Free The Playground by Julia Kelly

Before we’d reached Dalkey, Addie had begun whining behind me, having dropped my phone during an overly vigorous game of Candy Crush Saga.
    â€˜Look at the sea!’ I said, trying to distract her. It was the single thing I’d learnt about being a mother – distraction works. ‘And look at the island. Would you like to take a boat over to that island one day? We could bring a picnic.’
    â€˜Is that Dada’s island?’
    â€˜No, what do you mean, darling?’
    â€˜You said Dada was on an island.’
    I’d told her he was on another island, England, in the early days, when I thought he’d just needed to clear his head, when I thought he was still coming home.
    â€˜Oh, no, he’s not there, sweetheart,’ I said smiling, but feeling it physically.
    â€˜It’s not funny. I want to see Dada.’
    â€˜We can’t, darling. He’s not there.’
    â€˜Let’s visit Daddy! Mama, no, this way! You’re going the wrong way.’
    â€˜No more shouting or Mama will have a crash.’
    â€˜Daddy!’ she began to cry.
    â€˜I’m getting cross, Addie.’
    â€˜Well, I’m one hundred crosser than you!’
    â€˜I’m warning you—’
    I pulled over, found a new game, handed her back my phone and though she was still whimpering, she soon became absorbed by its little beeps and chirps. I put my foot on the accelerator; I couldn’t wait to be with my family – I needed them to sort everything out.
    â€˜Hail Mary, full of grace, please find me a parking space,’ I said, entering a car park that was about three miles from my mother’s house but large and quiet and therefore appealing.
    *
    I lifted Addie up to let her press the doorbell. She held her little finger on it. It made its flat drone, like the wrong answer on a quiz show. And then we waited. She turned her face to mine. I rang it again and listened for the sound of footfalls on the stairs, the out-of-tune hum and the indecipherable greetings and apologies that always followed. Nothing. Puzzled by our inaction, Addie shrugged her shoulders, turned her little palms upwards. I bent to peer in through the letter box: fresh lilies on the polished hall table, a brown bag of something waiting to be collected on the chair beside it, a jacket hung across its back, beneath it, a pair of Mum’s tiny, powder blue tennis shoes. An umbrella was still propped over the top of the old, no longer working,grandfather clock to protect it from the leak that had developed in the pipes above. It seemed too still, as if it knew it was being watched. I pressed the bell for a third time and felt that slow heavy dread in my stomach.
    I pulled my phone from my back pocket, dialled her number, heard the click of the answering machine. I turned towards the street. Across the road a suntanned man in unseasonal shorts was lifting a lawn mower from the boot of his car, his Sunday going on just as before. He looked up, gave me a half-wave.
    â€˜Are you looking for Dot?’ he shouted over, setting down the machine. He strode across the road towards us, glancing into the distance and then down at his own feet to avoid the embarrassment of having to keep meeting my eye.
    â€˜She was expecting us at five. She’s not answering. I’ve rung the bell three times. It’s just so unlike her,’ I said, sighing to dissuade tears.
    â€˜Maybe she’s just popped down to the shops. Wait there and I’ll have a look round the back.’ I nodded, thanked him and he set off down the gravel path of the adjoining house in a half-run that made me more, not less, concerned.
    So this was how it was going to happen. This was when – a bright Sunday in September. The thing I had feared and dreaded for years, ever since my father had died and even more since Joe, which I had played out in a dozen different scenarios, was now taking place and I needed to be brave. In my