‘No Unnecessary Risks’
By Susie Clinkard
1. She looked about nine; hard to tell from where he hid, deep in the undergrowth on the opposite side of the river from the picnic tables, duck-feeding-platform and car park.
Someone was trying to get through to the river just a few yards away, he could hear them puffing and slashing at the brambles and nettles. By the sound of the voice cursing at the vicious foliage, it was a teenage boy.
“Fucking, bloody, bollocking hell.” He muttered as he swiped and smashed with a stick or similar weapon.
Secure in his thicket, the man stayed still. It was mid-summer, the Suffolk sunshine had lost a little of its fierce heat as it dropped lower in the sky, although the evening was shaping up to be a warm one; probably about twenty centigrade, which at around four o’clock was good August weather. A small beetle crawled with tickling feet over his bare ankle, above the sockless dirty trainer on his right foot; he reached slowly out and pinched the life out of it, rubbing the black carapace, legs and guts between forefinger and thumb before wiping the remnants away on his cut off jeans.
His attention was drawn back to the young girl at present sitting on the wooden platform, dangling her oh-so-sweet tootsies in the cool river water. He looked around for anyone with her, his heart beating louder. Behind and to the right, the lad gave up trying to smash through, his angry mutterings fading as he rejoined some mates just visible through the jungle, standing on the footbridge, several bicycles leaning up against the bridge wall. They greeted his failure with jeers from voices in varying stage of transition from boy to man.
A woman had joined the young girl now. A wave of disappointment flooded over the man; it always happened. He’d been watching the girl for about five minutes now and there’d been no sign of any adults, or even any other children with her. He had thought that maybe he could go and sit next to her, dangle his own toes in the cool river water flowing sluggishly through the park. Then maybe go to the swings?
His mother had always said that. It was better to look forward to something, and then even if it never actually happened, at least nobody could take the happiness of thinking it would.
He watched as the older woman helped the beautiful small girl to her feet, bending down to buckle up her sandals before leading her off back to their car near the dog poo bin. He waited, sadly watching as they drove away before turning over onto his knees, raising himself up to crawling position and making his way out back to the footpath, checking left and right before emerging.
Glancing at his watch he realised he’d been out too long. Even if opportunity had presented itself, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the little girl’s company for long.
He set off hurriedly past the bridge, ignoring the glares and shouts of “Dosser!” … “Phwoar, you shat, Stevie?” and other choice, witless banter from the gang.
***
“Did you have a good afternoon at the park? You haven’t caught the sun, have you?” The woman smiled at the girl alongside her in the passenger seat.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” She was looking out of the window.
“Would you like a drink?” The woman reached behind, pulling a bottle of Ribena out from her open bag. The girl took it, unscrewing the top with a small grunt, drinking deeply.
“Are we going to be home soon?” She screwed the top back on with delicate fingers, her bright yellow sun-dress splashed with the dark blue-red drink. She resumed her scrutiny of the hot, dusty road whizzing by outside. “This isn’t the way home?” She looked quizzically at the driver, who studiously ignored the questions.
Susie