Beware of the Ides of March (part 2 of 10)

‘There is a strange man outside the door’, says Sally, standing tiptoe behind the louvered blinds of the Tweedle Childcare Center, her chubby small fingers smudging the white PVC window ledge with cream from the chocolate cake she is eating. The other children are in the playroom at the back, with Lisa, who is the nursery attendant, the general tidy-up-er, the dinner lady, the Pre-school instructor, the First-aider and the Manager - all rolled up in one. Together with Yvonne, her under-aged assistant, who will not arrive until half past twelve, she looks after the ten children currently attending Tweedle. Lisa has been working here now for over six years on the same salary. Sally, who, particularly, is one of the most difficult among the children, does not make her work any easier as she always has to look for her.

‘Get away from there at once-’ Lisa begins to say to Sally, in her most authoritative tone, and then she stops when she hears the doorbell. Who could it be at this time? All the children have arrived already.

She opens the door. Alexander Street is always busy at this time with cars whizzing up and down the road. She finds herself face to face with someone she has never seen before. The man is dressed in a black suit, white shirt and tie, with silver cufflinks that look like small mint coins. His brown hair and moustache are neatly trimmed, and his brows are perfect. His face is pale and his cold gray eyes are peering directly into her eyes.

‘Hi, you are Lisa Readman’ he is obviously not asking; he is just letting her know that he knows.

‘Yes?’ Lisa frowns, thinking, ‘Of course I am, so what?’ The last thing she wants at this time is to be hampered by an awkward door-to-door salesman or an overzealous Jehovah’s Witness, with all those children running around unattended in the playroom.

‘Lisa’, he says ‘my name is Graham; I want you to do me a favor. I know that I probably shouldn’t be asking this now, but I want you to look after my daughter just for today.’

That is the first time Lisa notices the little girl with long brown hair, standing next to him. She is about four or five. Her little, fluffy pink jacket is faded and stained, the dirty sleeves of a grey jumper protruding at the cuffs. Her stockings are unmatched and her black leather shoes look like they have been put through the tumble dryer.

‘I’m afraid I can’t-’

‘Look, I know that it is such a short notice. But my wife is very ill and I have a very important interview...I need to be in London by 10:30 and there is nobody else to look after her’. He glances anxiously at his watch.

‘Sorry, Mr._’

‘I am prepared to pay in full, with some extra for the inconvenience...’

‘No, it’s that. We just can’t...’

‘Just for about three hours, please. I promise I will be back to collect her by 12pm’

Lisa is sorry for the man but she simply cannot take on another child right now. That would be breaching OFSTED daycare regulations. Perhaps they can get away with some of the infringements they have already committed, but exceeding the adult to children ratio will be to take things too far. Then he takes out his fat wallet and it is an instant magnet to her eyes. The thick wedge of crisp cash sticking out of it causes her to lick her lips. She remembers her £800 credit card debt. ADECCO hire & purchase have threatened to take away the flat screen TV more than five times already. Her unemployed boyfriend, Mike’s birthday is in two weeks and she would like to buy him an iPhone or, at least, PSP console. Today, 15 March is her own birthday; she knows Mike has a surprise waiting for her. She looks at the child again. Poor thing, she obviously in need of some care and attention,

‘Look’, says the man, a faint smile touching his lips and quickly vanishing as if it never happened, ‘I will pay you whatever you want...shall we say £500?’

Five hundred pounds? Lisa does not recognize her own voice as she says ‘OK’

‘Ah. Thanks. Here is my mobile number, just in case. I promise absolutely to be back for her by 12pm.’ He peels off a sheaf of £20 notes, counts quickly and gives them to Lisa ‘You have just saved my life!’ With that, he shoves the little girl into Lisa’s arms and quickly walks away in the direction of Dartford train station.

Still holding the child, Lisa turns round and finds that Sally is staring at her. She glares back at her and then does a sign with her fingers, gesturing swiftly across her lips to say ‘zip it!’ Sally nods and scurries away to the playroom.

‘What is your name?’ Lisa asks the little girl. She almost recoils at the clammy feel of her little hand. The girl does not reply. She just stands there staring glassy-eyed. For the first time, Lisa notices her eyes: vague and distant, not what you would expect to see on a child’s face. She seems to be in a trance, her arms hanging loosely from her slouched shoulders zombie-like. There are faint trails of dried up tears down her pink cheeks. Her red nose looks as if it has been pinched, and her febrile nostrils dribbled freely. Her mouth is set; her lips slightly pursed in what could be either defiance or resignation.

‘Come on, dear’ Lisa ushers her into the front room where all the children’s jacket are hanging on the wall. ‘Let’s have your jacket. We’ll see if we can tidy you up and get you something to eat.’

But the girl does not move. Lisa undoes her buttons and takes off her jacket. A strong smell of sweat and urine hits her like a left hook from Mike Tyson.

‘Come with me’ she says leading her up to the bathroom. She can hear the other children. There is the noise of moving chairs, loud screams and banging of toys. They are making such a racket but they will have to be on their own or the time being. One cannot be in two places at once. In her long experience, she has developed an ear for the difference between the noise of genuine crisis and a harmless boisterous romp in the playroom.

Even after she has been tidied up and dressed in cleaner clothes the girl is still not a delight to the eyes. What is missing is a smile to light up her face. But there is no chance of that right now. She has not yet uttered a single word either, and she has been completely docile. Lisa is now worried but she consoles herself with the thought that the girl’s father will soon be back to pick her up. She remembers the money in her wallet and smiles. Then she thinks, perhaps she should have asked for more. He is probably one of those City high flyers – probably a bank manager or stock trader - on bonus packages in excess of a million pounds. The thing that sets such people apart from people like her is their negotiating skills and their ability to make the most out of any opportunity. She should not have settled for £500, she should have asked for £800.

When Lisa returns to the play area with the girl, she is shocked at the state of the place.
Someone has thrown a chocolate cream meringue up and it has stuck to the ceiling, the cream dripping unto an upturned chair in the middle of the room. The posters on the wall have been smeared with custard and chocolate and the floor is covered with paper torn from their exercise books. Terry and Jeanine are playing Cowboys and Indians with a broken umbrella; Terry has chocolate smeared all over his face. Ely and the other three girls have dirt on their hands and clothes. They have brought clods of dirt from the back garden into the playroom and they are pretending to be celebrity chefs. None of the children takes any notice of Lisa or the girl, they continue to run around and scream until she shouts ‘Stop that right now!’

She remains firm, and pretends not to be surprised. Years of experience have thought her that no matter what you do, you must never let the children see you panic because they have a mischievous intention of manipulating grownups. She is fully aware of all their machinations and knows that it is all about control - the more surprise you show, the more control you lose. The success of a child minder is not in knowing every rule of health and safety or being completely attentive to their every need, but simply never letting the children win.

‘Now children, you are going to have to help me sort out this mess.’

They stand huddled together, each looking as innocent as they can possibly be regardless of the damning evidence of the smear of chocolate, cream and custard on their faces, and the state of their clothes. Lisa cleans them up one by one with water and wet flannels. She orders them to put the chairs and desk back in their original positions. Some of the children wander quietly off into the front room. Lisa ignores them. It is just as well because she does not need all of them to be in the playroom while tidying the place up.

She is in the middle of squeezing the mop when Sally comes in and says ‘I think the new girl is dead’

‘What?’

She drops the mop and starts running to the front room but there is a toy Honda Accord in her path and she steps on it. It drives on with her foot for a meter a half. Twisting round to regain her balance and flailing her arms just makes it all the worse and she hit the wood paneled floor on her hip. Ignoring the pain and the awkward giggle of Sally and some of the children, she rushes into the outer room to find the girl lying down on the floor. Some of the children are in a circle around her in shock or curiosity.

The girl is limb, her eyes are closed and her mouth slightly open. Lisa kneels beside her. Her forehead is warm and sweaty. She turns her on her side and feels her wrist. Her pulse is beating normally.

‘All right dear, let me help you up’.

The girl opens her eyes. The glassiness has gone out of her them. They twinkle with a somewhat frightening glow and then suddenly open wider, as if she has just seen the object of her most terrible nightmare - The thing with two heads and twenty horns. She lets out a piecing scream that comes from within the depths of her soul, causing the other children to fall back in horror. She pushes Lisa with a force that cannot come from a five-year-old and leaps forward like a tiger. Initially, Lisa is dumbfounded and completely disarmed, so she does not immediately react as the girl makes for the front door. Only a fraction of a second too late she realizes that the front door is open. Launched by the invisible catapult of sheer panic, she flies after her. But nothing can stop the awful sequence of events. First, there is a sharp and urgent blast of a car horn, then a tortured screech of tires on tar and then the dreadful noise of a collision.