give it a shake, expecting it to open and fall effortlessly into position, but nothing happens. Perhaps it’s fastened, I think, examining the handles and legs. Strangely, there doesn’t seem to be anything to press or twist or undo.
Mabel is properly awake now and making grumpy noises from the car seat. ‘Won’t be a minute!’ I call, turning the contraption this way and that with an increasingly puzzled look on my face. How the hell does the damn thing unfold?
‘Having problems?’ says a voice. Looking up, I see a young woman standing over me wearing leggings and a large waterproof coat with a fur-rimmed hood. She has a toddler in a pushchair – a far cheaper model than Mabel’s – who’s sitting quietly, stuffing his face with crisps. Bags of shopping swing from hooks on the handlebar.
‘No, it’s just I … er …’ I falter.
‘Need help?’
‘No thanks.’
‘New, is it?’
‘Hmm?’
‘The buggy.’
‘Yes,’ I mutter, turning my face away from her, trying to avoid eye contact. I’m getting hot, my fingers are sweating, fumbling at the mechanism. Mabel starts to cry.
‘Oh dear,’ says the girl. ‘Somebody’s not happy.’ She walks around to the other side of the car, bending down to peer into the side window.
My heart almost stops. She’s looking right at Mabel, her face pressed close to the glass.
‘Oh bless! She’s all upset because she can’t see you. It’s okay, darling, you haven’t been abandoned,’ she soothes.
I want the nosy bitch to move away from the car. Mabel’s face is in everybody’s news feed; it’s probably on the front of all the Sunday newspapers today. She could so easily recognise her. And here I am behaving like an idiot, unable to perform the simplest parental task. I might as well have ‘abductor’ tattooed across my forehead. I hurl the buggy to the ground, swearing under my breath.
She straightens up. ‘Sure you don’t want help?’
‘Yes! Just leave me alone!’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’ She shoots me a hostile look. ‘What’s your problem?’
I pick up the buggy and fling it back into the boot, then get into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. She puts her face up to the window, and tells me to get a life. I turn the ignition and hurriedly reverse out of the space without looking properly. There’s a horrible moment when I can’t see her toddler and slam on the brakes. But he’s safe, stowed at her side.
So much for the low-profile in-and-out approach, I think bitterly as I zoom out of the car park. I made a complete spectacle of myself back there – how stupid was that? I don’t think she recognised Mabel. At least, I hope not. But maybe she memorised the number on the licence plate. Maybe she’s calling the police right now.
I drive back towards the roundabout, constantly checking the rear mirror, listening for the sound of sirens. Mabel is still crying, her sobs building towards a crescendo. I imagine her tears filling up the car, our chins bobbing above the waterline as we gasp for air.
‘You’re driving me nuts!’ I shout. ‘Shut up! For God’s sake, just shut up!’
My hands are sweating, sliding off the steering wheel. The engine surges as I put my foot down, and jolts when I release the clutch. I’m driving like a learner; my timing gone to pot. Got to concentrate. Make sure we get home in one piece. Forget the shopping, forget the baking. It was a stupid idea anyway. Fuck the Nosy Neighbours, they can go to hell.
Mabel’s screams are drilling a hole in the back of my head. As I swivel around to shout at her again, I catch sight of something in my peripheral vision: a large solid shape coming around the bend towards us. I whip back, but it’s too late; I’ve drifted too far into the middle of the road and now the large solid shape – a truck – is bearing down on us. As I pull sharply to my left, it clips me on the front wing, only slightly, but enough to send the car shooting across the tarmac like a silver ball in a game of bagatelle. We bounce off the hedge, then lurch back, heading for the opposite bank. I slam on the brakes and everything goes into slow motion. The wheels screech and rubber burns. We spin around, missing a tree by centimetres, skimming a fence and finally stopping just short of a hefty farm gate.
My heart is thumping out of my chest.