I told her, in a rasping whisper, that it was a panic attack. I’d had them before. ‘It’ll pass. I’m sorry.’ I felt as if the episode was somehow my fault. I clung to the fence. Of course it would pass but where was it going to go?

Vanessa didn’t look convinced.

A boisterous laugh in the distance cut through the air. Swings creaked under the weight of little bundles, forwards and backwards; backwards and forwards. The screech of unoiled hinges grated on the nerves. It felt as if we were in a Hitchcock movie, the background noises cranking up the sinister atmosphere. Next to the slides there was one of those whirly things that go round and round and I remembered the fear, as a child, that I would fall off. They spun so fast and the hard ground beckoned. The chatter from a couple of young mothers grew louder, exacerbated by the emptiness of the park.

The man was walking away, towards the car park. He held on to two small sets of hands. It was him. It was Oliver. I yanked my hooded top round my head, stuffed loose strands of hair inside, and pulled the cord tightly to hide my face. Vanessa was looking about for help, scared that I was having a freak heart attack, one of those random events that cut short healthy young lives. A group of people huddled round and a man took my pulse and made me sit down. He laid his coat on the frozen ground and covered me with a blanket. Over his shoulder I saw the hulk move away. He was swinging his small charges high in the air. Their squeals of delight blew back in my face.

‘I’m fine. I must have overdone it,’ I lied, huddling in against my knees which I hugged to my chest. ‘It’s so cold.’ I shivered and my teeth chattered. I had to get home, away from prying eyes. I needed to breathe again.

‘Come back with me. I’ll make you a hot tea, lots of sugar,’ Vanessa said, as the crowd reluctantly dispersed. The minor drama had offered temporary respite from their own worries.

‘Do you mind if I go home? I need a hot bath. I feel much better now. But thanks.’

Vanessa accompanied me back the way we’d come. We walked slowly, and every so often she would touch me and mumble a concerned ‘okay?’

‘I’ll pop round later if you like. Give me your phone number.’

I scribbled my number on the back of a train ticket which I found in my shorts.

‘I’ll be fine. Promise.’ But this was a lie. I knew I wouldn’t be fine. How could I be?

40

Rebecca