Suddenly, Lexie’s missing. The gate is closed. She can’t escape. Has she climbed a tree, fallen down a hole?
There she is, in the far corner, with someone else. It’s Lucy, down on her haunches, showing my granddaughter something.
“You let us know when you’re ready to share, Theo,” I tell my grandson, and stride towards Lucy. She meets my gaze full on.
“You’re still avoiding me,” she says. “Okay if I give your grandkids a snack? Phoebe was always angriest when she was hungry. Hangry.”
Lexie stares up at me as if she’s found a fairy at the bottom of the garden.
“Okay,” I say.
Theo spots the fruit, drops the red ball and runs across to us, hands outstretched.
“What we really need in this corner is a pizza oven,” says Lucy. “We had so much fun with ours, at my old house, and here, everyone could enjoy it. Do you like pizza?” she asks the children.
They nod, their mouths full of grapes. My own mouth waters.
Lucy holds them out to me and I take a few. They’re sweet and juicy and perfect. I’ve been taking care of Theo and Lexie for three hours. The garden was a diversion that worked well for a while, but was going stale. Lucy’s arrival is helpful. She’s more than welcome. My gut twists.
Lucy whispers in Lexie’s ear and she shoots around the edge of the fence and grabs the red ball while Theo’s eyes are on Lucy. Lexie’s joy is absolute.
Fruit fest over, Lucy coaxes Lexie to throw her the ball. It’s an excellent throw for a four-year-old, if I say so myself – maybe she’s inherited my ball skills. Lucy’s catch is even better. She lobs it back to Lexie.
“Okay, Theo,” says Lucy. “You and me against Grandpa and Lexie, okay?”
He nods solemnly and the game is on. We run until we’re all laughing and puffed. I’m amazed that half an hour has passed. Lucy has a natural way with the children, and they love it. She continues to surprise me, this lithe neighbor with her ready laugh. She has self-respect without taking herself too seriously.
Lexie stumbles on a piece of old concrete, and when Lucy and I both reach out to steady her, we collapse into each other, arms and legs tangling, an awkward starfish of awareness. She’s soft and strong in all the right places, deliciously alive and full of joy. I hold Lucy long enough that Lexie peers up at us and gives a wide smile of wonder, her grazed knee temporarily forgotten. It’s only for a moment, this awkward embrace, but it replays in my mind, over and over, the feel of her. I don’t want to let Lucy go.
It’s time to take the children back upstairs for pick up.
“Thank you, Lucy,” I say as I step away from her with the curt nod I used to dismiss patients, regretting my formality.
“See you around.”
Lucy and I haven’t spoken properly since I took her to my old house, and then her apartment came up for sale.
Avoiding her has been uncomfortable. I’ve actually missed her.
Dee tried to set me up with Bettina – some kind of fake discussion about fund management for the dementia charity, but Bettina was as uncomfortable about it as I was. I’ve never been attracted to her.
Then Dee found me a “friend” from one of her classes, a lovely person but I’m not interested. She sat us next to each other at a family dinner, but we had nothing to say to one another. Talk about awkward. It’s made me realize how special Lucy is – that we can discuss anything and laugh and cry and enjoy each other’s company. I’ve missed her.
“Come up with us,” I say. “Dee’s collecting the children. She can meet you and see for herself you’re no drug addict.”
But it’s Matt who collects the children. After the polite hellos and farewells, Lexie running back to grab my leg and give Lucy another smile, I offer my neighbor a glass of water.
“Okay,” she says, and I gesture at my lounge while I head into the kitchen.
When I return with the two glasses and place them on the coffee table, Lucy’s shoulders are so slumped I want to lean forwards and squeeze one of them, and before I know it, my hand is there, on the creamy soft, curve of her shoulder.
When she turns her face up towards mine, there are tears in her eyes, but it’s not about the network, she says.
“Did I offend you, back at your house, that night, Dirk?”
“No. Nothing happened.”
“Should something have happened? Is that what I did wrong?”
