I’m watching the lights. . . red, yellow, green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red . . . tapping my feet, feeling the frustration rising up inside me, foul tasting like vomit. . Thirty minutes. Thirty five minutes. . . redyellowgreenyellowredgreen. . . Forty minutes .. Tapping my feet. . . I’m going to scream. We edge forward, Maddy cheers in the backseat and I laugh, the frustration subsiding for a minute. But we’re still stuck, can’t go backwards or forwards, can’t turn around. I imagine pressing a button and wings sprouting from the sides, we’d fly past everybody, straight into the supermarket.
‘How’d that be Maddy?’ I ask.
In the rearview mirror I see her smile, but she’s intent on something else and when I turn round she’s playing with the door locks, opening them.
‘Shut it’, I shout. Terrified someone will open her door and drag her away from me. That’s what happens here in the endless traffic jams, disaffected people opening doors, smashing windows, bashing drivers, stealing bags. . . maybe even children.
Forty five minutes. . . This is serious. It only takes twenty to walk. These road works have been going for months, and months. Bottle necks, blocked drains, cars everywhere, people stewing inside their little metal boxes. Fingers tapping steering wheels, feet playing with the pedals, changing radio stations, fuming, steam, rage . . . The locks are still going up and down and I can’t help it anymore. I’m going to scream. ‘For fucks sake, shut it.’In the silence that comes before her tears I’m already regretting and I’m thinking that being a mother is all about regrets and responsibilities and never being able to forget anything anymore, except yourself. It’s yourself that’s so hard to remember. So I’m regretting and trying to avoid the looks of the people in the car in front who’ve heard me scream and who no doubt wonder about me.
Maddy’s crying. She doesn’t cry quietly. It’s all noisy sobs and intermittent howls. I glance nervously in the rearvision mirror at the line of cars behind. Stern faces staring back. None of their God damned business, but I’m filled with shame. Please, don’t let them be from Social Services. Just the name makes my hair stand on end. That’s what’s happening here. Everyone’s telling on everyone. And mud sticks, that’s what mum always said. There’s no going back. ‘I’m sorry.’I can hear the regret and the resignation in my voice. But most of all I can hear how tired I am and how tight. All wound up inside like something’s going to go bing. The howls continue. I try again.
‘Mummy’s sorry Maddy, she didn’t mean it.’
The third person makes it easier, distances it from me. It’s just that naughty old mummy again.
‘Mummy’s upset because we’re stuck in a traffic jam.’
The sobs subside.
‘You scared me mummy.’
‘I know sweetheart. I’m sorry.’
I can’t even hug her. She’s all that way from me, strapped into her seat and I can’t reach. In the mirror I watch her pulling her face together. Being brave. And my heart breaks at how little she is.
Fifty minutes. ‘Are we in a jam mummy?’I sigh, here we go again. ‘Yes,’ I say, on queue
‘Strawberry jam, mummy?’
She giggles. A first joke. Worn out with usage. But I laugh too, it’s better than tears.
We move a few feet, edging up alongside the trucks. ‘Look mummy, look, there’s a digger.’ Maddy’s excited and so am I. We’ve moved, there’s hope yet. I break into song. They’re digging a hole in the road, they’re digging a hole in the road.
You can’t go up, you can’t go down. You’ll have to wait and drive around. . .
Maddy sings too in her little high pitched squeak and we’re friends again, laughing together. The people behind are still staring. Maybe they think I’m a lunatic, or maybe there’s just nowhere else to look.
I shut my eyes and imagine putting my foot down onto the accelerator, speeding along an empty highway, the wind roaring, blowing hard in my face. Somehow when I imagine this the wind is blowing but in reality I’ve always had the window shut. No wind, always the engine, sometimes music. Road music. Tearing through space. Space. . . space. . . I open my eyes, hoping, but we’re still here. Fifty five minutes. We move on again, inching our way to the roundabout. Approaching it I can feel my fingers itching, my feet twitching. Something unexpected is going to happen. And sure enough when we get there, instead of turning left I swing around to the right. ‘Shop’s that way,’ says Maddy, pointing behind her.There’s space on the road in front of me. I push my foot down and feel the welcome roar of the engine. ‘We’re not going to the supermarket,’ I say.
Maddy doesn’t know whether to smile or cry. Her eyes are still shiny wet from earlier. They look puzzled.
‘Where we going mummy?’
But I don’t know. Not home. I couldn’t bear it. Tucked up inside our little flat, surrounded by other little flats and roads everywhere all packed with traffic. A big stinking stew.
I think about holidays. About being young. Smoking, drinking, being stoned. About staying up late and watching the sun coming up. And how the future seemed forever away. Back then the world moved with me in long, loping rhythms. Now the rhythm is gone or it’s different. Moved into something I don’t recognise. Everything is jagged and confused. ‘Mummy?’Maddy’s still there and her little face is anxious. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘I’ll think of something.’
Maddy’s face screws up.
‘I want supermarket,’ she says, ‘I want apple. I want trolley. . I want. . .’
I want I want I want.
‘SHUT UP!’
My face is fierce. I can feel it twisted and set, like the wind’s changed and I can’t move it back. Maddy’s confused. She’s quiet. Shocked into silence for awhile. And then. . .
‘Mummy, mumma, mamma, mum, mum, mummy. . .’
She’s practicing with what’s known, practicing language. Over and over. Making me into a mantra. I sigh. Then turn, left and right, left again, trying to find a rhythm, a purpose, trying to drive away from myself. Then I see a big blue sign and suddenly I know what we’re doing.
We’re going to the seaside Maddy.’
‘Yay!’ she cries, ‘Yay!’ Jumping up and down in her seat, her eyes sparky, looking everywhere for the sea.
‘Now for the bad news,’ I say. ‘We’re not there yet.’
‘Nearly there mummy?’
‘No, not for ages and ages and ages and ages . . .’
It takes longer than I imagined. Maddy’s fidgeting in the back. I’ve sung every nursery rhyme I can think of and now we’re running out of games. ‘Nearly there?’ she asks hopefully. ‘Nearly,’ I say. ‘Shall we play the ‘where’s Maddy game’? ‘Yay,’ she says and pulls her hat over her eyes.
‘Where’s Maddy? Is she under the seat?’
‘No.’
‘Is she on Mummy’s lap?’
‘No.’
‘Is she on the roof?’
‘Noooo.’ Maddy breaks into giggles.
‘I know. She’s under that hat.’
‘Yes!’ she shouts.
‘Nearly there mummy?’ Maddy’s starting to whimper. It’s tea time and she’s hungry. She’s been sitting still too long and needs to run off all her energy. We both do. Need to get stuff out. And in, I think, hearing my stomach rumble. ‘Not far,’ I say.I turn a corner and there it is.
‘Look Maddy. Look! The sea.’
‘Yay,’ she shouts, staring uncertainly at the vast, surging, grey water.
I find a park and rummage for change to put in the meter. Outside the wind is cold and cuts right through my clothes. I lift Maddy out and pull my jumper over her head. She’s lost in it and jumps about excitedly, flapping the long empty sleeves in the air. We walk along the pier and I look up and around, but never down and I hold on tight to Maddy’s hand, because any minute the wind might lift her up and drop her into the sea below. But Maddy is free of fear. She wriggles free and skips ahead, from one edge to another, so small she could slip between the barrier, and my heart skips too, with each awful possibility. Back on the beach we pick our way through pebbles and deck-chairs and play chasey with the waves until our feet squelch in our shoes. Then we throw pebbles into the water, trying to make them skip, but they all sink. ‘Plop’, shouts Maddy each time. ‘Plop, plop, plop.’We buy steaming fish and soggy chips with tomato sauce and icy cold, fizzy lemonade and chocolate bars, and we eat until we can’t eat anymore and then feed the rest to the squawking gulls around our feet and circling our heads, and all the time I can feel something inside slowing uncoiling. ‘We is having fun mummy,’ Maddy announces solemnly. ‘Are,’ I say automatically. Then I see that she’s shivering, so I wrap my arms around he. She snuggles into me and we’re quiet together for a few moments, until she spots the playground. ‘Swing,’ she shouts, shaking me off impatiently. ‘Swing.’
I strap her in and push.
‘Higher mummy. Higher.’
So I swing her higher and higher and higher, until I’m scared she’ll go right over. Her face is red with the stinging cold and she’s gulping down great mouthfuls of air, but she’s still smiling and shouting.
‘Bring me the sky, bring me the sky. . .’
And the swing goes even higher until there’s just Maddy, bright against the clouds, laughing out loud at the bigness of everything.
When the rain starts I’ve had enough. ‘Time to go,’ I say. ‘No,’ she shouts, shaking her head furiously. She’s making a stand, but the joy has gone out of it for her. ‘Yes.’
‘No!’
‘Come on Maddy,’ I plead. ‘Come on sweetheart. You’ll get wet and catch cold.’
‘Okay.’
She lets me lift her out, but she won’t walk, so I sit her on my shoulders and walk slowly back through the rain. In the car it’s warm and still. Outside it’s getting dark and still raining and the streets are nearly empty. I start the engine and turn the car away from the seaside. The lights shine in bright lines on the road and the car swishes through the water. We could be anywhere. It’s quiet too, except for the motor and the swishing and the regular squeak of the windscreen wipers.
Maddy’s sleepy now, and content. ‘I like you mummy.’ ‘I like you too Maddy.’ ‘You’re my friend.. . I got lots of friends.’
‘You have,’ I say.
‘I love everyone Mummy. . . Do you?
I hesitate. Steer my mind away from things. Torn. I’m fearful of her childish trust, yet more than anything I want to keep it safe for her.
‘I love lots of people sweetheart,’ I say.
When I look back she’s asleep. Her head tilted slightly, resting against the baby seat. I take little glimpses, back and forth, from the road ahead, to my daughter behind. Her mouth is open, there’s chocolate smeared on her chin, her eyebrows make two smooth arcs across her face, her hair is wet, windswept and tangled. She’s perfect. And I want it to stay this way forever. Just me and Maddy. And the car cutting through space.