Monkey, Wizard Award Options

[Guest_Toumai_*]

*Graphic provided by
Celtic Castle Designs[/b]


Version published in Raw Edge Magazine, 2006

Monkey

The monkey is hideous. He glares from the comfort of Jess’s arms with a cross-eyed scowl. Even his fur looks mangy, shedding tufts of pink nylon on her midnight-blue velour dress.

‘Where on earth did you get him?

‘Daddy took me to the fair.’

‘Oh.’

If I don’t show any interest perhaps we can change the subject.

‘We went on the bumper cars and the big wheel and the bumper cars again and I had hot dog and candyfloss –’

‘So you had a good time.’ Distraction might work. ‘Would you like fish fingers or beans for tea?’

‘– and then Daddy wouldn’t let me go on the waltzers in case I was sick but we went on the ghost train and I was really really scared but Daddy held me very tight –’

Until quite recently he would have held me, too.

‘– and then Zoë was really really scared and Daddy had to hold her tight, too –’

‘Who is Zoë?’

‘– and then we all had a go at the coconuts and Daddy won this for me but it took him three goes and Zoë said they must be glued on –’

‘Who is Zoë?’

The sudden sharpness in my voice surprises Jess and she backs away, clutching the monkey even more tightly. ‘Daddy said I could keep him. Please Mummy?’

I take a deep steadying breath. ‘Of course you can.’

‘Can I sleep with him?’

‘Yes love.’ I stroke her hair, lower myself to sit on the kitchen floor so I’m on her level, ignoring the sticky patch my hand lands in. ‘Who is Zoë?’

Her small face wrinkles with the difficulty of answering my question. I try to help. ‘Is she little like you?’ Perhaps he has found a companion for Jess’s visits.

Jess shakes her head.

‘Is she like me?’

More thinking. Another shake of the head. ‘She’s very pretty. Like Snow White.’

Serves me right for asking. I feel sick, imagining them all eating candyfloss together. I can see Jess in her lilac waterproof, sticky and excited, Paul laughing heartily at one of his own jokes and Snow White trilling her animated approval as the fairground lights dance above them all and the music blares.

I should be there, too, offering this Zoë a secret taste of my own special toffee apple. The wicked witch. Yep, that’s me. If I get some poison into her she’ll be asleep forever; Paul will never pass muster as Prince Charming – or any kind of hero.

‘Can we have pizza?’ Jess asks.

‘Uh?’

‘Instead of fish fingers?’

The monkey leers at me, dangling like a deformed pink spider from the safety of my daughter’s arms.
‘I s’pose.’ I nod and head for the bathroom, where I can close the door and cry. I don’t want her to feel responsible for my mood.

And I don’t want that bloody monkey watching me, either.

* * * * * * * *

Rain squalls spit chill November misery across the vast shopping centre car park. Jess is taking forever getting her bag out of the car while I shiver impatiently.

‘Don’ wanna go with Daddy,’ she whines, ‘wanna go home.’

I slam the boot, tight-lipped; if she repeats that in front of Paul he’ll blame me. She has been grumpy since I started packing her things last night. Monkey is in her bag, but even his pink presence hasn’t cheered her.

A flurry of autumn leaves, once gold, now brown, swirl into a greasy puddle and are caught. ‘He took you to the fair last time, remember?’

‘Wanna go home.’

‘He gave you Monkey; you had a good time.’

‘Fair’s gone now.’

‘He’ll do something else nice. Maybe take you to Macdonald’s.’ Maybe with that Zoë.

‘He said I spoilt everything.’

‘He what?’

Again my sharpness alarms her; she hunches into her lilac mac and I curse my tongue.

‘Jess, what happened?’ Another spatter of bitter wind-swept rain douses my words. ‘C’mon, let’s get inside, then you can tell me all about it, okay?’

I shoulder her bag, grab her hand and we thread between rows of cars to the grand entrance to the mall. Inside I take a deep breath as the warmth hits us, heavy with perfume and overdosed on expensive filter coffee. There are benches by the fountain, so we wind our way between the self-absorbed shoppers, teenagers brashly begging for attention, harassed mothers on mobiles and bored husbands pushing buggies, bellies hanging over cheap jeans.

I spot an empty seat and make a beeline before anyone else can get it, but Jess stalls, pulling back.
She has seen Paul is waiting, watching our approach. In eight years he has been late for absolutely everything; why – today of all days – is he early, just when I need a few minutes grace to talk to Jess?

‘Hello.’ he shifts uncomfortably.

‘I packed spare pyjamas and some Calpol; she’s a bit out of sorts today.’ I drop the bag at his feet. Jess clings to my hand, looking at the floor.

‘She told you?’ he nods towards Jess, uncharacteristically awkward.

‘About what? Your new girlfriend?’

He winces. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘You could have warned me.’

He shrugs.

‘Great. Bloody great.’

‘Look, let’s go to the slide, shall we? He indicates Jess again, his eyes imploring: Let’s not fight in front of her. Our mantra for the failing months of our marriage.

‘Okay.’

Jess perks up at the suggestion and eagerly leads us to the little indoor play area crowded with other people’s snotty brats. ‘Monkey wants to climb with me,’ she tells me, struggling with the zip of her bag. I help her extract him and she scampers off with the pink goblin flopping under her arm.
‘She really wanted him.’ Paul sounds almost apologetic.

‘Yeah?’

He is looking at his shoes. Scuffed brown suede, once expensive; I can remember buying them with him.

‘How could you say she’d spoilt things?’ Anger makes my voice shaky. ‘She didn’t want to come today; she’s so upset.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up, somehow.’

‘But how could you say that!’

‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Well, it’s nice to know some things haven’t changed.’

‘Look, I’d barely got to know her.’ He must mean Snow White. ‘And Jess was coming to visit. So I invited Zoë over and she had to go and mention the fair.’

How romantic.

‘So of course, then Jess wanted to go, but Zoë doesn’t like fairs; she’d only mentioned it because it annoyed her.’

Silly moo: obviously not used to dealing with five-year-olds. ‘Why’d she go then?’

He shrugs again. ‘She’d made a big thing about wanting to meet Jess.’

‘And?’

‘So she got bored while we went on the dodgems, felt sick on the big wheel and complained when Jess had candyfloss and it got on her new coat.’

Well done Jess! But I curb my delight and make do with sarcasm. ‘Poor thing.’

‘Don’t laugh.’

‘Sorry,’ I lie.

‘The final straw was that monkey.’

‘Monkey?’

‘Those bloody coconuts were almost impossible to shift.’ He shudders. ‘And Jess got candyfloss in Zoë’s hair.’

‘And?’

‘And she got mad and stormed off.’

‘How could you blame Jess?’

He squirms uncomfortably.

‘Mummy!’ Jess bounces off the slide, triumphantly brandishing Monkey above her head. ‘Did you see Monkey go down the slide?’

‘Yes, love.’ I lie on autopilot.

‘He can do the monkey bars, too.’
‘Of course he can.’

‘So can I.’

‘Be careful, love.’

‘I are, Mummy,’ Jess says, turning back to the play area dismissively. Then she has second thoughts. ‘Mummy, hold Monkey for me.’

I catch the flying gargoyle as she hurls him at me and I hold him up and kiss him on his button nose. Paul’s mouth makes a moue of disgust as I zip Monkey back into Jess’s bag, carefully leaving his head out so he can see and be seen. ‘Well, you’re going to have your work cut out being nice to your daughter this weekend.’

‘Yeah’ He slumps dejectedly, staring at Monkey, mesmerised.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go in a minute.’ I dig my car keys out of my pocket, check my mobile.
‘Huh?’ He barely glances at me. I wave to Jess and beckon to her.

‘I’ll have to go: I’ve got a date tonight.’

‘A what?’ He looks up with a start.

‘A date. He’s called Richard.’

It would be nice to stay and see how long it takes Paul to recover, but risky.

Jess hurtles into my arms. ‘Don’t go, Mummy!’

‘I’ll be back on Sunday, love; promise.’

‘Mummy –’

‘Bye, darling.’

‘Mummy –’

‘Daddy has some lovely things planned for the weekend; I really have to go now – he’ll tell you all about them.’

‘Mummy –’

‘Bye, sweetheart.’ I give her a big kiss. ‘See you soon; Monkey will look after you.’

Paul is still speechless.

‘Daddy, what are we going to do?’ Jess is asking as I turn away. ‘Daddy –’

‘Who is Richard?’ Paul asks plaintively. ‘You don’t know anyone called Richard.’

‘There were three in my year at school.’

‘I never knew them.’

‘This is a different Richard,’ I explain. Very different, seeing as he doesn’t actually exist.

I turn to go, hiding my smile; I’ve just realised that if there were three Richards in my class at school, there must be a fair few more in the world at large right now.

But do I want any of them?

Catching my eye from his safe nest in Jess’s bag, Monkey winks wickedly at me through his candyfloss-pink fur.

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