Bye!’
‘Bye. And remember,’ Geena added, mock-stern. ‘No campaigning.’
‘No campaigning,’ Maya said. ‘Promise.’
Smile, wave, turn.
As she walked back along the canal bank, Geena thought: what have I done? What the fuck have I done?
She felt quite sorry for Hope Morrison.
Saturday morning began at seven, as most Saturday mornings did, with Nick bouncing up and down on the end of the bed. Hope yelped as a badly directed bounce ended on her foot, jolting her fully awake.
‘Nick,’ she pleaded, ‘just go and play with Max.’
Nick walked on all fours up the bed and clambered in between Hope and Hugh. Hugh, his back to Hope, gruntedand pulled the duvet over his head. Hope wrapped an arm around Nick, feeling the heat of his body through his pyjamas.
‘Well, snuggle in and let’s go back to sleep,’ she said, nosing his hair.
Nick squirmed. ‘Want breakfast.’
‘Get it yourself,’ Hugh said, from under the duvet and under his breath.
Nick heard. ‘Can I, can I, can I?’
‘No you cannot,’ said Hope. ‘Let’s just snooze for a bit, OK?’
‘I’m not sleepy,’ Nick said. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Hugh.
‘Hugh!’ Hope chided.
‘Yeah, yeah, sorry.’
‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck,’ said Nick, enjoying himself.
‘And you stop saying that.’
‘Daddy said it.’
‘Yes, but he shouldn’t have. Now go to sleep.’
Nick sat straight up, pulling the top of the duvet with him.
‘Going to get breakfast,’ he announced.
Hope sighed. This was how it always ended. Nick wasn’t badly behaved most of the time, but Saturday mornings were far too exciting to spend in bed. Hope could understand that. Nick seemed to enjoy nursery (once he’d been prised off her leg each morning) but for him every new weekend was a fresh wonderland of freedom. Hope had a memory flash of how Saturday mornings had been before Nick was born. Oh well. Everything had an up side and a down side, and on balance shedidn’t regret it. She got up, winced at the cold, and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers in a hurry.
‘Let’s get breakfast,’ she said.
‘Yes!’ said Nick. ‘I’ll get Max. He’s hungry too.’
‘Hugh, do you want a coffee and toast?’
But Hugh was already snoring again. Hope went through to the kitchen and made eggy soldiers for Nick and toast and honey for herself. As they ate, the garden brightened outside. The sky, visible by ducking down and looking up, was blue.
‘Railway walk?’ Hope asked.
‘Yes!’ said Nick. ‘Railway walk, railway walk!’
So that was that. Saturday, sorted.
The railway walk was Parkland Walk. The nearest entrance was a kilometre or so along East West Road to the east of Victoria Road. Hope, Hugh, and Nick with Max on his shoulder set off about eleven. Hugh had the buggy folded up and concealed in a small rucksack, just in case. Parkland Walk followed the path of an old railway line, through a long cutting for most of its route. It was the first time they’d been there since the late autumn, and Hope felt a little down on seeing it still looked like winter. Mud, dead leaves, bare branches, a few buds, shopping trolleys, litter, frost in the shadows. But Nick ran ahead, breaking thin ice and splashing through puddles in his wellies and sending Max shinning up trees.
After a while she said to Hugh: ‘We could just go on walking.’
‘What?’
Hope waved a vague encompassing hand ahead.
‘There are walks everywhere, they all connect up. Canal banks, cycle paths, that sort of thing. We could walk from here to anywhere in Britain and hardly go on the main roads.’
‘We could,’ said Hugh. ‘If we didn’t have to sleep or eat.’
‘We could camp out,’ said Hope, ‘and live off the land.’
‘The berries don’t come out for months,’ said Hugh. ‘And the squirrels are skinny even when you can dig them out. Mind you, the roadkill keeps well at this time of year. Like a deep freeze, practically. And we
‘Bye. And remember,’ Geena added, mock-stern. ‘No campaigning.’
‘No campaigning,’ Maya said. ‘Promise.’
Smile, wave, turn.
As she walked back along the canal bank, Geena thought: what have I done? What the fuck have I done?
She felt quite sorry for Hope Morrison.
Saturday morning began at seven, as most Saturday mornings did, with Nick bouncing up and down on the end of the bed. Hope yelped as a badly directed bounce ended on her foot, jolting her fully awake.
‘Nick,’ she pleaded, ‘just go and play with Max.’
Nick walked on all fours up the bed and clambered in between Hope and Hugh. Hugh, his back to Hope, gruntedand pulled the duvet over his head. Hope wrapped an arm around Nick, feeling the heat of his body through his pyjamas.
‘Well, snuggle in and let’s go back to sleep,’ she said, nosing his hair.
Nick squirmed. ‘Want breakfast.’
‘Get it yourself,’ Hugh said, from under the duvet and under his breath.
Nick heard. ‘Can I, can I, can I?’
‘No you cannot,’ said Hope. ‘Let’s just snooze for a bit, OK?’
‘I’m not sleepy,’ Nick said. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Hugh.
‘Hugh!’ Hope chided.
‘Yeah, yeah, sorry.’
‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck,’ said Nick, enjoying himself.
‘And you stop saying that.’
‘Daddy said it.’
‘Yes, but he shouldn’t have. Now go to sleep.’
Nick sat straight up, pulling the top of the duvet with him.
‘Going to get breakfast,’ he announced.
Hope sighed. This was how it always ended. Nick wasn’t badly behaved most of the time, but Saturday mornings were far too exciting to spend in bed. Hope could understand that. Nick seemed to enjoy nursery (once he’d been prised off her leg each morning) but for him every new weekend was a fresh wonderland of freedom. Hope had a memory flash of how Saturday mornings had been before Nick was born. Oh well. Everything had an up side and a down side, and on balance shedidn’t regret it. She got up, winced at the cold, and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers in a hurry.
‘Let’s get breakfast,’ she said.
‘Yes!’ said Nick. ‘I’ll get Max. He’s hungry too.’
‘Hugh, do you want a coffee and toast?’
But Hugh was already snoring again. Hope went through to the kitchen and made eggy soldiers for Nick and toast and honey for herself. As they ate, the garden brightened outside. The sky, visible by ducking down and looking up, was blue.
‘Railway walk?’ Hope asked.
‘Yes!’ said Nick. ‘Railway walk, railway walk!’
So that was that. Saturday, sorted.
The railway walk was Parkland Walk. The nearest entrance was a kilometre or so along East West Road to the east of Victoria Road. Hope, Hugh, and Nick with Max on his shoulder set off about eleven. Hugh had the buggy folded up and concealed in a small rucksack, just in case. Parkland Walk followed the path of an old railway line, through a long cutting for most of its route. It was the first time they’d been there since the late autumn, and Hope felt a little down on seeing it still looked like winter. Mud, dead leaves, bare branches, a few buds, shopping trolleys, litter, frost in the shadows. But Nick ran ahead, breaking thin ice and splashing through puddles in his wellies and sending Max shinning up trees.
After a while she said to Hugh: ‘We could just go on walking.’
‘What?’
Hope waved a vague encompassing hand ahead.
‘There are walks everywhere, they all connect up. Canal banks, cycle paths, that sort of thing. We could walk from here to anywhere in Britain and hardly go on the main roads.’
‘We could,’ said Hugh. ‘If we didn’t have to sleep or eat.’
‘We could camp out,’ said Hope, ‘and live off the land.’
‘The berries don’t come out for months,’ said Hugh. ‘And the squirrels are skinny even when you can dig them out. Mind you, the roadkill keeps well at this time of year. Like a deep freeze, practically. And we
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