Lessons From Ducks (4 page)

“Hello there,” he said jovially, “please excuse my son’s intrusion, he was raised by wolves.”

When this failed to evoke the expected chuckle, or even a smile, he tried the direct approach.

“Excuse me, but are you feeling ok? You look awful.”

Anna couldn’t look at him, gave no sign she had even heard him. She was transfixed on the boy, her eyes tracing the contours of his face, the way his cheek curved down towards the small dimple in his chin. The way his lashes curled up so when he blinked he had the look of a baby deer.

“Ben?” she finally said, gently like a breeze through wispy curtains, the word dissipated in seconds.

The man looked behind him in case someone else had approached, but there was just his son. He narrowed his eyes, concerned, and stepped to the right so his body became a shield between them. She seemed harmless, delicate even, but you never could tell these days. You heard stories. His ex-wife was full of them, scanning the news sites on the internet all day and warning him about all the bad things that could happen every time he collected Oscar.
‘Don’t let him out of your sight even for a second!’ she’d warn him.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, “but I’m afraid you’ve mistaken my son for someone else. Are you sure you’re ok? Is there someone I can call?”

For the first time the woman looked at him, and when she did he felt himself fall briefly, like he’d tripped on a crack, and he became woozy on his feet. It was her eyes. They were like whirlpools sucking him in.

“Dad?” Oscar said, breaking the spell.

He blinked. “Yes?”

Anna gave a little sob and the sound was the saddest thing he could ever remember hearing. Her eyes were sorrowful now, but nothing more than that. All the emotion he’d seen, in its most pure and rawest form, was now gone.

“Lady I don’t know who you are but you’re really starting to freak me out. Are you sick? Has something happened?”

Anna shook her head wordlessly.

“Well something’s wrong, that much is obvious. How about you just stay sitting right here and I’ll call an ambulance, or the police.” Perhaps they could get to the bottom of the mystery the man thought, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone.

“No!” The volume of her voice startled him and he dropped his phone. The corner of it hit the concrete first and the back separated from the front, the battery landing somewhere between the two.

“Dammit,” the man swore.

“That’s the fourth phone you’ve broken this year dad,” the boy said behind him.

“Yes, smarty pants, I’m aware of that. We don’t know it’s broken yet though, might still work.” He stooped down to collect up the pieces, the woman momentarily forgotten. Slotting the battery back into its place, he pushed the two sides of the phone back together and held his breath as he pushed down the button to power it up again. It made a few half-hearted beeps and the screen lit up.

“Aha!” he grinned triumphantly, turning to wave the phone in his son’s face, “see, still works.”

“For now,” his son shrugged. “Won’t be long before you drop it down the toilet like the last one, or leave it on the roof of your car and drive off, like the one before that.”

“Those were all innocent mistakes,” the man protested, “could happen to anyone.”

The boy looked sceptical. His father remembered the woman then and turned back to her, but the seat was empty. He hadn’t heard her leave.

“Hey, where did she go?” he muttered, scanning the playground.

“She left while you were trying to fix your phone –”

“– I
did
fix it –”

“Whatever. She’s over there.” The boy pointed towards a path that led from the playground across a small playing field – where children played soccer and cricket in summer and rugby in winter – and back to the main road. The woman could be seen weaving her way up the path at a pace the purpose of which the man assumed was to put as much space between herself and them as quickly as possible.

Well, he wasn’t having any of that.

“Quick come on,” he gestured to his son, “let’s catch her up.”

“Why?”

“To make sure she’s ok of course. You saw her; she might need some help getting home.”

They both observed the figure rapidly disappearing in the distance.

“Looks like she’s doing ok to me,” the boy commented.

“Yeah, well who’s to say she won’t collapse into a heap around the next corner and lay there all night, helpless, just waiting for someone to help her? Could you really live with that on your conscience?”

The boy sighed. His father clearly had a bee in his bonnet and from past experience he knew the only way to remove it was to let his father do whatever it was he wanted to do. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I saw that.”

“You were supposed to.”

“Quick, we’ll have to hurry if we want to catch her.”

“Even though she obviously doesn’t
want
to be caught.”

The father chose to ignore this last statement. He couldn’t explain to his son why he needed to follow the woman, because he couldn’t explain it to himself.

Chapter five

“Keep up,” he said over his shoulder when he saw his son’s shadow fall away.

“You have longer legs then I do.”

The man stopped. “You want me to carry you?”

“No.” But the offer had the desired effect of making the boy pick up his pace.

“Sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m eight, dad. Eight year olds don’t get carried around by their fathers, it’s totally embarrassing.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since forever.”

“Guess I missed that memo.”

They had rounded the top of the path that disappeared over a small grassy hill and down to the road. The man held his breath, worried that she would be gone but there she was, standing next to the road, her face upturned to the sky, her eyes closed. Was she praying? As they neared her he slowed down a little. He hadn’t actually planned what to do if they managed to catch up to her and now that they had, it seemed kind of creepy, following her like this. His son sensed the change in pace and looked up at him questioningly.

“Well?” The boy said loudly. “There she is. Hasn’t collapsed or fallen down dead. We’ve done our duty,
now
can we go back to the playground?”

The woman’s eyes flew open. She gave them a look that suggested she thought they were kind of creepy.

“We meet again,” the man said with a small wave and a smile.

Without a word she turned on her heel and hurried off down the street, dodging cracks and stepping over loose stones in the pavement like she knew their location expertly.

The man sighed. “Was it something I said?”

“Come on dad,” the boy said, “she obviously doesn’t want to talk to you. And I’m hungry.”

But his father shook his head. “Sorry son, but your stomach’s going to have to wait a bit longer. Come on.” And he set off determinedly after the woman. Come hell or high water, her rudeness aside, he was going to make sure she made it home safe and sound. Something had upset her in the playground; he’d seen it in her eyes and he’d heard it in her voice. It had tugged at that primal part of him that most men have, that pocket somewhere inside that can’t bear to see a woman in distress. Call it chivalry, or gallantry or even just plain old good manners. He was going to set an example for his son, and that was that you never abandoned an upset woman, whether she wanted your assistance or not.

Anna paused at the next street corner and glanced over her shoulder while waiting to cross. She frowned when she saw the man and the boy still following. Crossing, she picked up her pace, but when she came to the next street crossing and saw they were still behind her she stopped and turned to face them, hands on hips and glare firmly attached to face.

“What?” she demanded when they caught up to her. “What do you want? Why are you following me?”

“What makes you think we’re following you?” the man retorted.

“Aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “maybe not. Maybe we live in this direction too, did you think about that?”

“Well do you?”

“Do I what?”

She gritted her teeth and spoke slowly as if he were an idiot. “Do you live in this direction?”

“Yes,” the man said, at the same time as the boy said “no.”

“Well? Which is it?”

“No,” the man admitted, at the same time as the boy came to his father’s defence and said “yes.”

“Look, I don’t know what you two are playing at, but if you don’t stop following me I’m going to call the police.”

“Hey,” the man took a step backwards, hands held up placatingly. “There’s no need for that.”

“Dad why does she want to call the police?” the boy was confused. “We were only trying to help.”

“I know son, it’s ok.” The man put an arm across his boy’s shoulders and drew him in against his side. He looked at Anna again. “I’m sorry if we scared you, we meant you no harm I promise.”

“Then why were you following me?”

“We wanted to make sure you got home ok, that’s all. Back in the playground, you seemed so upset over something. You really didn’t look well at all.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We were worried.” He caught his son’s expression. “
I
was worried.”

Anna’s face softened and she even bestowed them with a small smile. ‘That’s sweet of you,. But there’s no need for concern, I’m fine.”

The man admired the way her face had altered with the smile, like the world washed clean after a rainstorm, or the way a penny shines bright after a good rub with some baking soda. When her frown lines disappeared so too did the faint impression of anger she’d worn. She seemed to have discarded years off her age with that one single smile. And if he’d thought her pretty before, which he had, she’d become even prettier. Her lips were her best feature, he decided, although it was stiff competition between them and her eyes. Her lips were perfectly proportioned to each other, no thin top lip, like the one his ex-wife sported - which had narrowed even further over the years he’d known her from all the times she’d tightened it into a straight line in anger and bitterness - usually directed at him. No, this lady’s lips were full and fleshy and soft, he could see that without even needing a touch for confirmation. They were the colour of just ripened strawberries, but from this distance he couldn’t be sure whether it was natural or an enhancement. When she had blessed them with that brief smile they had drawn apart ever so slightly and curved up in the middle like a pretty letter
m,
and on her left cheek a dimple had creased her cheek.

They were, without a doubt, the most remarkable lips he had ever seen, and he found it hard to take his eyes off them to look back up into her eyes.

“Are you sure?” he finally answered her, “we don’t mind walking the rest of the way with you, do we Oscar?”

Beside him Oscar sighed. His stomach was actively protesting now and making the kinds of noises that suggested it was about to start eating itself, but he didn’t want to be impolite.

“No,” he said, “we don’t.”

“Oscar? What a charming name. You don’t meet many Oscars in this day and age do you,” Anna mused. “Named after any Oscar in particular –?

“Yes, but not the one you’re thinking of.”

“How do you know which one I’m thinking of?”

“Tell me I’m wrong and you’re not thinking of Oscar Wilde then.”

“I can’t,” she admitted. “He was the only Oscar that sprung to mind.”

The man laughed. “He always is.”

“So if not him, then who?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Why not?”

“I’m worried you’ll judge me.”

She was astounded. ‘Oh well now you
have
to tell me.”

But the man shook his head and clamped his lips shut, “Mm-mm,” he mumbled, so Oscar himself spoke up.

“I’ll give you a clue; he lives in a rubbish bin.” His flat tone suggested he was used to conversations like this.

It took a few seconds for Anna to reconcile this information. “You mean –?”

The man squeezed his eyes shut and nodded warily.

“You named your child after
Oscar the Grouch?”

The man opened his eyes. “Guilty.”

“Oh,” Anna didn’t quite know what to say about that. Then she rallied, “Well he’s always been my favourite character on Sesame Street, anyway.”

“Really?” Oscar asked hopefully.

“Really,” she confirmed. “Independent, speaks his mind, doesn’t hold back – a straight shooter, the best way to be.”

The man smiled at her gratefully. “My thoughts exactly. In fact, that’s why I chose the name. That and I just loved the way it sounds,
Oscar,
is there any more perfect name?”

“No,” Anna agreed quietly, “there’s not.” But she downcast her eyes as she said it and the man remembered her earlier confusion.

‘Ben,’
she had called his son at the playground.

There was a story there. And in that moment he became determined to get to the bottom of it.

He held out a hand, “Matthew,” he introduced himself, “but everyone calls me Matt.”

She placed her cool fingers into his warm ones and felt her blood thaw a degree. “Anna.”