Her One Mistake(4)

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THE TEN-MINUTE DRIVE to the school took us through our village of Chiddenford toward the outskirts where the small village park and quaint little shops made way for expansive areas of countryside. St. Mary’s school grounds rivaled that of some private schools. Opposite the school sat its impressive field, which backed onto parkland.

It was here that I first met Harriet five years ago when she was working as a teaching assistant. I’d always thought she’d end up sending Alice to the school, but the drive from their house was a nightmare. It was a shame because it would have helped Alice’s confidence having Molly two years above.

It must have been well past noon by the time we finally arrived for the fair, joining the long snake of cars as they approached the corner of the field that had been cordoned off as a makeshift parking lot.

Underneath the brightly colored bunting across the entrance was Gail Turner waving cars through as if she ran the school rather than just the PTA.

When Gail saw me she gestured to wind down my window, her white teeth flashing brightly in the sun. “Hello, lovely. How lucky are we with the weather?” she called through my open window. “I feel like I’ve been personally blessed.”

“Very lucky, Gail,” I said. “Can I park anywhere?” Four-by-fours ahead of me were already squeezing into tight spaces they’d unlikely get out of easily. “Why’s it so busy?”

“My marketing, probably.” She beamed. “I tried to speak to as many parents as possible to make sure they were coming.”

“So where can I park?” I asked, flashing my own patient smile back.

“Hold on, my lovely, let me see if I can find you a VIP space.” She turned away and I rolled my eyes at Jack, who sat beside me. When Gail turned back she pointed to a spot at the far end. “Go over there.” She smiled. “No one will block you in.”

“Thanks, Gail,” I said as I slowly pulled away. Being friends with her did have some advantages.

It was the hottest day on record for May, the DJ on the radio had said that morning. As I climbed out of the car, the pink sundress I’d plucked from the closet was already starting to cut into the skin under my arms and I regretted not wearing flip-flops. Lifting my hair up, I tied it into a ponytail and riffled through my bag for my sunglasses, rubbing at a scratch on one of the lenses before putting them on, promising myself I’d look for the case when I got home. “Two-hundred-pound Oakleys should not be shoved to the bottom of your bag,” Audrey had once sighed, and I agreed with her but still had no idea where the case was.

“Mummy? I need the toilet,” Evie cried as soon as we made it onto the field.

“Oh, Evie, you have to be kidding,” I muttered, grabbing my dress out of her hands. “And please don’t tug on my clothes, darling.” I pulled the top of my dress back up and looked down to see if she’d revealed my bra.

“But I need to go. I can go on my own.”

“No, Evie, you really can’t,” I sighed. “You are only three.”

“I can go with Jack.”

I turned back to Jack, who was dawdling behind me, his head still stuck in his iPad, brow furrowed in deep concentration as he fought dragons. Jack was ten now and had accomplished major skills for flicking and tapping and swiping anything that posed a threat. I knew I should make him spend less time on gadgets—I’d even been told it wasn’t conducive to the much-needed improvement of his social skills—but despite all that, I also knew my son was happiest when he was in his own private world.

He looked so much like Tom with his thick, dark hair and the way his eyes scrunched up when he was concentrating hard. I smiled at him, even though he remained completely oblivious, and when I turned back to Evie I realized I’d lost sight of the other two. “Where are Molly and Alice? They were both right here. Evie?” I questioned impatiently. “Where have Molly and Alice gone?”

Evie pointed a chubby finger toward the cake stall. “Over there.”

I let out a breath as I saw them idly staring at the sugar-topped fairy cakes that had been delivered in hundreds by the mums. My daughter had a hand grasped tightly around Alice’s arm and was talking at her and pointing out cakes as if she were about to reach out and pinch one.

“Girls! Stay with me,” I called. Streams of people wove in and out of the stalls, and Molly and Alice were momentarily lost behind a family—a large father with a T-shirt that read LOS POLLOS CHICKEN, and his equally large wife stuffing a doughnut into her mouth. I edged toward the cake stall, peering between the legs of the kids trawling behind the couple.

“Molly! Come back here, now.” The two girls finally appeared. Meanwhile Evie was now bouncing from one foot to the other and tugging on my dress again.

“When can we get cotton candy?” Molly asked. “I’m starved.”

“And I really, really need the toilet, Mummy!” Evie shouted, stamping a little pink shoe into the grass. “Urrrgh, I’ve got mud all over my feet,” she cried, shaking her foot and kicking me in the leg.

“It’s a bit of soil, Evie, and I did tell you it was going to be muddy, but you still insisted on wearing those shoes,” I said, wiping the dirt from her foot and my shin. “And try and watch what you’re doing. You hurt Mummy.”

“I’m dirty!” Evie screamed, falling into a pile on the ground. “I need the toilet.” I looked around me, praying no one was watching. A couple of mums glanced in my direction but turned away again quickly. I could feel the heat spreading rapidly to my cheeks as I decided whether to walk away and leave her writhing on the ground or pick her up and give in just to save face.