Free Gotham by Nick Earls Page A

wipes another hand-ful of goo down one of Junior’s arms.
    â€˜But…’
    â€˜I ain’t makin’ you swallow it.’ He lifts Junior’s shirtfront and wipes a final squirt under there. ‘You goin’ tandem and we just playin’ it safe.’ He clips the empty bottle shut and slips it back into his pocket. ‘Now, you take Batman up there and you look after her like she’s a princess. A superhero princess. You come down together and you take all the bumps.’
    Junior’s mouth opens—he is not a tandem rider, not here as a helper of princesses—but his father has a hand on his arm and is looking straight at him, willing him to just do it, no arguments, just this once. Junior reads the expression, and glances towards Ariel and back to his father. He knows something is up. He knows it is one of those times. He nods.
    Ariel takes my hand to get out of the stroller, then Eugene Junior offers his and leads hertowards the stone steps. He measures his speed against hers and holds back a branch of a bush so it doesn’t brush her arm. She waits on the second step while he retrieves his cardboard. He tucks it under one arm and takes her hand again.
    Inside the black suit, she is frail, but she is sick of lamb’s wool and complete safety and one DVD after another. She is four and must attend to a four-year-old’s business, and she must slide today, whatever the knocks. I am afraid for her, for all of us, Lindsey and me, too. There are more steps to the top of the slide than I realised. I have seen her x-rays and her scans and her worst days.
    They wait their turn, still holding hands. Ariel studies the sliders ahead of her and every bit of their journeys. Eugene Junior looks over to his father to check that he’s getting it right. Smokey gives him a nod.
    â€˜You taking pictures of this?’ he says to me. ‘You got an article to write, yeah? I think Batman’s about to slide.’
    There’s just enough time for me to get my camera out. Every article is patched together this week, this month. I could have left this playground without a single image.
    â€˜Here, let me,’ he says. ‘You just watch.’ He holds his hand out for the camera, clicking his fingers.
    I need to watch, and he is giving me the chance. I need to live this, not be its recorder.
    He fiddles with the settings, sets up the shot in a second. He knows what he’s doing.
    Eugene Junior places his cardboard, then helps Ariel into a sitting position on it, one of his hands on the lip of the slide the whole time, one on her. He eases his legs around her. She keeps hers straight but his are bent a little, knees jutting out to take any knocks. He puts one armaround her waist and she grips it with both hands, like a rail on a rollercoaster. He takes his other hand from the slide’s granite edge and pushes it against the base, just behind where he’s sitting. They start to move. He gives another push.
    They skid forward, building up speed. Ariel’s teeth are clenched, but she’s smiling. Her eyes are ahead on the slide, anticipating. The two of them swing into the bend, Eugene Junior managing their path perfectly.
    Wind buffets her suit. The drop is steep.
    The hood blows back from her head, her messy blonde hair spills all around, the red clamp of her tube bobs next to her ear. She lets go of his arm and they wobble, but he corrects. She reaches up. I’m expecting her to grab the hood and pull it back into place, but she ignores it completely and thrusts her arms up in the air, keeping them there all the way down until she is standing in the dust and the ride is over.
    â€˜Again,’ she says as Eugene lets go of her and bends down to pick up the cardboard. ‘Please.’
    â€˜Let’s see here,’ Smokey says, flicking back to the early images as Ariel and his son make their way back towards the steps.
    He’s found a setting that