Pushing through the crowds, I keep my eyes peeled for the Grand Carousel. A WhatsApp from Saoirse two minutes ago told me they’d meet me there. Jesus, I wouldn’t like Bea to be here any later than this. This evening, the teens and adults will take over, drunken and raucous, and the over-hyped atmosphere, already intolerable, will ratchet up a few notches. I’m not even comfortable having Bea here now that it’s dark. If a kid got separated from its parents in this place, it would be a fucking disaster.
There they are. Relief, because it means Saoirse’s done her job and looked after my little angel in this hell-hole. And because now I can take control of the situation and keep her safe. I steel myself for the inevitable barrage of high-pitched female excitement from the two of them and walk forward. Produce a smile.
‘Beadle!’
I squat, and she runs into my arms. She’s heaven. Her faceis streaked with sticky pink candy floss remnants, and her breath is sweet.
‘Daddy!’ she cries into my ear. ‘I’m having SO MUCH FUN!’
Dear God. She’s high as a kite. I pick her up and get back up. Ouch. Quad burn.
‘How’s it going?’ I ask Saoirse. She’s glowing: a scarlet beanie is pulled low, and her dark hair clouds prettily around her face. Her cheeks and nose are rosy, and her lips are flushed red. She’s in that ridiculous blue duffel coat, but I’m glad to see she’s covered her legs up with jeans and boots.
Warmer for her.
Less distracting for me.
She has a revolting-looking pink cuddly toy wedged under one arm. She gives me a radiant smile. Her endless joie de vivre is exhausting, but it makes my heart hurt at the same time, in the most bizarre way.
‘It’s amazing! We’re having such a fab time! She’s been on the carousel three times already, but she wants to go on with her daddy. It’s her favourite ride.’
‘I’m game.’ I point at the toy. ‘What’s that?’
‘She won her at a kiosk. She did a great job. It took her two tries. She’s very determined.’
‘Daddy, she’s called Twinkle. Can she sleep with me tonight?’
I throw Twinkle a dirty look. I can tell without sniffing that its fur will stink of petrochemicals.
‘Of course.’ I’ll go in when she’s asleep and make sure Twinkle accidentally tumbles to the floor. I gesture to the carousel. ‘Right, princess. Your knight is here. Show me which horse is our trusty steed.’
We make it out of there after an hour. There’s no way Dave, my driver, could have got anywhere near the place, so we walk back through the park. I have Bea in my arms, and Saoirse’s carrying the toy of doom. Bea had a blood sugar crash, which manifested as a gigantic tantrum, so I reluctantly bought her a burger from one of the more authentic-looking kiosks, which she polished off. She’s slumped in my arms now, exhausted from the walking and the assault on her senses.
‘That,’ I tell Saoirse, ‘was hideous.’
‘Oh.’ She gapes at me. She’s doing a good job of matching my stride through the park. ‘I loved it. I thought it was incredible. I’m going to see if I can persuade some of the girls to come back with me one evening and have a few drinks. I want to try Hangover - that giant thing that sticks up in the sky.’
‘You’re crazy. You’ll throw up, especially if you’ve had a few drinks.’
‘No, I won’t. I’m made of stronger stuff than that.’
She crosses her arms tightly over her chest and hunches over. It is pretty freezing now. I wrap my arms more tightly around Bea to keep her warm. Look sideways at Saoirse.
‘Did you not think it was horribly hectic, though? The lights alone gave me a thumping headache. Let alone the noise.’
‘No, I loved it. It was so Christmassy.’
‘That was not Christmassy. That was plain tacky. There’s no other word for it. Everything was fake. The lights. The food. The revolting toys they classed as prizes. Horrible.’ I shudder.
She throws back her head and laughs. It’s a heavenly sound: warm, and rich, and hearty.
‘You miserable grump. The joy wasn’t fake. The people having fun together. You know—the human connection. Something we didn’t have much of last Christmas. I’d like togo back this year just to make a point. Just because we can, thank God.’
Bea pokes me sleepily in the temple. ‘Daddy’s a grump.’
I raise my eyebrows at Saoirse, and she giggles. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean for her to pick up on that. But she might have a point…’
‘I’m not a grump. I simply object to the gross commercialisation of every holiday to the point that removes all the soul from it, and that, back there, is a case in point.’
