Finding His Wife, Finding A Son. Marion Lennox

Seven years old. Bright, bubbly, joyous. Naughty.

      ‘Take your cousin to the playground, Luc.’ Those words were still seared into his head. He’d been nine years old. His mother and his aunt had been having a beer or three with lunch, and Ellen’s chatter had been interfering with their gossip. ‘And take care of her. You know she’s a bit silly. You’re responsible.’

      So off they’d gone, the half a block to the playground.

      Luc’s best friend, Nick, had been there with his mum. Nick’s mum had been immersed in a book, happily reading. He remembered feeling pleased to see her.

      He remembered feeling safe. It was a feeling he didn’t have all that often with his mum. Or his aunt. But Nick’s mum was okay.

      So Ellen had raced for the swing, while Luc and Nick had headed for the see-saw, seeing who could bang the other hardest against the ground as they rose and fell.

      He could still see Nick’s face laughing up at him.

      Then, out of the edge of his eye, he’d seen the swing, suddenly empty, swinging wildly as Ellen jumped off. Then kids on the other side of the road. With a puppy...

      ‘Hey!’ Ellen’s childish yell was seared into his memory. ‘Candy, wait, it’s me, Ellen. Is that your new puppy?’

      He didn’t have time to react. No one did. Ellen was already halfway across the road.

      The car had nowhere to go.

      And afterwards... The nightmare of adults, screaming, sobbing. ‘Who’s supposed to be caring for her? Of all the stupid, criminal...’

      Nick’s mother. ‘She’s not mine. I didn’t even see...’

      Then his mother and aunt, haggard, hysterical, dragged from their beer and pleasure to confront a nightmare. His aunt. ‘We told you to take care of her, you stupid, stupid boy.’

      His own mother. ‘It’s my fault, Lucy. I thought he was responsible. I thought I could depend on him.’