue and gween, purple and–”
“Yes, I know how it goes, Timbo.”
Timmy scowled. “Don’t call me Timbo. You know I hate Timbo.”
“And Timmy’s better? You’re seven. You’re too old to be called Timmy.”
“I like Timmy. It reminds me of the tortoise from–”
“Yes, I know. We have this conversation every time.”
“Then stop calling me–”
“You’ve been sick. What makes you think that you won’t be sick if you go on the roundabout?”
“Because it’s pretty.”
Zoë shrugged at the lack of logic but didn’t stop him running over and jumping on the purple section. Zoë knew blue was his favourite colour so again choosing a different one defied Zoë’s brain but maybe it was like when he left the meat to last on a Sunday lunch because it was the nicest bit… that and the pre-fried potatoes.
There Timmy stood, waiting for Zoë to push but he shook his head as she approached him. “I wanted the purple one but it’s already busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yes, busy.”
“Busy, like occupied.”
“Yes, busy like occupied.”
Zoë looked at the neighbouring segment but couldn’t see anyone. There’d been no one else in the park when they’d arrived and no one had joined them since. It was too cold and damp – not raining but threatening enough to put off even the hardiest of dog walkers.
“Down,” Timmy said.
“Down what?”
“Look down.”
Zoë did as she was told and saw that it wasn’t a human form that was occupying the purple segment but a parcel with black lettering.
Zoë frowned and looked back at Timmy who shrugged like she had a few moments before. “It’s a parcel.”
“Oh.”
“What’s a parcel doing on a roundabout?”
Timmy shrugged again. In fact he hadn’t stopped shrugging.
“OK, you can stop shrugging.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t need to.”
“I know I don’t need to but I like shrugging.”
“No one likes shrugging. It’s just something we do when we don’t know something.”
“If we did that when we didn’t know something, we’d be shrugging all the time.”
“Don’t be a silly Billy.”
“I’m not a silly Billy. I’m a silly Timmy.” He blew a raspberry then smiled.
Zoë smiled too but looked back at the parcel. “It’s to someone in France. Béziers. Never heard of it. Doesn’t look very important, sitting here all by itself.”
“Maybe it’s waiting for someone,” Timmy suggested.
“It’s an inanimate object. It doesn’t wait.”
“What’s inaminate?”
“Inanimate. It means it doesn’t have feelings.”
“Oh. Maybe whatever is inside it has feelings.”
“Don’t be–”
“I’m not being silly. Dad put Harley in a cardboard box when he bought him from the pet shop.”
“A cardboard box, not a wrapped parcel.”
“I’m bored. Can you push me now.”
“Not with the parcel where it is.”
“Then move it.”
“I’m not going to move it. It might be a bomb.”
Timmy’s eyes widened again.
“It’s not a bomb, don’t worry.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s not ticking.”
“Can you hear it not ticking?”
“No.”
“No, what? You can hear it not ticking or…”
“It’s not ticking.”
“So it’s not a bomb so you can move it.”
“I’m not moving it.”
“Then you can’t push me.”
“OK. I’ll move it but if we blow up then it’ll be your fault.”
Timmy pursed his lips then relaxed them, saying, “Like a balloon?”
Zoë laughed. “No, Timmy. Not like a balloon.” She leaned in towards him. “In a million pieces.”
“Like a jigsaw?”
“What jigsaw do you know that a million… never mind. It won’t be nice.”
“Will we feel it?”
“Timmy, let’s just be careful and move the thing.”
“OK.” Timmy stood, clearly waiting for Zoë to move the parcel.
Zoë shook her head, crouched, and nudged one of the corners, testing the parcel’s weight. She nodded, put her hands, palms flat, either side and lifted the parcel, gently raising it and herself, moving it around twenty feet towards one of the swings but then changed her mind, thinking about another child who might urge his sister to “push me high”, and put it near some bushes.
After twenty minutes of being pushed on the roundabout, Zoë announced that it was time to head back home.
“Aw,” Timmy whinged.
“All right. Just one more go.”
“OK,” Timmy moaned and went “weee” as he was spun round then stuck his arm out pointing at the parcel, which unbalanced him and he went flying.
“Oh my god!” Zoë shouted and ran to him.
Apart from some scrapes on his palms were he’d put his hands out to break his fall, he looked OK until he tried to stand. “My arm hurts.”
“Where?”
“Here?” He pointed to his left forearm.
Zoë rolled up his sleeve and winced. “Shit. Fu…” She rolled the sleeve back down and tapped the short dial for ‘home’. Their mum wouldn’t have been happy at being disturbed but Zoë knew how important the call would be. She blew a Timmy-style raspberry as the answerphone clicked in. “Hi, Mum. Timmy’s had a… bump at the park. Nothing major but I’m going to take him to the General just in case. If it’s nothing, we’ll be back before you get this but maybe… anyway, we’ll be there then home so we’ll be late. Sorry. It was an accident. Sorry, Mum.”
Zoë clicked the red icon to disconnect the call. “Come on then, soldier. Let’s get you patched up.”
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“OK, Timmy said weakly, rubbing his bad arm with his good, making an ‘x’ shape.
As they turned to the park’s exit, Timmy pointed to the parcel.
“What?” Zoë asked.
“Wanna take with me.”
“What?”
“The parcel. Wanna take with me.”
“Why?”
“Like it. Want to know what’s in it.”
“You can’t open it. It’s not yours.”
“Can’t we take it home at least. Mum and I can take it to the post office tomorrow.”
Zoë sighed. “OK. If it’ll stop you going on about it.” Zoë retrieved the parcel, tucking under her right arm as she took Timmy’s right hand in hers.
To take his mind off his pain, Zoë talked about taking him somewhere nice the following weekend. “Like the zoo?”
“Maybe.”
“The sports centre. They’ve got a new rock climbing wall,” Timmy beamed.
“You might be too young.”
“No. Zack went there last weekend and he’s six months younger than me.”
“He’s taller though.”
“Zack’s sister went too and she’s only six. And she’s shorter than me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Timmy, really.”
“Yay!”
Arriving at the old hospital, they climbed the steps leading up to A&E. There was a ramp for trollies and wheelchairs but Zoë never liked to use something that wasn’t designed for someone able-bodied like her. It was like Len parking in the disabled spaces at the supermarket which he did regularly then walked funny to the trollies in case anyone complained. He was never challenged at not having a blue badge but Zoë assumed that it was up to the supermarket rather than the police to tell people off and the supermarket wanted as much business as they could get so they’d never complain.
Facing the entrance, Zoë put the parcel on the ground.
Timmy looked at it. “What are you doing?”
“It’ll be safe there, Timmy, ’til we’re done. Who’d want something addressed to someone else?”
“Me,” Timmy moaned as he followed his sister through the opening double doors.
***