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By Root 482 0

her presence. Above her, the vapour trail of the vanished plane rolled wider and mingled with the clouds. Uneasily she continued along the path and tried not to feel afraid. She was nowhere near the safari park: it couldn’t be a wolf or a runaway lion. There would be notices all over the place if she had wandered into the lion reserve. She paused and pretended to be examining the curve of a leaf. This time she saw the shape, human in form, of someone gliding behind the trunk of a tree. It’s a dirty old man, she thought, relieved, but turned all the same and walked back towards the park. It would be funny if it was Mr Paganotti keeping an eye on them, watching to see if there was any hanky-panky going on in the forest. She wouldn’t put it past him. He acted as if he owned his employees body and soul, handing out his cast-off clothing as if he was God Almighty.

A pebble, spinning from the bushes, glanced her cheek. Instantly she was filled with anger.

‘Who the bloody hell did that?’ she shouted, brave now that she was approaching the fence.

Another pebble, bigger in size, pitched on to the path a few inches from her foot. She went stealthily as a cat through the tangle of bushes, cuckoo spittle on her boots, and stooped to select a large stone from the undergrowth. Peering into the trees she flung it with all her strength into the gloom. There was a pattering of torn leaves, a thud, and an audible intake of breath.

‘Serve you right,’ she said and half ran, for fear of reprisals, round the curve of the path and into the park.

She trudged thankfully towards the running men and the tilted barrels perched on the oak table. She thought Brenda looked ridiculous, still wrapped in the purple cloak, attempting to kick the ball without exposing her legs. Freda said nothing, but she gave one of her mocking smiles.

‘Do join in,’ called Brenda. ‘It’s good fun.’

Her hair was messy and her ankles were braceleted with stalks of grass.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ snapped Freda, and she lowered herself on to the ground and propped her back against the stump of the oak.

She rubbed at her cheek with a piece of twig, trying to scratch it though not wishing to draw blood. Vittorio, peacocking across the pitch, hunched his shoulders like a baseball player and ran to her.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

She held her cheek and shook her head. He squatted on his haunches in front of her. Lip beaded with perspir ation, his face bloomed like a rose.

‘Ah, you have hurt yourself,’ and he touched her soft cheek with one exploring finger. ‘What has happened?’

‘There was a maniac in the woods,’ she said, ‘hurling stones at me. I shouldn’t be surprised if it was Patrick getting his own back.’

He found it difficult to understand. His eyes widened, and he waited for more words, but she bent her head and kept silent. She hadn’t thought of the Irishman until this moment. Surely he wouldn’t dare to chuck stones at her? Maybe it had been children. Perhaps some irate parent would come soon over the grass leading a bleeding child by the hand.

‘Come,’ said Vittorio caressingly. ‘Be on my side. You play the ball game with me.’

He was challenging her, she thought, asking her to show her allegiance in front of the workers.

‘I’m not keen,’ she demurred, and he coaxed her to her feet, holding her hands in his. The men faltered and gave a few encouraging cries as the ball raced across the pitch.

‘Why didn’t you come for a walk?’ she asked.

‘But I cannot leave the men,’ he said. ‘It is not possible.’

Still entwining his fingers in hers, he dragged her some yards across the grass and then loosed her. She floundered as if in deep water among the sea of men, striking out, first in one direction and then another, in a breathless endeavour to intercept the ball kicked from side to side.

‘That’s it,’ encouraged Brenda. ‘Get at it, luv.’

She was in her stockinged feet, with one toe protruding from a hole, hopping up and down with excitement. There was no goal mouth to aim at – Freda wasn’t even sure whose side she was on. She saw a row of black hats dumped on the ground